Warm Woolen Mittens by Arsenic
Summary: Written for my Brendon's Birthday Writing exercise, ten ficlets with prompted "favorite things".
Categories: Bandslash Characters: Brendon Urie
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes Word count: 7755 Read: 6190 Published: 25/04/08 Updated: 25/04/08
Chapter 1 by Arsenic
Luciamad, Frank/Brendon/Pete, Favorite thing to do when they have time off

"I have to tell you," Frank said, "this is kinda predictable."

"I'm man enough to handle it. You?" Brendon challenged.

"Whoa, you're a man?"

"Shut up, Wentz." Brendon made a face.

"Quick check. You know I am too, right?" Frank asked.

"I'm going to have to re-evaluate my sexual orientation," Pete said.

"Can you do that after we go to Disneyworld?" Brendon asked.

"If you insist," Pete agreed.

"I'm going to have to," Brendon told him, quite firmly.

"I suppose."

Brendon laughed. Frank said, "I have to go earn a living."

"Whatever, Iero." Pete was clearly unimpressed.

"See you at the lodge!" Brendon had long learned that he really couldn't hide his enthusiasm from them, didn't even really want to. They didn't seem to want that either.

Frank snorted and hung up, disconnecting the three way call. Brendon said, "Love you," a little belatedly. Pete was still there to hear.


Frank had been the one to say, "Let's do something. Just us. No bands, no buses, just an honest fucking vacation."

Brendon had immediately said, "Disneyworld!" but he hadn't really been expecting either of the others to go along. Except Pete had said, "Ooh, yeah, I haven't been in forever," and Frank had said, "Fucking Space Mountain, yo," and Brendon had remembered, oh, right, his boyfriends were also ginormous dorkwads. It worked out well for everyone.


Frank arrived first because My Chem's tour had finished up in Jersey, which was a hell of a lot closer than Vegas, where Brendon was recording, or LA, where Pete was in his last weeks before leaving on tour. Brendon was last to arrive, mostly because he'd let Spencer book his tickets and Spencer had gone for cheap over direct. Brendon really should have known better by now, but the alternative was to book them himself, which was both tedious and annoying, or have Ryan accidentally book him a flight to Bangladesh. Jon, the fucker, refused to be Brendon's basic life skills assistant.

Then again, maybe it was okay, because when he arrived Pete and Frank were waiting patiently for him, nothing but skin and ink laid out over the king-sized bed. For a moment, Brendon was tempted just to watch. He'd done that before, it was pretty fucking impressive, and neither of them argued when shit like, "Mine," just clawed its way out of his mouth. Then he remembered that it had been over three months since he'd seen either of them and divebombed the bed.


They did Magic Kingdom first. Brendon had wanted to do Hollywood Studios because Tower of Terror was his favorite ride ever in the history of ever. Pete had voted for Animal Kingdom because, "Monkeys! Guys. Seriously, monkeys."

But Frank had put his foot down. "We start with the classics, padawans."

"I'm older than you," Pete had reminded him.

Frank snorted. "Yeah. Okay."


When he stepped off the monorail, Brendon knew it had been the right choice. Okay, that was a total lie, Brendon knew as they were coming in, as the park was just within sight and Frank whistled "When You Wish Upon a Star." Brendon actually almost trampled a child getting out. That was a total accident--just for the record. The sprint and duck all three of them did upon some seriously speculative looks from a group of three girls was not. Once they were in the crowd on Main Street, though, caps pulled down, Frank and Pete both able to wear light jackets in the early spring weather, it was easier to feel anonymous, like some guy who wanted to be at a Disney park with some other guys that he loved.

Brendon spotted a restaurant that served waffles in the shape of Mickey's head and said, "Bet I can out eat you guys today."

"Oh, it is on," Frank told him. Pete--in a rare moment of wisdom and peace--didn't take sides, just played bookie.

Brendon was ahead by one waffle by the time they walked out, but he was also very tempted to puke. Frank said, "I won't insist on Space Mountain right at this very moment if you call a draw."

Brendon took the deal.


They walked through Cinderella's castle and if Brendon maybe dogged Pete's steps a little in lieu of taking his or Frank's hand, neither of them said anything. In the dark of the rides, huddled into the carriages, Brendon could latch on if he wanted, nobody was going to see. As they were flying up into Neverneverland, Pete said, "Psst, hey."

Brendon giggled. They were sitting right next to each other. Pete squeezed his hand and said, "Love you."

"Sap," Brendon accused.

"Romantic," Pete came right back, and okay, that was true, so Brendon let it lie and just squeezed Pete's hand extra tight when they flew over the pirates.


Frank made them go on Pirates of the Caribbean twice despite the truly daunting line. Brendon didn't complain, since he got to sit in the middle the second time, have Frank and Pete press in on him from either side. He wasn't going to say it aloud, but for that, he would have acceded to a third go.


