Beach Music, girl!Brendon/Gerard 6B, NC-17
Title: Beach Music 6B/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: Het, AU, Romance
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_, 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 6A
Bob flops down beside Gerard on the picnic bench and throws his pack of cigarettes onto the table top. “I know that look,” Gerard smirks, “that, my friend, is the look of a man who’s spent some quality time with Hurricane Brendon.” He claps Bob on the shoulder before reaching out to help himself to one of Bob’s Marlboros.
“Shit man,” Bob manages to huff out, wide eyed as he lights up. “She’s a fuckin’ drummer!”
Gerard stops, smoke poised at his lips, eyebrow raised, “Seriously?”
“I am dead fucking serious. She’s a drummer. A jazz drummer and she knows all these, like riffs and rolls and shit that I’ve never heard of! I think she might be better than me!”
Gerard’s shoulders shake with barely suppressed laughter as he continues to take in Bob’s amazed expression. “I didn’t know she could play the drums. Not really surprising though…”
Digging the toe of his boot into the muddy ground Bob sighs and says, “She’s fuckin’ amazing.”
“Yeah, she is.” Gerard pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and scratches at his cheek, smiling. “Hey, drummer girl!” Gerard calls out as he sees Brendon heading across the parking lot, closely shadowed by Worm.
“Gee!” She calls out and skips over to the picnic table, bouncing down to straddle the bench. She waves at Worm, who smiles and waves and keeps on walking. “Hey yourself!” She tilts forward to kiss the tip of his nose. “Hi Bob!” She waves across the table and Bob waves in return, laughing.
His palm cups the roundness of Brendon’s bent knee through her hot pink capri pants and Gerard asks, “So, drummer huh?”
“Nah, not really. Just in school, like. You know, jazz band, orchestra, stage band. And a brief but triumphant turn in the drumline before quitting because the faculty advisor was a douchebag.” Brendon scratches at her cheek and flips her sunglasses to her forehead.
Bob and Gerard both laugh, and Gerard says, “Oh yeah?” his thumb circling a tiny scar on the inside of her calf.
“Yeah, he seemed more interested in my tits than paradiddles. What the fuck ever, doesn’t matter now. It’s ancient history!”
“So you’re not angling to take Bob’s job?” Gerard covers his frown at Brendon’s words with a light teasing tone and a glance towards Bob.
Laughing as she leans into Gerard’s unintentional petting, Brendon says, “Dude, Ross would have my head on a plate if I gave up my current glamorous lifestyle to chill with you guys. So, Bob? You’re totally safe!” She stands and rounds the table, kissing the top of Bob’s head.
Standing upright again, Brendon hangs her fingers through her belt loops and rocks up onto her toes and back. “Um, so Gerard, I think I should probably show you that um, thing now…” She bites her bottom lip.
“Uh, thing?” Gerard asks stupidly.
“Yeah, you know, the thing before sound check?”
“Bren, what?”
“The thing Gerard!” She grins wide and bats her eyelashes innocently. “In my pants!” Gerard bursts out laughing, and Bob’s entire head goes crimson.
Gerard unfolds himself from the confines of the table and takes Brendon’s hand. “Well, with an invite like that…way to be subtle, Queen Bee.” They stroll towards the bus, leaving Bob flustered and shaking his head.
* * *
"Wooo...orm," Brendon calls out in a sing song voice before draping her arms around the big man's neck.
He doesn't look up from his DS, just leans forward and says, "Yes, Bee?" and continues to jab at the screen with the stylus.
"You love me best, right?" Brendon lifts her feet off the asphalt and hugs tighter to Worm's t-shirt clad back. She knows if asked he'd tell the rest of the guys that he's working on the next level of some Star Wars RP, but in actual fact, he’s playing Cooking Mama. And it's Brendon's fault; she got him hooked and now he can't stop.
"What did you break, Brendon?" heaving a sigh, Worm folds the screens together, setting the game console on his leg. He shoves his glasses up with his index finger and turns to give Brendon a pointed look.
Brendon laughs and kisses his cheek. "Nothing! Promise. I just...need your help. I have a plan." she finishes with great pride. The flip-flop that had been dangling precariously from her toes falls with a plastic thwack onto the parking lot pavement.
Dubious, Worm snorts and asks, "No chance of anyone being arrested in this plan of yours is there?" He extends his arm and hauls Brendon around into his lap.
Smiling enthusiastically and shaking her head, causing her hair to stand up in a riot at the crown, Brendon says, "Nope! I do need you to take me and Mikey to the mall, though!"
"The mall?" Worm's brows shoot up towards his cap.
"Yeah. Dude! It's perfect. Do you know what they have at the Galleria?"
"Um, stores?" Worm is rubbing his closed Nintendo console against the black denim of his knee.
"Build a Bear Workshop!" she says like it's the most brilliant thing anyone's ever said or thought of.
Worm covers his laugh with a cough, and looks skeptically at Brendon over top of his glasses, "You want to take Mikey to Build a Bear?"
"Yup!" Brendon is smug.
And because there is absolutely nothing Worm won't at least try to do for Brendon--she may not have been exaggerating when she said she is favorite--he sighs again, and sets her to her feet. He feels around for her flip-flop, puts it in front of her and lifts her foot to fit into it. "Okay. Just, like gimme a bit. I gotta check with Brian, find out what the fuck the schedule is. I'll come find you if it's cool."
"You sir, are awesome!" Brendon takes a hold of Worm's face, pinches his cheeks and smacks a kiss to the top of his baseball clad head before happily scampering away. Worm just shakes his head and laughs as he watches her run full tilt--in flip-flops no less--along the row of parked buses and fling herself onto the back of an unsuspecting Bob Bryar. He understands why, at this point, no one is surprised that Brendon and Frank get along so well.
***
“Okay there, Bee girl, the head honcho has given you two hours to do whatever you need to do at the mall.” Worm paws at the bill of his ball cap, and then adjusts the waist band of his jeans.
Brendon squeezes out from her spot on the couch between Gerard and Frank. “Awesome! You win at life, Worm.” She springs over and kisses him on the cheek, making the big man grin and blush.
Flitting back to the sofa and interrupting the marathon Twin Peaks watching, Brendon says, “Okay, Mikeyway, you n’ me have a date at the mall!” She hold her hands out to Mikey, making as though to pull him up from his seat.
“You and me?” Mikey makes no move and looks around in surprise.
“Yup! You and me. I have plans!” Brendon nods smugly.
Bob pipes up from his spot on the floor, “Man, just go with her. Jesus.”
At the same time, Gerard is elbowing Mikey and giving him a stern, thin lipped look. “It won’t fuckin’ kill you.”
Mikey rolls his eyes and, ignoring Brendon’s offer of a hand up from the old battered cushions, braces him palms on his knees and gets to his feet.
“Yay!” Brendon claps, but turns to wind herself around Worm, keeping a careful distance from Mikey. They get into the black Econoline van as Worm gets into the driver’s seat.
“So we’re really going to the mall?” Mikey’s all hunched shoulders and barely concealed, contemptible glares.
“Yup!” Brendon smiles sweetly and then directs her attention out the darkened windows.
Worm pulls the van up to the mall entrance and says over his shoulder, “So I’ll meet you right here. In two hours, Bren.” He holds his fingers up for emphasis, “Two!”
“Yes, Dad!” Brendon giggles and jumps to the curb. “Follow me, Mikeyway!” Mikey’s never been to the Galleria before and isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing there now, so he shrugs and follows Brendon’s eager lead.
“Ooooh! Booster Juice!” Brendon gestures across the food court. Mmm…Strawberry Sunshine! You want one?” she asks over her shoulder as she heads towards the kiosk.
“Nah,” Mikey shoves his hands into the front pockets of his rumpled jeans and continues to follow Brendon.
Drink purchased, Brendon finds a seat at a table. “So,” she says to him, eyebrows arched as she peels the paper from her straw. “You kinda hate me, Mikeyway.” She jabs the straw through the cup’s lid and takes a long swallow of her smoothie.
Mikey’s mouth opens and shuts in stunned surprise at her directness. “I don’t hate you Brendon.”
"Yeah, whatever,” Brendon says dismissively, continuing to suck on her straw. “I’m not perfect, Mikey. But, I’m also not what one picture on a website tells you I am. What about you? When you were twenty, you were the perfect little boy? All tucked up in bed by ten o’clock and never ever did anything Mom and Dad didn’t approve of?” She raises an eyebrow and gazes at Mikey over the rim of her cup.
He winces visibly at that, but doesn’t answer her. Mikey picks up the shredded remains of the straw wrapper and twists them between his long fingers, “It’s just…he’s Gee you know? And…I think he needs to be…careful.”
“’cause I’m trouble.” Brendon licks at her lips, leg bouncing beneath the table. “I’m a slut, or a whore, or a skank, or whatever it is all the cool kids are calling me these days. Out to besmirch the reputation of Saintly Way.” There’s more anger in her voice than she would have liked. She swipes her hands along the bright pink of her pants.
“Brendon I’m not…”
“Yeah, that’s what you think. That’s exactly what you think. And guess what? It’s not news, Mikey. I’ve heard it before. And I’ll hear it again. From people who don’t know a thing about me. It just sucks to know that someone I think is rather awesome feels that way. And?” She pauses, taking a long drink of her smoothie and steadying her breath, “I don’t think you realize how much you’re hurting Gerard.”
