fic: something greater than
something greater than
Brendon/Cash
R
Notes: Major thanks to both xcarex and imntsaying for the fantastic beta.
Disclaimer: Not true. No, really.
Cash is on tour the next time Brendon is home. He's got a week before album and tour promo starts up for real -- meet and greets on top of performances on top of interviews -- and Brendon spends most of it doing nothing, getting high and sleeping.
They do spend one day together, though, when the tour swings through Vegas; Cash calls him just after noon and Brendon fumbles his phone nearly off the little table next to his bed.
"Mmph," he says and Cash laughs.
"Food?" Cash asks after Brendon manages a mumbled hello.
Brendon stumbles out of the house ten minutes later to find Cash on the hood of his car, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands. His skateboard is lying forgotten in the yard, his hood pulled up over his head.
"You look like shit," Cash says, smile wide, and Brendon flips him off, shuffles through his keys to find the right one. But Cash says, before Brendon's even found it, "Dude. You totally can't drive like that," and ignores the glare Brendon gives him to finish with, "Give me the keys."
Brendon resists for about two seconds.
He feels like shit, a late night and not enough sleep, maybe a little hungover, but at least Brendon doesn't have to do it himself.
"Whatever, just. Get us there in one piece," Brendon says and slides into the passenger seat. Cash shoots him a look, the one Brendon always thinks of as his bitch, please look.
They get food, something fast and easy. Something greasy and completely awesome that makes Brendon feel slightly better, like he's not about to die, but still not actually all right. He could go for a nap, but lets Cash steer them in the direction of the venue instead; soundcheck is at three and Cash hates being late.
"Hey, doucheface," Singer says when he sees Brendon, wraps skinny little arms around Brendon's waist and Brendon hugs him back, feels how thin, still sturdy, he is.
"Hey, hey," Cash says and Singer laughs, pulls away.
The only alone time they get after that isn't until The Cab's set is over, when Cash has Brendon pressed up against the wall of their tiny dressing room, has one leg between Brendon's. His mouth is hot, sloppy, and Brendon finally feels okay enough to kiss him back, to wrap his hand around the back of his neck. He feels okay enough to tug at the button of Cash's jeans until it's undone and he can slide his hand inside, cup Cash through the fabric of his boxers.
Cash grunts into Brendon's mouth, twists beneath his hands, and presses Brendon harder into the wall.
His hands tightening in Cash's hair, around Cash's dick, Brendon pushes his hips into Cash and bites down on his lower lip.
"Oh, fuck," Brendon hears vaguely and he thinks it's probably Cash even as his brain is insisting it's not, that Cash doesn't sound like that, not at all. "Seriously, guys."
Cash groans and pulls away, says, "Out. Now. Go away, go away." Cash's eyes are still half-closed and Brendon can't help the way he leans forward, tries to capture Cash's mouth again.
But Ian isn't going anywhere, is followed by Marshall and Singer and Brendon's sure Johnson is somewhere. Lurking probably.
Brendon groans when Cash kisses him hard, not even any tongue or teeth, just the hard press of his lips against Brendon's and Brendon wants to kill Cash's bandmates because Cash is pulling away for good then, buttoning up his pants and rubbing a hand through his hair.
"Fuckers," Cash says.
*
"We've got, like, two weeks or something," Cash says and he sounds busy. There are people in the background, talking, and his voice goes blurry every once in a while, his words slurring together. "One."
"Oh, sweet. That. That's awesome," Brendon says and he's not sure what else he can say. It is awesome to have time off and one week is just enough. Enough that it's still a break, but not too long. Not long enough to go stir crazy, to get too bored.
"Yeah. I guess, yeah."
"Dude, I should let you go," Brendon says, presses the heel of his hand against his forehead.
*
Technically they have a break at the same time. Right after Europe but before America there's a nice little gap, no shows scheduled, but then. Technically doesn't mean very much to Brendon anymore.
Mostly that gap just means that there's a space of time, a week that Brendon will spend in airports and radio booths. Maybe a few television shows and just possibly they'll play the Tonight Show or something. Because they've got a tour coming up, a huge tour, and driving aimlessly around Vegas with Cash, hanging out at the sub place down the street is not even an afterthought on the schedule.
He texts Cash in the airport, the third one in just as many days, and doesn't wait for Cash's reply before he turns his phone off. Brendon always forgets once they get on the plane.
