Jon/Brendon (background Ryan/Spencer and Pete/Patrick, plus some Bill Beckett and Tom Conrad) | ~7,800 | PG-13
Summary: Brendon is not gay. College/barista AU (aren't they all?)
Notes: This is just for fun. The boys are too adorable not to play with. Title and cut text from Summer Camp's Play it by ear. In two parts because LJ hates me.
We all know the story; boy is uncomfortable in his own skin, boy kisses other boy, boy comes out to his parents, boy gets kicked out of his home and family. The music thing that boy has considered the issue all his life, really isn’t. The gay thing is.
So boy moves out, desperately looks for an apartment and a decent job to get him through high school and into college, and somehow gets it.
He doesn’t cry or despair, because he has hope. Some day he will come back to his family, better and more put together and maybe even with a wife.
Yeah. That’s the great plan.
Brendon lets his two heavy duffel bags slide off his shoulders and onto the floor at his feet. He looks around at the tiny room, sighing slightly. The bed to the right seems to be taken, a huge and expensive-looking bag perched at the foot of it, random shoes filling the surface.
Left side it is.
He tugs his bags to the bed, slides his guitar off his back and gently sets it at the bed table, and starts to fill the small comforter with stuff. It fills up pretty quick, but not because Brendon has a lot of stuff. As a matter of fact, Brendon barely owns any clothes, just a lot of music books, CDs and sheets of music. When you barely have any money, you tend to prioritize.
When he’s halfway through the second duffel, the door opens. Brendon quickly tugs at the end of his t-shirt and clears his throat. Two guys step into the room, not even noticing Brendon, close it and start lazily making out against the back of it.
Stunned, Brendon stare at them. They’re both tall, taller than him, one of them looks like he just walked out of a Charles Dickens book and the other looks, well, sort of like a boyish girl. When the Oliver Twist-wannabe lets out a small mewl, Brendon gasps and takes an involuntary step back, hitting his foot on the comforter.
The boys freeze, the girlish one whipping around to stare at him with shocked eyes. “Oh shit!”
Brendon feels his cheeks heat uncomfortably. “Um. Sorry.”
Oliver Twist wipes his mouth and chuckles. “What do you have to be sorry for? We should’ve at least given the room a quick look-around before… well, before.”
Wishing he could just run away and find another dorm room to stay, Brendon shrugs. “Shit happens,” he says, barely audibly.
And it really, really does. Brendon was aiming to get away from everything gay, and as soon as he hits college, gay finds him. Brendon really isn’t a pessimistic guy, really, but this is just. Yeah.
“So,” the girly boy says, obviously trying to change the subject. Brendon is thankful for it, even though it’s hard to ignore that the boy’s zipper still is undone. “I guess you’re my new roommate. Spencer Smith.”
Spencer Smith walks over and holds his hand out for Brendon to shake. Brendon can’t help but chuckling a little. “Whoa, alliteration, cool. Brendon Urie.”
“Hi, Brendon,” Spencer smiles, shakes his hands and points at Oliver Twist. “And that’s just the beginning. My boyfriend; Ryan Ross.”
“You’re kidding me,” Brendon grins. “Spencer Smith and Ryan Ross. That’s awesome. That could totally be a song.”
He finally stops rambling and sees that Spencer has this weird face, one eyebrow quirked, arms crossed over his chest, mouth pursed. Brendon looks over at Ryan, suddenly scared that he’s crossed some weird line. Ryan is smirking a little, looking at the floor and biting his lip. He looks back at Spencer, who’s suddenly smiling.
“I like you, Brendon,” he says in a contemplative tone. He turns to Ryan. “Ryan, I like him.”
“I can see that,” Ryan says. “That’s good.”
“We’re gonna have so much fun,” Spencer says. “Wait, do you like shoes?”
Brendon blinks at the obvious importance of the rather silly question. “Um, I enjoy wearing shoes, yes.”
