Beach Music, girl!Brendon/Gerard, NC-17, 7B/12
Title: Beach Music 7B/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 6B 7A
Gerard has this thing he does, at every venue they play. Frank calls it Casing the Joint. Mostly he just wanders around and gets a feel for the place, no matter if this is the first time they’ve played there or the twentieth. He likes to walk around and check out the sight lines and the acoustics, maybe singing along a little with whatever’s on his iPod at the time. When they get to the arena is Monterrey, Gerard climbs up into the very last row and looks down at the stage. He runs his hands along the seats, and traces his finger tips across the concrete. As he’s studying lighting rigging and the curtains at the back of the stage, a familiar laugh filters up to his perch.
Turning his head to follow the sound, Gerard sees Brendon, standing near the stage and talking to Matt. If Gerard’s being honest, in the months to come whenever he thinks of Brendon, this is the image those thoughts will conjure: Brendon’s head is back and she’s laughing, full and unguarded, her hair’s tied back by a bright Mexican print scarf she’d bought of a dirty faced kid when they’d gotten of the bus that morning, a long gypsy skirt skirls around her legs in the breeze, and her skin--gone deep olive in the sun-contrasts with the white cotton halter top she’s wearing. She looks happy and free, and more beautiful than Gerard ever knew anyone could be. And, again if he’s being perfectly honest, in the months to come, Gerard will spend a lot of time thinking of Brendon. He smiles to himself and hums under his breath as he trots down the concrete steps, following the sound of Brendon’s laughter.
“Hey, what’re you two laughing at?” Gerard hooks his chin over Brendon’s bare shoulder and winds his arms around her waist, linking his fingers low on her belly.
Still giggling, Brendon leans back into the embrace and says, enthusiastically, “You!” just as Cortez says the same thing. They crack up laughing again.
Gerard snorts and says, “Of course!” and rolls his eyes. Brendon tips her head back to peck an awkward kiss to the corner of Gerard’s jaw.
“Nah, we’re just rehashing the bad old days when I was dumb and easily conned into doing things for cash, and teched for Bee’s band. Unlike now, when I do it for the glory!” Matt laughs and jabs his lit cigarette towards Gerard before bringing it to his lips.
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. How was your time in purgatory?” Gerard laughs. It had completely slipped his mind that Matt was a guitar tech on Panic’s first big tour.
Matt shrugs and, affecting a long suffering sigh says, “Kids today, man. Hey! Remember when you stuck Spencer with your carry on?”
“He offered!” Brendon leans over in Gerard’s gentle hold to smack affectionately at Matt’s arm. “How was I supposed to know that hotel would have security, and metal detectors and shit?”
“Metal detectors?” Gerard raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”
Brendon strokes her thumbs across Gerard’s splayed fingers and he can feel the laughter ripple through her stomach. “Well, Spencer’s Mother raised him right, unlike some other people’s children I could name,” Brendon stares pointedly at Cortez, “and he’s all gentlemanly and shit. So he offered to carry my bag. And who am I to harsh his chivalry? So, I let him. Unfortunately there were…uh…things…in that bag. And when he put it on the conveyor to go through the x-ray machine at the hotel, it started...vibrating,” Brendon is having a hard time getting through the story, shaking with laughter at the memory.
“Dude! She made Smith carry the bag with her sex toys in it!” Matt is laughing equally as hard, and Brendon slaps him a weak high five. “And the security guard took the bag apart! And Spencer-Spencer fucking Smith-is standing there while this little dude in a rent a cop outfit is waving Brendon’s sparkly purple vibrating dildo at him!”
Matt is choking on his cigarette smoke and Brendon is doubled over laughing, clutching at Gerard’s hands. “His faaace!” They both cry in unison.
Gerard chuckles into Brendon’s hair, “You’re something else, Queen Bee.”
“Not my fault! It could have happened to anyone,” she reaches over and helpfully pats Matt's shoulder to quell his choking coughs. “Hey, remember the Great Fuck Off of 2006?” Brendon’s smile is a wicked gleam of white as she wipes tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes.
Holding his stomach Cortez says, “Oh dude, yes!” and high fives Brendon again.
Trying to follow the thread of the conversation, Gerard asks, “The what?”
“The Fuck Off!” Brendon angles her head to look at Gerard. “Ryan, Jon, and Spencer’s girlfriends all came on the road one week end. And my boys were very happy to see their ladies. Very happy!” She squeezes Gerard’s forearms, laughing as she talks. “And uh, Matt and I didn’t have special friends at the time…”
“Oh my God, if you are about to tell me that you and Cortez fucked, can we please skip this little trip into TMI land?” Gerard thunks his forehead against the curve of Brendon’s neck.
“Eww! No!” Brendon’s face is exaggeratedly horrified.
“Hey! What’s with the eww?” Mat looks suitably offended as he puffs on his Marlboro.
“Sorry, but just…no,” Brendon shakes her head, once more pecking a kiss at Gerard’s jaw. “Anyway, as you may know, having shared a bus a time or two with Mr. Hairy Palms here, Matty is a supporter of the self love. And well--desperate times and all that--sometimes a girl has to take matters into her own hands, if you know what I mean. And I think you do!”
Gerard groans, not lifting his head from between her shoulder blades. “I had to ask, didn’t I?”
Making a tut-tut noise, Brendon pets soothingly at Gerard’s arms and continues, “So, Matt and I-in our own bunks, thank you very much,” she narrows her eyes at Cortez, who’s still laughing but has the good grace to look sheepish, “participate, in our own way, in the Fuck Off! And I totally kicked his ass, so to speak!” she finishes with a triumphant grin.
“Dude, your girl claims to have come ten times in an hour! How is that even possible?” Matt folds his arms, incredulous.
Gerard shrugs, “Well, man, she’s like, twenty, and a girl, and it’s different for them right?” He can’t actually believe he’s even having this conversation.
“Ten! Totally. I couldn’t feel my legs!” Brendon nods emphatically. “Kegles, dude, it’s all about the Kegles,” she leans back into Gerard’s warmth, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Of course now, if I need to get off I just think about how it feels when Gerard fucks me,” she sways her ass across Gerard’s crotch and gives Cortez a lewd wink.
“Oh. My. God,” Gerard huffs, burying his face in Brendon’s hair.
“Hey, what the fuck’s a Kegle?” Matt looks puzzled, yet intrigued.
“Look it up,” Gerard mumbles.
Laughing mischievously and waggling her eyebrows, Brendon adds, “I could show you!” and then dissolves into helpless giggles at the surprised shock on Matt’s face.
“Oh. My. God!” Gerard exclaims again. He hauls on Brendon’s hips, lifting her off her feet and turning her over his shoulder, “Fucking enough, already, Jesus Christ,” he mutters, smacking Brendon lightly across the ass, and stalking away from where a decidedly speechless Matt Cortez stands, open mouthed and cigarette dangling.
“I was kidding! I got you! Man, I so totally got you!” Brendon points and laughs at Cortez, yelling as Gerard stalks into the arena’s interior.
Brendon snorts with laughter, “Okay, you big goof, put me down!” She thumps her fists playfully against Gerard’s back, kicking her feet.
