Brendon/Shane (Ryan/Keltie, Spencer/Haley, Jon/Cassie) || R || 3,957 words
Inspired by this picture, the "more info" description for this video, and conversations with buildyourwalls, but mostly this video. I stretched some things and made up everything else.
It’s not exactly a revelation when Shane finally admits to himself who really wears the pants in this relationship. Mostly, he just finds it ironic considering the majority of Brendon’s pants were purchased from the women’s section at American Apparel. Also, Shane does do most of the actual fucking, only occasionally taking it when Brendon forgets he likes it better the other way, or when he insists on being first to try something awesome— No really, Shane. Trust me. It’ll be so rad.— he saw in a porno somewhere.
No, it isn’t particularly life altering, except that it does make Shane look at things differently, makes him a little uncomfortable when he thinks too hard about it, before he remembers that it’s silly to go all alpha-male about something that insignificant. He just has to step back and remind himself that he’s talking about Brendon, for fuck’s sake. The very same Brendon whose favorite movie is Aladdin, wears pink briefs unironically, and fucks with heteronormativity, both intentionally and unintentionally, for a living.
However, Shane still has this nagging desire to pinpoint when it happened, when he became the girlfriend, because he doesn’t remember how he ended up here, in the middle of this by choice, and not really giving a shit.
It isn’t all that unpleasant, being squished between two gorgeous girls, facing a third, in the back of a stretch limo he didn’t have to pay for. The girls, they look amazing all dolled-up in layers of expensive tulle and silk, hair perfectly coifed and curled. They smell exactly how pretty things should smell, clean and soft, delicate. Looks are certainly deceiving though, because two out of three of them aren’t high maintenance at all, and the third could probably kick his ass.
He’s following the conversation alright, as well as he can when they’re chattering a mile a minute. He’s conditioned into it, he supposes. The conversation is surprisingly interesting considering it keeps jumping between affordable hair straighteners that actually work and the difference between organic vegetables and regular store bought vegetables.
Cassie can make anything sound interesting. She has this insane ability to get everyone excited about whatever it is she’s talking about, perfect proportions of enthusiasm and insightfulness. She knows the most random collection of facts out of anyone Shane’s ever met, and the stuff she doesn’t know, she’s pretty good at making up. At least, until Shane can get to his computer, do a Wikipedia check, and good naturedly call her on her bullshit.
Keltie laughs happily from Shane’s other side, and he can’t help but smile. She’s like this tiny, spunky, ball of constant sunlight, a little quirky at times, but she makes up for it with her constant positivism. She’s always moving too, dancing to her own beat, catching everyone in her bright light. Her flighty moments of unassuming brilliance often remind Shane of Brendon. Actually, the two of them are similar in a lot of ways.
“Oh,” Keltie excitedly grabs Shane’s bicep, folding her knees under her on the seat, heels already discarded on the floor. “Did I tell you guys? Ry bought me a two hundred dollar gift card to Fredrick’s for Christmas. You think he’s trying to tell me something? I mean really, is my underwear not sexy enough for him?”
“Oh, awesome. You can buy one whole bra with that,” Cassie says sarcastically.
“At least he didn’t try buying you something on his own, right?” Haley offers from the seat opposite them, smiling warmly, eyes soft behind her auburn bangs. She’s mostly a quiet observer when Keltie and Cassie talk in circles about nothing and everything at once, but when she speaks, it’s always meaningful, precise, so Shane tends to really listen when she has something to say. He hasn’t been disappointed yet.
Keltie bounces a bit, smoothing out her bright blue dress, adjusting her breasts like Shane isn’t sitting right next to her. “Ugh, I guess you’re right. He would have come out of there with something pretty hideous, and I’d have to pull the, ‘oh look, it doesn’t fit right, I have to take it back, baby’ routine.”
Cassie laughs. “Been there.” She raises her hand, wiggling her painted fingernails enthusiastically.
“Yeah, I hate it when that happens,” Shane says, lounging further back into the plush leather, stretching his arms out along the back of the seat. “I swear Brendon couldn’t pick out decent lingerie if his life depended on it.”