“Okay, then,” Spencer allows. “We’ll get along just fine, I think.”
After a few weeks, Brendon has come to the conclusion that there’s a huge difference between high school kids and college kids in terms of how acceptable being gay is. Just when Brendon has worked his ass off to get a new beginning, without the whispers and judgment and dateless nights, college comes along and is all experimental. More than once, Brendon walks past couples of two boys or two girls, kissing or just holding hands, and it confuses him.
How can something that got him thrown out of his own family and home be acceptable?
Brendon meets Jon Walker in a bar.
Ryan has been talking about this band for weeks, about how the lyrics are so deep and profound, and how the singer’s voice probably could be mistaken for an angel’s. It’s dramatic, yes, but so is Ryan. All in all, Brendon isn’t one to turn down listening to music, and here he is.
Spencer is nodding along with the beat, mindlessly tapping his fingers against the dark wood of their high table. Ryan is next to him, gaping slightly and looking like it’s Christmas in June. The music is really good, Brendon has to admit, and the band has a certain energy. When they’ve played about five songs or so, the singer announces that they’re taking a quick break. Brendon claps as they leave the stage and then turns to the others.
“I’m getting a drink. Anyone want anything?” he asks, leaning his head in the direction of the bar.
“Water?” Spencer asks Ryan, who nods. “Two waters. Thanks, Brendon.”
Brendon winks playfully at Spencer, who rolls his eyes back at him, and heads to the bar. He’s not one of those guys who push past everyone, throwing themselves at a bartender to get their order quicker. He much rather waits behind everyone, bopping along to the music and observing people.
An old Queen song comes on and Brendon groans with happiness, shaking his ass and waving his arms. He probably looks ridiculous, but he couldn’t care one fucking bit.
His eyes are closed, and when he opens them he sees that the bartender is frowning at him and he’s next in line. Brendon just chuckles and leans forward. “Two waters and a Coke, please.”
The bartender looks at him for a moment longer and then starts preparing the drinks. Brendon is practically itching for caffeine right now; Coke is still something fairly new for him, and it’s a wonderful thing.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he coos at the bartender when his order is done, and promptly downs half the glass in one go.
He smacks his lips loudly, but turns slightly when he hears a low chuckle. There’s a strangely familiar guy next to him, a hot guy, a guy with slightly baggy jeans and a simple white t-shirt, a bit of scruff and soft-looking brown curls. The hot guy is currently laughing at Brendon.
Brendon is unsure if he should be offended or if he should join in the laughter. In the end, the guy’s smile is too fucking contagious, and Brendon grins.
“Wow,” the guy says, “you’re a really cool dancer.”
Brendon grins wider, because he knows he’s anything but cool. “Thanks. I’m Brendon, Brendon Urie.”
Brendon sticks out his hand. The guy smirks at him, then his hand, but takes it quickly. “Hello, Brendon, Brendon Urie.” Brendon rolls his eyes. “I’m Jon Walker.”
Brendon pushes his glasses up his nose with one hand, but doesn’t let go of Jon Walker’s with his other. When he finally comes to his senses, he drops Jon’s hand and clears his throat. Jon is still grinning and Brendon is still having trouble figuring out if Jon is flirting, mocking or just being a generally nice guy.
He grabs the glasses off the bar, shrugs a little and says, “Guess I’ll see you around,” but as he heads back to Ryan and Spencer, he can’t resist glancing over his shoulder. Jon is still smiling widely, watching Brendon. His cheeks are warm when he finally gets to the table.
“That was weird,” he mumbles as he climbs back onto the empty high chair. Spencer turns away from the stage and to him.
Brendon looks up from his half-empty glass. “Huh? Oh, nothing. Well, there was this guy at the bar and --“
“Hey,” Ryan suddenly says, looking over Brendon’s shoulder.
Brendon turns around and sees Jon Walker, beer in hand, looking kind of sheepish. For one wild second Brendon wonders if Jon Walker is stalking him now, which would admittedly have been sort of awesome, then,
“Jon,” Spencer smiles, “you made it.”