Gerard complies, and Brendon leans back against the lounge’s cinder block wall. Her laughter dies and she tilts her head, studying Gerard, who’s looking at her-eyes hungry and heavy lidded. “What?” she manages to say before Gerard pulls her to him, lips rough and insistent against hers.
Breaking the kiss, Gerard’s breath stutters across Brendon’s cheek and nose when he says, “You could…show me.”
“What?” Brendon’s smile is soft as she pets her hands across Gerard’s shoulders. “Oh you mean how I…”
“Yeah, I mean if you want to. Is that weird? It’s probably weird.”
Brendon smiles and kisses him, “Nah, not weird. Okay,” she nods her head.
“Yeah?”
“Mmm hmm, c’mon before I chicken out,” she smiles and grabs Gerard’s hand, pulling him towards an old sofa tucked into the far corner of the room.
Her cheeks slightly pink, Brendon’s lashes flutter and she says in a husky whisper, “You’re just…just gonna watch right? Like, not tell me what to do because I don’t think I can…” Hand splayed across the front of Gerard’s shirt she says, “I trust you.”
“Whatever--whatever you want,” Gerard wraps her in a hug and kisses her, an urgent press of his lips to hers, tongue slicking inside her mouth.
Huffing out a bracing breath, Brendon backs away a little and says, “Okay. So, like, I dunno maybe lean against that wall?” she waves, indicating the entrance to the room. “And I’ll just…uh, be over here, I guess.” She sinks down into the soft padding of the couch and bites her lip.
Gerard locks the door and then leans back against it. Can’t be too careful, right? He opens his mouth to say something but Brendon stops him with a raised hand and a slight shake of her head. She sits for a minute, staring at her hands in her lap. “Okay,” she inhales and exhales deeply, then takes her Sidekick from the tiny pocket at the waistband of her skirt. Curious, Gerard watches as she flicks open the screen and taps a button.
With a confused grunt, Gerard takes his buzzing phone out of his pocket, “Hi?”
Biting into her smile, Brendon smooths one hand palm-flat over and over her hair before twisting a hank around her finger, “Hey Gerard. How are you?”
Raising an eyebrow, Gerard looks at Brendon but speaks into his phone, “Um…confused, actually.”
She scowls at him and says, mouth away from the phone, “Just go with it, okay?” and continues to wind strands of her hair around her fingertips.
“I’m fine!” Gerard says, speaking loudly into his handset and busting out a fake, plastic smile.
“So,” Brendon drops her voice and stares at a spot in the carpet between her feet, “you miss me?”
“I’m guessing I’m supposed to say yes? It’s been seconds and seconds since I’ve held you hand, I dunno if I’m gonna make it, honey,” Gerard purrs over-dramatically into his cell phone.
Brendon snorts, but, voice soft says, “I miss you,” she swallows hard and says, “I think I’m kind of bad at this.” Her hunched shoulders shake ever so slightly with silent, self-deprecating laughter, “So, like, I’m just gonna go…”
Something hot pin-balls around Gerard’s stomach, and he says, “Okay?” shrugging and tucking his phone back into his pocket when Brendon ends the call. He leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching her.
Head bowed, Brendon stares at her phone for a few seconds, biting into the secret smile that twitches her lips. With a small nod of her head, she tosses the phone down beside her, and gives Gerard a fleeting glance that causes her cheeks to flush faintly pink and her lashes to flutter. Long fingers splayed wide, she runs her palms along her thighs--still covered in the thin black cotton of her skirt--and cups her knees. “Okay,” she says, more to herself than any one else, “okay.”
She’s making a show of things; she raises her head and looks directly at Gerard, giving him a bawdy wink. Gerard’s breath seeps out as he smirks and shifts his weight, resting his hip against the wall, waiting expectantly. Just watch, he reminds himself. He licks his lips and swallows as she drags feather-light fingers down the length of her skirt and then up, rucking the fabric in pinched fingers, to reveal her bare legs. Brendon pouts and sighs and spreads her legs a little wider, toes pointed and feet ever so slightly off the floor, to accommodate the slide of her palms to the inside of her thighs. A brief glimpse of the stripes on Brendon’s panties flirts with the dark hem of her skirt before she moves her hand, trailing it up to the side of her shirt, using a finger to flick across her cleavage, and then up along her neck, to her mouth. She sucks on the tip of her index finger, smiling as she swirls her tongue around it.
Brendon uses the hand between her legs to pet lightly high inside her thigh. Gerard licks his lips and schools his breathing when the tiny brown freckle he’s spent an embarrassing amount of time memorizing the exact placement and shape of comes into view. Brendon, who hears the hitching intake of Gerard's breath, contents herself with light brushes of her fingers across her panties, tracing the laced edge with her thumb. Releasing the finger she’s been sucking on with a wet pop, Brendon snakes it along her neck and under her halter-top, slicking it across a quickly stiffening nipple. She makes a fussy, unhappy face and withdraws her hand to undo the knotted straps at the back of her neck. As they fall away her fingers trace them and then across her skin to cup on breast, squeezing with her long fingers.
His fingers curling in his palm, miming Brendon’s movements, Gerard shifts, uncomfortable as he feels his cock harden in his jeans. He closes his eyes and swallows the breath he’s been holding, chest rising and falling in tandem with Brendon’s. Her hips are stuttering against the increasing pressure of the slow, slow circles she’s unspooling across the bright pattern of her underpants. Gerard can tell, by the splay of her hips, the lolling of her head, and the boneless hitching of her movements that Brendon isn’t performing any more. She’s lost; turned inward, and focused on the feeling coursing through her nervous system, and maybe, just maybe the remembered ghost of his own touch. She slips two fingers inside her panties and rocks up into the heel of her hand. Gerard presses himself harder back into the cold brick wall, biting his lip and stilling his breath, not wanting to bring Brendon out of the moment. Her head drops forward, and his eyes focus on the whorled cowlicks of her dark hair.
Her groan is loud under the buzz of florescent lights, and Brendon’s tongue darts out across her lips, mouth wide and panting. Tiny beads of sweat dot her hairline and trail down her neck. She shifts her hand to her other breast flicking a teasing fingernail across the nipple, and with a skilled twist, undoing the fastener of her bra, exposing more skin to her exploring touch. “Mmmm,” Brendon smiles as the fingers dipping between her legs speed up with the shake and wobble of her thighs. Her tongue ficks in wet circles between her lips, echoing the clever touch of her hand between her legs.
Gerard watches her fall apart in increments. Brendon’s pretty blush stains her neck and across her breasts. Her small huffing breaths are punctuated with high pitched gasps as her fingers pluck at the raised peaks of her nipples, and she draws her fingers away, clutching at hanks of her hair and breathing hard into her bicep. Eyes narrowed, Gerard bites his lip, drawn to the slow descent of a drop of perspiration along the the tendons in her neck. She twists and writhes against the sensation of her fingers slicking inside her. “Shit shit shit,” she’s chanting low at the fluid flexing of the muscle in her legs. The black fabric of her skirt is wound close across the tops of her thighs, pinning her in place. Finally drawing her hand away from her breast, Brendon’s head falls back against the sofa cushions as her hips and legs buck up into her own touch. “Fuck,” she mutters, swiping her head back and forth. Her eyes open, then, wide, dark, and unfocused. “Fuck,” her breath squeaks around the word as she rises up from the couch, toes curling into the carpet as she wails, “Ohohoh!”
