Beach Music 5A/12 Brendon/Gerard NC-17
Title: Beach Music 5A/12
Author: cloudlessclimes
Rated: NC-17
Pairing:Brendon Urie/Gerard Way
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one.
Summary: Brendon Urie is and has always been a girl. She meets Gerard Way. Things happen.
Feedback: Is a wonderful thing.
Notes/Warnings/FYI type things: HET!!, what can be perceived as uninformed consent, underage drinking, drug use, romance, fluff, Tom Conrad, Jon Walker, Mikey Way, and Brian Schechter are not the nicest people ever, AU, liberal abuse of canon; this fic contains all of these things. If they're not your things, don't read.
Title comes from a song of the same name by long defunct semi-obscure Canadian band The Watchmen. The odd and somewhat nonsensical lyrics can be found here
Thanks to the awesome queen_geek, tweedle_, fallingfortruth and lordgroovius and spleenjournal for beta-ing, listening to me kvetch, holding my hand, and providing paperbags to breathe into, both virtual and actual.
1 2A 2B 3A 3B 4 5A 5B
“So, yeah, I would have been here an hour ago if it wasn’t for this stupid fucking L.A. traffic,” Brendon huffs into her cell phone as she trundles her rolling suitcase down the hotel hallway, a garment bag hanging from the fingers of her other hand, and the phone tucked between her cheek and shoulder. She stops in front of Gerard’s room and her rant about traffic is interrupted when Gerard throws the door wide and drags her roughly to him, kissing her hard and knocking her cell phone and the garment bag to the floor.
“Fuck, your hair it’s so…” Gerard voice is a murmur against her lips, one hand cupping her jaw and tilting her face into the kiss, while the other winds in the mess of loose curls at her shoulders.
Brendon giggles and says, “Not real. Well, I mean it’s real, I guess, but it’s not mine. You like?” She mumbles as Gerard continues to lick at her mouth.
“Fuck, yeah.” Panting, he leans his forehead against hers.
“Hi Gerard,” Brendon’s smile is wide, and her laugh spins out through her shaking shoulders, but her voice is carefully conversational. “Can I come in?”
“Shit. Yeah, yeah. Of course.” Gerard’s eyes, lust-dazed and bright green, blink slowly open as he realizes they’re standing in the hotel hallway, room door wide open. His hand trails through Brendon’s hair to squeeze at her shoulder, mashing down the popped collar of her mauve polo shirt. “C’mon in.” He wraps his arm around her and takes her suitcase in his other hand.
She ducks down to pick up her phone and dress and then snuggles into Gerard’s side, giggling happily as they walk into the hotel room. “Mmm…c’mere,” Brendon crooks a finger at Gerard when she hip checks the door closed, dumping the garment bag on a chair and dropping everything else.
Gerard steps over her suitcase and fits himself against her, one hand trailing palm flat against her stomach, rucking up her polo shirt. “This okay?” He asks in between nipping at her mouth.
Brendon raises her arms above her head, making it easy for Gerard to pull her shirt up and off. “Totally. I mean, if we have time?”
His hands trace the contour of her rib cage and Gerard bites Brendon’s bottom lip, “Gonna make fuckin’ time. Jesus, honey.” He makes an appreciative groan at the sight of the black, shell cupped, strapless demi-bra Brendon is wearing.
She smiles against his lips, absurdly pleased at his words, and shoves him back into the room, motioning for Gerard to be rid of his own t-shirt. They flop onto the sofa, hands busy undoing snaps and peeling back layers. Gerard stops long enough to pay special attention to the black lace thong Brendon bought special for tonight, but soon enough, they’re naked and writhing against one another. Brendon can feel the heat of Gerard’s erection against her stomach, and sighs at the sweet ache of wanting him.
Sliding his mouth across Brendon’s heated skin, Gerard pauses to snag one peaked nipple playfully between his teeth. Brendon groans and pants his name, tightening her hold on his hair. A leer crosses Gerard’s face as he flicks the point of his tongue across the areola of Brendon’s breast, then tracing the flavor of her skin across her sternum and over her belly, and swirling into the dip of her navel.
“Mmm,” Gerard pushes gently at the inside of Brendon’s thighs with his shoulders and settles with a satisfied groan between her legs. “This freckle? Right here?” he nips teasingly at the faint brown mark, just inside the crease of her thigh. “I fuckin’ dream about this freckle.” He says it softly and snorts out a laugh, his breath tickling over her sensitive skin and making Brendon shudder.
One hand fisted around a couch cushion and the other groping ineffectually at Gerard’s bare shoulder, Brendon manages a faint, “Oh yeah?” that fades under her gasp when Gerard’s tongue licks at the spot in question.
Chafing his stubbled chin across Brendon’s pubic bone, Gerard mutters, “If by dreaming I mean spending a lot of fuckin’ time in my bunk, rubbin’ one out.” Brendon laughs at that, shaky and breathless. Gerard’s mouth continues to explore her skin and she shifts beneath his attention. Her left leg slips from the cushions, and she braces herself, foot flat on the carpet, when Gerard licks between her legs, sucking her into his mouth.
“Gee?” She asks in a small voice, long lashes twitching against her cheeks.
“Mmm?” he says, looking up at her with eyes gone turbid and sleepy.
She gnaws on her bottom lip and runs her hand palm flat over the crown of her head. “Do, I mean…do you…like…doing…that?” Her cheeks flush a sweet pink as she flaps her hand, indicating Gerard’s position between her spread thighs.
“Shit yeah,” he says with enthusiasm. He brushes his cheek against the taut skin of her thighs and says, “I like everything. The way you feel.” He shifts a little, his tongue tip flicking over her clit, “The way you taste.” He continues with his inventory, inhaling deeply, and burying his nose between her legs. “And you smell so fuckin’ good.” Continuing to suck at her skin he mutters “You’re so damn wet, Bren. I make you so damn wet. Jesus. That’s so hot, you have no idea.” His hands are stroking behind her knees, making her pant and twist, arching into the sensation. “And the little noises you make? I think I like that most of all.”
Brendon can feel his silent laughter, and she swats at him, “I don’t make…noises,” She pants at the bend of her own elbow, just as Gerard quirks his tongue inside her, and she lets out a squeak that shifts and slides into a nasal whine. Gerard laughs against her, out loud now, and Brendon would kick him in the head if she wasn’t so busy panting and gasping ,and doing her best not to buck into the sensation of Gerard’s tongue inside her, or give into the need to grind into his face.
All of a sudden everything stops, and Brendon opens her clenched tight eyes to see Gerard staring at her, wide eyed with concern. “It just occurred to me…do you like it? I mean…you’ve done it…er had it done to you, before, right?” His hands stroke up and down the softly defined muscles of her legs.
Huffing for breath, Brendon shakes her bangs out of her eyes and says, “Um, yeah, I like it. It feels, it feels good. Really good. Um, yeah. Well, there’s you of course, and Audrey, um that one time…but uh, I guess I always…dated guys who were way more interested in getting off than, you know, getting me off.” Brendon’s facing the coffee table, and babbling in embarrassment.
Smacking a kiss just below her navel, Gerard says, “Yeah well maybe this guy gets off getting you off!” and proceeds to suck and lick enthusiastically.
“Asshole,” Brendon manages to exhale on a long breath, tipping her knee in and purposely knocking it against Gerard’s ear.
His laughter buzzes pleasantly against tender flesh and he mutters, “Nope. Not your asshole.” He slides his hands to stroke up her legs, until they’re kneading at her ample bottom. Spreading her gently, Gerard says, “This is,” before teasing his tongue between her cheeks and across the pucker there; licking and tasting.
“Holy shit!” Brendon yells, and clamps her hand across her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “That’s so dirty!” She rasps in a low voice behind her hand.
Gerard quirks an eyebrow in inquiry, but doesn’t stop the sure, steady swiping of his tongue. One hand slides around her thighs and he flicks at her clit with his thumb nail before twisting two fingers inside her, moving them to match the rhythm of his tongue stroking in and out.
“Oh!” Brendon’s thighs are shuddering, and she digs her fingertips into Gerard’s scalp, too overcome by ripples of sensation to still the bucking of her hips. She’s quivering and shaking, and pleasantly buzzed when Gerard gets up on his knees and shuffles up beside her, collapsing between Brendon and the back of the love seat. He kisses lazily at her neck and jaw, and Brendon wrinkles her nose when his lips kiss the corner of her mouth. But, she thinks if Gerard can put his mouth there then she can at least kiss him back.
They kiss, sloppy and languid, and Brendon is so happy and sated she thinks that she would be quite all right if she never moved again. “We should get dressed. Gotta go and lose a major award on national television.” Gerard says as he squeezes her hip and breathes softly against her cheek.
Brendon whines and snuggles into Gerard. “Don’t wanna. Stay here and make out with me instead.” She spreads her fingers wide, and runs her hands across Gerard’s back, scratching her nails-freshly manicured and painted a deep red-into his skin.
“Me either, but I’m sensing there’s a pretty hot dress over there,” he motions towards the chair where Brendon had set her garment bag. “And I gotta admit I’m kinda looking forward to seeing it.” He kisses her shoulder.
