ALL TOGETHER NOW! (V. 2) A bandom comment fic meme!

[green]

It's that time of year again!

Prompt! Write! Feedback! Anon or not. And tell other people about it, so we can have a bigger, better time.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Pete/always-a-girl!Patrick - life on the road

[green]

Gerard/Mikey reincarnation. could be them in a past life, or could be them realizing they've HAD past lives, or could be ... idk. anything. :D?

shamelessly doctored history

[(Anonymous)]

Mikey remembers Rome fondly but he suspects Gerard would be appalled. They were slaves in Rome and while their master had not been unkind, he was still a Master. Mikey had slept on soft sheets and Gerard had sung every night. Mikey didn't particularly enjoy his 'work', spreading his legs for a senator, but they'd been safe and looked after, the most a slave could hope for. Mikey had died at, he thinks, the young age of thirty three of what was probably malaria. It had been painful. He doesn't know what happened to Gerard. He suspects his was sold on.

The sad thing is Gerard isn't even his brother all the time. Mikey has heady memories of 1920s Berlin and the feeling of Gerard inside him. Mikey was Michael Bachmeir then but their group, Christopher, Luke and the sapphics, Sarah and Zoe, called them the Way Brothers as a joke.

That lifetime Mikey had known from the beginning, the day he was born. He's spent his life waiting for Gerard.

Gerard was so beautiful that life, this fantastic ephemeral artist that Mikey knew he didn't deserve. The 'rich and boring', in Gee's words, were fat and had short hair and fine clothes so Gerard kept his black hair long and stayed skinny and wore suit jackets with holes in the elbows. Mikey loved him so much that the memories hurt. Gerard had managed to get to America before the war. Mikey had loved Germany too much to leave. He'd moved to Dusseldorf, lied about his name and worked in a munitions factory till the end of the way. He'd been too skinny for the army.

Gerard had been his brother again during the Cold War, but that had been largely uneventful. Gerard had married, had kids, gotten into trouble for liking the idea of Communism and then gotten out of trouble a couple years later. Mikey had been the 'odd uncle'; Uncle Mikey who never got married or ever brought a pretty girl to Thanksgiving.

Gerard never remembers. Mikey's stopped holding out for some magical epiphany. Mikey remembers, sometimes from when he's a baby, sometimes not till later, and Gerard never does.

Mikey remembers dying in The Great War but not what happened to Gerard after. (He looked it up. Gerard Way, one of the boys who came home and died, quietly, at the bottom of a bottle.) Mikey remembers outliving Gerard in France, dying again in Africa, loving him in Ceylon and one bizarre time as his brother-in-law in England, shortly after Victoria became queen.

It isn't the same Mikey and Gerard born everytime. The Mikey of Berlin had loved his Gerard all-encompassingly. Here Gerard is his brother, an artist and a great man but Mikey loves Alicia with everything he is.

Still, it's easy, at one in the morning, to roll over in bed, feel a warm body and, centuries of memories flooding back, to think Gerard.

[akamine_chan]

virgin!Gerard/experienced!Mikey, first time

[(Anonymous)]

Frank/Jamia - nobody believes that chubby champion pot-smoker Frank has actually got a date with the cute Eyeball intern.

[(Anonymous)]

Mikey sending Pete dirty texts. Or the Mikeyway version of dirty texts.

[roga]

BRENDON/DARREN CRISS. OR BRENDON/SPENCER WITH DARREN CRISS SOMEWHERE IN THE FIC. I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT COME ON.

[roga]

Ryan/anyone or gen, "Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met)".

[roga]

Brendon/Spencer or any Panic combo really, modern day royalty AU.

Fill: Brendon/Spencer, modern day royalty AU

[annemari]

This is really not how Brendon imagined today would go. Well, honestly, he hadn't imagined that any of his days would go like this.

Frank had left him in charge of the store for, like, five minutes. Brendon had been hoping no one would really show up, because the music store was Frank's baby and there were all these records that actually weren't for sale, and he kept forgetting which ones they were, and Frank was tiny, tinier than Brendon, even, but terrifying. Like a really scary puppy.