“Hurting Gerard? I would never do anything to hurt Gerard,” Mikey sits up little straighter and just glares at Brendon.
“Well, your brother, whether you like it or not, and for reasons even I don’t quite get, has decided that he digs spending time with me. That he likes me. And every time you call me a slut or a skank or a whatever, it hurts him. And I will not let anyone hurt Gerard. So you can hang out with your Most Hated Crew and listen to The Used and wear your little MSI t-shirts all you want. And it won’t make any fucking difference, is what I’m saying.” She meets his gaze, level and even.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” It’s not a question.
Brendon pauses, thinks about denying it, and then just studies the logo on the side of her cup for a moment instead. “I...um. Don’t tell him?” She reaches out her hand to tug on Mikey’s curled fingers. “Please? Not yet. I mean, I haven’t said anything to him, yet. And I think maybe, maybe that’s not what he needs to hear from me, right now. So promise you won’t say anything to Gerard?” She drops her gaze to study their hands, lashes fluttering.
Mikey clears his throat, and shrugs his compliance. “He hit me.”
“What? When?” Brendon’s expression is genuinely shocked as she clutches tighter at Mikey’s hand.
“Uh, in Chicago, back in May, when you two first…whatever.” He waves his arm in her direction. “He punched me right in the fucking face.” His chuckle is low and a little nervous.
“Oh Mikey I’m so sorry! I had no idea! That’s so not cool, I would never…” Mikey interrupts Brendon’s upset babbling with a short shake of his head.
“He only ever hit me once, before. When we were kids; he was ten and I was seven. I took his mint condition, still in the package, Optimus Prime and traded it to Jimmy Makris for some Captain Carrot comics.” His lips cleave into a smile at the memory. “He really loved that Optimus Prime,” he finishes softly. Mikey isn’t looking at Brendon anymore, and Brendon is blushing and noisily sucking at the last of her drink.
“Okay!” She says brightly, standing and throwing her empty cup into the trash. Both of them seem relieved for the sharp change of subject. She tugs at her bangs and pastes on a grin. “Let’s go!”
“Um…go? Where exactly are we going?” Mikey doesn’t move from his gangly sprawl in the hard food court chair.
Still rubbing her hand absently over her hair, Brendon giggles affectedly and says, “What, you thought I brought you to the mall for smoothies?”
Mikey shrugs, “I dunno, man. Whatever, right?”
“We’re goin’ to Build a Bear, mister!” She nods emphatically and then heads off, not waiting to see if Mikey is following.
“Build a Bear…seriously?”
Brendon waits for Mikey to lope up to her side. “Yup. Exactly. You have a cat right?”
“Um, yes?” Mikey’s frown brings his eyebrows together and wrinkles his forehead.
Flinging her arms wide, Brendon continues, “And if Myspace is not entirely wrong, you…I mean your wife,” she pauses for a beat, smirking and batting her eyelashes, “Your wife likes to dress your cat in cute little cat clothes.”
“Yeah….so?” Mikey is valiantly trying to follow Brendon’s train of thought, and feels a little like he’s at the wrong station on the right day.
“So…Catprin and that shit, it’s expensive and takes forever to make its way through our fine postal system.”
Mikey’s eyes widen is surprise, “How do you know that?”
Brendon pats at his arm and says, “Man, trust me when I say you don’t want to know. Zack Hall really needs some new hobbies. That’s all I’m gonna say about it,” she’s whispering loudly and raises a finger to her pursed lips. “Shh.”
Mikey’s face scrunches up in distaste and he barks out a laugh, startled, but genuine. “Please do not fill me in.”
“So, yeah. Cat clothes? Expensive. Build a Bear clothes? Slightly less so. And? They fit cats!” She finishes triumphantly waving towards the storefront.
Exactly two hours after they were dropped off at the mall, Mikey and Brendon get into the van and as Worm tucks their bags into the back. Brendon says, almost absently, “Five, by the way.”
“Five?” Mikey clicks his seatbelt into place and drums his fingers against the upholstery.
Brendon shrugs. “Yeah, five. The number of guys I’ve let fuck me, in three years.” She smiles, tight and small. “Including your brother.”
Mikey makes a face and says, “I really don’t need to know…”
“Yeah, you do.” Brendon interrupts. “It’s slightly more if you figure in oral or whatever. So, if that makes me a slut…” She shrugs and tries to feign indifference.
Looking out the window, Mikey says, carefully, “Can this conversation be over, please? And can we never have another one like it ever again?”
“Absolutely,” She reaches out a hand and squeezes Mikey’s fingers in her own.
Brendon and Mikey step out from the van, laden with bags. Brendon is bouncing happily towards the bus and Mikey is talking excitedly into his cell phone.
”So, successful trip?” Frank asks from his sprawl on the couch. The thickness of his voice and the enormity of his bed head tell Brendon she’s woken him from a nap.
She smiles, dropping the majority of her shopping, and flops down beside him. “Yup! And lookit!” Brendon reaches into a plastic bag, and when she withdraws her hand, she waves a dark fuzzy…thing in front of Frank’s face. “It’s Gee Cat! I made it Build a Bear!” She beams and leans into Frank.
“Holy shit it totally is!” Frank giggles loudly and grabs the stuffed animal. It’s got a shock of dark unruly hair between its ears, wide green eyes, and is dressed in a t-shirt, jean jacket, dark jeans, and high top sneakers. It’s Gerard as a stuffed cat, even down to the slightly crooked little mouth. “Dude, if a fan made him this it would be creepy as shit. But it’s fuckin’ hilarious.”
“And adorable. Isn’t it adorable?” Brendon plucks the stuffed toy back from Frank and hugs it to her. “And it’s not for him it’s for me!”
“What’s adorable?” Gerard emerges from the bunks, his hair an unruly mess, and pillow creases marking his cheek, a cigarette perched between his lips.
“You!” Brendon stands and flings herself at Gerard, smacking a kiss to his cheek. “See?” She dances the cat in front of him and laughs. “Gee Cat!” Frank falls over on the couch, unable to control the giggle fit that escapes at the confused expression on Gerard’s face.
Gerard takes the toy and stares at it in silence for a beat. “Jesus Christ. We’re in the shit now,” he mutters around his cigarette before foisting the cat back at Brendon. “You’re all insane.” He squeezes at her waist and then slips by her, heading outside to smoke.
Brendon follows and wraps her arms around his waist as he leans against the bus, blowing smoke over her head. “So, you and Mikes okay now?” He tries to keep his voice light.
“Yeah, I mean I guess so. Maybe?” Brendon rubs her cheeks against the soft cotton of Gerard’s shirt. “Probably not,” she sighs. “At least I told him, like, that I know how he feels about me, and I don’t care. Because I don’t.”
The stubborn set of her jaw and the petulant tone of her voice make Gerard smile as he takes a drag. “It’ll be fine, Queen Bee,” Gerard strokes the pad of his thumb glancingly across the tendons at the base of her skull.
“Yup.” Brendon smiles and steals Gerard’s cigarette, and pets at the stuffed animal trapped between them in the crook of her elbow.
***
Brendon loves sleepy, languid, early morning sex. Gerard finds this out one morning when the California sunshine is soft through the gauzy bus window curtains and he wakes--still muddle headed with sleep--to feel Brendon’s clever mouth, slow and lazy on his cock, bringing his morning wood to full hardness. “Urng,” he manages, swiping his cheek across the pillow. His hand falls heavy across her neck, fingers twitching in her hair.
She feels the moment he wakes and smiles, running her tongue flat against the sensitive underside of Gerard’s erection. The sheets are twisted around her legs and she’s in a comfortable, unhurried sprawl. She circles the head of his cock with her tongue, giving just the slightest scrape of teeth, waiting for his pained, appreciative groan as swipes the welling precome across her chin. Her hands are petting gentle figure eights across his hip bones when she turns her head and groans a little herself, “Mmm…I fuckin’ love your little thighs.” Brendon sinks her teeth in, nipping at the paleness of Gerard’s skin. He groans and she laughs and says, “For real, man. I wanna like, eat them with a spoon.” She runs her tongue along the welt and cups Gerard’s balls, gently teasing a thumb over their smoothness.
“C’mere,” Gerard squeezes at Brendon’s shoulder encouraging her back up to the pillows. Brendon takes her time, rucking up Gerard’s t-shirt to mouth and kiss at his skin, making small contented noises at the back of her throat. Her hands pet and stroke, her fingernails scratching over the tiny pink discs of his nipples, and Gerard squirms impatiently at the attention.
“Mornin’,“ Brendon’s mumble is sleepy as she flops onto her side, so close to Gerard that his breath flutters her bangs.
Reaching a hand out to stroke carefully over the deep scratch that scores Brendon’s right eyebrow Gerard whispers, “Hey,” and then kisses her softly.
Brendon chases the taste of sleep and stale cigarettes and coffee across Gerard’s tongue and, ignoring the sourness of morning breath, presses her lips to his. Her eyes flutter closed as she sinks into the feeling of Gerard’s large warm hands petting down her spine and squeezing the firmness of her ass. She laughs against his mouth and throws a leg over his hip, pressing close. Gerard grunts, sliding a hand further down to cup the back of Brendon’s knee, bringing her even closer.