“Okay, Okay!” Brendon wiggles beneath Gerard, making as if to sit up.
Pinning Brendon in place with a leg across her thighs he says, “Hey! Would you do something for me?”
“Ohhhkaaay…” Brendon says warily, her hand resting easily at the back of Gerard’s neck.
“Um, or I guess--would you not do something for me? I mean…could you not take a shower tonight?” He pulls her closer still, nosing at her throat.
“Uh…I guess so…” She shrugs and even though he’s got his eyes closed he can sense her bemusement.
“It’s just, you smell so fuckin’ good, you know? And Christ only knows when I’ll see you again, get to be with you like this, and I just…I think it would be really hot to be with you all night, in a theatre full of people and know that…”
Brendon snorts out a laugh, “To know that this is what I smell like when I've spent five hours in a car and then come so hard I can’t feel my legs from the waist down? Maybe I should bottle it! Freshly Fucked! by Brendon. Screw all this band bullshit. That’s where the big money is!” She’s laughing full out now, and hugging Gerard. He’s still got his face buried in her neck, and she can tell he’s embarrassed. “Fine, I won’t shower. Geez. The things I do to make you happy.” She slurps a messy kiss against his temple, then wrinkles her nose. “But, you? Really should shower. Now, please!” She pulls away from him and there's an unpleasant sticky noise where sweat has pooled between thier skin.
“Point taken.” Gerard stands and stretches and Brendon doesn’t even try to hide her appraising glance. Yawning and scratching a hand through his hair, Gerard shuffles to the bathroom. Brendon sits up and shifts through the pile of discarded clothing on the floor for her bra and thong. She slips them on and heads over to her luggage.
* * *
Gerard emerges from the bathroom fully clothed and in a cloud of steam. His humming ends abruptly and he stops short, openly ogling Brendon. She’s got one foot up on a desk chair, leg bent, and fastening her seamed stocking to her black lacey garter. “Holy shit!” He exclaims before crossing the room and pulling Brendon to him, kissing her thoroughly.
“Down boy,” Brendon’s laugh is musical and light. “We got places to be!” She dances out of his hold and slips her feet into the shoes she’d bought with Spencer. She cocks her hip and throws both arms in the air in a kind of tah-dah gesture and Gerard laughs and claps. He moves his index finger in a circling motion, and Brendon makes a slow swivel, letting him appreciate her outfit from all angles.
“You like?” She asks, smoothing down the ruffles on her dress and sliding a hand across the close, boned bodice in an absent, unconscious gesture.
“I definitely like!” Gerard hugs her close and rains small, pecking kisses across her bare shoulders.
Tipping her head back, Brendon laughs again before fixing him with a mock serious glare. “Okay Sailor, now it’s your turn. Show me the goods, yeah?” She puts one hand on her hip and with the other makes the same circling gesture he’d made to her. Gerard laughs but acquiesces, spinning slowly while Brendon wolf whistles. “Nice, very nice,” she purrs, coming up behind him and giving his ass a quick squeeze. She turns Gerard to face her and he kisses her lightly. “Although, I feel I’ve seen these before.” She runs a hand down the side of Gerard’s trousers. “That was really what was behind The Black Parade, right? Just a way to make sure you’re never lacking in formal wear?” They both laugh and Brendon runs her fingers across the brass buttons of Gerard’s waist coat.
“What can I say? Ya got me.” Gerard just shrugs and kisses her again.
Brendon breaks the kiss, and straightens his bright red tie. She loops an arm around his waist and turns them both to face the long mirror over top of the dresser. “We? Look fuckin’ hot. Let’s go get ‘em tiger!” They start towards the door and Brendon stops to pick up her evening bag.
“Damn straight. We are fuckin’ hot!” Gerard laugh is rusty and genuine as he takes her hand and opens the hotel room door for her. He slips his cell phone out of his pocket and brings it to his ear. “Gotta call Worm, tell him we’re ready to head out. He should be in the lobby all ready. I think the rest of the guys are gonna meet us there.”
“Cool.” As soon as Gerard’s finished on the phone, Brendon slips her arm around Gerard’s waist and they head to the elevator. “Hey, is that something in your pocket or are you just really happy to see me?” She laughs when her hip grazes a flat and rectangular object in Gerard’s vest pocket.
Gerard tips his head back and laughs, pushing the elevator call button. “Well, I am happy to see you. Very, very happy, actually.” He graces Brendon with a comical leer and a slow shimmy of his hips across her thigh before he continues. “But there is something in my pocket. I forgot. Here, it’s for you.” He takes out a small gold box, and Brendon’s eyes widen in delighted surprise.
“Ooooh! I love presents!” She unabashedly makes grabby hands, and Gerard places the box in her outstretched palms just as the elevator doors open. The couple steps inside, and Brendon takes the lid off the box. “Oh my God! It’s so cute!” She pecks a kiss to his cheek. “I love it! Thank you!”
“I know it’s not Disney, or pink, but there was this store in the Milan airport and I saw it and I thought of you.” He takes the pendant from her and Brendon holds her hair out of the way so Gerard can fasten it around her neck.
Brendon’s smile is soft as her fingers brush against the shimmering necklace; Hello Kitty! dressed like a ram and bearing the astrological sign Aries. “You thought of me?” She says softly, and bites at her lip, keeping her eyes on the pendant.
“I always think of you, Queen Bee,” Gerard answers, equally as softly, kissing the back of her neck and letting her hair fall into place.
Resting against Gerard’s shoulder she sighs contentedly, before suddenly turning to face him. “Wait a minute! I don’t think I’ve ever told you when my birthday is. How did you know I’m an Aries?” Brendon crosses her arms and raises an accusing eyebrow at Gerard. “Gerard Way! Did you fucking Google me?”
Gerard’s cheeks flush with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. “Um…maybe?”
“Oh my God!” Brendon covers her eyes and, staring at Gerard through her fingers, says rather plaintively, “I hope you didn’t find anything too embarrassing!”
“You have your own Wikipedia page!” Gerard supplies brightly. “And about thirty thousand fan pages! Mostly people think you’re a sweetheart.” He kisses her temple and smiles. “Oh yeah, and smokin’ hot.”
“Well,” Brendon huffs as they reach the lobby, “It’s good to know no one on the internet is wrong!”
Gerard tilts his head back and laughs before grabbing her hand and twining their fingers together, crossing the lobby to where Worm is waiting for them.
* * *
They exit the limo in the staging area behind the auditorium and Brendon waves when she catches Frank’s eye. “Hey Brendon, you’re lookin’ pretty fuckin’ hot!” Frank whistles and leers exaggeratedly at her.
“Thanks. Glad to see you put on a clean sweatshirt. Your mom must be so proud!” Brendon elbows him good naturedly and makes a show of eyeing up his rumpled outfit.
Frank high fives Gerard and then turns his attention back to Brendon, “Hey, motherfucker! My mom loves this hoodie! It’s her favorite.”
“Yeah, well, good thing you have this token female to make you all look good!” Brendon swivels her hips and traces her hands, palm flat, across her stomach and everyone laughs.The rest of the band mumbles their hellos and wave awkwardly before Worm escorts them off to the press area.
“This is Jimmy, he’ll show you to your seat while I do,” Gerard motions to the TV cameras and reporters flanking the red carpet, “that.” He squeezes her hand and smiles into her eyes.
Puzzled, Brendon smiles at the burly security guard and asks, “What about, like Alicia and Jamia? I thought they…”
Gerard lets out a short giggle, and says “Nope, just you. All you.”
“Oh,” Brendon can’t help but feel somewhat relieved. She had never been very good at befriending other girls. When she was a kid they had been cliquey and mean. Then when puberty had hit, they’d been cliquey and mean and jealous. And now that she was the lead singer of a successful band they were cliquey, mean, jealous and suspicious. She always felt uncomfortable around groups of other women, like she was on display and being judged; a heifer at the county fair. “Okay then!” She smiles brightly and waves at Gerard, turning to go into the theatre after Jimmy’s lead.
Tugging on Brendon’s trailing fingers, Gerard pulls her close. Unable to stop his free hand from tangling in the still fascinatingly new long brown curls at her shoulders, he kisses Brendon--brief, but still full and lip-stingingly wonderful. Flashes pop as photographers snap pictures, and email them to the wire services. In no time at all the internet is abuzz with photos of what is clearly Gerard Way kissing the hell out of a woman with long dark hair. The picture is more than three quarters Gerard, the woman obscured by his body. Speculation that Gerard may have gotten back together with Lyn-Z begins, while others insist it’s just dumb ol’Eliza. And a small, and quickly dismissed, group swear the mystery woman looks an awful lot like Brendon Urie.
* * *
To no one’s surprise, My Chem wins nothing. Afterwards they all manage to get into the record company’s limo within a reasonable amount of time, with minimal wrangling and effort. Frank and Ray have spent the entire awards show drinking in the lobby bar with some of the guys from Foo Fighters, and are loose limbed and puppy sprawling all over every one else, much to Bob’s amusement and Mikey’s horror at pointy elbows to the ribs. Brendon laughs, petting the soft fall of Frank’s hair where his head is resting against her thigh, and leans in to kiss Gerard.