He was just cleaning the counter, because Frank was really meticulous about stuff like that, too, when someone walked in. Brendon glanced up and at first just registered guy. Then he did a double-take, because, hot. Then he did another double-take, because, "wow, seriously hot -- wait, kind of familiar, too". On the third double-take he almost sprained his neck, because that. That was most definitely the prince. As in, the prince, prince Spencer Smith the Fifth, right there in their little music store.

He was also completely alone. Brendon frowned. Wasn't he supposed to have, like, security guards and shit? He was the prince. Brendon tore his eyes away and glanced out of the shop window. No, no security there either. Maybe-- Maybe he was just a look-a-like? Brendon looked back at the guy, who was now making his way up to the counter. Brendon swallowed. No, that was. That was most definitely the prince. Without bodyguards or anything. Interesting.

Brendon's brain was maybe, just a little, collapsing in on itself, so even though he was totally going to say, "Can I help you?" or "Welcome", or "Wow, you're the prince", something neutral like that, what came out instead was, "Oh my god, is this like My Date with the President's Daughter?" Prince Spencer startled a little and then just stared at him.

"Um, not that your father is the president," Brendon hurries to explain. "And, um, not that you're a girl, and, like, this isn't totally a date, of course, ha ha, but you. Um, you don't have any security with you," he finishes lamely, and contemplates dropping down behind the counter and feigning fainting-- wait, that would probably make things worse.

The prince furrowed his eyebrows and cocked his hip to the side. Like, he actually did that. Brendon thought that was just a rumor, but oh god, he actually did that. Brendon swallowed and prepared for -- he didn't know what. Getting blasted into bits by a... a blaster ray from a satellite.

"Why would I need bodyguards?" the prince asked, calmly. His voice was deeper than it sounded on TV.

Brendon shrugged. "Because people might try to kill you?"

The prince raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to try to kill me?"

Brendon gaped a little, and then offered a "No?"

"Really? You don't seem very sure of that," the prince said, tilting his head to the side and eying Brendon. His hair fell in front of his eyes, and he brushed it away. Brendon's mouth went dry.

"I'm. I'm positive that I have no intentions of harming you?" There. That sounded proper enough, right, and would hopefully not get him killed by a... trained ninja, or something. Well, there probably weren't any untrained ninjas. There were just ninjas. Oh god, that's why there weren't any security guards in sight, they were all ninjas.

Brendon hoped they wouldn't mess up the store much when they attacked him for potentially threatening the prince by, like, speaking to him or something. Frank would kill him.

The prince, though. The prince smiled. Oh, holy shit. It was just a small smile, but it made his eyes crinkle, and fucking hell, it made something in Brendon jump and turn to mush at the same time, which was a really weird feeling. Like, he didn't even care that this guy was the prince, he was beau-- Fuck, fuck, he was the prince. Brendon was in his store, alone, with a prince, and... possibly some ninjas. Okay, maybe there weren't any ninjas. But there was a really really attractive prince. Brendon cast his eyes down and tried not to blush. Ugh, what was he even supposed to say.

Oh, right. "Can I help you?" he said, still looking down at the counter. It was really rude of him not to make eye contact, he knew, but he just didn't dare.

"Well," the prince said slowly. "I was just gonna look around, but. Could you. Could I ask you for a favor?"

Brendon's head shot up. There's no way he heard that right. "What?"

The prince brushed his hair out of his eyes again, and said, "Could you please not tell anyone you saw me here?"

"Um," Brendon said. He was gonna say "yes", of course, but. He had to tell someone, otherwise he'd think he'd made the whole thing up in his head -- still not impossible-- and he didn't want to lie to the prince. "Anyone?" he said.

"You were -- I'm not supposed to be out without security, but this store is so small, and I wanted to check it out, but it's really hard to do that when people keep looking over your shoulder. Also, I just needed some... time off. You know?"

Brendon didn't really know, he loved having other people around. Well, it was probably different when the people got paid to hang out with you. He found himself nodding. "Yeah, man, I won't tell anyone," he said, and then cringed, because he'd just called the prince man. Shit, shit, shit, what was wrong with him?

The prince just smiled, though, and that weird feeling ran though Brendon again. "Thank you. So you don't mind if I look around?"