As Brendon's gasping breaths still fill the room, Gerard crosses to her and sits down. He squirms a little, trying to get comfortable despite the fact that he’s so very painfully hard, erection rubbing against unyielding fabric. He watches as Brendon curls into the sofa, away from him, the knobs of her spine standing out beneath her skin. He traces the shapes of them, and runs a warm hand over her back, attempting to stop the fine tremors causing her breath to catch in her throat.
With gentle hands, Gerard fastens the clasp of Brendon’s bra and ties the straps of her halter-top back into place. She doesn’t turn around, so Gerard draws her back to him, skimming her skirt back down over her bare legs, and brings his arm up to lay loose and undemanding across her hip. He mouths sloppy kisses to the thin skin below her hairline, and neither of them speak until Gerard says, voice almost a whisper, “You...you do that, after? After we talk on the phone?” He doesn’t lift his mouth from Brendon’s neck and the words tickle across the perspiration damp ends of her hair.
Brendon breathes in and out a few times, and then nods, pressing her cheek into the soft upholstery of the sofa. Gerard tightens his arm around her waist and says, “Me too.”
* * *
Gerard draws the towel from his face and smiles as Brendon smacks a kiss to his freshly shaved cheek. Chest still heaving from nearly two full hours on stage, he hugs Brendon close and says, “Hey there you!”
“Oh my God! That was amazing! So. Much. Fun!” She punctuates her words with kisses. “And now? Guess what? Frank and Bob wanna go see the sites, paint the town, whatever, whatever, etc.”
Draping a casual arm over Brendon’s shoulder as he walks them back to the dressing rooms, Gerard asks, “Oh yeah?” in a noncommittal voice.
“Yep! Doesn’t that sound fun?” Brendon squeezes Gerard’s waist and is bouncing up onto her sandal clad toes. “Can we go with them? Please?” she clasps her hands together, beseechingly and bats her eyelashes.
Stroking his hands along the faded pink of the freshly healed cut on Brendon’s cheek, Gerard glances at Mikey and Ray, then shrugs his shoulders. “I dunno, honey. I’m kinda beat, you know? Thought I’d head back to the hotel and pack it in early…”
“Oh…okay…” Brendon turns her cheek into Gerard’s touch and lowers her eyes, trying and failing to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
When Brendon bites her lip, Gerard says a soft, “Hey,” and tilts her chin up, looking her in the eyes. “That’s just me, though. You’ve never been to Mexico. You should go be all touristy and shit.”
“Yeah Bee, come out with us!” Frank emerges from the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his square hips, and swiping at his wet head with another. He takes the towel from his hair and snaps it in Gerard and Brendon’s direction. Frank bops around the room, doing an improvised PeeWee Herman dance, humming loudly and off key before shouting a triumphant, “Tequila!”
“No, it’s okay,” she fits herself back into the curl of Gerard’s arm.
Mouthing a kiss to the spiky hairs at Brendon’s temple, Gerard says gently, “Queen Bee, really, just because I’m an old fart whose idea of a good time is re-reading my book and having Schechter try to teach me to play chess for the millionth time doesn’t mean you can’t go out and have a good time.”
Brendon turns to wrap her arms around Gerard’s waist, “Don’t talk like that, it hurts my heart. You’re not old!” She kisses the jut of his chin and squeezes him into a hug. “But you really don’t mind?”
Gerard laughs and says, “No, I don’t mind, seriously.”
“Yeah Bee, c’mon, leave the senior citizens to their grandpa sweaters and old fogie games!” Frank takes a moment from chucking articles of clothing out of his duffle bag to fist pump the air. He bursts into giggles and Brendon joins in.
“Hey, if you ever do need grandpa sweaters? I can totally raid Ross’s closet for you!” Brendon kisses Gerard again. As she’s heading towards the door, on her way to the bus to get ready, she hears a chorus of offended shouts behind her.
“Frankie! Jesus, no one wants to see your ass!” Ray throws a couch cushion at Frank, who has dropped his towel and is struggling into a pair of boxer shorts stubbornly clinging to his wet legs.
Frank just giggles and continues hopping from one foot to the other. “Dude, you’ve all seen it before. And it’s a very fine ass, motherfuckers!”
“Gimme twenty minutes to get all pretty and we’ll roll, 'kay?” She ignores Frank’s reverse strip-tease and addresses Bob who nods and winks at her. Brendon just laughs and shuts the door behind her.
Twenty minutes later, Bob opens the bus door and sticks his head in, “Brendon, you ready? Cab’s here!” he shouts.
“Yes! Yes, I’m ready!” Brendon skips down the steps and links her arm with Bob’s. Gerard is leaning against the bus, smoking with Matt and Brian. “So you’re sure you’re okay with this?” She shoves her sunglasses to the top of her head and gives Gerard an entreating look.
“Have a good time, Bee,” Gerard says definitively. He kisses her cheek and tugs on a few strands of her freshly washed hair.
Brendon skips off to where Frank is waiting by the cab, skirt swishing around her legs. “We’ll take good care of her,” Bob says earnestly, clapping a hand over Gerard’s shoulder.
Blowing out a long plume of smoke, Gerard chuckles and says, “Just make sure Frankie and her don’t get arrested, okay?”
* * *
Gerard is startled from his doze by the bang of the hotel room door and a familiar obnoxious giggle. Blinking stupidly, he stretches and turns towards the balcony door. “Gerard?” Frank’s disembodied voice calls from inside.
“Out here, man.” Gerard yawns and sits up, catching his book before it falls off his lap to the ground.
In a swish of curtains and flailing limbs, Frank and Brendon appear in the door way. Frank’s arm is secured firmly around Brendon’s waist and appears to be the only thing holding her upright. “M’fine Frankie!” Brendon scowls at Frank and bats at his arm, “lemme go!”
“Sorry Gee,” Frank mumbles, chagrined. “She tried to keep up with the boys and…”
“I’m fuckin’ fine, asshat!” Brendon shoves hard at Frank, breaking free from his hold. She stumbles, one foot tripping over the other, caught in the straps of her gladiator sandal. She let’s out an “Oof,” and lands in a graceless heap at the end of the lounger Gerard is sprawled on. “Hiya Sailor,” she purrs, crawling up towards Gerard.
“S’okay, Frankie, I got her now,” Gerard’s smile is tight as he takes Brendon gently by the shoulders, preventing her from pitching over onto the patio floor.
Face close to Gerard’s and blinking sleepily, Brendon says, “Tequila,” in a throaty growl, bringing her lips to his, “Lick, drink, suck.” Her tongue flits into Gerard’s mouth and he can taste the bitterness of alcohol, the tartness of lime, and the lingering tang of smoke. Gerard’s hands slide down Brendon’s arms to hold her in place as she tilts her head, giggling into Gerard’s cheek.
Frank’s still standing in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot, looking guilty and anxious. “G’night Frank," Gerard's tone is firm.
“Yeah, okay, night you guys,” Frank waves and slips back into the hotel room.
“Night, Frankenfrank,” Brendon snorts into Gerard’s neck. “Hi Gerard. Hi. I like you!” Brendon sits up, resting her weight across Gerard’s hips, her smile broad and goofy in the darkness.