“Oh my god! Get a room!” Mikey throws his hands up in frustration.
Gerard wriggles his eyebrows at his brother and says, “We got one. Maybe we should head back there and let you losers deal with the baby kissin’?”
“Now, if we did that, you’d all miss out on your opportunity to have your way with the party girl!” Brendon’s laugh is too loud in the close quarters of the limo. Mikey’s face turns ashen and pale, and the rest of the band coughs awkwardly and avoids looking at her.
“Brendon! Jesus!” Gerard’s voice is a low embarrassed hiss.
“Oh my God! I was just kidding!” Huffing indignantly, Brendon untangles herself from Gerard’s lap and flings herself onto the seat beside Bob, curling into his warmth. “Hi Bob!” She says brightly.
Bob smiles and kisses the top of her head. “Hiya, Brendon!” Five pairs of eyes widen in surprise at Bob’s enthusiastic greeting. “What?” he says to them, narrowing his blue eyes. They all shrug and shuffle against each other, and the awkwardness builds.
“So, like, you know you’re in a band full of assholes, right?” Brendon says conversationally.
Patting her leg reassuringly Bob says, equally as conversationally, “Preaching to the choir, sweetheart.”
Brendon leans her head against his shoulder and narrows her eyes, staring at Gerard across the limo. “Chicago boys have the best manners.” She says pointedly, and they ride the rest of the way to the after party in silence.
Gerard extends a hand to help Brendon out of the limousine and she clatters to her feet. He keeps their fingers laced together, and lights up a cigarette with his free hand. Brendon kisses his cheek and says, “I was only joking, you know.”
“Why do you do that?” Gerard stops and looks at her, wide eyed and earnest. “Like, whenever you have an audience, you flip a switch. And tah-dah! It’s like instant party girl. It’s not…it’s not fucking necessary, Brendon. And I just…” he shrugs his shoulder in a frustrated gesture, and flicks the ash off the end of his smoke.
“Jesus. Okay. I’m sorry! I’ll save the gang bang jokes for my own band!” She bites her lip and tries to free her hand from Gerard’s. “I’m a performer Gerard. It’s what I do, it’s who I am. Maybe you can save it for the stage but…yeah okay, so that wasn’t funny. I got it. Just fucking drop it, okay?” She finishes disagreeably.
Gerard stubs out the butt cigarette as they reach the building’s entrance. “I gotta go say hi and thank you to the record company people. I’ll be back.” He kisses her cheek and drops her hand, and following Worm through the crowd, disappears in a sea of tuxes and evening gowns.
Standing there blinking stupidly, Brendon starts to feel the junior high school dance awkward self-consciousness she thought she'd killed and burried years ago creeping up on her. She doesn’t know anyone here except the guys in My Chem, and they’ve all mysteriously taken off for parts unknown. So she stands by the wall, rubbing her bare arms and chewing nervously on her bottom lip for about a minute before she snags a glass of champagne and thinking fuck that! Tossing her hair and affecting a pretty pout, Brendon's hips sway as she slips into the crowd, intent on finding some fun, with or without Gerard.
Appearing out of nowhere, Frank says, “Hey pretty lady! How’s your funky chicken?” before nudging at Brendon’s hip with his elbow and cocking a thumb towards the packed dance floor, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Brendon smiles and gives Frank a little hug, careful of the champagne flute in her hand, then tips her glass towards him in acknowledgement. “I? Am a fucking awesome dancer, I’ll have you know.”
“Right on! Let’s go!” Frank catches her by the wrist, and Brendon trails behind him, continuing to sip her drink.
Stopping to set the nearly empty glass on a low table, Brendon puts her hand on her hip and graces Frank with a comically over the top glare. “Okay, short stuff if this is some half assed ploy to get all up in my boobs, I should tell you now your plan is flawed and made of fail.”
Frank glances from Brendon’s ample, eyelevel cleavage to her face and says, “Who me?” but can’t contain his naughty giggle.
“Yes you!” Brendon grinds her index finger into his breast bone. “My boobs are not a shelf, or pillows for you to rest your pretty little weary head on, okay?”
Feigning sadness, Frank juts out his lip and says, “Okay, all right, fine. But they look so soft and comfy. My face might accidentally, you know, make contact. I can’t help it. You’re a mean lady, Brendon Urie. ”
“And you are a perv.” But she’s laughing and leading the way to the dance floor. “And my knee might accidentally, you know, make contact…with your balls. Just sayin’.” Brendon twirls Frank laughingly away from her and is about to join him when she feels the slight pressure of fingers at her elbow.
“Brendon?”
Glancing behind her, Brendon’s gaze lands on a tiny, pierced man, wearing a black turtle neck and dress pants. His eyes are ice blue, and lines--whether from amusement or worry--fan out around them. “Yes?” She says, letting go of Frank’s fingers and watching as he’s swallowed by the enthusiastic Reprise crowd.
“Hey, I’m Brian Schechter.” He reaches out his hand, and Brendon is oddly charmed by his good manners.
“Oh, Brian! Gee talks about you all the time! It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Brendon moves in to hug Brian and is stopped short by his hands, firm on her forearms. Just like Mikey. She bites the inside of her bottom lip, stepping back to take his extended hand in hers instead. She snags a full champagne flute from a server passing by, grateful for having something in her hands, and pastes on her best and brightest smile.
Brian’s stare is unsettling and Brendon feels more self conscious than ever when he opens his mouth to speak. “Yeah, Gerard talks about you, too. And, well, I’ve see your videos on Buzznet.”
“Um, yeah. That was embarrassing. I didn’t mean to…”
Whatever Brendon was about to apologize for is lost when Brian keeps talking, “So, look, I’m not afraid to be the bad guy, be the asshole. I have the band's interests to protect. I have Gerard’s best interests to protect. God knows he can’t seem to do that for himself, these days. I don’t know what you want from him--what you’re expecting to get out of all of this. I know your band is working on a new album. And fucking with Gerard? Is a pretty lousy publicity stunt.”
Gaping, Brendon interrupts, “I’m not… I would never…” She couldn’t be more shocked if Brian had reached over and slapped her.
“I’ve seen your behavior, heard about your stunts.” His eyes flick between Brendon’s face and the glass of champagne now clutched tightly in her fingers. “And I will not hesitate to bounce you the fuck out on your perky little ass. He needs to stay straight. To stay sober. I absolutely will not let anyone fuck with that. Are we clear? You endanger his sobriety? You get me in your face.”
Brendon blinks and nods, jerky and mechanical. She’s fighting back tears and too hurt to say anything in reply. No one’s ever spoken to her like that. Brian doesn’t know her. He doesn’t know anything real about her, at all. But he seems to have made up his mind about her. She looks around the room, over Brian’s head, searching for Gerard, for Frank, for anyone to help her explain, to make Brian understand. Instead she takes in the cold fury in his blue eyes, the straight line seriousness of his mouth, and flees.
* * *
“Hey, Queen Bee? Couldn’t wait to get me all to your self huh?” Gerard chuckles as he steps into the hotel room. At the party, he’d come back from glad handing the Reprise execs and been unable to find Brendon. Worm had said he’d seen her getting into a taxi and Gerard had done the same, figuring she’d gone back to the hotel. Smirking knowingly, Gerard steps over the messy pile of Brendon’s hastily removed dress, stockings, and shoes, and follows the sound of running water to the hotel suite’s bathroom. "D'you start without me?"
By the time he reaches the door he’s removed his own shoes, neck tie, and vest, and is working on the buttons of his dress shirt when he stops short in the doorway. “Brendon? What are you doing?”
Clad in the clothes she’d arrived in-polo shirt, jeans, and sneakers-Brendon is scrubbing at her face with a wash cloth. She looks at his reflection in the mirror, grey, mascara smudged tears trailing stark against her pale cheeks. “I’m going home.”
“What? Brendon? I don’t…” Gerard shakes his head back and forth, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
Brendon swallows thickly and pushes past him. She gathers up her dress and the rest of her clothes, shoving them haphazardly into her garment bag. “Why’d you think you had to lie to me?” She heaves a shuddering sigh and looks back at Gerard. Her eyes are narrowed and Gerard can plainly read the hurt anger on her face. “Why’d you have to be such a fucking…guy? Really, you could have just told me you wanted to fuck me. I would have been fine with that. You didn’t have to make me any promises, Gerard. You didn't have to tell me what you thought I wanted to hear.” She dashes stray tears across her cheek with the back of her hand and grasps the handle of her suitcase.
“Brendon, what?” He crosses the room and puts a tentative hand on her shoulder. “No really, what the fuck are you talking about?”
Angrily shoving away from his touch she spits out, “Ask your fucking minions. Jesus, you didn’t even have the guts to tell me yourself. Nice work.” She flings open the hotel room door and stalks into the hall--her belongings a messy, awkward jumble in her arms.
Gerard follows a beat behind, almost chasing her down the hall to the elevator, where Brendon pushes the call button. “Brendon, come on, talk to me, okay?”