Jon nods, “Yeah, I was over at the bar, didn’t see you guys here.”
Okay, Brendon knows he’s gaping but this isn’t happening. He automatically looks down at the floor, and sees that Jon is wearing flip-flops. This just further proves that this isn’t happening, that Brendon is sleeping and having some weird mixture between a nightmare and the best dream ever. When he looks up again, Jon meets his eyes and smirks a little.
“Brendon,” Spencer says, and Brendon snaps around to look at him. “This is Jon. He works at our Starbucks and is the most awesome guy on Earth. Also, he makes a mean vanilla latte.”
Starbucks. Of fucking course. Jon is the guy who makes the heavenly chocolate mocha Brendon just recently fell in love with.
“I don’t know about the Earth thing,” Jon says faux-modestly, waving a hand, “but tales of my awesomeness have been told by many a man.”
“Sit down, man,” Ryan says, while both Spencer and Brendon laugh. “It’s about to start again.”
Jon looks away from Brendon, and instead climbs onto the chair next to him. For the rest of the show, Brendon feels the warmth from Jon’s arm being pressed against his on the small table, and somehow he can’t find the will to pull away from it.
There’s an after party, of course, and Ryan is strangely adamant about them going. Brendon isn’t one to turn down a party, though, and after some weird silent eyebrow-action between Ryan and Spencer, neither is he.
Apparently Pete Wentz is the local party king and he hugs all four of them at the door even though Ryan and Jon are the only ones who’ve ever met the guy before. They shuffle into the kitchen and get four plastic cups of cheap beer from a very tall and girlish boy with brown curly hair. The boy winks suggestively when he hands Brendon a cup, and Brendon almost spills beer all over himself.
When they get into the living room, he turns to Spencer.
“So,” he says conversationally, “if this whole town were part of some insanely gay cult, you’d tell me, right?”
Spencer cocks an eyebrow. “Why, you’d wanna join?”
“No,” Brendon says sharply, “I’m not gay.”
In response, Spencer gives him a slow once-over, and Brendon knows he’s silently referring to his pink Converse, tight girl jeans, lavender hoodie and red-rimmed glasses.
“I’m not,” Brendon insists weakly.
“Okay,” Spencer shrugs.
Two hours later, and Brendon has lost the count of how many beers he’s had. Well, alright, he’s only had three cups, but he used to be Mormon, okay? He didn’t drink until he got kicked out, and just a couple of times since then. His tolerance level is well below what he would guess is average.
After getting into a heated discussion with a guy with sideburns and a trucker hat about whether The Beatles were genius or just came up with something new at the right time, Pete Wentz swoops in.
“Hey,” he says, kind of haughtily, eyeing Brendon.
Brendon stumbles a little. “Um, hi. Nice party.”
“Thanks,” Pete says. He glances at the guy in the hat. “Patrick, I need you to dance with me right now.”
Patrick rolls his eyes. “We were just having a conversation, Pete. Chill the fuck out.”
Pete glares. “Sorry, dude,” he says to Brendon -- Brendon presumes, even though Pete hasn’t looked away from Patrick -- “I’m stealing my Patrick.”
Shrugging loosely, Brendon watches Pete grab Patrick’s elbow and tug him towards the make-shift dance floor -- Pete’s living room floor -- while Patrick hisses, “Fuck off, Pete, I’m not dancing,” and Pete mutters, “That guy is hot, I need to piss around your feet or something.” Brendon chuckles, because it’s really fucking funny that they thought he was gay.
He lifts his glass and chugs the last of the beer in it, then frowns. He needs more alcohol. Right now. He walks past the dance floor -- past Pete jumping around a seething Patrick and, right on the edge, Ryan and Spencer, completely ignoring the upbeat song, slow dancing with their heads on the other’s shoulder -- and into the kitchen. There are some random people standing around the counters, but Brandon pays them no mind. The guy from before is still there, and he smirks wickedly at Brendon.