When it became dark enough that the parade was about to start and the light show would follow, they found a spot where they could sit, one by one by one, their knees tucked up in front of them as they waited for the characters to pass by. Brendon nudged Frank with his knee and watched as Frank nudged Pete in turn. Brendon sang, "Anything your heart desires will come to you," softly, so softly that neither of them should have been able to hear.

He could tell by their smiles they both could.

Neverneverfic, Spencer, glasses

Brendon was a smart cookie. He caught on quickly to things. Particularly when they involved Spencer down on his knees, mouth sliding smooth and confident over Brendon's cock. Pretty much, if Brendon sat somewhere private enough and opened a book, Spencer would be right there, his hands on Brendon's jeans. Of course, this could be problematic, like, say, when he actually wanted to read, but for the most part, Brendon wasn't complaining.

The reality of being Brendon Urie and loving Spencer Smith, though, was that sooner or later Brendon wanted to know everything about Spencer, even the things that didn't really matter, like why he believed that knock-off cereals were the devil or how he had come into his latent love of Steinbeck. so he finally asked, "Is it just 'cause I look smart? When I'm reading?"

Spencer didn't pretend not to understand. That wasn't Spencer's style. Instead he said, "You are smart," neither fierce nor insistent, just honest.

"I know," Brendon didn't really worry about that, or anything. "But I don't know that I often seem like it."

Spencer smirked. "It's because your glasses turn me on."

Brendon took a second to think about that before asking, "Really?"

Spencer shrugged. "They're hot."

"No," Brendon said slowly. "No, Spence, they're not. They're kinda dorky, and I always thought it was sorta nice that you didn't mind, but they're not hot."

"Says the guy who's into my love handles."

Brendon wouldn't apologize for that. Spencer fit together very nicely, and seemingly about a bajillion people knew this. "That's different. That's like--how you're made."

"Your farsightedness is how you're made," Spencer pointed out.

It was frustrating that Spencer was an eminently logical person. It made it hard to argue with him. Brendon was busy furrowing his brow for effect when Spencer kissed him, which was totally against the unwritten rules of conversation having. Spencer said, "I think they're hot. You gonna tell me I don't?"

No. No, that was the farthest thing from what Brendon was going to do.


"Oh," Spencer said.

Brendon grinned from the bed where he was reading. Naked. Well, minus his glasses. Spencer threw his shirt over his head. "So that's the way it's gonna be, huh?"

Brendon rolled onto his back, shoving the book on the floor. "Have any idea how many times I got called four-eyes in elementary school?"

"People still say that shit?"

"Mormons," Brendon said, handing Spencer a condom even as Spencer was stripping out of his pants. "It takes a while for the newfangled insults to reach us."

"Jesus," Spencer said succinctly. He rolled the condom on and looked around, but Brendon said, "I took care of it, just--"

Spencer wrapped Brendon's legs behind his neck, pulling Brendon further into him, pushing in. Brendon gasped, "Yeah, just--"

"Fuck, Brendon, that's--"

"Dirty?" Brendon grinned.

"Mm," Spencer said, punctuating the sentiment with a thrust. Brendon's hips snapped up to meet him, drive himself further onto Spencer.

Brendon caught Spencer's eyes, sharp through the lenses. "So. This--"

Spencer leaned down and kissed him, catching their noses, smudging the glasses. "This."

Temporaryfaerie, Brendon/Gerard... with the favorite thing being "sleeping in late" or "lounging in bed"

Brendon's parents hadn't believed in sleeping in. Or, rather, they'd believed the concept existed, they just didn't think anyone should DO it. By the time he left home, Brendon was so trained into getting up by nine at the latest that even if he was up until three or four, his body would force the issue, and Brendon would have to spend the day mainlining coffee and waiting until he could faceplant at around eight. He'd tried taking a nap one day and had ended up being up almost all night again and having to deal with the same cycle the next day. That had sucked.

Ryan and Spencer had both tried to break him of the habit, but Ryan's attempts consisted largely of baleful glances and whining to Spencer about Brendon in Brendon's presence. What Ryan didn't understand was that Brendon had five siblings, he was immune to such treatment. Spencer, who actually had two himself, was clearer on the concept, but he would just get to the point where he held Brendon down. But Brendon could stay in bed, he just couldn't sleep. Even Jon and his implementation of morning snuggles failed. Brendon had pretty much given up lazy, sleepy mornings heading right into indolent afternoons.

Then he fell ass over face in love with Gerard Way.


The funny thing was, Brendon liked My Chem's music and all, and he could do an awesome air guitar to just about any solo Frank Iero had ever played, but he'd never had the straight up hero worship that Ryan and even Spencer displayed at times. Or, in Ryan's case, most of the time. So it really should have been just like meeting anyone else whose band he liked, hell, just like meeting Pete Wentz, only easier, because now Brendon had something to say for himself.

Only Gerard said, "You play the accordion, right? I think Pete said, that, unless he was just fucking with me. He can be a total asshole like that. No offense or anything, I totally like him, but I mean, way to get a guy's hopes up and--"

"I play the accordion," Brendon had told him. He'd meant, "Hi, I love you." It was hard not to love a guy who had his hopes pinned on someone playing the accordion.