“I’m leaving, Gerard.” Her voice brakes then and she inhales, staving off a fresh bought of tears. “It’s for the best.”
Confusion and anger flash in Gerard’s eyes as her grabs her by the shoulders and turns her to face him. “I seriously don’t know what’s going on. What happened? What did I do? Don’t leave!” The elevator dings and Brendon moves to get into the carriage, tries to free herself from Gerard’s touch.
“Let go of me.” Brendon says flatly, avoiding his eyes.
Gerard shakes her a little, trying to get her to look at him. “No!”
“You’re hurting me!” Brendon hisses, eyes narrowed.
Letting out a sharp, shocked noise, Gerard brings his hands quickly up and away from her, and Brendon jabs at the door close button, disappearing into the descending elevator.
Gerard’s frozen to the spot, staring at his still out stretched hands, wondering what the hell happened. He blinks, and shakes himself, trying to clear his head. Clenching his hands into fists he curses under his breath and throws his weight at the fire door leading to the stairs. He takes the steps two at a time and ends up in the lobby in enough time to see Brendon heading into the revolving door and out to where the valet is waiting with her car. “Brendon! Wait! Please!” he calls, frantic.
Throwing her bags into the back seat, Brendon opens the driver’s side door, and looks straight at Gerard over top of the Mercedes. “I can’t.” She shakes her head from side to side, and there’s something so sad and so hurt about the expression in her eyes that Gerard feels a cold metal jolt to his spine, stopping him short.
Brendon flings herself behind the wheel and drives away.
* * *
“Hello?”
Gerard coughs, nervous and says, “Uh, yeah. Hi. Can I speak to Brendon?”
The man on the other end of the phone pauses, then says, “Not if this is Gerard Way. The call display says GeeWay. Are you Gerard Way?” The voice is cold and accusatory.
“Yeah.”
“Well then, no. You can’t talk to Brendon. Not now.”
Gerard’s brow creases in frustration, and he stares at his phone for a beat before bringing it up to his face and speaking again, “Look, I don’t know who the hell you are but…”
The voice cuts him off, mid-sentence, “I’m Spencer fucking Smith, you asshole. You made Brendon fucking cry. I’ve only ever seen her cry, like, twice, ever. That is so not cool, man. So, no, you definitely can’t speak to Brendon.”
“Look, Spencer, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but I need to talk to Brendon, now. I have to explain…I just…put her on the fucking phone, okay?” Gerard’s voice is rising, and the ball of ice bouncing around his rib cage settles low in the pit of his stomach.
There’s a peevish snicker and Spencer replies, “Calm the fuck down, Princess. She doesn’t need your bullshit, right now. I’m sure she’ll call you, when she’s ready.” And then the line goes silent.
Gerard spends a full minute staring in seething anger at his cell. The fucker hung up! He briefly entertains the notion of calling back, but gives up that idea, because Spencer will probably just answer and then hang up on him again. “Fuck!” Gerard yells and hurls the tiny phone as hard as he can against the wall. It makes a nasty, cracking noise and the battery springs free, bouncing back to land at his foot.
Twenty four hours later, with Mikey’s Sidekick in his hand, and an old email with Brendon’s cell number pulled up on his laptop, Gerard tries again. The phone rings repeatedly and Gerard bounces his knee up and down, teeth tugging on the nail of his pinky finger. He’s nervous she won’t answer, that it will go to voice mail. And he’s terrified she will.
“Hey!
“Hi, Gerard,” Brendon finally answers. Her voice is stretched thin, completely lacking its usual buoyant amusement.
Running a palm over the knee of his jeans, Gerard says, before thinking about what he’s going to say if he’s lucky enough for Brendon to ever want to talk to him again, “You left.”
Brendon exhales a long sigh, “You let me.”
“Brendon,” Gerard licks his lips, squeezing the phone tight and, balling his free hand into a fist, punches lightly at the sofa back. “You can’t keep…” He coughs, clearing the cigarette smoke and frustration from his voice. “We need to talk about this.”
“I know, I know. Just…not now, not yet, okay?” Her voice is small, her words chosen with care.
Gerard sets his jaw and nodding, says firmly, “I’m gonna come out there. I need to see you…”
“No!” Brendon interrupts him. “No, you can’t. We’re going to England.”
“Then I’ll come to England!” He flings his arm out, gesturing in frustration.
Brendon’s breathing is loud in his ear before she finally says, “Look. Just don’t, okay? I’ll call you when I get back. I promise.”
“Promise?” Gerard swallows heavily and watches his fingers scrabble over the sofa upholstery.
“Yeah, I promise.”
Gerard sighs into the phone and says, “Well, then I’ll believe you. Brendon I…”
Her voice is high and rushed and she says, “I’ll call you when we get back. I gotta go,” then hangs up.
Blinking rapidly, Gerard stares at the phone, sets it down carefully on the coffee table, and then stands. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, walks to the bathroom, and pukes his guts up like he hasn’t done in years.
* * *
“Oh shit!” Mikey and Frank are cackling in the kitchenette at the front of the bus, gathered around Mikey’s lap top. Their laughter is that uniquely male brand, reserved for Jack Ass, The Three Stooges, and Japanese game shows.
“Gee, c’mere!” Frank’s voice is high and carries through the bus.
Looking up from his sketch pad, Gerard tilts his head, considering. He’s not sure he’s really in the mood for the latest installment of When Good Pets Go Bad or When Animals Attack, XXVII. Sighing, he throws the notebook onto the sagging couch and heads out of the back lounge.
“Yeah?” He says, eyebrow raised and hip leaning against the doorjamb.
Mikey looks up at his brother, eyes wide, “Shit dude, your girlfriend got cold cocked!”
“My wha…got…” Gerard steps towards the table and edges in between Frank and Mikey so he can see exactly what it is they’re so interested in.
“Brendon!” Frank points at the screen as Mikey hits the Replay button on the Youtube video. “She took a bottle to the face when her band was playing at a festival, in England. It knocked her out!” His eyes are wide and his head swivels from looking at Gerard to the computer screen.
“What the fuck!” Gerard exclaims as the clip plays. “Shit! Jesus, is she okay? When did this happen? Why the fuck are you two laughing?”
Looking sheepish, Frank turns to lay a comforting hand on Gerard’ shoulder. “It happened this afternoon. She’s okay. She gets back up, see? I really think she’s okay.”
Standing up, heart banging against his ribs, Gerard pulls out his new cell phone and punches Brendon’s number, chewing the inside of his cheek.
“Brendon’s phone.” A deep voice, blessedly not Spencer Smith’s, answers.
Anxiously running his fingers through his hair Gerard says, “Fuck, please tell me she’s okay!”
There’s a slight pause, “Um…yeah. She’s fine. Black eye, and we have to keep waking her up to make sure she doesn’t have a concussion or whatever but…uh…who is this?”
“Gee. It’s Gerard.” He hops up onto the small countertop beside the sink. “I just saw the fucking thing on Youtube. You’re sure she’s okay?”
“Oh, hey. This is Ryan.” Ryan sounds surprised to hear from Gerard. “Yeah, she says she’s fine. The doctors say she’s fine. She’s bitchy and whiney, and uncooperative so I think she’s fine.”
Huffing out relieved laughter Gerard asks, “When did it happen?”
“During our set, this afternoon--the fuckers. Who does that? To a girl? It was a glass bottle, full of rocks!” Ryan’s voice rises with renewed anger.
“Fuck,” Gerard hisses. “They could have killed her or something.”
Ryan grunts in agreement. “No fucking kidding. So, you wanna talk to Bren, right?”
“No! No, I uh…I just…kinda freaked. I just wanted to make sure she’s all right. Don’t wanna, you know, bug her.”
“Sure, yeah. I think she’s sleeping a little now anyway. Um, she’s going home tomorrow, you want her flight info?”
Fidgeting, Gerard considers before answering, “Yeah, yeah, that would be good.” He shuffles through the papers and detritus on the counter top for a pen and scribbles the information Ryan gives him onto his arm. “Thanks, man.”
Ryan’s shrug is almost audible, “No problem. Later.” They hang up and Gerard takes out his cigarettes, lighting up. He’s sitting on the counter top, watching the smoke he exhales licking out across the small space. He has flights to book, and he really should let Brian know what's going on, but for the moment Gerard is content to just sit there and smoke.
Mikey and Frank move on to some other site, and are cackling away to themselves when Bob bursts into the kitchen, walking right up to Gerard. “Dude. Dude! I so do not need to know what your girlfriend’s boobs look like, okay? Seriously, man.” Not meeting Gerard’s eyes, Bob throws a sketchbook down on the countertop and turns on his heel, stalking back out of the room. Gerard raises an eyebrow when he hears Bob mumble, “I think I liked you better when you drew, like, dragons and shit.” Frank covers his mouth to smother his giggles and Gerard smiles sheepishly, rubbing at his pink tinged cheek with one hand. He looks down at the open book, biting back the smile that threatens at the sight of the pen and ink drawings of Brendon filling the entire page. He sighs and thinks to himself that it could be worse; he could have written Mr. Brendon Urie all over it instead.
continue to 5B
Author: cloudlessclimes
Rated: NC-17
Pairing:Brendon Urie/Gerard Way
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one.