“Beer?” Brendon asks.
“Beer,” the guy nods. “William.”
Brendon is confused for a moment. “Um. Brendon.”
“Cute,” William comments, taking Brendon’s cup and filling it to the rim.
“Um,” Brendon says again as beer spills a little over the edge. “That’s enough, I think.”
“I’m trying to get you drunk and willing here,” William grins. “This is not enough.”
Brendon takes an automatic step back, eyes wide. “I’m not, um. I don’t.”
William drops the beer pump and pulls himself to his full length, grinning down at Brendon. “You don’t what?” He slowly walks toward Brendon, swaying his hips and biting his lip.
Brendon thinks that maybe he should be turned on, maybe he should find William sexy, but he doesn’t. His head is kind of swimming and William is slithering and acting strangely, and it just. It isn’t anything Brendon wants a part of. He takes a step back, and another, until his ass hits the kitchen counter. William is so close that his face is blurred, and Brendon scrunches up his face, holding his breath.
“Brendon!” a low voice exclaims, and suddenly there’s a hand firmly on his arm. “I’ve been looking for you. Hello, Bill.”
Brendon slowly opens his eyes and looks straight at Jon Walker. Jon Walker is staring William down, though, his smile thin and eyes guarded.
Now it’s William who takes a step back. “Oh. Sorry, dude, didn’t know he was taken.”
Brendon frowns. “I’m not --“
“Yeah,” Jon says quickly, “it’s cool. Come on, Brendon, let’s dance.”
Brendon is still confused when Jon pulls him onto the dance floor. He puts his hands on Brendon’s waist, while Brendon just frowns, trying to work through the slight daze that’s attacked his brain. He does know that he’s not supposed to do this; his mind is screaming it at him. Jon’s eyes are warm and just a little bit glassy, and when Jon takes Brendon’s hands and gently puts them on the back of his neck, Brendon lets them rest there. Jon grins lazily at the allowance, puts his hands on the sides of Brendon’s waist and pulls him closer.
“Sorry about that,” he whispers into Brendon’s ear, and Brendon is assaulted by his warm breath, his hypnotic smell.
“What?” he breathes before swallowing hard.
Jon chuckles, making goosebumps appear on Brendon’s neck. “Bill can be kind of an ass.” He’s silent for a moment, and then adds, “A slutty ass. Anyway, you looked like you needed some saving.”
“I guess I did,” Brendon says absent-mindedly. His fingers have begun twirling the fine hair on Jon’s neck, purely on their own. Brendon has no say in what his fingers are doing, or how hard his heart is beating. “Thanks for that.” He tugs a little on Jon’s hair, and feels him shiver.
“For what?” Jon breathes, and his eyes are dark and then they’re too close for Brendon to focus on, and then his own slip shut.
Their lips meet, cautious at first, just making sure this is what the other wants. Jon pulls away after a few seconds, his breathing shallow and eyes even darker than before. He doesn’t pull away far, though, stays in Brendon’s space, just out of touch. Brendon whines without meaning to when he realizes that Jon is making sure. He closes the small distance, and this kiss is harder, more urgent, tongues are suddenly involved and Brendon clutches Jon’s neck tighter.
Brendon’s head is swimming mercilessly when his eyes are closed, and suddenly he realizes what he’s doing. He swiftly pulls away from Jon, their lips making a wet sound as they part, and stares at him with wide eyes.
“Shit,” he says, “I’m not gay. I’m not gay.”
Jon looks shocked. ”Um. Okay?”
They just stare at each other for a moment that seems to last forever. Brendon tries to ignore the way his cock is throbbing against his zipper, and how Jon’s thumbs are rubbing against his skin under his shirt. He isn’t gay, seriously, and this is just the shit that got him kicked out of his own family. He shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t.
Then Jon bites his lower lip, frowning, and Brendon thinks for half a second, says, “Fuck it,” and pounces.