Keltie and Cassie look at him with wide eyes and tiny sparkly smiles of intrigue. Haley rolls her eyes at the other two, laughing softly with her lips pursed together. He’s glad at least one of them got it. “Uh, just joking, ladies.”
Keltie explodes with laughter, light and intoxicating. Cassie swats his arm. “Shane Valdez, I can’t believe you.”
They go on like that, discussing lingerie like Shane is just one of the girls. It’s alright. He’s been involved in worse conversations. Of course, he learns way more about Brendon’s bandmates than he ever wanted to, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary, and he doesn’t really mind. The three of them have enough dirt on him to keep him from telling anyone that matters.
He learns that Cassie doesn’t own anything complicated, no garters or things with ties or clasps, because Jon thinks they’re unnecessary when he’s just going to take it off of her anyway. Shane silently agrees, but it’s still a sore point between the two of them, Jon and Cassie, so Shane keeps his opinion to himself. Keltie chatters about how she has a whole closet full of the stuff. Sometimes she wears it and sometimes she doesn’t. Ryan goes in and out of moods and preferences, and Keltie has a love for pretty things. Neither point is particularly surprising to any of them. Haley doesn’t offer up anything overly intimate, but Shane suspects she wouldn’t have even if he wasn’t around.
Shane gets a text from Brendon, it says: where r u? were waitinggg. FOOD in my belly now plz.
They had to go separately because some magazine with a teeny sounding name— Tiger Teen, or Sixteen, or something— wanted shots of the guys downtown all dressed up on the strip. Shane can’t remember if there will be cameras at dinner, but there most definitely will be at least a few at the party later on. It’s New Year’s Eve, so there’s no chance of getting away from it tonight.
Shane sighs, looks out the window, craning his neck around Keltie so he can figure out how far they are from the restaurant. The obnoxious Vegas lights still make his eyes bleed, even through the heavily tinted windows.
He types back: poor baby. we’ll be there in 5
Shane closes his phone quickly so the girls can’t give him shit about Brendon checking on him. It doesn’t matter that Brendon probably is just hungry; they’ll still make annoying girly noises and use words like precious and cute and adorable. Well, Keltie will anyway. It’s not that he minds all that much, but he won’t pass up the opportunity to avoid it if he can.
The first time it happens, Shane doesn’t understand it at all.
They’re in Paris, and this girl calls his name just before the guys come on stage. He whips around immediately, caught off guard, because this is Panic’s show, and he’s never seen this girl before in his life. She doesn’t look familiar, too young, with short blonde hair and black rimmed glasses. She’s at the barricade and smiling so hard from behind her camera.
“Uh, hi?” Shane says uncertainly, letting his camera fall to his chest so it pulls the strap tight against his neck. She’s possibly filming him, but that’s weird, because— why?
She giggles. “You’re Brendon Urie’s roommate, right? Shane Valdez?” Her accent is heavy, but Shane understands perfectly. She knows him by association, through the band, through Brendon.
He frowns. Oh. He idly wonders if she knows the rest. “Are you filming me?” he asks instead.
“No.” She suspiciously clicks a button on her camera, and lowers it immediately.
Shane gives her a tense smile and turns back just in time to shove his ear plugs back in so the blistering screams from the audience are muffled, just in time to watch Brendon sway out to the middle microphone and smile wide when he catches Shane’s eyes.
“Someone in the audience recognized me tonight,” Shane says into Brendon’s shoulder. “She knew my full name and that we’re roommates."
“Shit, already?” Brendon sounds more amused than annoyed. Shane shifts against him, suddenly uncomfortable lying like this on the lounge couch. Brendon’s bony leg is pinching where it’s wrapped around his hip. Brendon moves a bit, but ends up with his leg in the same position as before. Shane lets out a breath, but otherwise doesn’t make a huge thing about it.
“That was fast,” Brendon says distractedly, still flipping through the channels on the satellite. Shane’s pretty sure he’ll flip through all five hundred of them— at least two more times, get frustrated because European satellite doesn’t have Comedy Central or Food Network, then turn on a movie. He only ever wants to watch the channels they can’t get.