Summary: Brendon Urie is and has always been a girl. She meets Gerard Way. Things happen.
Feedback: Is a wonderful thing.
Notes/Warnings/FYI type things: HET!!, what can be perceived as uninformed consent, underage drinking, drug use, romance, fluff, Tom Conrad, Jon Walker, Mikey Way, and Brian Schechter are not the nicest people ever, AU, liberal abuse of canon; this fic contains all of these things. If they're not your things, don't read.
Title comes from a song of the same name by long defunct semi-obscure Canadian band The Watchmen. The odd and somewhat nonsensical lyrics can be found here
Thanks to the awesome queen_geek, tweedle_, fallingfortruth and lordgroovius and spleenjournal for beta-ing, listening to me kvetch, holding my hand, and providing paperbags to breathe into, both virtual and actual.
1 2A 2B 3A 3B 4 5A 5B
“So, yeah, I would have been here an hour ago if it wasn’t for this stupid fucking L.A. traffic,” Brendon huffs into her cell phone as she trundles her rolling suitcase down the hotel hallway, a garment bag hanging from the fingers of her other hand, and the phone tucked between her cheek and shoulder. She stops in front of Gerard’s room and her rant about traffic is interrupted when Gerard throws the door wide and drags her roughly to him, kissing her hard and knocking her cell phone and the garment bag to the floor.
“Fuck, your hair it’s so…” Gerard voice is a murmur against her lips, one hand cupping her jaw and tilting her face into the kiss, while the other winds in the mess of loose curls at her shoulders.
Brendon giggles and says, “Not real. Well, I mean it’s real, I guess, but it’s not mine. You like?” She mumbles as Gerard continues to lick at her mouth.
“Fuck, yeah.” Panting, he leans his forehead against hers.
“Hi Gerard,” Brendon’s smile is wide, and her laugh spins out through her shaking shoulders, but her voice is carefully conversational. “Can I come in?”
“Shit. Yeah, yeah. Of course.” Gerard’s eyes, lust-dazed and bright green, blink slowly open as he realizes they’re standing in the hotel hallway, room door wide open. His hand trails through Brendon’s hair to squeeze at her shoulder, mashing down the popped collar of her mauve polo shirt. “C’mon in.” He wraps his arm around her and takes her suitcase in his other hand.
She ducks down to pick up her phone and dress and then snuggles into Gerard’s side, giggling happily as they walk into the hotel room. “Mmm…c’mere,” Brendon crooks a finger at Gerard when she hip checks the door closed, dumping the garment bag on a chair and dropping everything else.
Gerard steps over her suitcase and fits himself against her, one hand trailing palm flat against her stomach, rucking up her polo shirt. “This okay?” He asks in between nipping at her mouth.
Brendon raises her arms above her head, making it easy for Gerard to pull her shirt up and off. “Totally. I mean, if we have time?”
His hands trace the contour of her rib cage and Gerard bites Brendon’s bottom lip, “Gonna make fuckin’ time. Jesus, honey.” He makes an appreciative groan at the sight of the black, shell cupped, strapless demi-bra Brendon is wearing.
She smiles against his lips, absurdly pleased at his words, and shoves him back into the room, motioning for Gerard to be rid of his own t-shirt. They flop onto the sofa, hands busy undoing snaps and peeling back layers. Gerard stops long enough to pay special attention to the black lace thong Brendon bought special for tonight, but soon enough, they’re naked and writhing against one another. Brendon can feel the heat of Gerard’s erection against her stomach, and sighs at the sweet ache of wanting him.
Sliding his mouth across Brendon’s heated skin, Gerard pauses to snag one peaked nipple playfully between his teeth. Brendon groans and pants his name, tightening her hold on his hair. A leer crosses Gerard’s face as he flicks the point of his tongue across the areola of Brendon’s breast, then tracing the flavor of her skin across her sternum and over her belly, and swirling into the dip of her navel.
“Mmm,” Gerard pushes gently at the inside of Brendon’s thighs with his shoulders and settles with a satisfied groan between her legs. “This freckle? Right here?” he nips teasingly at the faint brown mark, just inside the crease of her thigh. “I fuckin’ dream about this freckle.” He says it softly and snorts out a laugh, his breath tickling over her sensitive skin and making Brendon shudder.
One hand fisted around a couch cushion and the other groping ineffectually at Gerard’s bare shoulder, Brendon manages a faint, “Oh yeah?” that fades under her gasp when Gerard’s tongue licks at the spot in question.
Chafing his stubbled chin across Brendon’s pubic bone, Gerard mutters, “If by dreaming I mean spending a lot of fuckin’ time in my bunk, rubbin’ one out.” Brendon laughs at that, shaky and breathless. Gerard’s mouth continues to explore her skin and she shifts beneath his attention. Her left leg slips from the cushions, and she braces herself, foot flat on the carpet, when Gerard licks between her legs, sucking her into his mouth.
“Gee?” She asks in a small voice, long lashes twitching against her cheeks.
“Mmm?” he says, looking up at her with eyes gone turbid and sleepy.
She gnaws on her bottom lip and runs her hand palm flat over the crown of her head. “Do, I mean…do you…like…doing…that?” Her cheeks flush a sweet pink as she flaps her hand, indicating Gerard’s position between her spread thighs.
“Shit yeah,” he says with enthusiasm. He brushes his cheek against the taut skin of her thighs and says, “I like everything. The way you feel.” He shifts a little, his tongue tip flicking over her clit, “The way you taste.” He continues with his inventory, inhaling deeply, and burying his nose between her legs. “And you smell so fuckin’ good.” Continuing to suck at her skin he mutters “You’re so damn wet, Bren. I make you so damn wet. Jesus. That’s so hot, you have no idea.” His hands are stroking behind her knees, making her pant and twist, arching into the sensation. “And the little noises you make? I think I like that most of all.”
Brendon can feel his silent laughter, and she swats at him, “I don’t make…noises,” She pants at the bend of her own elbow, just as Gerard quirks his tongue inside her, and she lets out a squeak that shifts and slides into a nasal whine. Gerard laughs against her, out loud now, and Brendon would kick him in the head if she wasn’t so busy panting and gasping ,and doing her best not to buck into the sensation of Gerard’s tongue inside her, or give into the need to grind into his face.
All of a sudden everything stops, and Brendon opens her clenched tight eyes to see Gerard staring at her, wide eyed with concern. “It just occurred to me…do you like it? I mean…you’ve done it…er had it done to you, before, right?” His hands stroke up and down the softly defined muscles of her legs.
Huffing for breath, Brendon shakes her bangs out of her eyes and says, “Um, yeah, I like it. It feels, it feels good. Really good. Um, yeah. Well, there’s you of course, and Audrey, um that one time…but uh, I guess I always…dated guys who were way more interested in getting off than, you know, getting me off.” Brendon’s facing the coffee table, and babbling in embarrassment.
Smacking a kiss just below her navel, Gerard says, “Yeah well maybe this guy gets off getting you off!” and proceeds to suck and lick enthusiastically.
“Asshole,” Brendon manages to exhale on a long breath, tipping her knee in and purposely knocking it against Gerard’s ear.
His laughter buzzes pleasantly against tender flesh and he mutters, “Nope. Not your asshole.” He slides his hands to stroke up her legs, until they’re kneading at her ample bottom. Spreading her gently, Gerard says, “This is,” before teasing his tongue between her cheeks and across the pucker there; licking and tasting.
“Holy shit!” Brendon yells, and clamps her hand across her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “That’s so dirty!” She rasps in a low voice behind her hand.
Gerard quirks an eyebrow in inquiry, but doesn’t stop the sure, steady swiping of his tongue. One hand slides around her thighs and he flicks at her clit with his thumb nail before twisting two fingers inside her, moving them to match the rhythm of his tongue stroking in and out.
“Oh!” Brendon’s thighs are shuddering, and she digs her fingertips into Gerard’s scalp, too overcome by ripples of sensation to still the bucking of her hips. She’s quivering and shaking, and pleasantly buzzed when Gerard gets up on his knees and shuffles up beside her, collapsing between Brendon and the back of the love seat. He kisses lazily at her neck and jaw, and Brendon wrinkles her nose when his lips kiss the corner of her mouth. But, she thinks if Gerard can put his mouth there then she can at least kiss him back.
They kiss, sloppy and languid, and Brendon is so happy and sated she thinks that she would be quite all right if she never moved again. “We should get dressed. Gotta go and lose a major award on national television.” Gerard says as he squeezes her hip and breathes softly against her cheek.
Brendon whines and snuggles into Gerard. “Don’t wanna. Stay here and make out with me instead.” She spreads her fingers wide, and runs her hands across Gerard’s back, scratching her nails-freshly manicured and painted a deep red-into his skin.
“Me either, but I’m sensing there’s a pretty hot dress over there,” he motions towards the chair where Brendon had set her garment bag. “And I gotta admit I’m kinda looking forward to seeing it.” He kisses her shoulder.