His mouth shifts over her neck, across her collar bones, and he licks across one dusky nipple, sucking her breast into his mouth. “Wanna be inside you,” his mutter is low and Brendon’s not even sure if she’s supposed to hear him.
She does hear him, though, and she twists in his hold, hitching her leg up higher under his ribs, and reaches between her legs to guide him into her. Giving a happy sigh at the feeling of Gerard’s cock filling her, Brendon shifts in a gentle, sinuous movement, as Gerard’s fingers dig divots into her hips, his unhurried thrusting a counterpoint to the slide of her skin across his. Everything is lazy, and warmed-honey slow and nothing at all like their usual frantic and hurried pace.
Even their voices are slurred and soft, muffled by skin and the press of one mouth to another. Brendon strokes the heavy fall of Gerard’s hair from his face and touches her forehead to his. Her breath is stuttering from her chest, and she tilts her hips into Gerard’s gentle thrusts. The new angle fills and stretches her in a way that makes her purr, and tease licks around Gerard’s gasping mouth.
Gerard manages to huff out a laugh and nips at Brendon’s lips. His finger’s slip from her knee to stroke between them, teasing at where their bodies join. Brendon arches into the touch, her mouth slack and her eyes squeezed tightly closed. “Oh…oh God,” she manages to whine, the slow build of her orgasm cresting in the cradle of her hips. Panting and shaking, Brendon’s groan is loud in the quiet of the morning when Gerard grins and licks across her nipples.
His thrusts become more urgent as he turns Brendon in his arms and onto her back, sunlight slanting across her pale skin. She opens her eyes, and a sleepy sated grin tilts her lips. “Umm…hmmm.” She murmurs, happy, and squeezes her thighs high on Gerard’s waist. He rocks into her, a slow, sure build of sensation between their bodies. The low hum of the bus tires on the highway beneath echoes the slow, almost electric charge between them. Gerard kisses Brendon, the fullness of his tongue and its gentle exploration smothering the low growl signaling his orgasm.
Brendon doesn’t release him-- won’t move her legs from where the involuntary flex of her thighs keeps Gerard pressed against her, his cock softening inside her. She cuddles him closer still, murmuring secret, nonsensical things against his skin and continuing the gentle unhurried pace of her kisses.
Swiping his lips over Brendon’s mouth and across her jaw, Gerard manages to smooth a warm palm along the gentle definition of her thigh muscle, squeezing her knee. Brendon laughs when, still high from the adrenaline rush of her orgasm, her leg flops to the bed, wobbly and twitching. She whines softly through her nose when Gerard slips from her, a slow drag on too sensitive skin.
“Shh, it’s okay.” Gerard kisses his way down Brendon’s body in lazy, seemingly directionless licks across sweat drenched skin.
Drawing her raw bottom lip between her teeth, Brendon swallows another whine when Gerard’s mouth sucks inquisitively at her swollen clit, rolling the slick skin between his teeth. “Oh…oh…God…Gerard, please…what?” She’s panting and huffing and the solid weight of Gerard’s wide palms on her hips is the only thing keeping her from bucking and thrashing at the overwhelming sensations.
Her fists bunch in the pillow, lifting it around her head as she flexes into Gerard’s gentle touch. Turning and rubbing her face into the smooth cotton of the pillow case, Brendon moans--a low guttural sound--and comes. No slow build this time, it’s a sharp sudden shock all up and down her spine. Feeling fans out slow and steady through her belly as Gerard nuzzles between her legs, parting tender flesh with careful, cat-like laps.
“Fuck, Queen Bee you taste so good,” Gerard’s flat-tongued swipes are slow and careful; precise. “We taste so fucking good.” He can’t help the twitch of his hips, pressing hard into the mattress.
Dazed, Brendon’s still on her back in an easy sprawl, hands cradling Gerard’s head, thumbs stroking the fragile bones at the base of his skull. Her hips twitch in a lazy slip-jig rhythm as the wave of her orgasm finally crests. “Gimme some of that,” her voice is a hushed rasp. Gerard grins, wolfish, into her skin before sliding easily up to lay beside her. His hand palms idly at her breast as he opens his mouth to her. She groans and licks greedily at the mingled taste of them on Gerard’s lips, drawing the slickness of come and saliva over Gerard’s tongue and onto her own.
They kiss, sloppy and lethargic as Gerard’s hand skims over the curve of Brendon’s hip and between her legs. She grunts and wrinkles up her nose at the feeling of his fingers inside her, but Brendon’s chuckle is dirty as Gerard teases one of his wet fingers over her lips. Brendon sucks him into her mouth, tongue teasing in swirls around his knuckle and nipping at the skin between his fingers. She licks enthusiastically, lashes flitting against the rise of her cheeks, her mouth bowed and eager.
Smiling as Brendon draws back, panting a little and licking the sheen from her wide mouth, Gerard tucks wayward strands of hair behind her ears as she pets clumsily at his sides. “Fuck!” is all he manages when he finally thumps his head back against the pillows. In the stillness of a very early morning he’s aware of the loudness of his own breath, and the trip-hammer beating of his heart.
“We should do that every morning.” Brendon smacks a kiss to the jut of Gerard’s chin and snuggles close once more. “And, it’s still early enough we could, like, go back to sleep and when we wake up again it’ll be morning still…again…whatever, and we could totally do it again!” Her eyes are wide, and her voice is soft and sleep slurred as she yawns, jaw popping wide and smacks her lips.
Gerard groans and chuckles into the top of her head. “Shit honey, as fuckin’ awesome as spending all day every day with you just like this would be, I have a show tonight, right? And I gotta save some energy.”
Brendon giggles and Gerard cups her bottom, pulling her close until she slips a leg across his hips. He ghosts kisses to the light dusting of freckles across her shoulder and hums, listening to her sleepy, contented breathing. “Mmmph,” is all Brendon can muster by way of agreement, and Gerard watches as she burrows her nose into his neck and her lashes fall, heavy and slow, until her eyes fall closed in the finality of sleep.
***
If he thinks about it, Gerard’s pretty sure he could come up with lots of reasons why the shows this tour are rocking his face off: rocking everyone’s face off. He has, in fact, given numerous examples and reasons for the amazing sets MCR’s been pulling off day after day to fans, and audiences, and interviewers: He’s “in love with his band”, “not being the headliner takes the pressure off”, “it’s nice to be freed from the confines of performing The Black Parade”, no matter how much he still loves the concept. The band likes to tease him about other reasons for his good moods and his amped up on stage antics, but Gerard likes to keep those reasons to himself.
One big reason, the one that makes him grin bigger, and flounce longer, and sing harder than he thinks he ever has in his life spends shows poised in the wings. Brendon watches every show, and Gerard could never have imagined how much seeing her there, bouncing up onto her toes, singing and clapping and screaming along with every single song could mean to him. So, in Las Vegas, during the last song of their last show that week end, when he looks over and sees Brendon-both hands raised over her head, fists pumping and screaming along with him to every word of Famous Last Words as tears stream down her face, something bright and sharp presses behind his ribs. He’s taken totally by surprise by how deeply he feels it.
After the wild applause has died completely and the between band music is a white noise background to the thrum of the crowd, Brendon flings her self into Gerard’s arms as he comes off the stage. “Dude! That was so fucking awesome!”
Gerard’s grin is full and unguarded, “Yeah it was pretty fuckin’ good, wasn’t it?”
“Uh huh!” Brendon swipes her lips over Gerard’s sweat damp throat. “So, Sailor, you wanna come home with me?” She bats her eyelashes coyly, and Gerard can’t help but laugh.
“Yeah, sounds good. I think the guys have gone to shower, and then go on some epic gambling adventure or what the fuck ever. So…yeah,” he slides his arm to Brendon’s waist and directs her through the rabbit warren maze that makes up the arena’s back stage area. They stop and talk to Worm, filling him in on where they’re headed and Brendon gives Gerard’s hip a little squeeze before trotting quickly off to the bus, getting her bags.
Gerard takes her stuff in one hand and Brendon’s hand in the other, threading their fingers together. “We played here, on Circus,” Brendon says conversationally. “Fuckin’ terrifying, man. We had no damn clue what we were doing.”
Relieved when they finally emerge into the parking lot, Gerard snorts and says, “I find that hard to believe. That Ross kid seems to have his whole life planned out and plotted on graphs and shit,” he pauses to light a cigarette. “And I can’t imagine you being afraid of anything, ever, Queen Bee. You’re pretty fuckin’ fierce.”
Brendon snorts out a small laugh and steers them towards the taxi stand. “I’m a good actress, dude. Don’t let them smell your fear. Pretend to be fearless and don’t give a fuck, and eventually, you will be fearless and you won’t give a fuck.” She shrugs and smiles at their joined hands swinging between them. “Best advice my Dad ever gave me. But, you know, with slightly less cursing.”
Gerard tosses his half smoked cigarette to the ground and holds the cab door open. Brendon does her usual graceless flop and slide into the passenger seat. “So, what exactly does fear smell like?” Gerard sits down close beside her and mashes his nose into the jut of her collarbone--visible through the v-neck of her shirt.
She swats at him and laughs, grinning bright and wide as she gives the cabbie her address. “Not like that, man.” She squirms as Gerard continues to snuffle exaggeratedly at her skin. “That would be a delicate blend of Chanel Number Five and extreme horniness.” Even the cab driver laughs at Brendon’s boldness.