Brendon tried teaching Gerard but it turned out that Gerard sucked at having his hands do two different things at once. Suddenly, his struggles with the guitar made sense. Gerard was so despondent over the whole thing that Brendon spent weeks recording covers of every single one of My Chem's singles as an accordion solo. On the bus. His band nearly killed him, but Gerard called as soon as he got the mp3s and asked Brendon to marry him. Brendon knew what triumph looked like.


It was another four months after that before they were able to be in the same place as each other at the same time. Brendon was starting to worry he was going to die a born again virgin. Fate was with him, though, and they were able to meet up in the middle of Tennessee for two days while My Chem made its way through the South, and Panic was beginning its trek back out to the west. The two of them spent the first night just learning to know each other by touch, figure out the things that months of phone conversations and texts couldn't possibly tell them. It was past three when they fell into sleep, Brendon splayed naked and warm over Gerard's equally nude self.

He blinked awake at eight thirty-two and didn't even have the energy to be disappointed. As he was slipping off of Gerard, sneaking away, Gerard grabbed on, woke up with a, "Wha?"

"Sh, go back to sleep," Brendon whispered, still trying to extract himself. Gerard's head flopped in the direction of the alarm clock. "Wha-- Whyuwake?"

"Can't help it," Brendon said, "seriously, sleep. I'll be here."

Gerard just yanked him back down. Not expecting it, Brendon flailed and went without much resistance. "Gee--"

Gerard said, "Hush," and then shifted until he was comfortable again. "So, hmm. You like Disney but I don't really know-- Will Broadway do?"


But Gerard just started singing. It was "One Song Glory," which Brendon didn't think of as being either an overwhelmingly uplifting or soothing song, but Brendon listened, listened to the way Gerard seem to feel the words even half asleep, felt the way Gerard's chest moved with the need for air, the way his fingers tapped in time at the crest of Brendon's hip. He was asleep by the third stanza.


The next time he woke up it was almost one o' clock. Brendon just managed to shut up before he woke Gerard up with his shouts of excitement. Instead he snuggled down, enjoying the way he didn't really feel much impetus to move, to go anywhere that didn't involve Gerard being right there, the sheets warm and smooth all around them. It was another hour or so before Gerard woke up and Brendon was still there, enjoying the quiet of the room, the steady pulse of Gerard's heart. Gerard said, "Hey, hey. How long you been awake?"

Brendon grinned. "Not long at all."

Lemmethink_nooo, Brendon/Ryan, road trip to watch the sunrise, pref. on B's bday

On the night of April 11th, after the show, Panic's guitarist stole its lead singer and pushed him into a familiar-seeming car. Brendon asked, "Hey, Shane let you borrow his car?"

"He's riding the bus to the next venue."

"And we aren't?"

Ryan shook his head. "We aren't."


At midnight, Ryan stopped at a Wawa. Brendon went and stocked up on some quality-caffeinated beverages of the non-coffee sort. He'd figured out they were making their way down to San Diego by highway 1, at least for now. Even in the dark Brendon could see the shine of the California coast. Ryan had brought along Brendon's iPod--which explained why it had been mysteriously missing before the show--and was letting Brendon pick what they listened to. Brendon was trying to be conscientious and not pick anything that would make Ryan kill him with a tire iron, but Ryan said, "Really, Bren, your choice," his monotone curling softly enough that Brendon could hear how he actually meant it.

When they met at the cash register, Ryan took the drinks from him and paid. Then they sat down on the stoop outside and Ryan presented him with a chocolate chip muffin, one lone birthday candle sticking up from it. He lit it with a Bic lighter, clearly just acquired. It took him five tries. Brendon laughed at him and Ryan scowled, but just kept going until he managed. When he did, he sang Brendon "happy birthday." It was a bad song for his range. Brendon really didn't give a fuck.


Ryan eased them onto Route 101 at some point, while Brendon was singing at the top of his lungs to his bestest eighties pop mix, Ryan laughing with almost every lyric. Brendon loved that mix anyway, but the way it made Ryan breathless with laughter was definitely its most pertinent selling point.

He fell asleep at some point, unable to resist, not even by making Ryan play the license plate game. Ryan hated the license plate game, largely because by now, all of them had managed to find all fifty states, including Alaska and Hawa'ii. Those never ceased to be awesome to Brendon, though. I mean, c'mon, the car had come from Hawa'ii. It wasn't just any car that could make that kind of a journey.

Ryan didn't wake him up for hours. The car was silent when he did, just the sound of the wheels treading over pavement. Sometimes Brendon wondered how loud Ryan's head was, that he could keep himself aware in the dead of night without a single sound to help. Other times he knew, when not even pumping Morrissey to the highest decibel could get Ryan out of the thick of it, when Brendon just had to sit by him and wait it out.

Ryan said, "Morning."

"Yeah? For real?" Brendon peered at the clock. Close to five.