“Okay, Okay!” Brendon wiggles beneath Gerard, making as if to sit up.
Pinning Brendon in place with a leg across her thighs he says, “Hey! Would you do something for me?”
“Ohhhkaaay…” Brendon says warily, her hand resting easily at the back of Gerard’s neck.
“Um, or I guess--would you not do something for me? I mean…could you not take a shower tonight?” He pulls her closer still, nosing at her throat.
“Uh…I guess so…” She shrugs and even though he’s got his eyes closed he can sense her bemusement.
“It’s just, you smell so fuckin’ good, you know? And Christ only knows when I’ll see you again, get to be with you like this, and I just…I think it would be really hot to be with you all night, in a theatre full of people and know that…”
Brendon snorts out a laugh, “To know that this is what I smell like when I've spent five hours in a car and then come so hard I can’t feel my legs from the waist down? Maybe I should bottle it! Freshly Fucked! by Brendon. Screw all this band bullshit. That’s where the big money is!” She’s laughing full out now, and hugging Gerard. He’s still got his face buried in her neck, and she can tell he’s embarrassed. “Fine, I won’t shower. Geez. The things I do to make you happy.” She slurps a messy kiss against his temple, then wrinkles her nose. “But, you? Really should shower. Now, please!” She pulls away from him and there's an unpleasant sticky noise where sweat has pooled between thier skin.
“Point taken.” Gerard stands and stretches and Brendon doesn’t even try to hide her appraising glance. Yawning and scratching a hand through his hair, Gerard shuffles to the bathroom. Brendon sits up and shifts through the pile of discarded clothing on the floor for her bra and thong. She slips them on and heads over to her luggage.
* * *
Gerard emerges from the bathroom fully clothed and in a cloud of steam. His humming ends abruptly and he stops short, openly ogling Brendon. She’s got one foot up on a desk chair, leg bent, and fastening her seamed stocking to her black lacey garter. “Holy shit!” He exclaims before crossing the room and pulling Brendon to him, kissing her thoroughly.
“Down boy,” Brendon’s laugh is musical and light. “We got places to be!” She dances out of his hold and slips her feet into the shoes she’d bought with Spencer. She cocks her hip and throws both arms in the air in a kind of tah-dah gesture and Gerard laughs and claps. He moves his index finger in a circling motion, and Brendon makes a slow swivel, letting him appreciate her outfit from all angles.
“You like?” She asks, smoothing down the ruffles on her dress and sliding a hand across the close, boned bodice in an absent, unconscious gesture.
“I definitely like!” Gerard hugs her close and rains small, pecking kisses across her bare shoulders.
Tipping her head back, Brendon laughs again before fixing him with a mock serious glare. “Okay Sailor, now it’s your turn. Show me the goods, yeah?” She puts one hand on her hip and with the other makes the same circling gesture he’d made to her. Gerard laughs but acquiesces, spinning slowly while Brendon wolf whistles. “Nice, very nice,” she purrs, coming up behind him and giving his ass a quick squeeze. She turns Gerard to face her and he kisses her lightly. “Although, I feel I’ve seen these before.” She runs a hand down the side of Gerard’s trousers. “That was really what was behind The Black Parade, right? Just a way to make sure you’re never lacking in formal wear?” They both laugh and Brendon runs her fingers across the brass buttons of Gerard’s waist coat.
“What can I say? Ya got me.” Gerard just shrugs and kisses her again.
Brendon breaks the kiss, and straightens his bright red tie. She loops an arm around his waist and turns them both to face the long mirror over top of the dresser. “We? Look fuckin’ hot. Let’s go get ‘em tiger!” They start towards the door and Brendon stops to pick up her evening bag.
“Damn straight. We are fuckin’ hot!” Gerard laugh is rusty and genuine as he takes her hand and opens the hotel room door for her. He slips his cell phone out of his pocket and brings it to his ear. “Gotta call Worm, tell him we’re ready to head out. He should be in the lobby all ready. I think the rest of the guys are gonna meet us there.”
“Cool.” As soon as Gerard’s finished on the phone, Brendon slips her arm around Gerard’s waist and they head to the elevator. “Hey, is that something in your pocket or are you just really happy to see me?” She laughs when her hip grazes a flat and rectangular object in Gerard’s vest pocket.
Gerard tips his head back and laughs, pushing the elevator call button. “Well, I am happy to see you. Very, very happy, actually.” He graces Brendon with a comical leer and a slow shimmy of his hips across her thigh before he continues. “But there is something in my pocket. I forgot. Here, it’s for you.” He takes out a small gold box, and Brendon’s eyes widen in delighted surprise.
“Ooooh! I love presents!” She unabashedly makes grabby hands, and Gerard places the box in her outstretched palms just as the elevator doors open. The couple steps inside, and Brendon takes the lid off the box. “Oh my God! It’s so cute!” She pecks a kiss to his cheek. “I love it! Thank you!”
“I know it’s not Disney, or pink, but there was this store in the Milan airport and I saw it and I thought of you.” He takes the pendant from her and Brendon holds her hair out of the way so Gerard can fasten it around her neck.
Brendon’s smile is soft as her fingers brush against the shimmering necklace; Hello Kitty! dressed like a ram and bearing the astrological sign Aries. “You thought of me?” She says softly, and bites at her lip, keeping her eyes on the pendant.
“I always think of you, Queen Bee,” Gerard answers, equally as softly, kissing the back of her neck and letting her hair fall into place.
Resting against Gerard’s shoulder she sighs contentedly, before suddenly turning to face him. “Wait a minute! I don’t think I’ve ever told you when my birthday is. How did you know I’m an Aries?” Brendon crosses her arms and raises an accusing eyebrow at Gerard. “Gerard Way! Did you fucking Google me?”
Gerard’s cheeks flush with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. “Um…maybe?”
“Oh my God!” Brendon covers her eyes and, staring at Gerard through her fingers, says rather plaintively, “I hope you didn’t find anything too embarrassing!”
“You have your own Wikipedia page!” Gerard supplies brightly. “And about thirty thousand fan pages! Mostly people think you’re a sweetheart.” He kisses her temple and smiles. “Oh yeah, and smokin’ hot.”
“Well,” Brendon huffs as they reach the lobby, “It’s good to know no one on the internet is wrong!”
Gerard tilts his head back and laughs before grabbing her hand and twining their fingers together, crossing the lobby to where Worm is waiting for them.
* * *
They exit the limo in the staging area behind the auditorium and Brendon waves when she catches Frank’s eye. “Hey Brendon, you’re lookin’ pretty fuckin’ hot!” Frank whistles and leers exaggeratedly at her.
“Thanks. Glad to see you put on a clean sweatshirt. Your mom must be so proud!” Brendon elbows him good naturedly and makes a show of eyeing up his rumpled outfit.
Frank high fives Gerard and then turns his attention back to Brendon, “Hey, motherfucker! My mom loves this hoodie! It’s her favorite.”
“Yeah, well, good thing you have this token female to make you all look good!” Brendon swivels her hips and traces her hands, palm flat, across her stomach and everyone laughs.The rest of the band mumbles their hellos and wave awkwardly before Worm escorts them off to the press area.
“This is Jimmy, he’ll show you to your seat while I do,” Gerard motions to the TV cameras and reporters flanking the red carpet, “that.” He squeezes her hand and smiles into her eyes.
Puzzled, Brendon smiles at the burly security guard and asks, “What about, like Alicia and Jamia? I thought they…”
Gerard lets out a short giggle, and says “Nope, just you. All you.”
“Oh,” Brendon can’t help but feel somewhat relieved. She had never been very good at befriending other girls. When she was a kid they had been cliquey and mean. Then when puberty had hit, they’d been cliquey and mean and jealous. And now that she was the lead singer of a successful band they were cliquey, mean, jealous and suspicious. She always felt uncomfortable around groups of other women, like she was on display and being judged; a heifer at the county fair. “Okay then!” She smiles brightly and waves at Gerard, turning to go into the theatre after Jimmy’s lead.
Tugging on Brendon’s trailing fingers, Gerard pulls her close. Unable to stop his free hand from tangling in the still fascinatingly new long brown curls at her shoulders, he kisses Brendon--brief, but still full and lip-stingingly wonderful. Flashes pop as photographers snap pictures, and email them to the wire services. In no time at all the internet is abuzz with photos of what is clearly Gerard Way kissing the hell out of a woman with long dark hair. The picture is more than three quarters Gerard, the woman obscured by his body. Speculation that Gerard may have gotten back together with Lyn-Z begins, while others insist it’s just dumb ol’Eliza. And a small, and quickly dismissed, group swear the mystery woman looks an awful lot like Brendon Urie.
* * *
To no one’s surprise, My Chem wins nothing. Afterwards they all manage to get into the record company’s limo within a reasonable amount of time, with minimal wrangling and effort. Frank and Ray have spent the entire awards show drinking in the lobby bar with some of the guys from Foo Fighters, and are loose limbed and puppy sprawling all over every one else, much to Bob’s amusement and Mikey’s horror at pointy elbows to the ribs. Brendon laughs, petting the soft fall of Frank’s hair where his head is resting against her thigh, and leans in to kiss Gerard.