“I like you too, Bren,” Gerard smiles back at her, his hands sliding beneath the white cotton of her shirt, “c’mon let’s get you to bed, okay?”
“Uh-uhn, I wanna stay here, it’s comfy,” she leans over, tracing a wobbly finger along Gerard’s nose, “You’re comfy.” She shifts her weight and giggles, “When we were in Germany? Thomas took me to this…place, like with strippers?” she swivels her hips again and pets her fingers through Gerard’s hair, humming under her breath, “praying for love in a lap dance and paying in naiveté.” Raising her hands over her head, Brendon attempts a graceful sway, but mostly just succeeds in a drunken loll. “He said I’d be good at lap dances,” she whispers loudly.
Gerard winces, gently pushing Brendon’s knee out of his crotch. “Hey now,” his voice is soft. “Brendon, you don’t have to…”
Brendon shakes her ass, swiveling her hips in lazy, drunken circles, and laughs at the tiny, nasal noises Gerard is making. As she’s laughing she tips her head back and overbalances, almost sliding off of Gerard. She shoots out an arm, bracing her palm on the cement to keep from falling, giggling too loud in the stillness of the night. Gerard does his best to be gentle when he hauls her back up and he pulls her to him, cuddling her into a hug. Brendon slumps down, full length against Gerard and nuzzles at his throat. “M'be I should stick to singin’ ’” her voice is low and before Gerard can answer, he realizes that she’s slipped into sleep. He kisses the top of her head and reaches behind him--Brendon whining a little at the movement,--and tugs down the rough woven blanket that had been draped over the railing,wrapping it around them.
* * *
Brendon pants, her head against the cool porcelain of the toilet, trying to relieve the roiling in her guts. "Honey, you okay? Do you need lecture number seven hundred and two on the evils of the demon liquor?" Gerard is leaning against the bathroom door frame, affecting a bemused expression while secretly fighting the urge to cradle her to him until she feels better. It's actually sort of killing him to see her like this.
"Fucker," she mumbles, "I had a couple of fucking shots of tequila. I am so not hung over! I am clearly dying of some alien plague. Or like, food poisoning or some shit, and my boyfriend doesn't even care." She opens her eyes, lashes spiked from where tears have escaped with the effort of vomiting. She realizes what she said, but is too exhausted and miserable to worry much about it.
Gerard feels something warm and sharp and entirely pleasant flare to life when he hears her. He steps into the tiny bathroom, and squatting, says. "Your boyfriend? Is that what I am?" He reaches beneath her shirt and pets a gentle hand down her perspiration soaked spine.
"Uh…Right now? You are a smug, sanctimonious bastard I'd kick in the balls if I didn't think that would cause me to hurl all over you." Brendon is proud of herself for raising her head, making her rather over dramatic accusation, and settling her head again; all efforts vomit free. She fucking hates throwing up. Hates it. Although she's pretty sure that if there's anyone in the world who likes it they are just not someone she needs to know about.
"Poor girl. C'mere." He slips his hands to her waist, fingers grasping the band of the pair of his pj pants she's wearing, to haul her in close to him. He drops a kiss to the top of her head and she nestles her nose into the folds of his black hoodie.
And before he knows it, he's being roughly shoved off of her, and she's waving one hand at him while covering her mouth and nose with the other. "Oh. Oh fuck. Oh my god! You smell. I can't...I can't deal, ugh." Her eyes are wide and horrified as she mumbles into her cupped hand, and then turns her head and churns stomach acid and bile into the toilet.
Mouth flapping like a fish on land, Gerard stutters out apologies and says "Brendon? Honey? What can I do?"
"Oh God just leave. Just leave me alone." She flaps a weak hand behind her, in Gerard's general direction.
He stands and hesitates, but he doesn't want to make things worse, so he runs a hand through the sweat-damp strands of her dark hair and leaves, keeping the door ajar.
Brendon surfaces again, what could be minutes or hours or, Hell, even days later for all she knows, her face pressed against the floor tiles, curled up in the fetal position, at the feeling of something cool being pressed to the back of her neck. "Frankie?" she mumbles, trying to sit up.
"Hiya Bren, Gee sent me to save the day," Frank smiles kindly and, getting a tattooed arm around her shoulders, manages to shuffle her upright, leaning against the glass shower door. Frank pulls down her wadded up t-shirt and presses a bottle of water into her hand, twisting off the cap. "Maybe drink a bit?" He takes the wash cloth from her neck and runs it under the cold water tap, rings it out, and wipes her face. "You feelin' any better?" His face is close to hers and his eyes are wide and concerned, " 'Cause you sure scared the shit out of Gerard."
"Mmm," Brendon holds the bottle of water to her lips and licks at the few drops around the opening, managing a weak smile. "Think so. Tired. N'sore." She holds out her arms, like a child, and Frank sits down beside her, allowing Brendon to wrap her arms around his sturdy frame. "You smell way better n'Gerard," she says in a sleepy mutter.
"Ah babygirl, welcome to the deep funk that is the Brothers Way. And by that I am in no way referring to any knowledge they might have of George Clinton or his friends." Frank strokes her hair gently. "Think maybe you can make it to the bus now? We gotta leave or Brian will shit."
Brendon smiles again, the effort making her retch a little, but she nods and somewhat unsteadily gets to her feet. "I think everything's packed. I just need my hoodie and my shoes. M'wearing my Uggs. Fuck Spencer Smith and his fashion rules, they're comfy, dammit." She sweaty with the effort of walking into the suite and only just manages to sit on the edge of the bed. Gerard is standing in the middle of the room, lines of worry fanning out around his huge, tired eyes. He hands Frank Brendon's favourite white Care Bears zip front and her boots.
"Can you help her? Apparently I make her sick."
"Gee!" Brendon pouts forlornly in his direction. "That's not true! It's just...the smell...your shirt...I," She takes a deep breath and doesn't continue her sentence.
Frank takes the stuff handed him and helps Brendon finish dressing while Gerard gets their bags together to be sent to the bus. "Dude! I have an idea." He walks over to Gerard, stripping off his hoodie as he goes. "Here man, switch." He holds out the sweatshirt and waits for Gerard to get it together and hand him his. "There! Now go take care of your woman!" Frank says in a funny little voice before smacking Gerard on the ass and leaving the room.
Sidling gingerly up to Brendon, Gerard kneels in front of her. "Better?" he asks, tentatively leaning in to her.
Brendon sniffs cautiously and then says, "Yeah!" beaming as she holds out her arms for him. Gerard folds her into a careful hug, kissing at her sweaty temple.
They make it to the bus, and for reasons Brendon doesn't fully understand, she's feeling much better by the time she's sitting curled up in Gerard's lap. One arm is flung around his shoulders, her feet over the arm of the couch, and she's munching absently on some Melba toast Ray found for her in one of the kitchenette drawers. Gerard's circling her knee with one hand and has the other buried under her hoodie on her stomach, rubbing gently. "Feels nice," she says, sleepily swiping her cheek across his shoulder. "My tummy hurts." The corners of her mouth turn down, and her lashes flutter against her cheeks.
Gerard smiles into the top of her head, and using his thumb, flicks back the elastic waistband of her flannel pants. His fingers slide to the top of her pubic bone and he rests his hand palm flat against her overheated skin, a gentle soothing pressure. Brendon sleeps all the way to the border.