"Sure," Brendon said, waving his hand haphazardly and almost hitting the prince with it. He drew it back and rubbed the back of his neck, painfully aware of his body being even more awkward than usual. "I -- the owner will be back in, like, ten minutes, I think? So. Um, if you don't want another person you have to swear to secrecy, then. Yeah."

"Okay, I'll be fast," the prince said, and then turned away. Brendon went back to cleaning the counter and sneaking glances, like, every two seconds. Fuck, the guy just looked so good. Tight jeans, a t-shirt that was snug around his body, a simple jacket over that. He was dressed so... commonly, you know, considering the fact that he was a fucking prince, but he looked amazing. Brendon couldn’t stop staring. God, he was being such a creep.

He resolutely didn't look up again, which is why he jumped when the prince dropped some records onto the counter.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the prince said, and Brendon just nodded, quickly running the records through the register. "Um, you don't happen to have the new Arcade Fire album, do you? I didn't see it."

Brendon looked up, surprised. "I -- we should get it next week? The bigger stores already have it, though, you could check there. There's one close to here--"

"Next week?" the prince interrupted him.

"Um, Tuesday?"

The prince seemed to be contemplating something. "Hmm. Do you think if I come in the Thursday after that week, there will still be some left?"

Brendon stared. "I could -- I could save you a copy," he offered, hesitant.

"That'd be awesome," the prince said, and grinned. Shit, shit, fuck, he was gorgeous.

"Uh-huh," Brendon said and handed the prince his records.

The prince took them and then offered Brendon his hand. "I'm Spencer," he said.

Brendon blinked, and, for once, managed not to blurt out something totally stupid, like, "I know" or "Your hand is so soft" or "How do you get your hair to look like that?", and said, "Brendon."

The prince, Spencer, Spencer the prince, he'd introduced himself, nodded at Brendon, let go of his hand and walked over to the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked back. "So, the Thursday after next, right?"

Brendon nodded and smiled, the big goofy grin that usually scared people off, but he just couldn't help himself.

Spencer the prince turned and walked into the door. He hurriedly pulled it open and fled. Brendon grinned even harder. The prince was totally a dork. This was the best thing ever.

Brendon grinned to himself until Frank came back and asked what he was so happy about. Not meanly, or anything, because Frank was totally awesome and Brendon thought they were actually becoming friends. He couldn't really tell Frank who he'd just met, though, he promised he wouldn't, so he just bit his lip and said, "It's a nice day."

It most certainly was.

[roga]

Frank/Gerard, time travel.

[green]

YES. I want this, too.

[roga]

Frank/Gerard or Brendon/Spencer, one of them can read the other's thoughts.

Fill: Brendon/Spencer, telepathy

[fictionalaspect]

(lololol oh god this is so stupid. I couldn't resist.)

Everything about Brendon's dream is going awesome until he is--inexplicably--underwater.

"Mffph!" Brendon sputters. He blinks. There's water running down his nose. His pillow is soaking wet.

"Fuck.You." Spencer says, deliberately. He's holding an empty water glass in one hand. He looks both half-awake and murderous. "Ryan? Really, Brendon? Really?"

"S'wasn't Ryan," Brendon mumbles, sitting up and swiping at his face. His dream is coming back in bits and pieces. Mostly Brendon just remembers having some fucking hot sex with someone, and it was great, and they were all tall and skinny, and--

"Dammit," Brendon says, feeling his face flush. "Oh. Oh god."

"If you don't find a way to fix this, I'm going to end you," Spencer says, pointing at Brendon threateningly.

He leaves the room.

Brendon shakes his head at the door. He fumbles around on his floor for something to dry his head off with, and then he leans back against his single unsodden pillow and starts jerking off because whatever, it was just a dream, right? He's definitely not going to jerk off thinking about Ryan, but the person-who-possibly-looked-sort-of-maybe-kind-of like a Ryan Ross type person in his dream was pretty flexible. Brendon can get down with that.

All he has to do is switch the faces, and voila! Instant orgasm.

Mmm, Brendon thinks, rolling his shoulders a little, sinking back further into the bed.

The door flies open again.

"Take your hand off your dick," Spencer snaps.

Brendon's so surprised that he actually complies.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" Spencer says. "Obviously, I can still hear you. Obviously. Since you woke me up because you were dreaming about fucking my childhood best friend."