“Oh my god! Get a room!” Mikey throws his hands up in frustration.
Gerard wriggles his eyebrows at his brother and says, “We got one. Maybe we should head back there and let you losers deal with the baby kissin’?”
“Now, if we did that, you’d all miss out on your opportunity to have your way with the party girl!” Brendon’s laugh is too loud in the close quarters of the limo. Mikey’s face turns ashen and pale, and the rest of the band coughs awkwardly and avoids looking at her.
“Brendon! Jesus!” Gerard’s voice is a low embarrassed hiss.
“Oh my God! I was just kidding!” Huffing indignantly, Brendon untangles herself from Gerard’s lap and flings herself onto the seat beside Bob, curling into his warmth. “Hi Bob!” She says brightly.
Bob smiles and kisses the top of her head. “Hiya, Brendon!” Five pairs of eyes widen in surprise at Bob’s enthusiastic greeting. “What?” he says to them, narrowing his blue eyes. They all shrug and shuffle against each other, and the awkwardness builds.
“So, like, you know you’re in a band full of assholes, right?” Brendon says conversationally.
Patting her leg reassuringly Bob says, equally as conversationally, “Preaching to the choir, sweetheart.”
Brendon leans her head against his shoulder and narrows her eyes, staring at Gerard across the limo. “Chicago boys have the best manners.” She says pointedly, and they ride the rest of the way to the after party in silence.
Gerard extends a hand to help Brendon out of the limousine and she clatters to her feet. He keeps their fingers laced together, and lights up a cigarette with his free hand. Brendon kisses his cheek and says, “I was only joking, you know.”
“Why do you do that?” Gerard stops and looks at her, wide eyed and earnest. “Like, whenever you have an audience, you flip a switch. And tah-dah! It’s like instant party girl. It’s not…it’s not fucking necessary, Brendon. And I just…” he shrugs his shoulder in a frustrated gesture, and flicks the ash off the end of his smoke.
“Jesus. Okay. I’m sorry! I’ll save the gang bang jokes for my own band!” She bites her lip and tries to free her hand from Gerard’s. “I’m a performer Gerard. It’s what I do, it’s who I am. Maybe you can save it for the stage but…yeah okay, so that wasn’t funny. I got it. Just fucking drop it, okay?” She finishes disagreeably.
Gerard stubs out the butt cigarette as they reach the building’s entrance. “I gotta go say hi and thank you to the record company people. I’ll be back.” He kisses her cheek and drops her hand, and following Worm through the crowd, disappears in a sea of tuxes and evening gowns.
Standing there blinking stupidly, Brendon starts to feel the junior high school dance awkward self-consciousness she thought she'd killed and burried years ago creeping up on her. She doesn’t know anyone here except the guys in My Chem, and they’ve all mysteriously taken off for parts unknown. So she stands by the wall, rubbing her bare arms and chewing nervously on her bottom lip for about a minute before she snags a glass of champagne and thinking fuck that! Tossing her hair and affecting a pretty pout, Brendon's hips sway as she slips into the crowd, intent on finding some fun, with or without Gerard.
Appearing out of nowhere, Frank says, “Hey pretty lady! How’s your funky chicken?” before nudging at Brendon’s hip with his elbow and cocking a thumb towards the packed dance floor, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Brendon smiles and gives Frank a little hug, careful of the champagne flute in her hand, then tips her glass towards him in acknowledgement. “I? Am a fucking awesome dancer, I’ll have you know.”
“Right on! Let’s go!” Frank catches her by the wrist, and Brendon trails behind him, continuing to sip her drink.
Stopping to set the nearly empty glass on a low table, Brendon puts her hand on her hip and graces Frank with a comically over the top glare. “Okay, short stuff if this is some half assed ploy to get all up in my boobs, I should tell you now your plan is flawed and made of fail.”
Frank glances from Brendon’s ample, eyelevel cleavage to her face and says, “Who me?” but can’t contain his naughty giggle.
“Yes you!” Brendon grinds her index finger into his breast bone. “My boobs are not a shelf, or pillows for you to rest your pretty little weary head on, okay?”
Feigning sadness, Frank juts out his lip and says, “Okay, all right, fine. But they look so soft and comfy. My face might accidentally, you know, make contact. I can’t help it. You’re a mean lady, Brendon Urie. ”
“And you are a perv.” But she’s laughing and leading the way to the dance floor. “And my knee might accidentally, you know, make contact…with your balls. Just sayin’.” Brendon twirls Frank laughingly away from her and is about to join him when she feels the slight pressure of fingers at her elbow.
“Brendon?”
Glancing behind her, Brendon’s gaze lands on a tiny, pierced man, wearing a black turtle neck and dress pants. His eyes are ice blue, and lines--whether from amusement or worry--fan out around them. “Yes?” She says, letting go of Frank’s fingers and watching as he’s swallowed by the enthusiastic Reprise crowd.
“Hey, I’m Brian Schechter.” He reaches out his hand, and Brendon is oddly charmed by his good manners.
“Oh, Brian! Gee talks about you all the time! It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Brendon moves in to hug Brian and is stopped short by his hands, firm on her forearms. Just like Mikey. She bites the inside of her bottom lip, stepping back to take his extended hand in hers instead. She snags a full champagne flute from a server passing by, grateful for having something in her hands, and pastes on her best and brightest smile.
Brian’s stare is unsettling and Brendon feels more self conscious than ever when he opens his mouth to speak. “Yeah, Gerard talks about you, too. And, well, I’ve see your videos on Buzznet.”
“Um, yeah. That was embarrassing. I didn’t mean to…”
Whatever Brendon was about to apologize for is lost when Brian keeps talking, “So, look, I’m not afraid to be the bad guy, be the asshole. I have the band's interests to protect. I have Gerard’s best interests to protect. God knows he can’t seem to do that for himself, these days. I don’t know what you want from him--what you’re expecting to get out of all of this. I know your band is working on a new album. And fucking with Gerard? Is a pretty lousy publicity stunt.”
Gaping, Brendon interrupts, “I’m not… I would never…” She couldn’t be more shocked if Brian had reached over and slapped her.
“I’ve seen your behavior, heard about your stunts.” His eyes flick between Brendon’s face and the glass of champagne now clutched tightly in her fingers. “And I will not hesitate to bounce you the fuck out on your perky little ass. He needs to stay straight. To stay sober. I absolutely will not let anyone fuck with that. Are we clear? You endanger his sobriety? You get me in your face.”
Brendon blinks and nods, jerky and mechanical. She’s fighting back tears and too hurt to say anything in reply. No one’s ever spoken to her like that. Brian doesn’t know her. He doesn’t know anything real about her, at all. But he seems to have made up his mind about her. She looks around the room, over Brian’s head, searching for Gerard, for Frank, for anyone to help her explain, to make Brian understand. Instead she takes in the cold fury in his blue eyes, the straight line seriousness of his mouth, and flees.
* * *
“Hey, Queen Bee? Couldn’t wait to get me all to your self huh?” Gerard chuckles as he steps into the hotel room. At the party, he’d come back from glad handing the Reprise execs and been unable to find Brendon. Worm had said he’d seen her getting into a taxi and Gerard had done the same, figuring she’d gone back to the hotel. Smirking knowingly, Gerard steps over the messy pile of Brendon’s hastily removed dress, stockings, and shoes, and follows the sound of running water to the hotel suite’s bathroom. "D'you start without me?"
By the time he reaches the door he’s removed his own shoes, neck tie, and vest, and is working on the buttons of his dress shirt when he stops short in the doorway. “Brendon? What are you doing?”
Clad in the clothes she’d arrived in-polo shirt, jeans, and sneakers-Brendon is scrubbing at her face with a wash cloth. She looks at his reflection in the mirror, grey, mascara smudged tears trailing stark against her pale cheeks. “I’m going home.”
“What? Brendon? I don’t…” Gerard shakes his head back and forth, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
Brendon swallows thickly and pushes past him. She gathers up her dress and the rest of her clothes, shoving them haphazardly into her garment bag. “Why’d you think you had to lie to me?” She heaves a shuddering sigh and looks back at Gerard. Her eyes are narrowed and Gerard can plainly read the hurt anger on her face. “Why’d you have to be such a fucking…guy? Really, you could have just told me you wanted to fuck me. I would have been fine with that. You didn’t have to make me any promises, Gerard. You didn't have to tell me what you thought I wanted to hear.” She dashes stray tears across her cheek with the back of her hand and grasps the handle of her suitcase.
“Brendon, what?” He crosses the room and puts a tentative hand on her shoulder. “No really, what the fuck are you talking about?”
Angrily shoving away from his touch she spits out, “Ask your fucking minions. Jesus, you didn’t even have the guts to tell me yourself. Nice work.” She flings open the hotel room door and stalks into the hall--her belongings a messy, awkward jumble in her arms.
Gerard follows a beat behind, almost chasing her down the hall to the elevator, where Brendon pushes the call button. “Brendon, come on, talk to me, okay?”