Ryan said, "Sorry, just. Wanted you to see." He gestured slightly with a tilt of his head to the distant spot over the water where the waves were starting to crest in a red-gold plumage.

Brendon said, "That's-- You drove all night to show me?"

Ryan took so long in answering that Brendon actually looked back to make sure he was still awake. Ryan said, "It's harder to get you something good for your birthday nowadays."

And yeah, despite their unanimous lack of funds back in Vegas, it had been pretty easy to find that one record that you knew the other person was never going to stumble across but would absolutely love or that weird-ass thrift store t-shirt that would make the other guy's day and call it a win. There was rarely time these days to put into shopping for those sorts of things required, though, and half the time, the people in the stores they had frequented in Vegas knew them, and drove up the prices just because. Also, it wasn't quite the same when they could all afford to buy almost anything they wanted. That said, "I don't need anything special."

Ryan said, "Just. Watch."

Brendon did, tucking his knees to his chest and resting his chin atop them. Sunrise had always been Brendon's very favorite time of day in Vegas, something Ryan had grumbled about for a long time, since Brendon would wake him up just to see, even if he let him go back to sleep afterward. Sunset was almost as good, but it was a little more maudlin, more steeped in purple than yellow, rose than orange. Sunrise was sort of like the world's way of saying, "Yeah okay, today's totally going to be worth it."

Brendon cracked the windows, listening to the hard rush of air. The sun was starting to actually crawl over the earth's edge now, orange fire that Brendon knew better than to look directly at. He looked anyway. He said, "Stop the car, Ry."

Ryan waited all of a second and then pulled off onto the shoulder. Brendon said, "C'mon," and tugged him over the seat, out behind the barrier of the car. They leaned up against it, the gentle heat of Southern California in the early morning rising over their skin. Brendon laced his fingers in Ryan's hand. They stayed there until the sun left the cradle of the water, floated up to reflect off its surface.

Ryan said, "We've still got aways."

"Wanna listen to some Beatles?"

Ryan said, "Here comes the sun."

"Yeah." They climbed in, Ryan keying up the ignition and Brendon said, "Best birthday present ever."

"Even better than the pink hoodie?"

Brendon knew Ryan had resented Spencer for that since Brendon had opened it up and maybe--Brendon would not confirm reports--squeaked. He smiled. "Like a fucking lifetime supply."

thepouncer, Brendon/Mikey, a thunderstorm breaking the heat into something bearable, the kind of storm where you listen to the wind rock your house/car/whatever and glory that nature can create such wildness

Brendon woke up on the floor of My Chem's bus. He sort of kind of remembered coming over with Spencer and then being too hot to walk back, but it seemed like Spencer maybe should have made him get on the couch, or something. He rolled over, groaning quietly, and realized what had woken him up: the bus was moving, and not in a 'have to get to the next city' sort of way, luckily--since they were supposed to be playing the same venue this evening as last. No, it was swaying.

He let his gaze flit to the windows that were above his head on either side. Lightning flashed and illuminated Mikey, sitting silently, pretzel style on the sofa. He said, quietly, "Pretty, isn't it?"

Brendon pushed himself into a sitting position and then up onto the couch, next to Mikey. "Think it'll break the heat?"

"Almost has to, doesn't it?" Mikey asked, but he sounded more hopeful than sure. Well, he sounded like he always sounded, but Brendon had been well-trained by Ryan Ross to understand the inference of monotone.

"Spencer still here?"

"Uh." Mikey snickered.

Brendon grinned. "What?"

"They decided it was too hot to sleep on the bus. Went and camped out on one of the stages."

Brendon giggled. "Surely they heard the thunder first?"

Mikey shrugged. "Probably. Your bus is closer."

That was true. The caravan rotated in who was closer to the playing grounds. "Hopefully they actually went in when they heard it. It would be just like fucking Bob Bryar to die by freak lightning strike and take our only drummer with him."

"Dude, Bob's our only drummer, you know?"

Brendon made a dismissive gesture with his hand. Mikey caught and bit it. Brendon snatched it back. "Hey!"

In the dark of the bus, Mikey looked unrepentant. Brendon could respect that in a man. There was another crash of thunder so loud it took Brendon a moment to regain his hearing, to keep hearing the ripping, rushing violence of the water over the glass and plastic and metal of the bus. Distracted, he said, "Wow."

"Yeah," Mikey agreed, and they both waited, still and expectant, for the lightning that didn't disappoint them, lighting up the entirety of the back lounge, phosphorescent white for just a few seconds.

"My mom used to tell me storms were G-d's way of throwing a temper tantrum," Brendon said, and then felt stupid only a second later. He usually didn't talk about that stuff, certainly not with anyone who wasn't in his band.

Mikey just nodded, though, as if he were considering. "Gee used to come up with new stories every time. Like, the time he said we were really just in some snowglobe for really, really big people and they liked to shake us up. Or that aliens were running trains like the ones in the New York Subway system right above our heads."