Shane looks up at him, darkened glowing shadows flitting across the angles of his face. “Wait. You were expecting it?”
Brendon keeps surfing, eyes still on the television. “Uh, Shane. You already knew a lot of our fans are creepy little stalkers that tend to find shit out before we even know what’s going on. Plus, you’re on tour with us. You expected them to not figure it out?”
Shane doesn’t know what Brendon means by it, but he’s afraid of the answer, so he doesn’t ask.
In the middle of the next tour, they end up with a random day off in Maine of all places, but it’s cool because they can basically walk anywhere, even with their group of nine, without getting harassed.
They eat at this sleepy little seafood shack on the coast, ocean salt heavy in the cool breeze. The food is fresh and hot. They get a huge plate of crab legs and lobster and hush puppies for the table and amuse themselves with crayons and paper placemats. Jon insists on taking over filming duties for a while, as he occasionally does, and Shane hands it over with minimal protest. It always makes him a little uncomfortable to be on the video instead of behind it, but he smiles and lets Jon have some fun. He’s still buzzing a bit from the bowl-- or three, they all smoked earlier, so he smiles easier, lets Jon ask him random questions and narrates for the film.
Zack takes a phone call in the middle of lunch, frowning as he leaves, and Brendon scoots closer to Ryan so their shoulders are pressing together, heads bent low as they conspire with crayons on the placemats.
Shane tries to pay attention to Dan and Spencer and Eric; they’re having a serious conversation about— something, but his attention keeps wandering back to the other two. They’re talking in low whispers, bumping shoulders companionably, bickering once or twice. At one point, Ryan rolls his eyes and Brendon just laughs, clear and bright with his head tipped back. Then he pulls his lip between his teeth and hunches over the table, scribbling over something in sloppy motions, something that Shane couldn’t see in the first place, blocked by plates of food, menus, and salt and pepper shakers.
Shane watches them and feels, well, a bit jealous. There are parts of Brendon that will always belong to his bandmates, his best friends, and Ryan in particular. They’ve been through a lot, seen the world together, and Shane would never fault them for having that bond. He can’t imagine what kind of trust you’d have to carry for the person that writes words for your voice, for the people that write music for your guitar or drums or bass. Sometimes, he wishes he were on the inside though, that he could be part of that inner square, even if it will only ever have room for four, like corners that connect in unbreakable intersecting lines.
Keltie comes back from the bathroom and she must see it in Shane’s eyes, because instead of sliding into the booth next to Ryan, she comes to stand behind Shane’s chair, drapes her surprisingly strong arms around his shoulders, and hugs him tightly. For being so tiny, Shane always forgets how strong she is.
“Me too,” she whispers sweetly, responding to a question that Shane didn’t realize he was asking. She kisses his cheek lightly and he squeezes her forearm just before she lets go.
Touring with the guys is a whirlwind of constant motion. They’re always on their feet, or in a van, on a bus, always moving to the next interview, next venue, next city. People— some Shane knows, far more that he doesn’t— are always around, so it’s rare that he and Brendon are alone for long enough to do more than steal quick kisses behind partially closed doors or in partially shadowed corridors.
They’ve tried getting away with bunk sex a few times, but it’s always awkward and rushed and they usually end up getting stuff thrown at them— Ryan is fond of throwing shoes, while Spencer prefers magazines— because Brendon can’t keep his stupid mouth shut even when he pinky swears he’ll be quiet.
Actually, they haven’t tried it since that one time Brendon fell out of Shane’s top bunk and whined for twenty minutes about how he thought his arm was broken. Shane mostly just laughed at him, reasoning that he’d be in a lot more pain if his arm was actually broken. Brendon trailed around after him, cradling his arm to his chest, insisting that Shane kiss it better. He seemed miraculously cured once Shane finally gave in and kissed his arm.
Plus, Shane always tries to remain as professional as possible when he’s with them on a job. He may be with Brendon, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t earn the right to be filming for the band, so he tries to keep the relationship part as low key as he can. It’s tougher to balance than Shane had originally though it would be, but they’re managing okay.