"You're really cranky," Brendon says, swallowing a little at how he's like. Completely sort of naked in front of Spencer, and also really hard, and probably this should be awkward but mostly he would just like to continue jerking off, because he was kind of getting into something, there.

"It's three-o-clock in the morning and I'm being kept awake by your non-stop libido," Spencer says. "Of course I'm fucking cranky."

"You do realize there's an obvious solution to this problem," Brendon says, and then ducks the t-shirt that Spencer throws at his head.

--

"Brendon," Spencer says, with a long suffering sigh. "Put the Crisco down."

"But--" Brendon says, wounded. He wasn't even thinking thinking about it. He was just kind of vaguely considering it, and then he started wondering what the hell was in Crisco anyway, and then he picked it up and now Spencer is yelling at him.

"Just," Spencer says. "Just. Brendon."

"Fine," Brendon says, and puts it down. "But we're still making cake tonight. I want cake like whoa."

"Are you going to fuck the cake?" Spencer says.

"What?" Brendon says, frowning. "Uh, no, dude."

"Then awesome," Spencer says. "Fantastic. Let's make cake."

--

"No more licking the beaters," Spencer says, pulling them out of Brendon's hand. "Just. No."

"I wasn't even--!"

"It was close enough," Spencer says. "No one needs to see that."

--

"Is there anything that doesn't make you think about sex?" Spencer says, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. "Anything at all."

Brendon looks down at the Monopoly board.

"We could take Bogart for a walk," Brendon says, helpfully. "Watching dogs pee is totally not a turn-on for me."

"Oh my god," Spencer says faintly, covering his eyes with one hand.
--

"Okay," Spencer says, setting his beer down on the table with a clunk! "That's it. I give up. It's been six days. I'm going to go jerk off. I quit."

"Finally," Brendon says, gleeful. He wiggles farther down into the couch cushions, palming himself and getting comfortable. He should probably move, but Spencer's been busting in on him every night, and waking him up from perfectly good dreams, and watching him shower, and generally being a creepy fucking cockblocking stalker and Brendon just does not care anymore. He is going to whip it out and Spencer can suck it.

(Metaphorically speaking.)

"No," Spencer says, batting Brendon's hand away. "See, that's where you come in. Or don't come in, actually. All I want is some goddamn peace and quiet in my own little fantasy world, so you are going to sit here and not think about sex for the next fifteen minutes, okay? I don't care what you do. I don't care if you have to get blind drunk to do it. Just don't think about sex," Spencer says firmly.

Brendon stares at him.

"You are such a buzzkill," Brendon says, finally. "Look, if I do this, can I finally go get myself off?"

"Sure," Spencer says. "Sure, whatever."

--

Except now Brendon's stuck in the living room, thinking about Spencer jerking off, with very strict instructions not to think about anyone, including Spencer, jerking off.

"Um," Brendon says, out loud to the room. He closes his eyes and tries to thing about things like primary colors and rainbows and unicorns and ninjas and various other things, but mostly he just keeps seeing flashes of himself fucking Spencer.

The way Spencer might arch his back when Brendon--

--and the smell of his skin--

--and his long legs wrapped around Brendon's waist, his heels digging in at just the right moments, and--

There's a loud, surprised groan from the other end of the house. Brendon can feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He closes his eyes and thinks about kissing Spencer afterwards, just to make sure--long, lazy kisses, full of heat and promise.

There are footsteps behind him.

"Goddammit," Spencer mumbles, leaning over the back of the couch. Brendon has to twist his body into the kiss, but it's worth it, it's totally worth it, fuck, why couldn't they have done this way before tonight, there's so many awesome ways to take advantage of this weird telepathy thing before it goes awa--

"Oh my god," Spencer says, breaking away. "You want me to spank you?"

[were_duck]

Frank/Pedicone, left at a truck stop.

[romantical]

Frank is absolutely, completely, 100 percent sure it's all Mikey Way's fault.

It would be one thing if it was a Walmart or something, but instead it's a fucking middle-of-nowhere, backwoods fucking truck stop straight out of a horror film. Frank is too tired for this shit, and Mikey knows it, and Frank would be well and truly pissed the fuck off if only Pedicone would stop fucking giggling.

