Written for Marianna for the 2009 xmas_rocks exchange
| This story is a work of fiction and therefore completely untrue. No harm or libel is meant or implied about any of the individuals named within this work and it was written without their involvement or permission. No profit is being made. |
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Jon Walker's one of those guys that's just chill. He brings an instant calm to any situation, and once upon a time, William Beckett would have wanted to punch him for that. But man, watching those little nearly legal boys from Panic...well, panic, and immediately calm down around Jon is kind of hot.
As in, kind of like nearly legal porn hot. Especially once that drummer starts hanging all over him, because hey, Bill's not choosy on who's starring in his personal porno. But it's more than that, really. It's a calm that Jon has in him, in the way that he talks, and the way he somehow manages to reassure people. It's ridiculous, in some totally unfathomable way, and Bill can't help but wonder more and more about him. It's not long after meeting the Panic boys ("Two months," Gabe informs him, gleefully demanding his winnings,) that Bill walks in on that same drummer and one of those other ones making out like there's no tomorrow and he has two choices. One; he automatically apologizes and stays longer than necessary, hoping to get an invite into the nearly legal porn. Or two; he cackles like mad, snaps quick (but mostly crap) pictures on his phone, and runs away thinking of kiss-swollen lips and smeared eyeliner. Bill's not really an apologetic guy, even if he can hope for an invite into nearly legal porn. By the time he makes it back to Jon and the safety of The Academy bus, he's flushed, grinning like an idiot, and brandishing his cell phone for everyone to see. "Look! Look what I caught!" And okay, cell phone pictures are crap anyways, but Bill's got mad crazy luck when it comes to getting opportunistic shots. And the one he has is totally drummer boy's tongue into the other boy's throat. "Holy shit that's Ryan and Spencer!" He doesn't notice the tiny, adorable boy at first until he speaks, all fluffed out hair, big eyes, and just enough innocence that Bill has the overwhelming desire to text Pete and simply ask him how did he not defile every last one of those Panic boys. Because, really, asking Pete to resist once was funny, but four times over? That was just cruel. Bill has a moment where he's pretty sure he should start learning names, because if his dreams of nearly legal porn ever come true, it's gotta start with learning names.
"So that's who again?" Jon asks beside him and Bill grins, slinging an arm around his shoulders as they settle and watch the boy (Brendon, apparently) gesticulate while explaining his band. "You heard 'em yet?" Bill asks lowly, leaning into Jon's space because it's what he does. But then again, Jon's used to it by now, way used to it, so Jon simply leans into him. Jon's shoulder meets Bill's chin, and hey, Bill's not going to waste that opportunity. "Nah. Pete sent their shit to me, wanna go listen?" Jon asks and grinning at him, Bill drags him out. They cram into one bunk, and with Jon's broadness and Bill's long limbs, it's a miracle that they can actually fucking breathe with each other. And it's like, Bill knows he's tiny, and knows that he can squirm into damned near anywhere. But Jon takes up space. Comfortably comforting space, and sometimes, Bill can't remember if he should thank Jon for it. They each share an iPod earbud, and the moment that the Brendon kid (honestly, Bill wants to ask him to say 'That's Fierce', or something, just to get it out of his system) starts in on the track, he and Jon share a look. It's the look that people know how to automatically decipher, even if they've just met someone. It says anything from "Holy shit, what?" to "Oh my god," and for this moment it's both. Bill knows that Pete knows talent, but these kids can't even have fucking graduated high school. Jon shifts, his thigh slipping between Bill's and after a moment of sheer awkwardness, Bill simply shifts towards Jon, leading them into an actual cuddle. "Comfy?" Jon finally murmurs, his lips barely moving to let out the soft sound. The album ends and before the final strands of music die away, the album starts over. Louder this time. "Mm. You're my fucking hero sometimes, Walker," he finally says, spontaneous as Jon laughs, and it's such a warm sound. Low and calm, and even though they're crowded in some fucking bunk on a shitty tour bus that he's going to be sick of; it's amazing. Cozy and soft and it's like wearing a sweater and shit. Bill's a little surprised by the way that Jon drops his head against Bill's collarbone. But hey, cuddles are cuddles, and he's not going to complain. "Those little shits are going to like...I dunno, usurp us or something," "Usurp? Who the fuck uses usurp anymore?" "I do, Dick." "You like it."