It’s just after nine in the morning when Shane rolls over to find Brendon gone from his bunk already. It’s unusual if they get to sleep before two on tour, so nine is early. Shane doesn’t remember if they have anything planned for the morning, but the bus isn’t moving so they probably have something.
He tried keeping up with the schedule in the beginning, marking dates and times in his Blackberry, but that got old really fast. Things tend to change at a moment’s notice, and Brendon rarely knows where he’s going from hour to hour, just lets Zack herd him in the right direction, so Shane mostly gave up trying to keep track.
Shane finds Brendon in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. He groggily tells him morning, rubbing his eyes, as he pulls the door closed behind him and shoves past Brendon to get to the toilet. Brendon garbles a greeting around the foam of the toothpaste. He’s already mostly dressed, hair still in disarray, unshaven, but his shirt is from his ‘clean enough’ pile. That’s how Shane knows he’s ready.
Brendon spits, then says, “We’ve got MTV shit to do today, so Zack says you get half the day off.” Shane can’t tell if he’s annoyed because it’s MTV or because Shane won’t be around to film any of it. He’d have to sign a shitload of paperwork that management won’t be the least bit interested in, so a half day off it is.
“Awesome,” Shane says around a yawn. They’re in New York, he supposes. Keltie mentioned wanting to show him around once they got into the city, take some photos, drink some local coffee, do some shopping, so he’ll probably do that.
He flushes the toilet after he uses it and moves behind Brendon, pressing close, so he can wash his hands at the tiny sink. The bus bathrooms are a lot smaller than Shane thought they would be. This one is maybe two square feet larger than an airplane bathroom and doesn’t have a shower. Apparently, for their last US tour, there was a shower. Brendon still gets annoyed about it whenever someone brings it up.
He grabs Brendon’s toothbrush and loads it with more toothpaste, too lazy to go find his own.
“Dude, that’s sort of gross,” Brendon says, turning his face into Shane’s cheek, leaning back, as Shane brushes. His breath is minty when it puffs softly against Shane’s skin.
“Your mom’s gross,” Shane retorts, poking him in the side.
Brendon grunts and shoves his hand away, then turns in the tight space, only jabbing Shane in the ribs once. He looks up at Shane for a few seconds, then kisses his chin before he hums low and slides ungracefully to his knees, pulling Shane’s sweatpants down as he goes.
Shane spits. “Brendon, you’re not serious, are you?” Because really, Shane is only half awake and Brendon has somewhere he’s supposed to be in, uh— soon, and this is the communal bathroom. Someone’s going to notice and probably get pissed. Shane braces himself anyway for the warm brush of Brendon’s palms on his thighs.
“You know what isn’t fair?” Brendon says conversationally, like he isn’t fisting Shane’s cock with purpose now, pulling him to full hardness in practiced strokes that make Shane’s toes curl and his breath catch. Brendon’s wet lips are half a millimeter away from taking him in when he says, “I have you in my face all day long, but I still can’t do this,” he flicks his tongue out over the head, “whenever I want.” Shane makes a short strained noise and shifts a bit on his feet, one hand bracing himself against the sink, the other fisting Brendon’s hair.
It’s been a couple of days since they’ve done anything, since the last hotel night. It’s nice. Brendon’s mouth on him is always nice, though. The added coolness from the left over toothpaste is strange at first, but then it’s suddenly hurdling Shane towards orgasm faster than usual, shooting tiny uneven cold-hot prickles of pleasure through his belly as Brendon uses his tongue and lips, mouth and hands in coordinated movements.
Shane comes hard in Brendon’s mouth, gritting his teeth to keep the sounds from tumbling past his lips. He’s still floating on the aftershocks, when Zack yells, “Let’s go, kids. Places to be. People to suck up to,” from the front of the bus.
There’s grumbling and shuffling of feet, commotion from the hallway, and Shane tries to calm his breathing as he hastily shoves himself back into his sweatpants. Brendon stands and spits noisily into the sink, just as someone, probably Zack, pounds hard on the bathroom door.
