Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco

Over Thinking Brings Insomnia

by warsweater 13 reviews

Brendon/other band member# Brendon couldn't sleep and apparently, he wasn't the only one.

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: PG - Genres: Romance - Published: 2011-09-04 - Updated: 2011-09-04 - 967 words - Complete

Brendon couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned and shook the duvets from his body and wrapped himself back in them and fluffed his pillow and he still couldn’t sleep. Eventually, he sighed and swung his feet to the ground. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. Just as he was about to stand, his name was whispered.

“Yeah?” He whispered back, squinting in the dark at the sleeping bag on the floor. A zip was unzipped and material was ruffled, bunched up and then discarded. Footsteps creaked on the wooden floor as they made their way towards the door and a hand wrapped around the knob. The door squeaking overlapped with Brendon’s name being whispered again. Brendon made a slight humming noise, but made no attempt to move.

“Brendon, Come on.” The voice almost hissed. Brendon complied and made it across the room quietly, stepping passed the snoring lump on the sofa and the curled up figure in a second sleeping bag.

Brendon followed his commander through the darkness of his own hallway, guided only by the heavy breathing of the person in front of him. He still couldn’t see him- just the shadow of his hair.

“What are we doing?” Brendon asked, in a quiet, confused voice. His only response was his being shushed. His eyes flickered in shock of being told what to do and he licked his lips nervously. After a short journey into his living room, the door being clicked shut and the sofa exhaling loudly as pressure was pressed against it, Brendon asked again. When no answer came, he sighed and stretched forward to find his bag by his foot. He rummaged around to find his cigarettes and after a few clunks and clatters of tins and cans and things, found them. He pushed one to his lips and lit it. For a small second, the room was illuminated orange and the creases in his face were identifiable as sad.

“What’s wrong?”

Brendon thought; he thought about sleeping, about performing and dancing and singing and playing. He thought about prancing across stages to meet Ryan’s place, to touch him and speak into him and tease him. He thought about the glances he shared with Spencer, the protective expression on Spencer’s face as he watched his closest friend be toyed with and the annoyed, unsurprised fix on his face whenever Brendon’s eyes hit against his- he could swear he saw some envy in those blue eyes at times. He then thought about Jon, the emotionless conversations they’d share, his lack of concern for any of Brendon’s adventures, the almost-a-kiss they had months ago that seemed to linger over their heads each time they spoke and suddenly, Brendon realized just how twisted his relationship with each band member, each friend he had, really was.

He settled for “I’m just having trouble sleeping, is all.”

“Me too.” His voice croaked as he replied and Brendon’s head tilted intrigued. Brendon took a long, relaxing draw of his cigarette and leaned his elbow into his knee.

“You wanna talk about- why can’t you sleep?” Brendon muttered, not sure if he should ask and not sure if he wanted the answer. After a third drag, the cigarette was taken from Brendon’s clutches and it burned bright enough to see the contrast between pale skin and dark hair, as it was inhaled again, before being held over knees limply.

“It might complicate things.”

“So tell me anyway.” Brendon asked, sliding closer and retrieving the cigarette. If it burned through, it would fall to the carpet and ash would stain his new cream floor. Brendon felt a staggered breath hit his arm and he curled his hand over a shaking thigh. “It’s okay.” He hushed as a stray whimper filled the room. He squeezed the muscle and pressed his forehead against the temple of the boy sitting with him. He reached his other hand over the sofa, to find the coffee table beside it, and stub out the half smoked cigarette on the side of the ashtray. As he retrieved his limb, his wrist was caught in a nervous hand and fingers traced over the lines of Brendon’s tattoo.

“I remember the day you got this.” He laughed, tracing a few keys. “You thought we’d freak out and told us it was fake. Said it would wash off.”

“In my defense,” Brendon soothed, knowing the breaks in his voice would be too obvious if he spoke much louder. “You did freak out.” His heart began to race; thumping against his ribcages so fierce, it was deafening. His mouth started to dry up- desperate for moisture- and he bit into an already cracked lip.

“Brendon?” He swallowed, turning into Brendon’s face, so close that their noses could touch. He opened his mouth wider, anticipation spreading through his veins.

Then suddenly, his lips were traced by Brendon’s tongue. It worked its way into an open and smiling mouth and clashed against a second tongue. An unfamiliar taste sent tremors down Brendon’s spine and his hands wandered dangerously- experimentally- over bones and clothes and eventually into hair; tugging it towards him so he could deepen the kiss. A quiet moan jutted out of Brendon’s mouth as he tipped the body over and clambered on top. He couldn’t help but smile, because the boy he was kissing, couldn’t keep his hands still, couldn’t keep his eyes shut, couldn’t keep his hips from rocking upwards, couldn’t stop himself from groaning into Brendon’s mouth.

Brendon’s mouth popped free and he pushed his forehead against his friends’, just for a second, to try and stare into deep, blissfully happy eyes.
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