*
"Hey, fucker," Cash says and he's grinning, letting Brendon back him into a corner, crowd up into his space. "How's it going?"
"Fine. Good," Brendon says and shakes the hair out of his eyes. His hands are on Cash's hips, his thumbs brushing bare skin and Brendon wishes they were alone, wishes Cash's band, his own, weren't in the room, were far, far away. And there are other people milling about, people Brendon knows. People he should talk to, shake hands with and be the lead singer, the frontman for.
"It's been a while." Cash gives him a look, his half-smile a wicked twist of lips, his eyebrow raised.
Brendon blinks, slow, and he can see Cash behind his eyelids. Cash spread out beneath him, for him. Messy sheets and swollen lips, Brendon wants him so bad.
"Cash," he says, voice low, and Cash pulls him closer.
"What are you doing tonight?" Cash asks and his eyes are bright. Brendon can feel him, Cash half hard against his thigh, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop himself from saying something he'll regret. "After the show?"
"Hey, Brendon!" Jon calls, waves at Brendon from the other side of the room. Cash frowns, not at Jon but at Brendon, and slides away. Just dodges around Brendon and disappears into the press of people.
"Fuck," Brendon swears, watches the wake Cash makes in the crowd, watches it swallow him. Jon calls his name again and he goes, still feeling the brush of Cash's skin on his fingers, the heat of Cash pressed up against him. Brendon goes, smiles and plays nice.
*
Brendon's curled up next to Jon, the lights off and only the glow of his phone to combat the television, whatever Jon is watching .
"How's Cash?" Jon asks, voice muffled in Brendon's hair, hands warm on Brendon's skin.
Brendon doesn't respond, not really. He grunts, shifts a little, kicks his legs out in front of him and pushes his elbow into Jon's side on accident. Because he can't really get comfortable, keeps staring at his phone instead of the movie; he's waiting for it to vibrate, waiting for a text.
i dont know, Cash texts and Brendon doesn't get it until the next morning. The answer to his question, coming to vegas? and Brendon just backs out of the text, pushes his phone down into the space between his mattress and the wall.
*
They get a day, one random day when they happen to be in the same city and not just passing through, bus and van crossing paths while Cash heads west and Brendon east.
Cash calls Brendon as soon as he hits the city limits, says, "You so fucking owe me," before Brendon's even managed a hello.
"Uh. Okay," Brendon says, but he's smiling.
"Pizza and a bed and some weed, douchebag." And Brendon smiles harder at the memory. Months and months ago when they had been in the same city for longer than a few hours and Cash didn't say anything other than, "Shit, son. You totally owe me after this," when Brendon came over, curled up on Cash's bed and ate his food, smoked his weed.
"Yeah, yeah," Brendon says, but he drags Cash back to his room as soon as possible. He says, "I stole some of Spencer's weed," and then, "Spencer always gets the best weed," with Cash's hands in his pockets, Cash's face in his neck.
And Brendon isn't impatient to get high, waits until he's fucked into Cash slowly. He waits until they're both flushed red, gross with sweat, sheets rumpled and Brendon is sitting up against the headboard while Cash's fingers wander aimlessly over his bare skin.
"Hey," Cash says, right after Brendon's taken a hit and he's holding it in when he looks down, when he holds the pipe out to Cash. But Cash just shakes his head, says, "Hey, come here," and pushes himself up on his elbow. His fingers close over Brendon's jaw, his lips fitting perfect to Brendon's and he's coaxing Brendon's mouth open.
Cash is sucking the smoke out of Brendon's mouth, breathing it in as he watches Brendon.
He pulls away after a second and Brendon's left open-mouthed and a little surprised. He's shotgunned before, once or twice when Ryan was being a lazy asshole and didn't feel like holding the pipe. He's never done it like this, though, never had it feel like that.
After a second, after he's let the smoke out, watched it float up toward the ceiling, Cash smiles, says, "This room is fucking amazing."
*
Cash call him on a Sunday, says, "Hey, uh. I don't know if I'm going to make it to Vegas," into Brendon's voicemail. Says, "I've got something, something came up. Uh. Just give me a call whenever."
Brendon listens to it just after the show, still sweaty and he hasn't showered or even changed yet. He listens to it as Jon calls for first shower and again when Spencer says, "Oh, man. That crowd," his smile huge. But he doesn't listen to it for a third time until they're back on the bus.