"Where'd the rain come from, then?"

"Yeah, his explanations didn't always make sense. They were cool, though."

Brendon bet. "One of my brothers used to tell me how they worked. The storms. He was into science. Still, is actually. He teaches high schoolers."

"Like, hot and cold fronts?"

"He said they would fight, and so the air would get all excited, and that was what caused the storm."

"That's nice, I like that."

The bus shuddered in the wake of another thunderbolt, rocking the two of them closer together. Even across the inches, Brendon could feel the heat radiating off Mikey's sweat damp skin. He said, "Gerard at Pete's?"

Mikey nodded. Brendon asked, "Frank with Brian?"

Another nod. Brendon pressed, "Ray asleep?"

"Like the dead."

Even without the help of the lightning, Brendon knew exactly where to find Mikey's lips.

amandazillah, Brendon/Gerard, favorite movies based on comic books

Brendon stumbled into the argument. He'd actually been looking for his band. They'd clearly left him at the party to die, the fuckers. What he found instead was Gerard Way gesticulating pointedly and saying, "No, what you have to imagine is that it's a 'what if' issue--"

"What if everybody, including the writers, blew?" Mikey asked, unimpressed. "Okay, yeah, I can see how that makes it better."

Gerard scowled. "No, I mean, what if Logan had had to--"

At which point, Brendon couldn't help himself, "Oh, wait, are we talking about X3? Because you seriously have to use your imagination for that to be at all worth your time. But the use of the powers is pretty good."

Somewhat reluctantly, Mikey admitted, "There is that."

Gerard beamed. "Let me buy you a non-alcoholic beverage, my friend."

"You've only won this round," Mikey warned, but Gerard was unbothered.

Brendon said, "Drink sounds good." If his band could abandon him, he could abandon them right back.


"The thing is," Brendon said, practically mid-swallow, "for all that Singer's like, 'oh, no, I wasn't trying to talk about 9-11,' that's fucking bullshit, because you can't make a movie that all but opens up with averting a plane crash from a fucking baseball field, of all fucking things, and not be making a movie about post 9-11 America, I mean, seriously."

Gerard nodded. "Totally, and I don't know why he'd even want to deny it, because it's much more interesting that way. I mean, Superman is Superman, there's really not a fuck of a lot you can do there, even if you do change the stupid-ass motto to make it more international-friendly, but Singer actually does things, actually builds this other male character of heroic normalcy and that sort of thing and then he backs away just when things start to get really complicated." Gerard sighed. "Suck."

"Batman Begins, though, now there--"

Gerard went a little dreamy-eyed. "No, no, keep talking."

Brendon bit the inside of his cheek before deciding, fuck it, the worst Gerard could do was kick him. Gerard probably kicked like a girl. So did Brendon, really, but at least he'd have a fighting chance. "Should we maybe take this somewhere private?"

"I was starting to think you didn't know that your film geek attitude applied to the world of comic book genre film was turning me on unbearably."

"Oh, I thought you were hot for Christian Bale and I could help out with that if I got lucky," Brendon admitted.

Gerard looked mildly offended. "I'm not a douche."

"No, but you are a guy." Brendon paused, then checked, "I mean, right?"

Gerard pushed him off his stool. He pushed like a girl. Brendon went flying right off.


"I mean, it's just very--" Brendon tried to think with his cock sliding hot and wet against Gerard's, "--the aesthetic, it's like they paid--"

"Attention. To the, like, themes--"

"Yeah, instead of just, y'know--"

"Oh, comic book."

"Exactly," Brendon said, and came harder than he had since he'd learned how to touch himself when he was ten.


"So, um," Gerard poked at Brendon's leg with one of his toes. Brendon opened his eyes and focused to note that Gerard was a nice, pretty flushed color.


"Wanna go see Dark Knight together?"

Brendon blinked. "Uh." Honda Civic would be done by then. They hadn't yet set up a tour following. They would, he knew, but there was nothing just yet. He could reserve the date. "Seriously?"

Gerard nodded. "Yeah, seriously."

Brendon said, thoughtfully, "We'll probably need to go see it at least twice. Maybe a few times."

"Well, sure, but--"

"So I can, y'know, suck you off during at least one of the showings while you pretend I'm Christian Bale."

Gerard rolled his eyes and shoved Brendon onto his back. "That's gonna be hard when I'm too distracted by you the whole time."

Brendon grinned.

pandorathene, Brendon/Jon, and naps

"It's kind of amazing, how he just...does that," Ryan said, in what Brendon recognized as a deeply, almost violently jealous tone. Brendon followed Ryan's gaze to where Jon had fallen asleep not only sitting up but without anything holding him up. Brendon had to agree, it was totally Jon's superpower that he could just sleep wherever the hell he wanted.

Brendon said, "Wanna go wake him?"

"I'll take the right side."