Shane curses, head turning towards the noise, not expecting it. Brendon grins, chuckling lightly into Shane’s neck, pushing his pelvis into Shane’s hip. He’s hard, but won’t have time to get off. He doesn’t seem too concerned about it, though.
“Urie, let’s go. Playtime’s over,” Zack says, pounding once more.
Brendon stretches, arches his back, and cracks his neck. He gets on his toes, smacks a kiss to Shane’s lips, then says, “Gotta go bring home the bacon, honey.”
Shane is two seconds away from protesting, telling Brendon he makes enough money to live on, thank you. Just because it doesn’t come in steady royalty paychecks doesn’t mean anything, but Brendon’s already opening the door wide.
“How did you know?” Brendon whines at Zack, who’s waiting on the other side, arms crossed at his chest.
Zack rolls his eyes. “Uh, cause it’s a bus. A tiny bus.” He shoves Brendon down the hall, and Brendon just laughs, unconcerned. “It’s not like there are that many places you two can hide.”
Shane hears Spencer lightly complain, “Dude, just cause I can’t throw stuff at you through the door, doesn’t mean it’s cool to fuck Shane in our bathroom.”
Shane’s cheeks flush and he ducks his head, but feels silly immediately after. He knows Spencer doesn’t mean anything by it and it really wasn’t cool of them to be doing it there in the first place, but it still stings a bit.
Brendon says, “Oh whatever, Spence. You know Shane does most of the fucking, anyway.”
Shane smiles at that. So okay, Brendon does redeem himself on occasion.
It’s weird watching them like this. He feels like he should be worrying about lighting and trying to find a good balance between taking photographs and taking video. This time, all he has to do is concentrate on the kick drum, the chords thrumming through his veins, and watch.
Their chemistry on stage is fascinating, always watching and waiting for opportunities to slide up to and away from one another, communication through eye contact and body language alone.
More than anyone else, they play for each other, Shane realizes.
They’re all standing closest to Ryan at the side-stage. As usual, Keltie’s rocking out pretty hardcore, dancing a few feet in front of Shane, bumping her hip against Zack’s every so often. He just shakes his head at her and remains stoic. He’s smiling though. Even if he can’t see it, Shane knows Zack’s smiling.
Ryan smiles over at Keltie shyly a few times, while Brendon takes a slightly less subtle approach. He slides up behind Ryan while Ryan’s singing lead, grins and mouths something that may or may not be Shane, get in my pants with a thrust of his hips behind his guitar. Shane flips Brendon off automatically, but can’t help smiling back. Ryan turns slightly to raise an eyebrow at Brendon, but Brendon just kisses his shoulder before twirling away again, wildly shaking the sweat from his hair as he goes.
Keltie leans into Cassie, whispers something into her ear, and the two girls link arms and giggle over the boom of Brendon’s voice.
when the moon fell in love, she was drinking tea out in her garden
Shane’s still itching for something to hold, a camera, something, when Haley, who’s been standing next to him quietly, threads her fingers with his and holds on like she needs something to anchor her. Shane understands. Sometimes, it’s a little overwhelming. All of this, not quite being in the middle of it, but getting enough of it that it’s still too much, too bright and intense.
Or maybe it’s Shane that needs the anchor.
Keltie turns to them, eyes shining against the bouncing stage lights, and pulls Shane’s other hand so he’s closer to her. He laughs and twirls her as elegantly as he can manage while still holding onto Haley. Keltie moves in to hug Shane tightly, then she pulls Cassie to them. They stand like that in a huddle for a while, just holding onto each other.
“We’re keeping you, Shane Valdez. You’re ours now,” Keltie whispers sincerely, just loud enough that the three of them will hear her, like it’s a secret. Cassie smiles wider and Haley squeezes his hand. Just the four of them. It’s cheesy enough that he’d probably never admit it to anyone outside of this circle, but Shane feels safer than he ever has in his life, like he belongs, like he could give a fuck about how everyone else perceives him, and what it all means, because he knows he’s exactly where he belongs.