“Horniness, huh? Who knew I liked Chanel so much?” Gerard bites his lip to keep from laughing.
“I think a little Afternoon Delight is totally in order!”
“It’s eight o’clock, Queen Bee.”
“Right, so Early Evening Delight. Whatever. There’ll be skyrockets in flight and all that crap. It’ll be awesome!” Brendon crawls into Gerard’s lap and smacks a kiss to the tip of his nose as she pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Really, really, awesome.”She slants her mouth to his, lips turning up to mirror his grin.
When the cab is pulling out of the driveway, Brendon turns the key in the lock. And opens the door to bright lights, the sounds of raucous laughter, and computerized explosions. Music is blaring and Brendon and Gerard are standing in her front doorway, completely confused. Gerard even goes so far to lean out the door and check the number affixed to the brick. Confirming that yes, this is Brendon’s condo, he yanks his hands back from where they’ve wandered beneath the waistband of her jeans and follows her to stand in the living room entryway. Six pairs of eyes stare back at them, equally shocked. “Um…hey!” Brendon finally says.
“Brendon!” Shane stands up, fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt. “I thought you were gone all week end?” She’s fidgeting as she speaks, slouching her tall frame, and tucking short tufts of her unruly reddish brown hair behind her ears before scratching across her freckled nose.
Brendon crosses into the room, Gerard following obediently in her wake. “Yeah, and today’s Sunday night. What we traditionally call the end of the week end.”
“Is that the new Halo?” Gerard asks one of the boys sprawled out on the floor in front of Brendon’s monstrous television, a rapt sense of wonder in his voice as he’s drawn towards the temptation of Xbox, and widescreen hi def.
A tattooed boy smirks and holds up the game controller in invitation, “You know it! Hey, motherfucker, you wanna smoke?” The same boy picks up a delicate glass bong from the floor beside him and tips it towards Brendon.
Eyes widening for the briefest of seconds, Brendon says, “Um…no,” and shoots an apologetic glance at Gerard. She puts her hands on her hips and watches as Gerard finds a spot on the floor, cheerfully grabbing the controller. Brendon glares at the boys and huffs out an unhappy breath. Clearly her desire to shoo everyone out and spend the rest of the night with Gerard, in bed, is not going to pan out. And, equally clearly, Gerard seems fine with that. She huffs again, then raises an unamused eyebrow at Shane, who has sheepishly retaken her seat.
Sulking, Brendon flings out her arm towards the sofa. “Gerard, this is Shane and her boyfriend, Regan.” The small red headed boy on the sofa smiles shyly and waves at Gerard. “And on the floor, Alex, Alex, Alex, and…Cash. By the way, dude, light that up in here and I will kill you.” She glares at the tattooed kid-Cash-who has extracted a lighter from his pocket.
“Seriously? But we always...” Cash jolts to a stop, surprised.
Brendon just makes a sharp gesture, pointing to the patio door. Non plussed, Cash sets the bong down on the coffee table, sighs heavily and elbows a game controller away from an Alex with long hair and a baseball cap.
“And everyone, this is Gerard.” She crosses the room, curving an arm towards Gerard and runs an apologetic hand through his hair.
“Hey,” Gerard says, absently, attention never wavering from the television screen.
Unimpressed, Brendon stalks back to the couch and flops down, taking a handful of potato chips from an almost empty red plastic bowl. She shoves them into her mouth and chews with a quiet, deliberate fury, exhaling heavily through her nose.
Minutes tick by and the boys continue to play Halo, and Shane attempts to make small talk while darting nervous glances at Brendon, whose eyebrows are creased in a frustrated frown. “We could leave, if you want.”
“Doesn’t seem to fucking matter, at the moment.” Brendon flaps a hand towards the TV. More minutes tick by and Brendon listens to the boys squabble as they attempt to hash out some kind of complex round robin tournament rules of play. Unable to sit there for a second more, Brendon kicks out her legs and gets to her feet. She purposely stomps through the knot of game playing boys and then, sighing loudly and maybe growling just a bit, stalks through to the kitchen.
Banging through the cupboards, Brendon yanks down an open box of microwave popcorn and takes out the last bag. She peels off the cellophane and shoves the package into the microwave, slamming the door shut. As she’s standing there, thrumming with frustration and drumming her fingers against the counter and humming along to the made up tune, Gerard comes up behind her. She doesn’t take her eyes away from studying the advancement of the popping corn, even when he wraps one arm around her waist.
“Oh God, I’m old,” he whines, thumping his forehead between Brendon’s shoulder blades as she opens the microwave door and dumps the popcorn into a big wooden bowl.
Brendon smirks, her posture softening somewhat, and tips her head back to peck an awkward kiss at Gerard’s jaw. “Aww…nah, you’re just tired! What’s wrong?”
“M’exhausted!” Gerard swipes his cheek against Brendon’s skin and flexes his hand low across her belly. “Those kids, man…They just keep going and going! And I don’t know what they fuck they’re talking about,” he finishes with a snort.
Brendon abandons the bowl on the counter and turns to hug Gerard. “Well, Geezer Way, to be fair, you did just give the Ol’ Razzle Dazzle for a couple of hours.” She backs up against the butcher block and draws her hands to her face, smiling as she waves them, doing her best jazz hands. “And, trust me, the boys and their effect on you has nothing to do with age.” She slides her hands over Gerard’s shoulders, rubbing soothingly across the sweat stiffened cotton of his t-shirt. “They’re always fucking, on. Like dialed up to eleven, permanently. God damn puppies in a sack or something,” she shakes her head.
“Fuck, guess so. Just sneaks up on me sometimes, though. Don’t have to run with the young dogs much these days,” Gerard shakes his head and smiles.
Taking his hands in hers and kissing across the knuckles before encouraging them around her neck, Brendon wrinkles up her nose, eyes smiling. “Ehn, you’re not old. Cut the melodrama. I’m tired too. I’ll just kick the fuckers out and we’ll go to bed.” She pecks an emphatic kiss to the curve of Gerard’s jaw and wriggles out of the embrace. Picking up the popcorn bowl and balancing it on the curve of her hip, she heads back out to the living room. “Okay, assholes!” Gerard hears Brendon call brightly, her voice sing-song and saccharine, “Mommy’s home, you’re totally busted, party’s over. Get your asses out of my place and back to your own.”
Gerard follows after her, shaking his head and trying to keep from laughing at Brendon’s lack of tact and her cheeks bulging with the handful of popcorn she stuffed into her mouth at the end of her demand.
***
The sky is still a dull grey and almost sunless, and the parking lot is empty, save for tour buses and trash left from last nights fans. Brendon’s sitting on the hood of her car, Gerard standing in the vee of her spread legs so she can cuddle him close. Her face is buried in his sweatshirt and their only sound and movement is Gerard’s hand up and down the dip of her spine and the soft puffs of their breaths on the hot, early morning air. The bus’s engine roars to life and its headlights are yellow cats’ eyes in the gloom.
“I gotta go.” Gerard whispers into Brendon’s hood.
Brendon makes an unhappy sound and clutches at Gerard’s hips, wrapping her legs around his thighs and locking her ankles, refusing to move.
He smiles and pushes back her hood, gentle fingers at her jaw tilting her face up to meet his. Leaning into her warmth, he kisses her gently, “Honey, c’mon.” They’d sat in the car for fifteen minutes already, kissing until their lips were numb, and before that they’d been late for the agreed upon meeting time for the bus. Gerard chuckles, low and with a little regret. “Hey now,” he manages to gently pry her hands from his waist and raises her fingers to his lips, kissing across their tips.
Smile soft, Brendon draws back, folding her hands in her lap and looks up at Gerard through the screen of her lashes. Impulsively, she darts forward, nipping the thin skin of Gerard’s throat between her teeth. Gerard hisses at the sting, and Brendon smirks and rocks away and back to sitting again. “Something to remember me by,” she says, solemnly, teasing her fingernail over the bitten skin.
“I’ll call you tonight,” Gerard squeezes her shoulders and runs his cupped palms under her hoodie, rubbing briskly at her chilled skin.
Brendon cuddles her cheek against Gerard’s stroking hand. “Won’t even have a chance to miss me!”
Swallowing hard, Gerard thinks there are things he should say. There are things he wants to say, but the words won’t come. There’s never enough time, it's never the right time. Instead he tangles his fingers with Brendon’s and says, “So, what if I miss you already?”
Hugging him to her and squeezing, Brendon whispers, voice still thick with sleep, “This week end was the best ever.” Her voice is quiet and filled with simple honesty.
“I gotta go.” Gerard presses his lips to Brendon’s forehead and turns towards the bus, attempting to unravel himself from her hold. He frees himself from her clinging fingers just as a bus window opens.
“Come the fuck on, Gerard!” Brian’s voice is loud in the empty lot.
Gerard lopes to the bus, and throws himself into a seat at the kitchen banquette. He drags two fingers across the dingy orange curtain and stares out into the parking lot. Absently running his hand over and over the red, mouth shaped mark on his neck, he watches as sunlight fills the Las Vegas sky. Brendon has her ridiculous stuffed cat in her hands and is wiggling one of its arms, waving towards Gerard and smiling sadly. He’s still watching out the little sliver of window as the bus pulls away, even after there’s nothing to see.