“I’m leaving, Gerard.” Her voice brakes then and she inhales, staving off a fresh bought of tears. “It’s for the best.”
Confusion and anger flash in Gerard’s eyes as her grabs her by the shoulders and turns her to face him. “I seriously don’t know what’s going on. What happened? What did I do? Don’t leave!” The elevator dings and Brendon moves to get into the carriage, tries to free herself from Gerard’s touch.
“Let go of me.” Brendon says flatly, avoiding his eyes.
Gerard shakes her a little, trying to get her to look at him. “No!”
“You’re hurting me!” Brendon hisses, eyes narrowed.
Letting out a sharp, shocked noise, Gerard brings his hands quickly up and away from her, and Brendon jabs at the door close button, disappearing into the descending elevator.
Gerard’s frozen to the spot, staring at his still out stretched hands, wondering what the hell happened. He blinks, and shakes himself, trying to clear his head. Clenching his hands into fists he curses under his breath and throws his weight at the fire door leading to the stairs. He takes the steps two at a time and ends up in the lobby in enough time to see Brendon heading into the revolving door and out to where the valet is waiting with her car. “Brendon! Wait! Please!” he calls, frantic.
Throwing her bags into the back seat, Brendon opens the driver’s side door, and looks straight at Gerard over top of the Mercedes. “I can’t.” She shakes her head from side to side, and there’s something so sad and so hurt about the expression in her eyes that Gerard feels a cold metal jolt to his spine, stopping him short.
Brendon flings herself behind the wheel and drives away.
* * *
“Hello?”
Gerard coughs, nervous and says, “Uh, yeah. Hi. Can I speak to Brendon?”
The man on the other end of the phone pauses, then says, “Not if this is Gerard Way. The call display says GeeWay. Are you Gerard Way?” The voice is cold and accusatory.
“Yeah.”
“Well then, no. You can’t talk to Brendon. Not now.”
Gerard’s brow creases in frustration, and he stares at his phone for a beat before bringing it up to his face and speaking again, “Look, I don’t know who the hell you are but…”
The voice cuts him off, mid-sentence, “I’m Spencer fucking Smith, you asshole. You made Brendon fucking cry. I’ve only ever seen her cry, like, twice, ever. That is so not cool, man. So, no, you definitely can’t speak to Brendon.”
“Look, Spencer, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but I need to talk to Brendon, now. I have to explain…I just…put her on the fucking phone, okay?” Gerard’s voice is rising, and the ball of ice bouncing around his rib cage settles low in the pit of his stomach.
There’s a peevish snicker and Spencer replies, “Calm the fuck down, Princess. She doesn’t need your bullshit, right now. I’m sure she’ll call you, when she’s ready.” And then the line goes silent.
Gerard spends a full minute staring in seething anger at his cell. The fucker hung up! He briefly entertains the notion of calling back, but gives up that idea, because Spencer will probably just answer and then hang up on him again. “Fuck!” Gerard yells and hurls the tiny phone as hard as he can against the wall. It makes a nasty, cracking noise and the battery springs free, bouncing back to land at his foot.
Twenty four hours later, with Mikey’s Sidekick in his hand, and an old email with Brendon’s cell number pulled up on his laptop, Gerard tries again. The phone rings repeatedly and Gerard bounces his knee up and down, teeth tugging on the nail of his pinky finger. He’s nervous she won’t answer, that it will go to voice mail. And he’s terrified she will.
“Hey!
“Hi, Gerard,” Brendon finally answers. Her voice is stretched thin, completely lacking its usual buoyant amusement.
Running a palm over the knee of his jeans, Gerard says, before thinking about what he’s going to say if he’s lucky enough for Brendon to ever want to talk to him again, “You left.”
Brendon exhales a long sigh, “You let me.”
“Brendon,” Gerard licks his lips, squeezing the phone tight and, balling his free hand into a fist, punches lightly at the sofa back. “You can’t keep…” He coughs, clearing the cigarette smoke and frustration from his voice. “We need to talk about this.”
“I know, I know. Just…not now, not yet, okay?” Her voice is small, her words chosen with care.
Gerard sets his jaw and nodding, says firmly, “I’m gonna come out there. I need to see you…”
“No!” Brendon interrupts him. “No, you can’t. We’re going to England.”
“Then I’ll come to England!” He flings his arm out, gesturing in frustration.
Brendon’s breathing is loud in his ear before she finally says, “Look. Just don’t, okay? I’ll call you when I get back. I promise.”
“Promise?” Gerard swallows heavily and watches his fingers scrabble over the sofa upholstery.
“Yeah, I promise.”
Gerard sighs into the phone and says, “Well, then I’ll believe you. Brendon I…”
Her voice is high and rushed and she says, “I’ll call you when we get back. I gotta go,” then hangs up.
Blinking rapidly, Gerard stares at the phone, sets it down carefully on the coffee table, and then stands. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, walks to the bathroom, and pukes his guts up like he hasn’t done in years.
* * *
“Oh shit!” Mikey and Frank are cackling in the kitchenette at the front of the bus, gathered around Mikey’s lap top. Their laughter is that uniquely male brand, reserved for Jack Ass, The Three Stooges, and Japanese game shows.
“Gee, c’mere!” Frank’s voice is high and carries through the bus.
Looking up from his sketch pad, Gerard tilts his head, considering. He’s not sure he’s really in the mood for the latest installment of When Good Pets Go Bad or When Animals Attack, XXVII. Sighing, he throws the notebook onto the sagging couch and heads out of the back lounge.
“Yeah?” He says, eyebrow raised and hip leaning against the doorjamb.
Mikey looks up at his brother, eyes wide, “Shit dude, your girlfriend got cold cocked!”
“My wha…got…” Gerard steps towards the table and edges in between Frank and Mikey so he can see exactly what it is they’re so interested in.
“Brendon!” Frank points at the screen as Mikey hits the Replay button on the Youtube video. “She took a bottle to the face when her band was playing at a festival, in England. It knocked her out!” His eyes are wide and his head swivels from looking at Gerard to the computer screen.
“What the fuck!” Gerard exclaims as the clip plays. “Shit! Jesus, is she okay? When did this happen? Why the fuck are you two laughing?”
Looking sheepish, Frank turns to lay a comforting hand on Gerard’ shoulder. “It happened this afternoon. She’s okay. She gets back up, see? I really think she’s okay.”
Standing up, heart banging against his ribs, Gerard pulls out his new cell phone and punches Brendon’s number, chewing the inside of his cheek.
“Brendon’s phone.” A deep voice, blessedly not Spencer Smith’s, answers.
Anxiously running his fingers through his hair Gerard says, “Fuck, please tell me she’s okay!”
There’s a slight pause, “Um…yeah. She’s fine. Black eye, and we have to keep waking her up to make sure she doesn’t have a concussion or whatever but…uh…who is this?”
“Gee. It’s Gerard.” He hops up onto the small countertop beside the sink. “I just saw the fucking thing on Youtube. You’re sure she’s okay?”
“Oh, hey. This is Ryan.” Ryan sounds surprised to hear from Gerard. “Yeah, she says she’s fine. The doctors say she’s fine. She’s bitchy and whiney, and uncooperative so I think she’s fine.”
Huffing out relieved laughter Gerard asks, “When did it happen?”
“During our set, this afternoon--the fuckers. Who does that? To a girl? It was a glass bottle, full of rocks!” Ryan’s voice rises with renewed anger.
“Fuck,” Gerard hisses. “They could have killed her or something.”
Ryan grunts in agreement. “No fucking kidding. So, you wanna talk to Bren, right?”
“No! No, I uh…I just…kinda freaked. I just wanted to make sure she’s all right. Don’t wanna, you know, bug her.”
“Sure, yeah. I think she’s sleeping a little now anyway. Um, she’s going home tomorrow, you want her flight info?”
Fidgeting, Gerard considers before answering, “Yeah, yeah, that would be good.” He shuffles through the papers and detritus on the counter top for a pen and scribbles the information Ryan gives him onto his arm. “Thanks, man.”
Ryan’s shrug is almost audible, “No problem. Later.” They hang up and Gerard takes out his cigarettes, lighting up. He’s sitting on the counter top, watching the smoke he exhales licking out across the small space. He has flights to book, and he really should let Brian know what's going on, but for the moment Gerard is content to just sit there and smoke.
Mikey and Frank move on to some other site, and are cackling away to themselves when Bob bursts into the kitchen, walking right up to Gerard. “Dude. Dude! I so do not need to know what your girlfriend’s boobs look like, okay? Seriously, man.” Not meeting Gerard’s eyes, Bob throws a sketchbook down on the countertop and turns on his heel, stalking back out of the room. Gerard raises an eyebrow when he hears Bob mumble, “I think I liked you better when you drew, like, dragons and shit.” Frank covers his mouth to smother his giggles and Gerard smiles sheepishly, rubbing at his pink tinged cheek with one hand. He looks down at the open book, biting back the smile that threatens at the sight of the pen and ink drawings of Brendon filling the entire page. He sighs and thinks to himself that it could be worse; he could have written Mr. Brendon Urie all over it instead.
continue to 5B