When Jon wasn't busy falling asleep walking back to the hotel or waiting for the soundcheck techs to work on his bass or any of the other bizarre-ass times he had seemingly managed, he could make nap-time an art. If Clover or Dylan was around, he could curl up with them, finding the exact position to make them both purr him to sleep. If they weren't, Jon could always find the perfect patch of sun, or a blanket that molded to him just right, or the best spot to lay his head on Spencer. He was just talented in the ways of sleep.

Brendon--for whom sleep was mostly an enemy that sometimes crept up when he least needed it and often refused to come when it would have been helpful--sort of wished those kinds of powers could be passed on, but he knew better. He tried observing closely and copying, but Clover and Dylan were never patient enough with him to stay until he found the right position, and Spencer would give him all of a minute before he forcefully put Brendon in a position that wasn't going to kill either of them. Not that Brendon was complaining, Spencer was simply a good cuddler, but even that was rarely conducive to deep sleep with him.

Eventually, Brendon just gave up and went back to sleeping when he could, supplementing himself with a cocktail he had totally invented that was a mix of Red Bull, Code Red and two tablespoons of sugar, when he couldn't. Brendon didn't really mind or anything, it just sucked that something that people were supposed to be good at--sleeping--was a total enigma to him.

Figures, though. His mom had always told him that we couldn't all be good at everything.


"Holy--" Jon spit the drink he'd just taken from Brendon's cup straight out. Served him right, stealing from other people without even asking. Brendon went on sipping, unconcerned. Jon looked at him in horror. "What the fuck is that?"

"It's an energy drink," Brendon said loftily.

"Dude, I have had every energy drink known to man and none of them are that foul, not even that monster crap they always have at the fests."

Brendon ignored this. He liked his invention just fine. After a second of waiting, Jon asked softly, "No, really, Bren. What's in that?"

Brendon imparted his secret recipe. Jon made a face. Brendon shrugged and took another chug. Jon grabbed it back and tossed it into the nearest trash can. Brendon scowled. "Hey!"

"I've got something more energizing."

Brendon scoffed, but didn't resist when Jon tugged him back to the quiet room. There was nobody in there, and Jon marched Brendon over to the couch. Brendon said, "Jon, I suck at naps."

"I know, that's just because you don't know how to do them. Wait, gimme--" He texted something to someone and a few minutes later, Zack showed up.

"Blanket?" Zack asked, and handed it to Jon. Brendon beamed at Zack. He was a miracle worker. Zack ruffled Brendon's hair and left them alone.

Jon said, "Take off your shoes."

Brendon toed them off and walked to where Jon had settled himself into the sofa. Jon pulled him down and shoved at him a little bit until he seemed happy with things. He said, "I don't purr as well as Clover, but I think this should work."

Brendon giggled, but the combination of the warm, even breath at the back of his neck, the way Jon was holding to him tightly, and the fact that Brendon knew, knew Jon would still be there when he woke up, built up in his bloodstream even more concentrated than the caffeine and sugar and Brendon said, "Oh," or maybe just thought it, maybe just dreamed it.


Brendon woke up to Jon calling him. "Bren, hey, Bren. We have to go entertain some people."

"Erf," Brendon said. Jon laughed. Brendon told him, "They can entertain themselves."

Jon pulled him up into a sitting position. "Nothing's as entertaining as Brendon Urie."

Brendon blinked. "True."

Jon grinned. "Wanna nap with me again tomorrow?"

Brendon wondered whether a person could actually be taught super powers. "And the day after that, and the day after that," he agreed. Jon didn't argue.

secrethappiness, brendon/jon, the first sip of coffee in the morning

Brendon wasn't really into coffee. Sure, it had its purposes, and the smell was divine, but given the choice, he'd take a jolt of orange juice-inspired energy any morning, and a nice fizzly Red Bull any afternoon. Jon, on the other hand, Jon had a pure and true love affair with coffee. There were times, if Brendon was honest about it--and Brendon was an almost unfortunately honest person when it came to himself and the guys--when Brendon worried that if a coffee bean grew tits, Brendon would be right out of the running as Jon's boyfriend. Of course, the only way to solve this was to make sure that Brendon having a brain and a cock and, y'know, opposable thumbs, would win over coffee's seductive and devious ways.

The first step to making sure of this was clearly to know everything he could ever possibly know about coffee. After all, knowledge was power, and it wasn't as though coffee could learn about him. Brendon held all the cards. Every last one. He scoured websites and picked up books and learned all about the quality of different beans from different countries and even read a magazine article on new splicing techniques for beans. Finally, he learned how to make the best cups of coffee. Not espresso or lattes or cappuccinos. Just plain, steeped coffee. With patience and care, Brendon mastered the art of the French press and when he was done, oh, when he was done, he waited, laying his trap carefully.


Brendon had had to do all his learning on the sly, making sure he never left the books out on his coffee table--no pun intended--and always had the French press in a cabinet when Jon was there, which was a lot of the time. But when he was ready to reveal his new skills, he sneaked out of bed one morning, began the brewing process and waited with certainty for the smell to draw Jon out.