Eight
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 6B 7A
Gerard has this thing he does, at every venue they play. Frank calls it Casing the Joint. Mostly he just wanders around and gets a feel for the place, no matter if this is the first time they’ve played there or the twentieth. He likes to walk around and check out the sight lines and the acoustics, maybe singing along a little with whatever’s on his iPod at the time. When they get to the arena is Monterrey, Gerard climbs up into the very last row and looks down at the stage. He runs his hands along the seats, and traces his finger tips across the concrete. As he’s studying lighting rigging and the curtains at the back of the stage, a familiar laugh filters up to his perch.
Turning his head to follow the sound, Gerard sees Brendon, standing near the stage and talking to Matt. If Gerard’s being honest, in the months to come whenever he thinks of Brendon, this is the image those thoughts will conjure: Brendon’s head is back and she’s laughing, full and unguarded, her hair’s tied back by a bright Mexican print scarf she’d bought of a dirty faced kid when they’d gotten of the bus that morning, a long gypsy skirt skirls around her legs in the breeze, and her skin--gone deep olive in the sun-contrasts with the white cotton halter top she’s wearing. She looks happy and free, and more beautiful than Gerard ever knew anyone could be. And, again if he’s being perfectly honest, in the months to come, Gerard will spend a lot of time thinking of Brendon. He smiles to himself and hums under his breath as he trots down the concrete steps, following the sound of Brendon’s laughter.
“Hey, what’re you two laughing at?” Gerard hooks his chin over Brendon’s bare shoulder and winds his arms around her waist, linking his fingers low on her belly.
Still giggling, Brendon leans back into the embrace and says, enthusiastically, “You!” just as Cortez says the same thing. They crack up laughing again.
Gerard snorts and says, “Of course!” and rolls his eyes. Brendon tips her head back to peck an awkward kiss to the corner of Gerard’s jaw.
“Nah, we’re just rehashing the bad old days when I was dumb and easily conned into doing things for cash, and teched for Bee’s band. Unlike now, when I do it for the glory!” Matt laughs and jabs his lit cigarette towards Gerard before bringing it to his lips.
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. How was your time in purgatory?” Gerard laughs. It had completely slipped his mind that Matt was a guitar tech on Panic’s first big tour.
Matt shrugs and, affecting a long suffering sigh says, “Kids today, man. Hey! Remember when you stuck Spencer with your carry on?”
“He offered!” Brendon leans over in Gerard’s gentle hold to smack affectionately at Matt’s arm. “How was I supposed to know that hotel would have security, and metal detectors and shit?”
“Metal detectors?” Gerard raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”
Brendon strokes her thumbs across Gerard’s splayed fingers and he can feel the laughter ripple through her stomach. “Well, Spencer’s Mother raised him right, unlike some other people’s children I could name,” Brendon stares pointedly at Cortez, “and he’s all gentlemanly and shit. So he offered to carry my bag. And who am I to harsh his chivalry? So, I let him. Unfortunately there were…uh…things…in that bag. And when he put it on the conveyor to go through the x-ray machine at the hotel, it started...vibrating,” Brendon is having a hard time getting through the story, shaking with laughter at the memory.
“Dude! She made Smith carry the bag with her sex toys in it!” Matt is laughing equally as hard, and Brendon slaps him a weak high five. “And the security guard took the bag apart! And Spencer-Spencer fucking Smith-is standing there while this little dude in a rent a cop outfit is waving Brendon’s sparkly purple vibrating dildo at him!”
Matt is choking on his cigarette smoke and Brendon is doubled over laughing, clutching at Gerard’s hands. “His faaace!” They both cry in unison.
Gerard chuckles into Brendon’s hair, “You’re something else, Queen Bee.”
“Not my fault! It could have happened to anyone,” she reaches over and helpfully pats Matt's shoulder to quell his choking coughs. “Hey, remember the Great Fuck Off of 2006?” Brendon’s smile is a wicked gleam of white as she wipes tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes.
Holding his stomach Cortez says, “Oh dude, yes!” and high fives Brendon again.
Trying to follow the thread of the conversation, Gerard asks, “The what?”
“The Fuck Off!” Brendon angles her head to look at Gerard. “Ryan, Jon, and Spencer’s girlfriends all came on the road one week end. And my boys were very happy to see their ladies. Very happy!” She squeezes Gerard’s forearms, laughing as she talks. “And uh, Matt and I didn’t have special friends at the time…”
“Oh my God, if you are about to tell me that you and Cortez fucked, can we please skip this little trip into TMI land?” Gerard thunks his forehead against the curve of Brendon’s neck.
“Eww! No!” Brendon’s face is exaggeratedly horrified.
“Hey! What’s with the eww?” Mat looks suitably offended as he puffs on his Marlboro.
“Sorry, but just…no,” Brendon shakes her head, once more pecking a kiss at Gerard’s jaw. “Anyway, as you may know, having shared a bus a time or two with Mr. Hairy Palms here, Matty is a supporter of the self love. And well--desperate times and all that--sometimes a girl has to take matters into her own hands, if you know what I mean. And I think you do!”
Gerard groans, not lifting his head from between her shoulder blades. “I had to ask, didn’t I?”
Making a tut-tut noise, Brendon pets soothingly at Gerard’s arms and continues, “So, Matt and I-in our own bunks, thank you very much,” she narrows her eyes at Cortez, who’s still laughing but has the good grace to look sheepish, “participate, in our own way, in the Fuck Off! And I totally kicked his ass, so to speak!” she finishes with a triumphant grin.
“Dude, your girl claims to have come ten times in an hour! How is that even possible?” Matt folds his arms, incredulous.
Gerard shrugs, “Well, man, she’s like, twenty, and a girl, and it’s different for them right?” He can’t actually believe he’s even having this conversation.
“Ten! Totally. I couldn’t feel my legs!” Brendon nods emphatically. “Kegles, dude, it’s all about the Kegles,” she leans back into Gerard’s warmth, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Of course now, if I need to get off I just think about how it feels when Gerard fucks me,” she sways her ass across Gerard’s crotch and gives Cortez a lewd wink.
“Oh. My. God,” Gerard huffs, burying his face in Brendon’s hair.
“Hey, what the fuck’s a Kegle?” Matt looks puzzled, yet intrigued.
“Look it up,” Gerard mumbles.
Laughing mischievously and waggling her eyebrows, Brendon adds, “I could show you!” and then dissolves into helpless giggles at the surprised shock on Matt’s face.
“Oh. My. God!” Gerard exclaims again. He hauls on Brendon’s hips, lifting her off her feet and turning her over his shoulder, “Fucking enough, already, Jesus Christ,” he mutters, smacking Brendon lightly across the ass, and stalking away from where a decidedly speechless Matt Cortez stands, open mouthed and cigarette dangling.
“I was kidding! I got you! Man, I so totally got you!” Brendon points and laughs at Cortez, yelling as Gerard stalks into the arena’s interior.
Brendon snorts with laughter, “Okay, you big goof, put me down!” She thumps her fists playfully against Gerard’s back, kicking her feet.
Gerard complies, and Brendon leans back against the lounge’s cinder block wall. Her laughter dies and she tilts her head, studying Gerard, who’s looking at her-eyes hungry and heavy lidded. “What?” she manages to say before Gerard pulls her to him, lips rough and insistent against hers.