* * *
Continue to 7A
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: Het, AU, Romance
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_, 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 6A
Bob flops down beside Gerard on the picnic bench and throws his pack of cigarettes onto the table top. “I know that look,” Gerard smirks, “that, my friend, is the look of a man who’s spent some quality time with Hurricane Brendon.” He claps Bob on the shoulder before reaching out to help himself to one of Bob’s Marlboros.
“Shit man,” Bob manages to huff out, wide eyed as he lights up. “She’s a fuckin’ drummer!”
Gerard stops, smoke poised at his lips, eyebrow raised, “Seriously?”
“I am dead fucking serious. She’s a drummer. A jazz drummer and she knows all these, like riffs and rolls and shit that I’ve never heard of! I think she might be better than me!”
Gerard’s shoulders shake with barely suppressed laughter as he continues to take in Bob’s amazed expression. “I didn’t know she could play the drums. Not really surprising though…”
Digging the toe of his boot into the muddy ground Bob sighs and says, “She’s fuckin’ amazing.”
“Yeah, she is.” Gerard pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and scratches at his cheek, smiling. “Hey, drummer girl!” Gerard calls out as he sees Brendon heading across the parking lot, closely shadowed by Worm.
“Gee!” She calls out and skips over to the picnic table, bouncing down to straddle the bench. She waves at Worm, who smiles and waves and keeps on walking. “Hey yourself!” She tilts forward to kiss the tip of his nose. “Hi Bob!” She waves across the table and Bob waves in return, laughing.
His palm cups the roundness of Brendon’s bent knee through her hot pink capri pants and Gerard asks, “So, drummer huh?”
“Nah, not really. Just in school, like. You know, jazz band, orchestra, stage band. And a brief but triumphant turn in the drumline before quitting because the faculty advisor was a douchebag.” Brendon scratches at her cheek and flips her sunglasses to her forehead.
Bob and Gerard both laugh, and Gerard says, “Oh yeah?” his thumb circling a tiny scar on the inside of her calf.
“Yeah, he seemed more interested in my tits than paradiddles. What the fuck ever, doesn’t matter now. It’s ancient history!”
“So you’re not angling to take Bob’s job?” Gerard covers his frown at Brendon’s words with a light teasing tone and a glance towards Bob.
Laughing as she leans into Gerard’s unintentional petting, Brendon says, “Dude, Ross would have my head on a plate if I gave up my current glamorous lifestyle to chill with you guys. So, Bob? You’re totally safe!” She stands and rounds the table, kissing the top of Bob’s head.
Standing upright again, Brendon hangs her fingers through her belt loops and rocks up onto her toes and back. “Um, so Gerard, I think I should probably show you that um, thing now…” She bites her bottom lip.
“Uh, thing?” Gerard asks stupidly.
“Yeah, you know, the thing before sound check?”
“Bren, what?”
“The thing Gerard!” She grins wide and bats her eyelashes innocently. “In my pants!” Gerard bursts out laughing, and Bob’s entire head goes crimson.
Gerard unfolds himself from the confines of the table and takes Brendon’s hand. “Well, with an invite like that…way to be subtle, Queen Bee.” They stroll towards the bus, leaving Bob flustered and shaking his head.
* * *
"Wooo...orm," Brendon calls out in a sing song voice before draping her arms around the big man's neck.
He doesn't look up from his DS, just leans forward and says, "Yes, Bee?" and continues to jab at the screen with the stylus.
"You love me best, right?" Brendon lifts her feet off the asphalt and hugs tighter to Worm's t-shirt clad back. She knows if asked he'd tell the rest of the guys that he's working on the next level of some Star Wars RP, but in actual fact, he’s playing Cooking Mama. And it's Brendon's fault; she got him hooked and now he can't stop.
"What did you break, Brendon?" heaving a sigh, Worm folds the screens together, setting the game console on his leg. He shoves his glasses up with his index finger and turns to give Brendon a pointed look.
Brendon laughs and kisses his cheek. "Nothing! Promise. I just...need your help. I have a plan." she finishes with great pride. The flip-flop that had been dangling precariously from her toes falls with a plastic thwack onto the parking lot pavement.
Dubious, Worm snorts and asks, "No chance of anyone being arrested in this plan of yours is there?" He extends his arm and hauls Brendon around into his lap.
Smiling enthusiastically and shaking her head, causing her hair to stand up in a riot at the crown, Brendon says, "Nope! I do need you to take me and Mikey to the mall, though!"
"The mall?" Worm's brows shoot up towards his cap.
"Yeah. Dude! It's perfect. Do you know what they have at the Galleria?"
"Um, stores?" Worm is rubbing his closed Nintendo console against the black denim of his knee.
"Build a Bear Workshop!" she says like it's the most brilliant thing anyone's ever said or thought of.
Worm covers his laugh with a cough, and looks skeptically at Brendon over top of his glasses, "You want to take Mikey to Build a Bear?"
"Yup!" Brendon is smug.
And because there is absolutely nothing Worm won't at least try to do for Brendon--she may not have been exaggerating when she said she is favorite--he sighs again, and sets her to her feet. He feels around for her flip-flop, puts it in front of her and lifts her foot to fit into it. "Okay. Just, like gimme a bit. I gotta check with Brian, find out what the fuck the schedule is. I'll come find you if it's cool."
"You sir, are awesome!" Brendon takes a hold of Worm's face, pinches his cheeks and smacks a kiss to the top of his baseball clad head before happily scampering away. Worm just shakes his head and laughs as he watches her run full tilt--in flip-flops no less--along the row of parked buses and fling herself onto the back of an unsuspecting Bob Bryar. He understands why, at this point, no one is surprised that Brendon and Frank get along so well.
***
“Okay there, Bee girl, the head honcho has given you two hours to do whatever you need to do at the mall.” Worm paws at the bill of his ball cap, and then adjusts the waist band of his jeans.
Brendon squeezes out from her spot on the couch between Gerard and Frank. “Awesome! You win at life, Worm.” She springs over and kisses him on the cheek, making the big man grin and blush.
Flitting back to the sofa and interrupting the marathon Twin Peaks watching, Brendon says, “Okay, Mikeyway, you n’ me have a date at the mall!” She hold her hands out to Mikey, making as though to pull him up from his seat.
“You and me?” Mikey makes no move and looks around in surprise.
“Yup! You and me. I have plans!” Brendon nods smugly.
Bob pipes up from his spot on the floor, “Man, just go with her. Jesus.”
At the same time, Gerard is elbowing Mikey and giving him a stern, thin lipped look. “It won’t fuckin’ kill you.”
Mikey rolls his eyes and, ignoring Brendon’s offer of a hand up from the old battered cushions, braces him palms on his knees and gets to his feet.
“Yay!” Brendon claps, but turns to wind herself around Worm, keeping a careful distance from Mikey. They get into the black Econoline van as Worm gets into the driver’s seat.
“So we’re really going to the mall?” Mikey’s all hunched shoulders and barely concealed, contemptible glares.
“Yup!” Brendon smiles sweetly and then directs her attention out the darkened windows.
Worm pulls the van up to the mall entrance and says over his shoulder, “So I’ll meet you right here. In two hours, Bren.” He holds his fingers up for emphasis, “Two!”
“Yes, Dad!” Brendon giggles and jumps to the curb. “Follow me, Mikeyway!” Mikey’s never been to the Galleria before and isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing there now, so he shrugs and follows Brendon’s eager lead.
“Ooooh! Booster Juice!” Brendon gestures across the food court. Mmm…Strawberry Sunshine! You want one?” she asks over her shoulder as she heads towards the kiosk.
“Nah,” Mikey shoves his hands into the front pockets of his rumpled jeans and continues to follow Brendon.
Drink purchased, Brendon finds a seat at a table. “So,” she says to him, eyebrows arched as she peels the paper from her straw. “You kinda hate me, Mikeyway.” She jabs the straw through the cup’s lid and takes a long swallow of her smoothie.
Mikey’s mouth opens and shuts in stunned surprise at her directness. “I don’t hate you Brendon.”
"Yeah, whatever,” Brendon says dismissively, continuing to suck on her straw. “I’m not perfect, Mikey. But, I’m also not what one picture on a website tells you I am. What about you? When you were twenty, you were the perfect little boy? All tucked up in bed by ten o’clock and never ever did anything Mom and Dad didn’t approve of?” She raises an eyebrow and gazes at Mikey over the rim of her cup.
He winces visibly at that, but doesn’t answer her. Mikey picks up the shredded remains of the straw wrapper and twists them between his long fingers, “It’s just…he’s Gee you know? And…I think he needs to be…careful.”
“’cause I’m trouble.” Brendon licks at her lips, leg bouncing beneath the table. “I’m a slut, or a whore, or a skank, or whatever it is all the cool kids are calling me these days. Out to besmirch the reputation of Saintly Way.” There’s more anger in her voice than she would have liked. She swipes her hands along the bright pink of her pants.
“Brendon I’m not…”
“Yeah, that’s what you think. That’s exactly what you think. And guess what? It’s not news, Mikey. I’ve heard it before. And I’ll hear it again. From people who don’t know a thing about me. It just sucks to know that someone I think is rather awesome feels that way. And?” She pauses, taking a long drink of her smoothie and steadying her breath, “I don’t think you realize how much you’re hurting Gerard.”