"Do I?" Innocent question, innocent enough for two friends, even. But Bill can't help the way he arches into Jon, just enough to press them together, tight and hot in the small bunk. "Do you?" Jon's voice is soft and the prickle of stubble is poking through the overly thin fabric of his shirt. Bill's hyper-aware of everything, the way that there's an itch crawling up his spine, the way that Jon's hand has slipped under Bill's shirt. He's aware of the way that Bill's fairly certain that if Jon's teasing, he's going to kill him. They've kissed before; drunken and sober. But it's never had the edge of something more, or the tang of exileration before. Sure, it's been fun and exciting, but there's something like a scent Bill's never noticed before. It's interesting, and Bill's kind of happy to explore that some more. He explores Jon's mouth happily, feeling not one bit weird to be kissing his friend and guitar tech while their friends are just in the lounge. It's almost nauseating in the nerves and first (real) kiss fear but Bill wouldn't trade that feeling. Ever. He loves first kisses, loves the way it's all so new and eager, and the first noises you get to hear. Wet lips sliding together have a sound, but almost only in his head, really. It's slick, and hotter than he always expects. He loves that. Hot air washes over the lower half of Bill's face as Jon lets go of a breath through his nose, both of them unwilling to break the kiss. Jon slides his hand under Bill's shirt, thick fingers and callouses, and there's a moment of wanting to pull back to say something. And that's when the curtain gets dragged (no, ripped) back and they're blinking in the harsh sunlight. Jon doesn't move his hand, just lets out a single huff of annoyance. "Aw, fuck," is all Tom manages, shooting a grin to Bill as he walks back to the lounge, his loud fucking voice probably heard five miles up the road. "Dude, Bill and JWalk are gonna like fuck, so turn the radio up. Hey, no hogging the chips, cunts-" There's a beat of total chaos before the radio's volume shoots up so loud that even if Bill and Jon were using fucking megaphones they wouldn't be overheard. "You wanna?" Bill asks, looking back to Jon, their noses just barely touching. Close enough that Bill can feel the miniscule hairs standing up in awareness as a smile spreads over Jon's face. "I'm not like...all for one in this buck, but...I've kind of been jerking off to the thought of blowing you for a few weeks now." And god, if Bill wasn't hard before, he certainly fucking is now. "Dude, just...go with the flow, Johnnie Walker," he says, grinning at his own joke. Seriously, that probably won't stop being funny for about ten more years. And besides, telling Jon to not go with the flow is like telling Pete Wentz to stop taking naked pictures of himself. It's never going to happen, it's a fact of life. Accept it and move on. Jon grins, a real grin this time, not a smile, and Bill wriggles. Shifting out of his shirt, and for a moment, he takes a glance at Jon's face, the open hunger on his face. Matching him isn't exactly easy when one's trying to reattach earbuds (ones that are still repeating Panic! At The Disco's album, too) before they fall to kissing again. And seriously, why didn't someone tell him that Jon Walker was a fantastic kisser? The music is a background thump, weaving in and out of digital beats from the iPod, and wet smacks send shivers down Bill's spine. He's rocking his hips against a firm thigh, and there's a denim-clad cock meeting every single movement.
Frottage never was so good. A drowning moan burbles from Bill's throat as they pause for breath, 'cause y'know, it's important. Jon's nose nudges along his neck, and if someone had told him five years ago, that he'd be necking with a guy in a tour bus bunk, the only thing he'd have been surprised by was the actual person and the tour bus part. Friction wells around him, making him squirm and gasp, giving soft noises that he just can't help up to Jon's questing lips. Hot and soft lips around one of his nipples brings up a thick noise from the depth of his chest. Firm suction and seriously, Bill's in heaven. There's a hand resting on his hip, just rubbing and teasing before it slides down, achingly slow. Heated fingertips seem to sear through the thick denim before they trail over his cock. Arching, he moans, and pulls Jon up, kissing him hard. It's neither smooth, nor totally lacking in finesse, but fuck, that teasingly light pressure on his cock makes him squirm. "Naked. Fucking...please. Naked, you asshole," Bill manages, out of breath and feeling overheated. Jon laughs, skimming his lips over Bill's neck, the breath disturbing the hair and sending a shiver all over him. Goosebumps materialize, even in the heat of an enclosed bunk, and the prickle soft feeling of Jon's beard makes him want to rub his own face against it. It's not that Bill can't grow a beard, it's just that he can't grow one well. There is a difference. Lips close over the pulse point of his neck, and Bill sinks into the mattress. Groaning, he finally gives up on getting naked and simply unbuttons Jon's pants clumsily. Hey, there are a lot of things he can do one-handed, unbuttoning and unzipping jeans on someone else (let alone himself) is something else entirely. Jon's like a fucking furnace, Bill thinks, but doesn't care, because the noise that Jon makes into his ear is fucking perfect as Bill wraps a hand around his cock. It's a hitched gasp, surprised, like he hadn't expected that, and it makes him squeeze his hand. It's not perfect, the angles are pretty shitty, and listening to Panic! At The Disco while you jerk each other off isn't the mood music Bill would have chosen, but Jon's hand knows exactly what it's doing. Luckily, Bill gets to find out that his mouth does too.
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