He listens to it for a third time and deletes it.
*
The lights are bright, right in his eyes the whole show, and Brendon is mostly used to it by now. Used to seeing only a few rows of faces, but being able to sense the rest of them. He's used to hearing them and that makes up for not being able to see them.
He doesn't actually think of Cash. Maybe for just a second when they run off stage before the encore. But only a second and then he's got to go back on, following Ryan and Jon and Spencer and yelling, "Vegas!"
They all scream back at him, something like two thousand people, and Brendon thinks, home, before Spencer launches them into the first song.
The show is over before Brendon even realizes, Ryan practically pushing him off the stage, saying lightly, "Come on, come on." Brendon smiles at him over his shoulder, throws one last wave at the crowd and then he's off, done. One more show done and the tour is almost over. One more show done and Brendon almost doesn't it want it to be over.
"Ryan Ross," Brendon crows, wrapping an arm around Ryan's waist and pulling him close. Ryan makes a face, but he lets Brendon manhandle him until the door swings open again. And this time it isn't Zack.
"Brendon fucking Urie," Singer says, his smile huge and his eyes wide.
Brendon grins, coos a little, and doesn't peer around him to find Cash. He hugs Singer and Johnson, closes his eyes and lets their warmth sink into him. Brendon stands next to Jon, Ryan across from him, and it doesn't even feel like anything is missing.
Not until Cash finally does walk in, when he slips through the door like no one is supposed to notice.
Brendon does.
He smiles when Brendon looks up, just a quick hint of a smile that has Brendon smiling back.
"Was wondering when you would show up," Brendon says later, his mouth pressed close to Cash's ear. They're barely touching, just the insistent press of Cash's hand at his lower back.
Cash smiles when he shrugs, says, "What, did you miss me, Urie?"
Brendon just laughs, steps a little closer. He finally says, after he's been standing there, taking up space, for a few minutes too long, he says, "So, uh. What are you doing after the show?"
The responding smile is a little hesitant, unsure, and Brendon doesn't push. He stands there and waits, waits for Cash to figure it out, decide what he wants to do. It's probably only a few seconds, ten or twenty, but it almost feels like a lifetime.
"Well," Cash says and he draws it out. "I don't know, actually."
Brendon/Cash
R
Notes: Major thanks to both xcarex and imntsaying for the fantastic beta.
Disclaimer: Not true. No, really.
Cash is on tour the next time Brendon is home. He's got a week before album and tour promo starts up for real -- meet and greets on top of performances on top of interviews -- and Brendon spends most of it doing nothing, getting high and sleeping.
They do spend one day together, though, when the tour swings through Vegas; Cash calls him just after noon and Brendon fumbles his phone nearly off the little table next to his bed.
"Mmph," he says and Cash laughs.
"Food?" Cash asks after Brendon manages a mumbled hello.
Brendon stumbles out of the house ten minutes later to find Cash on the hood of his car, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands. His skateboard is lying forgotten in the yard, his hood pulled up over his head.
"You look like shit," Cash says, smile wide, and Brendon flips him off, shuffles through his keys to find the right one. But Cash says, before Brendon's even found it, "Dude. You totally can't drive like that," and ignores the glare Brendon gives him to finish with, "Give me the keys."
Brendon resists for about two seconds.
He feels like shit, a late night and not enough sleep, maybe a little hungover, but at least Brendon doesn't have to do it himself.
"Whatever, just. Get us there in one piece," Brendon says and slides into the passenger seat. Cash shoots him a look, the one Brendon always thinks of as his bitch, please look.
They get food, something fast and easy. Something greasy and completely awesome that makes Brendon feel slightly better, like he's not about to die, but still not actually all right. He could go for a nap, but lets Cash steer them in the direction of the venue instead; soundcheck is at three and Cash hates being late.
"Hey, doucheface," Singer says when he sees Brendon, wraps skinny little arms around Brendon's waist and Brendon hugs him back, feels how thin, still sturdy, he is.
"Hey, hey," Cash says and Singer laughs, pulls away.
The only alone time they get after that isn't until The Cab's set is over, when Cash has Brendon pressed up against the wall of their tiny dressing room, has one leg between Brendon's. His mouth is hot, sloppy, and Brendon finally feels okay enough to kiss him back, to wrap his hand around the back of his neck. He feels okay enough to tug at the button of Cash's jeans until it's undone and he can slide his hand inside, cup Cash through the fabric of his boxers.