“Hurting Gerard? I would never do anything to hurt Gerard,” Mikey sits up little straighter and just glares at Brendon.
“Well, your brother, whether you like it or not, and for reasons even I don’t quite get, has decided that he digs spending time with me. That he likes me. And every time you call me a slut or a skank or a whatever, it hurts him. And I will not let anyone hurt Gerard. So you can hang out with your Most Hated Crew and listen to The Used and wear your little MSI t-shirts all you want. And it won’t make any fucking difference, is what I’m saying.” She meets his gaze, level and even.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” It’s not a question.
Brendon pauses, thinks about denying it, and then just studies the logo on the side of her cup for a moment instead. “I...um. Don’t tell him?” She reaches out her hand to tug on Mikey’s curled fingers. “Please? Not yet. I mean, I haven’t said anything to him, yet. And I think maybe, maybe that’s not what he needs to hear from me, right now. So promise you won’t say anything to Gerard?” She drops her gaze to study their hands, lashes fluttering.
Mikey clears his throat, and shrugs his compliance. “He hit me.”
“What? When?” Brendon’s expression is genuinely shocked as she clutches tighter at Mikey’s hand.
“Uh, in Chicago, back in May, when you two first…whatever.” He waves his arm in her direction. “He punched me right in the fucking face.” His chuckle is low and a little nervous.
“Oh Mikey I’m so sorry! I had no idea! That’s so not cool, I would never…” Mikey interrupts Brendon’s upset babbling with a short shake of his head.
“He only ever hit me once, before. When we were kids; he was ten and I was seven. I took his mint condition, still in the package, Optimus Prime and traded it to Jimmy Makris for some Captain Carrot comics.” His lips cleave into a smile at the memory. “He really loved that Optimus Prime,” he finishes softly. Mikey isn’t looking at Brendon anymore, and Brendon is blushing and noisily sucking at the last of her drink.
“Okay!” She says brightly, standing and throwing her empty cup into the trash. Both of them seem relieved for the sharp change of subject. She tugs at her bangs and pastes on a grin. “Let’s go!”
“Um…go? Where exactly are we going?” Mikey doesn’t move from his gangly sprawl in the hard food court chair.
Still rubbing her hand absently over her hair, Brendon giggles affectedly and says, “What, you thought I brought you to the mall for smoothies?”
Mikey shrugs, “I dunno, man. Whatever, right?”
“We’re goin’ to Build a Bear, mister!” She nods emphatically and then heads off, not waiting to see if Mikey is following.
“Build a Bear…seriously?”
Brendon waits for Mikey to lope up to her side. “Yup. Exactly. You have a cat right?”
“Um, yes?” Mikey’s frown brings his eyebrows together and wrinkles his forehead.
Flinging her arms wide, Brendon continues, “And if Myspace is not entirely wrong, you…I mean your wife,” she pauses for a beat, smirking and batting her eyelashes, “Your wife likes to dress your cat in cute little cat clothes.”
“Yeah….so?” Mikey is valiantly trying to follow Brendon’s train of thought, and feels a little like he’s at the wrong station on the right day.
“So…Catprin and that shit, it’s expensive and takes forever to make its way through our fine postal system.”
Mikey’s eyes widen is surprise, “How do you know that?”
Brendon pats at his arm and says, “Man, trust me when I say you don’t want to know. Zack Hall really needs some new hobbies. That’s all I’m gonna say about it,” she’s whispering loudly and raises a finger to her pursed lips. “Shh.”
Mikey’s face scrunches up in distaste and he barks out a laugh, startled, but genuine. “Please do not fill me in.”
“So, yeah. Cat clothes? Expensive. Build a Bear clothes? Slightly less so. And? They fit cats!” She finishes triumphantly waving towards the storefront.
Exactly two hours after they were dropped off at the mall, Mikey and Brendon get into the van and as Worm tucks their bags into the back. Brendon says, almost absently, “Five, by the way.”
“Five?” Mikey clicks his seatbelt into place and drums his fingers against the upholstery.
Brendon shrugs. “Yeah, five. The number of guys I’ve let fuck me, in three years.” She smiles, tight and small. “Including your brother.”
Mikey makes a face and says, “I really don’t need to know…”
“Yeah, you do.” Brendon interrupts. “It’s slightly more if you figure in oral or whatever. So, if that makes me a slut…” She shrugs and tries to feign indifference.
Looking out the window, Mikey says, carefully, “Can this conversation be over, please? And can we never have another one like it ever again?”
“Absolutely,” She reaches out a hand and squeezes Mikey’s fingers in her own.
Brendon and Mikey step out from the van, laden with bags. Brendon is bouncing happily towards the bus and Mikey is talking excitedly into his cell phone.
”So, successful trip?” Frank asks from his sprawl on the couch. The thickness of his voice and the enormity of his bed head tell Brendon she’s woken him from a nap.
She smiles, dropping the majority of her shopping, and flops down beside him. “Yup! And lookit!” Brendon reaches into a plastic bag, and when she withdraws her hand, she waves a dark fuzzy…thing in front of Frank’s face. “It’s Gee Cat! I made it Build a Bear!” She beams and leans into Frank.
“Holy shit it totally is!” Frank giggles loudly and grabs the stuffed animal. It’s got a shock of dark unruly hair between its ears, wide green eyes, and is dressed in a t-shirt, jean jacket, dark jeans, and high top sneakers. It’s Gerard as a stuffed cat, even down to the slightly crooked little mouth. “Dude, if a fan made him this it would be creepy as shit. But it’s fuckin’ hilarious.”
“And adorable. Isn’t it adorable?” Brendon plucks the stuffed toy back from Frank and hugs it to her. “And it’s not for him it’s for me!”
“What’s adorable?” Gerard emerges from the bunks, his hair an unruly mess, and pillow creases marking his cheek, a cigarette perched between his lips.
“You!” Brendon stands and flings herself at Gerard, smacking a kiss to his cheek. “See?” She dances the cat in front of him and laughs. “Gee Cat!” Frank falls over on the couch, unable to control the giggle fit that escapes at the confused expression on Gerard’s face.
Gerard takes the toy and stares at it in silence for a beat. “Jesus Christ. We’re in the shit now,” he mutters around his cigarette before foisting the cat back at Brendon. “You’re all insane.” He squeezes at her waist and then slips by her, heading outside to smoke.
Brendon follows and wraps her arms around his waist as he leans against the bus, blowing smoke over her head. “So, you and Mikes okay now?” He tries to keep his voice light.
“Yeah, I mean I guess so. Maybe?” Brendon rubs her cheeks against the soft cotton of Gerard’s shirt. “Probably not,” she sighs. “At least I told him, like, that I know how he feels about me, and I don’t care. Because I don’t.”
The stubborn set of her jaw and the petulant tone of her voice make Gerard smile as he takes a drag. “It’ll be fine, Queen Bee,” Gerard strokes the pad of his thumb glancingly across the tendons at the base of her skull.
“Yup.” Brendon smiles and steals Gerard’s cigarette, and pets at the stuffed animal trapped between them in the crook of her elbow.
***
Brendon loves sleepy, languid, early morning sex. Gerard finds this out one morning when the California sunshine is soft through the gauzy bus window curtains and he wakes--still muddle headed with sleep--to feel Brendon’s clever mouth, slow and lazy on his cock, bringing his morning wood to full hardness. “Urng,” he manages, swiping his cheek across the pillow. His hand falls heavy across her neck, fingers twitching in her hair.
She feels the moment he wakes and smiles, running her tongue flat against the sensitive underside of Gerard’s erection. The sheets are twisted around her legs and she’s in a comfortable, unhurried sprawl. She circles the head of his cock with her tongue, giving just the slightest scrape of teeth, waiting for his pained, appreciative groan as swipes the welling precome across her chin. Her hands are petting gentle figure eights across his hip bones when she turns her head and groans a little herself, “Mmm…I fuckin’ love your little thighs.” Brendon sinks her teeth in, nipping at the paleness of Gerard’s skin. He groans and she laughs and says, “For real, man. I wanna like, eat them with a spoon.” She runs her tongue along the welt and cups Gerard’s balls, gently teasing a thumb over their smoothness.
“C’mere,” Gerard squeezes at Brendon’s shoulder encouraging her back up to the pillows. Brendon takes her time, rucking up Gerard’s t-shirt to mouth and kiss at his skin, making small contented noises at the back of her throat. Her hands pet and stroke, her fingernails scratching over the tiny pink discs of his nipples, and Gerard squirms impatiently at the attention.
“Mornin’,“ Brendon’s mumble is sleepy as she flops onto her side, so close to Gerard that his breath flutters her bangs.
Reaching a hand out to stroke carefully over the deep scratch that scores Brendon’s right eyebrow Gerard whispers, “Hey,” and then kisses her softly.
Brendon chases the taste of sleep and stale cigarettes and coffee across Gerard’s tongue and, ignoring the sourness of morning breath, presses her lips to his. Her eyes flutter closed as she sinks into the feeling of Gerard’s large warm hands petting down her spine and squeezing the firmness of her ass. She laughs against his mouth and throws a leg over his hip, pressing close. Gerard grunts, sliding a hand further down to cup the back of Brendon’s knee, bringing her even closer.