Breaking the kiss, Gerard’s breath stutters across Brendon’s cheek and nose when he says, “You could…show me.”
“What?” Brendon’s smile is soft as she pets her hands across Gerard’s shoulders. “Oh you mean how I…”
“Yeah, I mean if you want to. Is that weird? It’s probably weird.”
Brendon smiles and kisses him, “Nah, not weird. Okay,” she nods her head.
“Yeah?”
“Mmm hmm, c’mon before I chicken out,” she smiles and grabs Gerard’s hand, pulling him towards an old sofa tucked into the far corner of the room.
Her cheeks slightly pink, Brendon’s lashes flutter and she says in a husky whisper, “You’re just…just gonna watch right? Like, not tell me what to do because I don’t think I can…” Hand splayed across the front of Gerard’s shirt she says, “I trust you.”
“Whatever--whatever you want,” Gerard wraps her in a hug and kisses her, an urgent press of his lips to hers, tongue slicking inside her mouth.
Huffing out a bracing breath, Brendon backs away a little and says, “Okay. So, like, I dunno maybe lean against that wall?” she waves, indicating the entrance to the room. “And I’ll just…uh, be over here, I guess.” She sinks down into the soft padding of the couch and bites her lip.
Gerard locks the door and then leans back against it. Can’t be too careful, right? He opens his mouth to say something but Brendon stops him with a raised hand and a slight shake of her head. She sits for a minute, staring at her hands in her lap. “Okay,” she inhales and exhales deeply, then takes her Sidekick from the tiny pocket at the waistband of her skirt. Curious, Gerard watches as she flicks open the screen and taps a button.
With a confused grunt, Gerard takes his buzzing phone out of his pocket, “Hi?”
Biting into her smile, Brendon smooths one hand palm-flat over and over her hair before twisting a hank around her finger, “Hey Gerard. How are you?”
Raising an eyebrow, Gerard looks at Brendon but speaks into his phone, “Um…confused, actually.”
She scowls at him and says, mouth away from the phone, “Just go with it, okay?” and continues to wind strands of her hair around her fingertips.
“I’m fine!” Gerard says, speaking loudly into his handset and busting out a fake, plastic smile.
“So,” Brendon drops her voice and stares at a spot in the carpet between her feet, “you miss me?”
“I’m guessing I’m supposed to say yes? It’s been seconds and seconds since I’ve held you hand, I dunno if I’m gonna make it, honey,” Gerard purrs over-dramatically into his cell phone.
Brendon snorts, but, voice soft says, “I miss you,” she swallows hard and says, “I think I’m kind of bad at this.” Her hunched shoulders shake ever so slightly with silent, self-deprecating laughter, “So, like, I’m just gonna go…”
Something hot pin-balls around Gerard’s stomach, and he says, “Okay?” shrugging and tucking his phone back into his pocket when Brendon ends the call. He leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching her.
Head bowed, Brendon stares at her phone for a few seconds, biting into the secret smile that twitches her lips. With a small nod of her head, she tosses the phone down beside her, and gives Gerard a fleeting glance that causes her cheeks to flush faintly pink and her lashes to flutter. Long fingers splayed wide, she runs her palms along her thighs--still covered in the thin black cotton of her skirt--and cups her knees. “Okay,” she says, more to herself than any one else, “okay.”
She’s making a show of things; she raises her head and looks directly at Gerard, giving him a bawdy wink. Gerard’s breath seeps out as he smirks and shifts his weight, resting his hip against the wall, waiting expectantly. Just watch, he reminds himself. He licks his lips and swallows as she drags feather-light fingers down the length of her skirt and then up, rucking the fabric in pinched fingers, to reveal her bare legs. Brendon pouts and sighs and spreads her legs a little wider, toes pointed and feet ever so slightly off the floor, to accommodate the slide of her palms to the inside of her thighs. A brief glimpse of the stripes on Brendon’s panties flirts with the dark hem of her skirt before she moves her hand, trailing it up to the side of her shirt, using a finger to flick across her cleavage, and then up along her neck, to her mouth. She sucks on the tip of her index finger, smiling as she swirls her tongue around it.
Brendon uses the hand between her legs to pet lightly high inside her thigh. Gerard licks his lips and schools his breathing when the tiny brown freckle he’s spent an embarrassing amount of time memorizing the exact placement and shape of comes into view. Brendon, who hears the hitching intake of Gerard's breath, contents herself with light brushes of her fingers across her panties, tracing the laced edge with her thumb. Releasing the finger she’s been sucking on with a wet pop, Brendon snakes it along her neck and under her halter-top, slicking it across a quickly stiffening nipple. She makes a fussy, unhappy face and withdraws her hand to undo the knotted straps at the back of her neck. As they fall away her fingers trace them and then across her skin to cup on breast, squeezing with her long fingers.
His fingers curling in his palm, miming Brendon’s movements, Gerard shifts, uncomfortable as he feels his cock harden in his jeans. He closes his eyes and swallows the breath he’s been holding, chest rising and falling in tandem with Brendon’s. Her hips are stuttering against the increasing pressure of the slow, slow circles she’s unspooling across the bright pattern of her underpants. Gerard can tell, by the splay of her hips, the lolling of her head, and the boneless hitching of her movements that Brendon isn’t performing any more. She’s lost; turned inward, and focused on the feeling coursing through her nervous system, and maybe, just maybe the remembered ghost of his own touch. She slips two fingers inside her panties and rocks up into the heel of her hand. Gerard presses himself harder back into the cold brick wall, biting his lip and stilling his breath, not wanting to bring Brendon out of the moment. Her head drops forward, and his eyes focus on the whorled cowlicks of her dark hair.
Her groan is loud under the buzz of florescent lights, and Brendon’s tongue darts out across her lips, mouth wide and panting. Tiny beads of sweat dot her hairline and trail down her neck. She shifts her hand to her other breast flicking a teasing fingernail across the nipple, and with a skilled twist, undoing the fastener of her bra, exposing more skin to her exploring touch. “Mmmm,” Brendon smiles as the fingers dipping between her legs speed up with the shake and wobble of her thighs. Her tongue ficks in wet circles between her lips, echoing the clever touch of her hand between her legs.
Gerard watches her fall apart in increments. Brendon’s pretty blush stains her neck and across her breasts. Her small huffing breaths are punctuated with high pitched gasps as her fingers pluck at the raised peaks of her nipples, and she draws her fingers away, clutching at hanks of her hair and breathing hard into her bicep. Eyes narrowed, Gerard bites his lip, drawn to the slow descent of a drop of perspiration along the the tendons in her neck. She twists and writhes against the sensation of her fingers slicking inside her. “Shit shit shit,” she’s chanting low at the fluid flexing of the muscle in her legs. The black fabric of her skirt is wound close across the tops of her thighs, pinning her in place. Finally drawing her hand away from her breast, Brendon’s head falls back against the sofa cushions as her hips and legs buck up into her own touch. “Fuck,” she mutters, swiping her head back and forth. Her eyes open, then, wide, dark, and unfocused. “Fuck,” her breath squeaks around the word as she rises up from the couch, toes curling into the carpet as she wails, “Ohohoh!”