Cash grunts into Brendon's mouth, twists beneath his hands, and presses Brendon harder into the wall.
His hands tightening in Cash's hair, around Cash's dick, Brendon pushes his hips into Cash and bites down on his lower lip.
"Oh, fuck," Brendon hears vaguely and he thinks it's probably Cash even as his brain is insisting it's not, that Cash doesn't sound like that, not at all. "Seriously, guys."
Cash groans and pulls away, says, "Out. Now. Go away, go away." Cash's eyes are still half-closed and Brendon can't help the way he leans forward, tries to capture Cash's mouth again.
But Ian isn't going anywhere, is followed by Marshall and Singer and Brendon's sure Johnson is somewhere. Lurking probably.
Brendon groans when Cash kisses him hard, not even any tongue or teeth, just the hard press of his lips against Brendon's and Brendon wants to kill Cash's bandmates because Cash is pulling away for good then, buttoning up his pants and rubbing a hand through his hair.
"Fuckers," Cash says.
*
"We've got, like, two weeks or something," Cash says and he sounds busy. There are people in the background, talking, and his voice goes blurry every once in a while, his words slurring together. "One."
"Oh, sweet. That. That's awesome," Brendon says and he's not sure what else he can say. It is awesome to have time off and one week is just enough. Enough that it's still a break, but not too long. Not long enough to go stir crazy, to get too bored.
"Yeah. I guess, yeah."
"Dude, I should let you go," Brendon says, presses the heel of his hand against his forehead.
*
Technically they have a break at the same time. Right after Europe but before America there's a nice little gap, no shows scheduled, but then. Technically doesn't mean very much to Brendon anymore.
Mostly that gap just means that there's a space of time, a week that Brendon will spend in airports and radio booths. Maybe a few television shows and just possibly they'll play the Tonight Show or something. Because they've got a tour coming up, a huge tour, and driving aimlessly around Vegas with Cash, hanging out at the sub place down the street is not even an afterthought on the schedule.
He texts Cash in the airport, the third one in just as many days, and doesn't wait for Cash's reply before he turns his phone off. Brendon always forgets once they get on the plane.
*
"Hey, fucker," Cash says and he's grinning, letting Brendon back him into a corner, crowd up into his space. "How's it going?"
"Fine. Good," Brendon says and shakes the hair out of his eyes. His hands are on Cash's hips, his thumbs brushing bare skin and Brendon wishes they were alone, wishes Cash's band, his own, weren't in the room, were far, far away. And there are other people milling about, people Brendon knows. People he should talk to, shake hands with and be the lead singer, the frontman for.
"It's been a while." Cash gives him a look, his half-smile a wicked twist of lips, his eyebrow raised.
Brendon blinks, slow, and he can see Cash behind his eyelids. Cash spread out beneath him, for him. Messy sheets and swollen lips, Brendon wants him so bad.
"Cash," he says, voice low, and Cash pulls him closer.
"What are you doing tonight?" Cash asks and his eyes are bright. Brendon can feel him, Cash half hard against his thigh, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop himself from saying something he'll regret. "After the show?"
"Hey, Brendon!" Jon calls, waves at Brendon from the other side of the room. Cash frowns, not at Jon but at Brendon, and slides away. Just dodges around Brendon and disappears into the press of people.
"Fuck," Brendon swears, watches the wake Cash makes in the crowd, watches it swallow him. Jon calls his name again and he goes, still feeling the brush of Cash's skin on his fingers, the heat of Cash pressed up against him. Brendon goes, smiles and plays nice.
*
Brendon's curled up next to Jon, the lights off and only the glow of his phone to combat the television, whatever Jon is watching .
"How's Cash?" Jon asks, voice muffled in Brendon's hair, hands warm on Brendon's skin.
Brendon doesn't respond, not really. He grunts, shifts a little, kicks his legs out in front of him and pushes his elbow into Jon's side on accident. Because he can't really get comfortable, keeps staring at his phone instead of the movie; he's waiting for it to vibrate, waiting for a text.
i dont know, Cash texts and Brendon doesn't get it until the next morning. The answer to his question, coming to vegas? and Brendon just backs out of the text, pushes his phone down into the space between his mattress and the wall.
*
They get a day, one random day when they happen to be in the same city and not just passing through, bus and van crossing paths while Cash heads west and Brendon east.