His mouth shifts over her neck, across her collar bones, and he licks across one dusky nipple, sucking her breast into his mouth. “Wanna be inside you,” his mutter is low and Brendon’s not even sure if she’s supposed to hear him.
She does hear him, though, and she twists in his hold, hitching her leg up higher under his ribs, and reaches between her legs to guide him into her. Giving a happy sigh at the feeling of Gerard’s cock filling her, Brendon shifts in a gentle, sinuous movement, as Gerard’s fingers dig divots into her hips, his unhurried thrusting a counterpoint to the slide of her skin across his. Everything is lazy, and warmed-honey slow and nothing at all like their usual frantic and hurried pace.
Even their voices are slurred and soft, muffled by skin and the press of one mouth to another. Brendon strokes the heavy fall of Gerard’s hair from his face and touches her forehead to his. Her breath is stuttering from her chest, and she tilts her hips into Gerard’s gentle thrusts. The new angle fills and stretches her in a way that makes her purr, and tease licks around Gerard’s gasping mouth.
Gerard manages to huff out a laugh and nips at Brendon’s lips. His finger’s slip from her knee to stroke between them, teasing at where their bodies join. Brendon arches into the touch, her mouth slack and her eyes squeezed tightly closed. “Oh…oh God,” she manages to whine, the slow build of her orgasm cresting in the cradle of her hips. Panting and shaking, Brendon’s groan is loud in the quiet of the morning when Gerard grins and licks across her nipples.
His thrusts become more urgent as he turns Brendon in his arms and onto her back, sunlight slanting across her pale skin. She opens her eyes, and a sleepy sated grin tilts her lips. “Umm…hmmm.” She murmurs, happy, and squeezes her thighs high on Gerard’s waist. He rocks into her, a slow, sure build of sensation between their bodies. The low hum of the bus tires on the highway beneath echoes the slow, almost electric charge between them. Gerard kisses Brendon, the fullness of his tongue and its gentle exploration smothering the low growl signaling his orgasm.
Brendon doesn’t release him-- won’t move her legs from where the involuntary flex of her thighs keeps Gerard pressed against her, his cock softening inside her. She cuddles him closer still, murmuring secret, nonsensical things against his skin and continuing the gentle unhurried pace of her kisses.
Swiping his lips over Brendon’s mouth and across her jaw, Gerard manages to smooth a warm palm along the gentle definition of her thigh muscle, squeezing her knee. Brendon laughs when, still high from the adrenaline rush of her orgasm, her leg flops to the bed, wobbly and twitching. She whines softly through her nose when Gerard slips from her, a slow drag on too sensitive skin.
“Shh, it’s okay.” Gerard kisses his way down Brendon’s body in lazy, seemingly directionless licks across sweat drenched skin.
Drawing her raw bottom lip between her teeth, Brendon swallows another whine when Gerard’s mouth sucks inquisitively at her swollen clit, rolling the slick skin between his teeth. “Oh…oh…God…Gerard, please…what?” She’s panting and huffing and the solid weight of Gerard’s wide palms on her hips is the only thing keeping her from bucking and thrashing at the overwhelming sensations.
Her fists bunch in the pillow, lifting it around her head as she flexes into Gerard’s gentle touch. Turning and rubbing her face into the smooth cotton of the pillow case, Brendon moans--a low guttural sound--and comes. No slow build this time, it’s a sharp sudden shock all up and down her spine. Feeling fans out slow and steady through her belly as Gerard nuzzles between her legs, parting tender flesh with careful, cat-like laps.
“Fuck, Queen Bee you taste so good,” Gerard’s flat-tongued swipes are slow and careful; precise. “We taste so fucking good.” He can’t help the twitch of his hips, pressing hard into the mattress.
Dazed, Brendon’s still on her back in an easy sprawl, hands cradling Gerard’s head, thumbs stroking the fragile bones at the base of his skull. Her hips twitch in a lazy slip-jig rhythm as the wave of her orgasm finally crests. “Gimme some of that,” her voice is a hushed rasp. Gerard grins, wolfish, into her skin before sliding easily up to lay beside her. His hand palms idly at her breast as he opens his mouth to her. She groans and licks greedily at the mingled taste of them on Gerard’s lips, drawing the slickness of come and saliva over Gerard’s tongue and onto her own.
They kiss, sloppy and lethargic as Gerard’s hand skims over the curve of Brendon’s hip and between her legs. She grunts and wrinkles up her nose at the feeling of his fingers inside her, but Brendon’s chuckle is dirty as Gerard teases one of his wet fingers over her lips. Brendon sucks him into her mouth, tongue teasing in swirls around his knuckle and nipping at the skin between his fingers. She licks enthusiastically, lashes flitting against the rise of her cheeks, her mouth bowed and eager.
Smiling as Brendon draws back, panting a little and licking the sheen from her wide mouth, Gerard tucks wayward strands of hair behind her ears as she pets clumsily at his sides. “Fuck!” is all he manages when he finally thumps his head back against the pillows. In the stillness of a very early morning he’s aware of the loudness of his own breath, and the trip-hammer beating of his heart.
“We should do that every morning.” Brendon smacks a kiss to the jut of Gerard’s chin and snuggles close once more. “And, it’s still early enough we could, like, go back to sleep and when we wake up again it’ll be morning still…again…whatever, and we could totally do it again!” Her eyes are wide, and her voice is soft and sleep slurred as she yawns, jaw popping wide and smacks her lips.
Gerard groans and chuckles into the top of her head. “Shit honey, as fuckin’ awesome as spending all day every day with you just like this would be, I have a show tonight, right? And I gotta save some energy.”
Brendon giggles and Gerard cups her bottom, pulling her close until she slips a leg across his hips. He ghosts kisses to the light dusting of freckles across her shoulder and hums, listening to her sleepy, contented breathing. “Mmmph,” is all Brendon can muster by way of agreement, and Gerard watches as she burrows her nose into his neck and her lashes fall, heavy and slow, until her eyes fall closed in the finality of sleep.
***
If he thinks about it, Gerard’s pretty sure he could come up with lots of reasons why the shows this tour are rocking his face off: rocking everyone’s face off. He has, in fact, given numerous examples and reasons for the amazing sets MCR’s been pulling off day after day to fans, and audiences, and interviewers: He’s “in love with his band”, “not being the headliner takes the pressure off”, “it’s nice to be freed from the confines of performing The Black Parade”, no matter how much he still loves the concept. The band likes to tease him about other reasons for his good moods and his amped up on stage antics, but Gerard likes to keep those reasons to himself.
One big reason, the one that makes him grin bigger, and flounce longer, and sing harder than he thinks he ever has in his life spends shows poised in the wings. Brendon watches every show, and Gerard could never have imagined how much seeing her there, bouncing up onto her toes, singing and clapping and screaming along with every single song could mean to him. So, in Las Vegas, during the last song of their last show that week end, when he looks over and sees Brendon-both hands raised over her head, fists pumping and screaming along with him to every word of Famous Last Words as tears stream down her face, something bright and sharp presses behind his ribs. He’s taken totally by surprise by how deeply he feels it.
After the wild applause has died completely and the between band music is a white noise background to the thrum of the crowd, Brendon flings her self into Gerard’s arms as he comes off the stage. “Dude! That was so fucking awesome!”
Gerard’s grin is full and unguarded, “Yeah it was pretty fuckin’ good, wasn’t it?”
“Uh huh!” Brendon swipes her lips over Gerard’s sweat damp throat. “So, Sailor, you wanna come home with me?” She bats her eyelashes coyly, and Gerard can’t help but laugh.
“Yeah, sounds good. I think the guys have gone to shower, and then go on some epic gambling adventure or what the fuck ever. So…yeah,” he slides his arm to Brendon’s waist and directs her through the rabbit warren maze that makes up the arena’s back stage area. They stop and talk to Worm, filling him in on where they’re headed and Brendon gives Gerard’s hip a little squeeze before trotting quickly off to the bus, getting her bags.
Gerard takes her stuff in one hand and Brendon’s hand in the other, threading their fingers together. “We played here, on Circus,” Brendon says conversationally. “Fuckin’ terrifying, man. We had no damn clue what we were doing.”
Relieved when they finally emerge into the parking lot, Gerard snorts and says, “I find that hard to believe. That Ross kid seems to have his whole life planned out and plotted on graphs and shit,” he pauses to light a cigarette. “And I can’t imagine you being afraid of anything, ever, Queen Bee. You’re pretty fuckin’ fierce.”
Brendon snorts out a small laugh and steers them towards the taxi stand. “I’m a good actress, dude. Don’t let them smell your fear. Pretend to be fearless and don’t give a fuck, and eventually, you will be fearless and you won’t give a fuck.” She shrugs and smiles at their joined hands swinging between them. “Best advice my Dad ever gave me. But, you know, with slightly less cursing.”
Gerard tosses his half smoked cigarette to the ground and holds the cab door open. Brendon does her usual graceless flop and slide into the passenger seat. “So, what exactly does fear smell like?” Gerard sits down close beside her and mashes his nose into the jut of her collarbone--visible through the v-neck of her shirt.
She swats at him and laughs, grinning bright and wide as she gives the cabbie her address. “Not like that, man.” She squirms as Gerard continues to snuffle exaggeratedly at her skin. “That would be a delicate blend of Chanel Number Five and extreme horniness.” Even the cab driver laughs at Brendon’s boldness.