As Brendon's gasping breaths still fill the room, Gerard crosses to her and sits down. He squirms a little, trying to get comfortable despite the fact that he’s so very painfully hard, erection rubbing against unyielding fabric. He watches as Brendon curls into the sofa, away from him, the knobs of her spine standing out beneath her skin. He traces the shapes of them, and runs a warm hand over her back, attempting to stop the fine tremors causing her breath to catch in her throat.
With gentle hands, Gerard fastens the clasp of Brendon’s bra and ties the straps of her halter-top back into place. She doesn’t turn around, so Gerard draws her back to him, skimming her skirt back down over her bare legs, and brings his arm up to lay loose and undemanding across her hip. He mouths sloppy kisses to the thin skin below her hairline, and neither of them speak until Gerard says, voice almost a whisper, “You...you do that, after? After we talk on the phone?” He doesn’t lift his mouth from Brendon’s neck and the words tickle across the perspiration damp ends of her hair.
Brendon breathes in and out a few times, and then nods, pressing her cheek into the soft upholstery of the sofa. Gerard tightens his arm around her waist and says, “Me too.”
* * *
Gerard draws the towel from his face and smiles as Brendon smacks a kiss to his freshly shaved cheek. Chest still heaving from nearly two full hours on stage, he hugs Brendon close and says, “Hey there you!”
“Oh my God! That was amazing! So. Much. Fun!” She punctuates her words with kisses. “And now? Guess what? Frank and Bob wanna go see the sites, paint the town, whatever, whatever, etc.”
Draping a casual arm over Brendon’s shoulder as he walks them back to the dressing rooms, Gerard asks, “Oh yeah?” in a noncommittal voice.
“Yep! Doesn’t that sound fun?” Brendon squeezes Gerard’s waist and is bouncing up onto her sandal clad toes. “Can we go with them? Please?” she clasps her hands together, beseechingly and bats her eyelashes.
Stroking his hands along the faded pink of the freshly healed cut on Brendon’s cheek, Gerard glances at Mikey and Ray, then shrugs his shoulders. “I dunno, honey. I’m kinda beat, you know? Thought I’d head back to the hotel and pack it in early…”
“Oh…okay…” Brendon turns her cheek into Gerard’s touch and lowers her eyes, trying and failing to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
When Brendon bites her lip, Gerard says a soft, “Hey,” and tilts her chin up, looking her in the eyes. “That’s just me, though. You’ve never been to Mexico. You should go be all touristy and shit.”
“Yeah Bee, come out with us!” Frank emerges from the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his square hips, and swiping at his wet head with another. He takes the towel from his hair and snaps it in Gerard and Brendon’s direction. Frank bops around the room, doing an improvised PeeWee Herman dance, humming loudly and off key before shouting a triumphant, “Tequila!”
“No, it’s okay,” she fits herself back into the curl of Gerard’s arm.
Mouthing a kiss to the spiky hairs at Brendon’s temple, Gerard says gently, “Queen Bee, really, just because I’m an old fart whose idea of a good time is re-reading my book and having Schechter try to teach me to play chess for the millionth time doesn’t mean you can’t go out and have a good time.”
Brendon turns to wrap her arms around Gerard’s waist, “Don’t talk like that, it hurts my heart. You’re not old!” She kisses the jut of his chin and squeezes him into a hug. “But you really don’t mind?”
Gerard laughs and says, “No, I don’t mind, seriously.”
“Yeah Bee, c’mon, leave the senior citizens to their grandpa sweaters and old fogie games!” Frank takes a moment from chucking articles of clothing out of his duffle bag to fist pump the air. He bursts into giggles and Brendon joins in.
“Hey, if you ever do need grandpa sweaters? I can totally raid Ross’s closet for you!” Brendon kisses Gerard again. As she’s heading towards the door, on her way to the bus to get ready, she hears a chorus of offended shouts behind her.
“Frankie! Jesus, no one wants to see your ass!” Ray throws a couch cushion at Frank, who has dropped his towel and is struggling into a pair of boxer shorts stubbornly clinging to his wet legs.
Frank just giggles and continues hopping from one foot to the other. “Dude, you’ve all seen it before. And it’s a very fine ass, motherfuckers!”
“Gimme twenty minutes to get all pretty and we’ll roll, 'kay?” She ignores Frank’s reverse strip-tease and addresses Bob who nods and winks at her. Brendon just laughs and shuts the door behind her.
Twenty minutes later, Bob opens the bus door and sticks his head in, “Brendon, you ready? Cab’s here!” he shouts.
“Yes! Yes, I’m ready!” Brendon skips down the steps and links her arm with Bob’s. Gerard is leaning against the bus, smoking with Matt and Brian. “So you’re sure you’re okay with this?” She shoves her sunglasses to the top of her head and gives Gerard an entreating look.
“Have a good time, Bee,” Gerard says definitively. He kisses her cheek and tugs on a few strands of her freshly washed hair.
Brendon skips off to where Frank is waiting by the cab, skirt swishing around her legs. “We’ll take good care of her,” Bob says earnestly, clapping a hand over Gerard’s shoulder.
Blowing out a long plume of smoke, Gerard chuckles and says, “Just make sure Frankie and her don’t get arrested, okay?”
* * *
Gerard is startled from his doze by the bang of the hotel room door and a familiar obnoxious giggle. Blinking stupidly, he stretches and turns towards the balcony door. “Gerard?” Frank’s disembodied voice calls from inside.
“Out here, man.” Gerard yawns and sits up, catching his book before it falls off his lap to the ground.
In a swish of curtains and flailing limbs, Frank and Brendon appear in the door way. Frank’s arm is secured firmly around Brendon’s waist and appears to be the only thing holding her upright. “M’fine Frankie!” Brendon scowls at Frank and bats at his arm, “lemme go!”
“Sorry Gee,” Frank mumbles, chagrined. “She tried to keep up with the boys and…”
“I’m fuckin’ fine, asshat!” Brendon shoves hard at Frank, breaking free from his hold. She stumbles, one foot tripping over the other, caught in the straps of her gladiator sandal. She let’s out an “Oof,” and lands in a graceless heap at the end of the lounger Gerard is sprawled on. “Hiya Sailor,” she purrs, crawling up towards Gerard.
“S’okay, Frankie, I got her now,” Gerard’s smile is tight as he takes Brendon gently by the shoulders, preventing her from pitching over onto the patio floor.
Face close to Gerard’s and blinking sleepily, Brendon says, “Tequila,” in a throaty growl, bringing her lips to his, “Lick, drink, suck.” Her tongue flits into Gerard’s mouth and he can taste the bitterness of alcohol, the tartness of lime, and the lingering tang of smoke. Gerard’s hands slide down Brendon’s arms to hold her in place as she tilts her head, giggling into Gerard’s cheek.
Frank’s still standing in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot, looking guilty and anxious. “G’night Frank," Gerard's tone is firm.
“Yeah, okay, night you guys,” Frank waves and slips back into the hotel room.
“Night, Frankenfrank,” Brendon snorts into Gerard’s neck. “Hi Gerard. Hi. I like you!” Brendon sits up, resting her weight across Gerard’s hips, her smile broad and goofy in the darkness.
“I like you too, Bren,” Gerard smiles back at her, his hands sliding beneath the white cotton of her shirt, “c’mon let’s get you to bed, okay?”