Sure enough, Jon showed up, letting his nose lead him. His eyes settled on the French press and he said, "Make an honest man of me, Brendon Urie."

"Time for that later," Brendon told him. "These are Costa Rican, dark blend organic. I ground them myself."


Brendon nodded. He was actually slightly surprised it hadn't woken Jon. That fucker was loud. Brendon turned to get a cup out of the cabinets and before he knew what was happening, Jon had grabbed him from behind and was turning him, lifting him onto the counter. Brendon just handed Jon the mug he'd managed to grab before being manhandled. Jon took it with a, "Thanks," and left Brendon where he was. He poured the coffee for himself and simply breathed it in for a moment or two before actually taking a sip. Then he closed his eyes and said, "Jesus, Brendon."

"Um." Brendon was pretty sure that was a good thing. Ninety-nine percent, even. That other one percent was a finicky little bitch.

Jon took another sip and then set the mug down, and walking back to Brendon. Jon fisted his hands in the front of Brendon's t-shirt and pulled him down just enough to kiss him, and oh, oh, Brendon maybe wasn't so much for coffee in its purest form, but on Jon's tongue? Yes, please. He made a little sound and Jon dragged his lips to Brendon's ear. "I'm gonna drink this coffee, and then I'm going to bend you over the table and say thanks. How does that sound?"

Brendon whimpered. Jon said, "Good," and stalked back to his coffee. Brendon watched the black liquid flow over his lips, momentarily envious. Then Jon made good on his word, and Brendon was entirely reassured he had nothing to worry about.


Jon poured himself another cup of coffee and took them back to bed afterward, snuggling down with Brendon. He said, "So you just, like, learned about coffee?"

"Mm," Brendon murmured, too content to really have a full-fledged conversation.

Jon was evidently going to push, though, "Just cause?"

"You love it." Brendon was proud. That had been three whole words.

Jon caressed the back of Brendon's neck with slow, even strokes. After long moments, when Brendon was nearly asleep he said, "I love you, Brendon Urie."

Brendon grinned. "I know," he said. Because he did.

Jon laughed. Brendon said, "Oh. I love you, too."

Jon said, "Yeah, I kinda figured."

lunaedea88, Brendon/Tom, favorite childhood toy

Tom never wrapped the gifts he gave to Jon, not on Christmas, not on his birthday, never. So when he gave him the plastic viewfinder with the pictures of Panic, Jon didn't have to unwrap, he just put it to his face and said, "Holy shit, we used to love these things." Then, a couple of seconds later, "Did we approve this? Because, go us. This is awesome."

Brendon was pretty sure they never approved any of their merch, or at least, nobody ever asked him. He frowned at the thought. "Do we actually approve our own merch?"

Ryan looked vaguely guilty, which was enough of an answer without Spencer saying, "Who do you think does it?"

"I hate you all," Brendon informed them, but he stayed around until Jon got tired of flipping through the pictures and then stole the viewfinder away, to see what there was to see. It was pretty cool, like looking at an old time movie of them, only without a plotline. And with color. So, really, nothing like a movie, except for the way it was dark and there were continuous pictures, so long as Brendon hit the button.

He told Tom, "That's a fucking awesome gift."

Tom grinned. "Jon an' me, we used to spend hours flipping through those things. We always liked pictures. Even before they were anything more than the kind you found in your parents photo album."

Brendon nodded. "Music."

Tom ran a finger over the viewfinder. "Yeah. I'm not really-- That's kinda not surprising at all."

Brendon took the viewfinder and flipped through the pictures until he found the one he liked the best, the one with Spencer smiling at him like he'd said or done something awesome and kept it there, like a note to Jon. Jon probably wouldn't even know Brendon had been the last one to look. Brendon didn't take the toy away from his eyes as he said, "My older sister, she got this music box one year. It was a Disney one, the kind where you open it up and Belle dances with the Beast, and I mean, just a kid's toy, y'know?"

Tom took a second to respond, "Sure."

"I loved it, though. I loved the way the music started and stopped by me just opening it up, and she was in that yellow dress, and that yellow dress, man. It was awesome. I mean, who wears yellow and gets away with it like, that, right?"

Tom didn't say anything. After a few moments, he took the viewfinder away from Brendon's eyes. "Yellow's a hard color."

"Yeah." Brendon smiled.

Tom touched a finger to his lips. "Brendon?"

"Just, y'know. It wasn't the kind of toy a boy was supposed to like, is all."

"All," Tom said, his voice flat and unbelieving, almost like Ryan, but different, an intonation rather than a denotation.

Brendon shrugged. "It's not sordid, or anything. My brothers said some stuff, that's all. It wasn't-- They just wanted to protect me."

Tom's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything. Brendon appreciated it. It was exhausting, having to defend his family to his friends, particularly knowing his friends didn't mean him any harm. Tom said, "Okay," after a long pause and brought the picture back up to Brendon's eyes.