“Horniness, huh? Who knew I liked Chanel so much?” Gerard bites his lip to keep from laughing.
“I think a little Afternoon Delight is totally in order!”
“It’s eight o’clock, Queen Bee.”
“Right, so Early Evening Delight. Whatever. There’ll be skyrockets in flight and all that crap. It’ll be awesome!” Brendon crawls into Gerard’s lap and smacks a kiss to the tip of his nose as she pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Really, really, awesome.”She slants her mouth to his, lips turning up to mirror his grin.
When the cab is pulling out of the driveway, Brendon turns the key in the lock. And opens the door to bright lights, the sounds of raucous laughter, and computerized explosions. Music is blaring and Brendon and Gerard are standing in her front doorway, completely confused. Gerard even goes so far to lean out the door and check the number affixed to the brick. Confirming that yes, this is Brendon’s condo, he yanks his hands back from where they’ve wandered beneath the waistband of her jeans and follows her to stand in the living room entryway. Six pairs of eyes stare back at them, equally shocked. “Um…hey!” Brendon finally says.
“Brendon!” Shane stands up, fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt. “I thought you were gone all week end?” She’s fidgeting as she speaks, slouching her tall frame, and tucking short tufts of her unruly reddish brown hair behind her ears before scratching across her freckled nose.
Brendon crosses into the room, Gerard following obediently in her wake. “Yeah, and today’s Sunday night. What we traditionally call the end of the week end.”
“Is that the new Halo?” Gerard asks one of the boys sprawled out on the floor in front of Brendon’s monstrous television, a rapt sense of wonder in his voice as he’s drawn towards the temptation of Xbox, and widescreen hi def.
A tattooed boy smirks and holds up the game controller in invitation, “You know it! Hey, motherfucker, you wanna smoke?” The same boy picks up a delicate glass bong from the floor beside him and tips it towards Brendon.
Eyes widening for the briefest of seconds, Brendon says, “Um…no,” and shoots an apologetic glance at Gerard. She puts her hands on her hips and watches as Gerard finds a spot on the floor, cheerfully grabbing the controller. Brendon glares at the boys and huffs out an unhappy breath. Clearly her desire to shoo everyone out and spend the rest of the night with Gerard, in bed, is not going to pan out. And, equally clearly, Gerard seems fine with that. She huffs again, then raises an unamused eyebrow at Shane, who has sheepishly retaken her seat.
Sulking, Brendon flings out her arm towards the sofa. “Gerard, this is Shane and her boyfriend, Regan.” The small red headed boy on the sofa smiles shyly and waves at Gerard. “And on the floor, Alex, Alex, Alex, and…Cash. By the way, dude, light that up in here and I will kill you.” She glares at the tattooed kid-Cash-who has extracted a lighter from his pocket.
“Seriously? But we always...” Cash jolts to a stop, surprised.
Brendon just makes a sharp gesture, pointing to the patio door. Non plussed, Cash sets the bong down on the coffee table, sighs heavily and elbows a game controller away from an Alex with long hair and a baseball cap.
“And everyone, this is Gerard.” She crosses the room, curving an arm towards Gerard and runs an apologetic hand through his hair.
“Hey,” Gerard says, absently, attention never wavering from the television screen.
Unimpressed, Brendon stalks back to the couch and flops down, taking a handful of potato chips from an almost empty red plastic bowl. She shoves them into her mouth and chews with a quiet, deliberate fury, exhaling heavily through her nose.
Minutes tick by and the boys continue to play Halo, and Shane attempts to make small talk while darting nervous glances at Brendon, whose eyebrows are creased in a frustrated frown. “We could leave, if you want.”
“Doesn’t seem to fucking matter, at the moment.” Brendon flaps a hand towards the TV. More minutes tick by and Brendon listens to the boys squabble as they attempt to hash out some kind of complex round robin tournament rules of play. Unable to sit there for a second more, Brendon kicks out her legs and gets to her feet. She purposely stomps through the knot of game playing boys and then, sighing loudly and maybe growling just a bit, stalks through to the kitchen.
Banging through the cupboards, Brendon yanks down an open box of microwave popcorn and takes out the last bag. She peels off the cellophane and shoves the package into the microwave, slamming the door shut. As she’s standing there, thrumming with frustration and drumming her fingers against the counter and humming along to the made up tune, Gerard comes up behind her. She doesn’t take her eyes away from studying the advancement of the popping corn, even when he wraps one arm around her waist.
“Oh God, I’m old,” he whines, thumping his forehead between Brendon’s shoulder blades as she opens the microwave door and dumps the popcorn into a big wooden bowl.
Brendon smirks, her posture softening somewhat, and tips her head back to peck an awkward kiss at Gerard’s jaw. “Aww…nah, you’re just tired! What’s wrong?”
“M’exhausted!” Gerard swipes his cheek against Brendon’s skin and flexes his hand low across her belly. “Those kids, man…They just keep going and going! And I don’t know what they fuck they’re talking about,” he finishes with a snort.
Brendon abandons the bowl on the counter and turns to hug Gerard. “Well, Geezer Way, to be fair, you did just give the Ol’ Razzle Dazzle for a couple of hours.” She backs up against the butcher block and draws her hands to her face, smiling as she waves them, doing her best jazz hands. “And, trust me, the boys and their effect on you has nothing to do with age.” She slides her hands over Gerard’s shoulders, rubbing soothingly across the sweat stiffened cotton of his t-shirt. “They’re always fucking, on. Like dialed up to eleven, permanently. God damn puppies in a sack or something,” she shakes her head.
“Fuck, guess so. Just sneaks up on me sometimes, though. Don’t have to run with the young dogs much these days,” Gerard shakes his head and smiles.
Taking his hands in hers and kissing across the knuckles before encouraging them around her neck, Brendon wrinkles up her nose, eyes smiling. “Ehn, you’re not old. Cut the melodrama. I’m tired too. I’ll just kick the fuckers out and we’ll go to bed.” She pecks an emphatic kiss to the curve of Gerard’s jaw and wriggles out of the embrace. Picking up the popcorn bowl and balancing it on the curve of her hip, she heads back out to the living room. “Okay, assholes!” Gerard hears Brendon call brightly, her voice sing-song and saccharine, “Mommy’s home, you’re totally busted, party’s over. Get your asses out of my place and back to your own.”
Gerard follows after her, shaking his head and trying to keep from laughing at Brendon’s lack of tact and her cheeks bulging with the handful of popcorn she stuffed into her mouth at the end of her demand.
***
The sky is still a dull grey and almost sunless, and the parking lot is empty, save for tour buses and trash left from last nights fans. Brendon’s sitting on the hood of her car, Gerard standing in the vee of her spread legs so she can cuddle him close. Her face is buried in his sweatshirt and their only sound and movement is Gerard’s hand up and down the dip of her spine and the soft puffs of their breaths on the hot, early morning air. The bus’s engine roars to life and its headlights are yellow cats’ eyes in the gloom.
“I gotta go.” Gerard whispers into Brendon’s hood.
Brendon makes an unhappy sound and clutches at Gerard’s hips, wrapping her legs around his thighs and locking her ankles, refusing to move.
He smiles and pushes back her hood, gentle fingers at her jaw tilting her face up to meet his. Leaning into her warmth, he kisses her gently, “Honey, c’mon.” They’d sat in the car for fifteen minutes already, kissing until their lips were numb, and before that they’d been late for the agreed upon meeting time for the bus. Gerard chuckles, low and with a little regret. “Hey now,” he manages to gently pry her hands from his waist and raises her fingers to his lips, kissing across their tips.
Smile soft, Brendon draws back, folding her hands in her lap and looks up at Gerard through the screen of her lashes. Impulsively, she darts forward, nipping the thin skin of Gerard’s throat between her teeth. Gerard hisses at the sting, and Brendon smirks and rocks away and back to sitting again. “Something to remember me by,” she says, solemnly, teasing her fingernail over the bitten skin.
“I’ll call you tonight,” Gerard squeezes her shoulders and runs his cupped palms under her hoodie, rubbing briskly at her chilled skin.
Brendon cuddles her cheek against Gerard’s stroking hand. “Won’t even have a chance to miss me!”
Swallowing hard, Gerard thinks there are things he should say. There are things he wants to say, but the words won’t come. There’s never enough time, it's never the right time. Instead he tangles his fingers with Brendon’s and says, “So, what if I miss you already?”
Hugging him to her and squeezing, Brendon whispers, voice still thick with sleep, “This week end was the best ever.” Her voice is quiet and filled with simple honesty.
“I gotta go.” Gerard presses his lips to Brendon’s forehead and turns towards the bus, attempting to unravel himself from her hold. He frees himself from her clinging fingers just as a bus window opens.
“Come the fuck on, Gerard!” Brian’s voice is loud in the empty lot.
Gerard lopes to the bus, and throws himself into a seat at the kitchen banquette. He drags two fingers across the dingy orange curtain and stares out into the parking lot. Absently running his hand over and over the red, mouth shaped mark on his neck, he watches as sunlight fills the Las Vegas sky. Brendon has her ridiculous stuffed cat in her hands and is wiggling one of its arms, waving towards Gerard and smiling sadly. He’s still watching out the little sliver of window as the bus pulls away, even after there’s nothing to see.
* * *
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