They stumble through the door, clutching each other for balance, chuckling into each other’s mouths. The world is a wondrous place for Brendon right now, a place filled with beer and music and Jon Walker, and he casually tries to push Jon onto his bed.
Jon laughs, but pulls Brendon along with him, trailing hot kisses down his neck, pausing only to pull off Brendon’s shirt and toss it on Spencer’s empty but neatly-made bed. Jon flips them over, kneeling over Brendon and grinning mischievously. His fingers find the almost nonexistent hairs that trail from Brendon’s navel and into his jeans, and Brendon groans deeply, throwing a heavy arm over his eyes.
“Shit,” he mutters, “I shouldn’t.”
Jon drags his short nails over Brendon’s stomach. “Don’t worry about it,” he says in a low voice. “I get it.”
Brendon squints at him, moving his arm. Jon is looking at Brendon’s abdomen, letting his fingers trail the slight juts of Brendon’s hips.
“I get it,” he says again, shrugging. “No big deal.”
Brendon doesn’t do anything, just studies Jon’s forlorn expression, almost says something really fucking stupid like I love you or stay forever. Alcohol, he thinks, is very dangerous.
So is Jon Walker.
His fingers suddenly concentrate on Brendon’s jeans, popping the button and pulling down the zipper slowly. He grabs the sides and pulls them down, and Brendon helps by lifting his butt off the mattress. He catches Jon staring at the arch of his back and biting his lip again. Suddenly, there’s a cold draft and Brendon realizes that Jon’s pulled off his underwear at the same time as the jeans. Brendon chuckles.
“See something you like?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.
“Are you mocking me, Brendon Urie?” Jon says, smiling crookedly.
“That depends,” Brendon says. “Are you fucking me, Jon Walker?”
Jon’s smile turns wicked.
Brendon wakes up after only a couple of hours’ sleep, feeling completely sober and very hung-over and desperately craving water. It’s still a bit dark outside, and Jon is snoring softly, mouth open against Brendon’s pillow. Brendon just lies there and stares at him for a bit, marveling at the way Jon frowns just a little in his sleep, like he’s concentrating on something, and how his arm is neatly folded around Brendon’s middle, keeping him warm.
He gently slips out from under Jon’s arm and pads out to the bathroom. When he’s taken a leak and sucked fourteen gallons of water straight from the tap, he sneaks back into bed, turning to stare at Jon some more.
Only now Jon’s eyes are open and the snoring has stopped. Brendon twitches in shock and then smiles when he sees that Jon is watching him, not moving away even though their noses are almost touching.
They lay like that for a while, not touching, just observing, staring, memorizing. When Brendon drifts back into sleep, he feels like Jon’s face has been imprinted into the back of his eyelids and will stay there forever.
He hopes so, anyway.
Sunlight filters through the window, tickling Brendon’s face until he groans and flings an arm over his eyes. With his other arm, he tugs Jon tighter against his side. Only, he doesn’t remember Jon being this… fluffy. Cuddly, yes, awesomely so, but not fluffy. Peering out from under his arm, he sees that he is hugging his spare pillow. His bed is otherwise glaringly empty. Snapping up to sit, he blinks sleepily at Spencer’s bed, which is just as well-made as the night before. No Jon.
Brendon pulls himself out of bed, looks down and notices that, okay, he’s still very much naked. He throws on a pair of sweatpants that he’s had since he was fifteen, and rubs his jaw, trying to figure the situation out. There’s no note anywhere in the room, no trace of Jon, nothing for Brendon to prove that Jon ever was here at all.
He finds his pants from the night before, grabs his sidekick from the pocket and texts Spencer.
i think i just had a one night stand w/ jon walker.
Then he flops back onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. Somehow, Brendon knows that it smells like Jon, and when he takes a huge breath, it almost burns his lungs. His phone vibrates, announcing Spencer’s answer.
youre an idiot
Well, that’s harsh.