The box showed up in Brendon's bunk, wrapped in wrapping paper with dinosaurs on it. Brendon laughed, and ripped right in. There was a piece of paper atop the box that said, "from Tom," in messy handwriting. Brendon opened the box and stared at its contents for a full minute before venturing to touch it. He lifted the music box from its container and for a second, just looked at the scenes painted on the outside--Belle throwing a snowball at the Beast, the two of them reading together--before unlatching and opening it up. Sure enough, there was Belle in her iconic yellow ballgown, the Beast holding his hand out to her. "Tale as old as time," Brendon sang softly, and left it open until the song had completed itself entirely.


He found Tom behind the venue, taking pictures of the dumpsters. He said, "It's not my birthday."

Tom shrugged. "You're fun to spoil."

Nobody else had ever seemed to think so. "Tom?"


Brendon frowned. "Just--" Then he shook his head. "Nothing. Thanks for the musicbox. It's awesome."

"Thought about getting you the yellow dress, but it's a little harder to find."

Brendon laughed. "I'm not quite Belle."

Tom put his camera down and looked at Brendon. "If you say so."

Brendon looked at Tom. "Oh." He smiled slowly and sang, "Song as old as rhyme," but Tom was kissing him before he could finish.

Shutyourface, Brendon/Spencer, bubble baths

On tour, there was just no way to take a bath. Certainly not on the bus, which didn't even provide one, and hotel baths were not what Brendon considered to be trustworthy. So it didn't matter how wound he was, how tight his muscles had managed to string themselves, that just wasn't an option, not until he was back in his own space, or at least in someone trusted's space. Spencer, who knew how much Brendon missed the experience, would try and find other options, going so far as to learn how to mix massage oil or buying tea from across the globe--shipping tariffs and all. The massage oil was good, brilliant even, and in some ways not even a bath could surpass the feeling of Spencer's hands sliding warm and firm over his back, working at the muscles of his shoulders, digging in to his ass and thighs. But in other ways, there just wasn't anything like a warm bath, comparable to sliding into that water and letting it do its work, find the worst of the strains and unravel them as best it could. Brendon missed it during tour, would always miss it during tour and had accepted that there were just some things that could not be changed. In a world of things that could the truth of this reality didn't bother Brendon as much as it possibly could have.


Evidently it bothered Spencer a lot. Which was how Brendon found himself listening to this conversation, although he wouldn't understand the context until months later.

Ryan asked, "You want to play Arkansas? Um. Why?"

Spencer said, "They'll appreciate the ukelele," and somehow, that won the argument. Brendon was constantly in awe of Spencer's power over Ryan's brain. It was such a big, lovely brain. Brendon had been watching for tips for years, but so far, no luck.

Little Rock ended up being the ninth stop, two days before South Carolina.


Spencer pulled Brendon into the car after their Little Rock show and drove until they came to a town called Hot Springs. Brendon knew the name of the town because he'd been reading the welcome signs to every town since they'd left Little Rock. Actually, he'd been reading every sign, anywhere, implementing all sorts of voices and seeing if he could get Spencer to laugh. Spencer was a hard nut to crack, mostly because he would often pretend not to be amused when he secretly was, and Spencer was a solid pretender, not like Jon, who had to bite his lips. Brendon could still triumph in his attempts more often than not.

Spencer drove them to a clean-looking motel, checked them in and pulled Brendon to bed, setting the alarm clock for ten the next morning. Brendon fell asleep as soon as Spencer settled, curling over him.


In the morning, Spencer took him to bathhouse row, and Brendon looked at the spas lined up, one next to each other and said, "Guess they didn't name the town that for nothing, huh?"
Spencer laughed without even having to be coaxed. He said, "C'mon," and took Brendon into one. He said, "They're private baths. No, you know, um."

Brendon grinned. "You diverted the tour to Arkansas so that I could have a bath?"

"It's a hot springs bath," Spencer clarified, like this somehow lessened the impact of the statement.

Brendon just smiled at him. After a second, Spencer smiled back. "Yeah. Kinda."

Brendon said, "Okay, well. Thanks for being the best boyfriend in the world, I guess, then."

Spencer was polite. He answered, "You're welcome."


On the way out to South Carolina, Brendon took the wheel for a few hours, pulling them over into one of the large trucking stops when he found one, intent on ice cream and a bathroom. He hit the latter first and then, while Spencer was evidently ordering an entire pizza for himself, wandered over to the random assortment of traveling products stocked in the aisles of the convenience center corridor of the stop. He spotted what he was looking for, paid, and went to meet Spencer at the car. Spencer handed him two Drumsticks. "Provisions."

Brendon grinned and handed back his own prize. Spencer took a piece of pizza and considered the offering. "Bubble bath?"

"For when we don't have to take baths separately."

"Oh, like I'm letting you anywhere near me with a product that could be hazardous if it got in my eyes." But Spencer was smiling, and Brendon could hear the lie.

Brendon said, "Smells like sunshine, Spencer Smith. Everybody wants to bathe in sunshine."

Spencer ruffled Brendon's hair, and didn't say a word.
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