"It's not fucking funny."

"It kind of is. It's like I'm a member of the band now. Like I'm Ray."

"You're not Ray."

"No. No one's Ray. Ray has the whole hair mojo. I have bald mojo. I'm like Ray. I am so one with all of you that you don't notice you've left me behind because I am always part of you."

"You're fucking stoned."

"I'm not arguing that. I'm also saying that I got left behind at a truck stop. I'm going to tell the fucking internet."

"Maybe I got left behind at the truck stop, and you just happened to get stuck here with me."

"Or maybe it's the other way around."

"In that case, it really fucking sucks." Frank huffs out an annoyed breath and digs out his cigarettes. He's cut back on his smoking, but sometimes the occasion just calls for nicotine to keep him from ruining his livelihood by killing his bassist. "This is totally Mikey's fault."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because no one else would fucking leave us, dude. This is fucking malice aforethought."

"They'll be back, dude. It's not like they can go on without us."

"You're failing to see the point."

Mike leans back against the wall of the building before reaching out and plucking Frank's cigarette from his hand, taking a long drag. "Enlighten me, oh wise tiny one."

"Fuck you." Frank takes the cigarette back, flicking the ashes at Mike. "The point is that it's cold, and it's dark and the guy in there is probably a fucking serial killer, and I don't want to end up on A&E as an episode of Forensic Files, okay? I have children. And dogs."

"You want me to buy you a Hershey's bar or something, man? You're tweaking." Mike grabs Frank's shoulder and pulls him in, tugging him back against the wall and Mike himself. "Take a deep breath."

"The air smells like nature. Nature is where serial killers hide bodies."

"You're not watching Criminal Minds before you crash any more." He rubs a hand up and down Frank's spine. "And I promise that they have to go through me to get to you."

"You're just saying that."

Mike nods. "Yeah. I am, actually. I would run like a fucking sixteen year old girl in a horror film."

"I hate you."

"You love me, man." Mike plants a warm, wet kiss on the top of Frank's head. "You can't help yourself."

"Shut up." He leans in closer, relaxing against Mike's strength as the lights of the bus returning fill up the stretch of asphalt in front of them. "And I'm holding you to that Hershey's bar thing."

[were_duck]

Brendon/Spencer, Dickensian orphan werewolves

[pandarus]

There can never be too much Dickensian orphan werewolf Bandom fic! :D

[were_duck]

Spencer and Tyler Glenn (Neon Trees), competitive shoe shopping

[sassbandit]

YOUR PROMPTS ARE THE BESTEST <3

[(Anonymous)]

Ryan/Spencer, post-split, apologies.

[epershand]

Brendon + Dallon, relationships to the LDS Church

[epershand]

Victoria Asher, "those are fake us" (cf. https://twitter.com/#!/vickytcobra/status/63684288880709632 )

FILL: Yet, Victoria/Gabe. 1/1

[(Anonymous)]

When Gabe calls her, his voice sounds hollow, and she thinks she hears water in the background.

"Tell me that you are calling me from in front of an awesome water feature and not from the bathroom," she sighs into the phone.

"Does the shower count as a water feature?" His smirk transmits perfectly through the cell towers.

"What do you want?" she asks. She doesn't mean to sound abrupt, but she's had a long day and what she really wants is to lie down on the bed and watch some really terrible late night television, not verbally spar with Gabe.

It takes him a couple of seconds to answer, and in that time, she toes off her heels and starts rolling down her stockings. "Are you embarrassed that fake you is flirting with fake me on Facebook?" he finally says, and a fingernail goes right through her stocking.

She hisses through her teeth, but still answers. "No, what do I care?"

"You answered the tweet," he says back, almost immediately.

"I just --" She stops before she says something stupid, and finishes rolling down her stocking, doesn't bother being careful, just leaves the one with the hole on the floor. The other, she carefully pulls off her foot and puts on the table. "So what?" she demands.

"Would you be embarrassed if real you was flirting with real me?"

Gabe sounds like he's teasing, but it's been years. She can tell the difference. And she has an answer, because it's not like she's never thought about it -- especially since his split with Bianca. She waits, though, because… well, because it's Gabe, and she loves him, but she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction. Or the power. If being in Cobra has taught her anything, it's that she needs all the power she can get and manage to keep, just to keep her head above water. Not with the boys, but in life.