“Uh-uhn, I wanna stay here, it’s comfy,” she leans over, tracing a wobbly finger along Gerard’s nose, “You’re comfy.” She shifts her weight and giggles, “When we were in Germany? Thomas took me to this…place, like with strippers?” she swivels her hips again and pets her fingers through Gerard’s hair, humming under her breath, “praying for love in a lap dance and paying in naiveté.” Raising her hands over her head, Brendon attempts a graceful sway, but mostly just succeeds in a drunken loll. “He said I’d be good at lap dances,” she whispers loudly.
Gerard winces, gently pushing Brendon’s knee out of his crotch. “Hey now,” his voice is soft. “Brendon, you don’t have to…”
Brendon shakes her ass, swiveling her hips in lazy, drunken circles, and laughs at the tiny, nasal noises Gerard is making. As she’s laughing she tips her head back and overbalances, almost sliding off of Gerard. She shoots out an arm, bracing her palm on the cement to keep from falling, giggling too loud in the stillness of the night. Gerard does his best to be gentle when he hauls her back up and he pulls her to him, cuddling her into a hug. Brendon slumps down, full length against Gerard and nuzzles at his throat. “M'be I should stick to singin’ ’” her voice is low and before Gerard can answer, he realizes that she’s slipped into sleep. He kisses the top of her head and reaches behind him--Brendon whining a little at the movement,--and tugs down the rough woven blanket that had been draped over the railing,wrapping it around them.
* * *
Brendon pants, her head against the cool porcelain of the toilet, trying to relieve the roiling in her guts. "Honey, you okay? Do you need lecture number seven hundred and two on the evils of the demon liquor?" Gerard is leaning against the bathroom door frame, affecting a bemused expression while secretly fighting the urge to cradle her to him until she feels better. It's actually sort of killing him to see her like this.
"Fucker," she mumbles, "I had a couple of fucking shots of tequila. I am so not hung over! I am clearly dying of some alien plague. Or like, food poisoning or some shit, and my boyfriend doesn't even care." She opens her eyes, lashes spiked from where tears have escaped with the effort of vomiting. She realizes what she said, but is too exhausted and miserable to worry much about it.
Gerard feels something warm and sharp and entirely pleasant flare to life when he hears her. He steps into the tiny bathroom, and squatting, says. "Your boyfriend? Is that what I am?" He reaches beneath her shirt and pets a gentle hand down her perspiration soaked spine.
"Uh…Right now? You are a smug, sanctimonious bastard I'd kick in the balls if I didn't think that would cause me to hurl all over you." Brendon is proud of herself for raising her head, making her rather over dramatic accusation, and settling her head again; all efforts vomit free. She fucking hates throwing up. Hates it. Although she's pretty sure that if there's anyone in the world who likes it they are just not someone she needs to know about.
"Poor girl. C'mere." He slips his hands to her waist, fingers grasping the band of the pair of his pj pants she's wearing, to haul her in close to him. He drops a kiss to the top of her head and she nestles her nose into the folds of his black hoodie.
And before he knows it, he's being roughly shoved off of her, and she's waving one hand at him while covering her mouth and nose with the other. "Oh. Oh fuck. Oh my god! You smell. I can't...I can't deal, ugh." Her eyes are wide and horrified as she mumbles into her cupped hand, and then turns her head and churns stomach acid and bile into the toilet.
Mouth flapping like a fish on land, Gerard stutters out apologies and says "Brendon? Honey? What can I do?"
"Oh God just leave. Just leave me alone." She flaps a weak hand behind her, in Gerard's general direction.
He stands and hesitates, but he doesn't want to make things worse, so he runs a hand through the sweat-damp strands of her dark hair and leaves, keeping the door ajar.
Brendon surfaces again, what could be minutes or hours or, Hell, even days later for all she knows, her face pressed against the floor tiles, curled up in the fetal position, at the feeling of something cool being pressed to the back of her neck. "Frankie?" she mumbles, trying to sit up.
"Hiya Bren, Gee sent me to save the day," Frank smiles kindly and, getting a tattooed arm around her shoulders, manages to shuffle her upright, leaning against the glass shower door. Frank pulls down her wadded up t-shirt and presses a bottle of water into her hand, twisting off the cap. "Maybe drink a bit?" He takes the wash cloth from her neck and runs it under the cold water tap, rings it out, and wipes her face. "You feelin' any better?" His face is close to hers and his eyes are wide and concerned, " 'Cause you sure scared the shit out of Gerard."
"Mmm," Brendon holds the bottle of water to her lips and licks at the few drops around the opening, managing a weak smile. "Think so. Tired. N'sore." She holds out her arms, like a child, and Frank sits down beside her, allowing Brendon to wrap her arms around his sturdy frame. "You smell way better n'Gerard," she says in a sleepy mutter.
"Ah babygirl, welcome to the deep funk that is the Brothers Way. And by that I am in no way referring to any knowledge they might have of George Clinton or his friends." Frank strokes her hair gently. "Think maybe you can make it to the bus now? We gotta leave or Brian will shit."
Brendon smiles again, the effort making her retch a little, but she nods and somewhat unsteadily gets to her feet. "I think everything's packed. I just need my hoodie and my shoes. M'wearing my Uggs. Fuck Spencer Smith and his fashion rules, they're comfy, dammit." She sweaty with the effort of walking into the suite and only just manages to sit on the edge of the bed. Gerard is standing in the middle of the room, lines of worry fanning out around his huge, tired eyes. He hands Frank Brendon's favourite white Care Bears zip front and her boots.
"Can you help her? Apparently I make her sick."
"Gee!" Brendon pouts forlornly in his direction. "That's not true! It's just...the smell...your shirt...I," She takes a deep breath and doesn't continue her sentence.
Frank takes the stuff handed him and helps Brendon finish dressing while Gerard gets their bags together to be sent to the bus. "Dude! I have an idea." He walks over to Gerard, stripping off his hoodie as he goes. "Here man, switch." He holds out the sweatshirt and waits for Gerard to get it together and hand him his. "There! Now go take care of your woman!" Frank says in a funny little voice before smacking Gerard on the ass and leaving the room.
Sidling gingerly up to Brendon, Gerard kneels in front of her. "Better?" he asks, tentatively leaning in to her.
Brendon sniffs cautiously and then says, "Yeah!" beaming as she holds out her arms for him. Gerard folds her into a careful hug, kissing at her sweaty temple.
They make it to the bus, and for reasons Brendon doesn't fully understand, she's feeling much better by the time she's sitting curled up in Gerard's lap. One arm is flung around his shoulders, her feet over the arm of the couch, and she's munching absently on some Melba toast Ray found for her in one of the kitchenette drawers. Gerard's circling her knee with one hand and has the other buried under her hoodie on her stomach, rubbing gently. "Feels nice," she says, sleepily swiping her cheek across his shoulder. "My tummy hurts." The corners of her mouth turn down, and her lashes flutter against her cheeks.
Gerard smiles into the top of her head, and using his thumb, flicks back the elastic waistband of her flannel pants. His fingers slide to the top of her pubic bone and he rests his hand palm flat against her overheated skin, a gentle soothing pressure. Brendon sleeps all the way to the border.
Eight