Cash calls Brendon as soon as he hits the city limits, says, "You so fucking owe me," before Brendon's even managed a hello.
"Uh. Okay," Brendon says, but he's smiling.
"Pizza and a bed and some weed, douchebag." And Brendon smiles harder at the memory. Months and months ago when they had been in the same city for longer than a few hours and Cash didn't say anything other than, "Shit, son. You totally owe me after this," when Brendon came over, curled up on Cash's bed and ate his food, smoked his weed.
"Yeah, yeah," Brendon says, but he drags Cash back to his room as soon as possible. He says, "I stole some of Spencer's weed," and then, "Spencer always gets the best weed," with Cash's hands in his pockets, Cash's face in his neck.
And Brendon isn't impatient to get high, waits until he's fucked into Cash slowly. He waits until they're both flushed red, gross with sweat, sheets rumpled and Brendon is sitting up against the headboard while Cash's fingers wander aimlessly over his bare skin.
"Hey," Cash says, right after Brendon's taken a hit and he's holding it in when he looks down, when he holds the pipe out to Cash. But Cash just shakes his head, says, "Hey, come here," and pushes himself up on his elbow. His fingers close over Brendon's jaw, his lips fitting perfect to Brendon's and he's coaxing Brendon's mouth open.
Cash is sucking the smoke out of Brendon's mouth, breathing it in as he watches Brendon.
He pulls away after a second and Brendon's left open-mouthed and a little surprised. He's shotgunned before, once or twice when Ryan was being a lazy asshole and didn't feel like holding the pipe. He's never done it like this, though, never had it feel like that.
After a second, after he's let the smoke out, watched it float up toward the ceiling, Cash smiles, says, "This room is fucking amazing."
*
Cash call him on a Sunday, says, "Hey, uh. I don't know if I'm going to make it to Vegas," into Brendon's voicemail. Says, "I've got something, something came up. Uh. Just give me a call whenever."
Brendon listens to it just after the show, still sweaty and he hasn't showered or even changed yet. He listens to it as Jon calls for first shower and again when Spencer says, "Oh, man. That crowd," his smile huge. But he doesn't listen to it for a third time until they're back on the bus.
He listens to it for a third time and deletes it.
*
The lights are bright, right in his eyes the whole show, and Brendon is mostly used to it by now. Used to seeing only a few rows of faces, but being able to sense the rest of them. He's used to hearing them and that makes up for not being able to see them.
He doesn't actually think of Cash. Maybe for just a second when they run off stage before the encore. But only a second and then he's got to go back on, following Ryan and Jon and Spencer and yelling, "Vegas!"
They all scream back at him, something like two thousand people, and Brendon thinks, home, before Spencer launches them into the first song.
The show is over before Brendon even realizes, Ryan practically pushing him off the stage, saying lightly, "Come on, come on." Brendon smiles at him over his shoulder, throws one last wave at the crowd and then he's off, done. One more show done and the tour is almost over. One more show done and Brendon almost doesn't it want it to be over.
"Ryan Ross," Brendon crows, wrapping an arm around Ryan's waist and pulling him close. Ryan makes a face, but he lets Brendon manhandle him until the door swings open again. And this time it isn't Zack.
"Brendon fucking Urie," Singer says, his smile huge and his eyes wide.
Brendon grins, coos a little, and doesn't peer around him to find Cash. He hugs Singer and Johnson, closes his eyes and lets their warmth sink into him. Brendon stands next to Jon, Ryan across from him, and it doesn't even feel like anything is missing.
Not until Cash finally does walk in, when he slips through the door like no one is supposed to notice.
Brendon does.
He smiles when Brendon looks up, just a quick hint of a smile that has Brendon smiling back.
"Was wondering when you would show up," Brendon says later, his mouth pressed close to Cash's ear. They're barely touching, just the insistent press of Cash's hand at his lower back.
Cash smiles when he shrugs, says, "What, did you miss me, Urie?"
Brendon just laughs, steps a little closer. He finally says, after he's been standing there, taking up space, for a few minutes too long, he says, "So, uh. What are you doing after the show?"
The responding smile is a little hesitant, unsure, and Brendon doesn't push. He stands there and waits, waits for Cash to figure it out, decide what he wants to do. It's probably only a few seconds, ten or twenty, but it almost feels like a lifetime.
"Well," Cash says and he draws it out. "I don't know, actually."