She could still be easily written off by everyone, including herself, as just the girl who plays keytar in Cobra Starship. And that's not what she wants.

But being in Cobra has also taught her the value of taking a risk, so she waits. And when the silence has drawn out so taut that it could snap, she answers.

"I haven't ever been yet."

It's his turn to hiss in his breath, and her turn to let her smirk bounce from cell tower to cell tower until it reaches him in the bathroom in the hotel room next door.

[(Anonymous)]

Gabe & his Jewishness, gen or any pairing.

[reni_days]

Spencer/Brendon pretend-boyfriends high school AU

[(Anonymous)]

YES PLEASE *__________*

[reni_days]

Spencer/Brendon, dating and/or sex lessons

FILL: Patter, Brendon/Spencer, 1/1

[(Anonymous)]

"Oh my God, what even was that."

Spencer just glowers. There often is no better response to Brendon.

"Seriously, that, like. No."

"Whatever, man. You're the gay expert, you do it." There really is a limit to Spencer's patience, and that limit is a lot easier to reach when Spencer is naked. Brendon should probably have figured that out by now.

"Oh, hey, man, it's cool, we don't have to! Only. You know. Maybe if I could, uh. Show you." Brendon pastes on a manic grin, which really doesn't help his cause.

"How did this get turned around on my ass?" Spencer asks. "When did that happen?"

Brendon strokes a hand over Spencer's flank, palms his ass. "You'll like it," he says, voice low. "You'll love it, Spence. I'll make it good for you."

"Was this your secret plan all along?" Spencer's rolling over even as he says it, capitulating to Brendon's stupid face like he always does. "Why do I listen to you," he says, and Brendon laughs and kisses Spencer's shoulder blade.

"Because I'm awesome and I have the best ideas," Brendon says. "You'll see."

Spencer rests his face in his arms and tries to relax, listening to Brendon open the lube, squirt some out, re-cap it. There's nothing else to block the tiny sounds, no music and no bouncing bus roar, and Spencer's not great with silence, really.

Luckily, Brendon's about the loudest person Spencer knows. "Okay!" Brendon says brightly. "So lots of lube! Not, like, ridiculous amounts, I mean, you don't want like a slip-n-slide situation, or like a pool--dude, have you ever seen lube wrestling, though? With girls in bikinis?" As he's chattering, he's sliding the tip of one finger over Spencer's hole, just stroking it. "It's not as good as, like, jello wrestling, because lube tastes gross, but--I mean, not that they're eating it, but it's hard not to think about that when you're watching. Maybe that goes away? I've only seen it once. But it was great."

Spencer's half-listening, but it's distracting, having Brendon's finger on him, petting him and pushing in just a little bit. "Calm down," Brendon says, rubbing Spencer's back with his other hand. "Tranquillo, que?"

"Weirdo," Spencer mutters, but he takes a deep breath and lets it out, focuses on loosening up. Loose is just so not his normal, is the thing. There's a reason his PA is a trained masseuse.

"Whatever, you love it when I speak romance languages. You are, like, totally into my sugar. My sucre. My--wait, I don't know what sugar is in Spanish. Doesn't it seem like I should know that? But really, how often does it come up, right?"

Spencer's pretty sure Brendon's got at least one finger in Spencer's ass by now, mostly because he can feel Brendon's knuckles touching him. Maybe it's two. But two would probably feel like more. This just feels like, okay, fine. Not hot, but not bad.

"It's weird, because food words are usually the only things you know in a foreign language. But that's complete foods, like coffee and pasta and stuff. Entrees, not ingredients. Like, what's flour in French? I have no idea. But I know bread, and cake. So, like. I guess I've never baked in France. Or Quebec. Or, like. Have we ever been to Belgium? I can't remember. I should probably be able to remember that sort of thing, Spence."

Now that Brendon's been playing with his ass for a while, Spencer's kind of starting to see the appeal of it, actually. It's--the nerves around the outside of his ass are nice, and, okay, the prostate is not, like, magical unicorn pleasure or whatever but it's good, it's getting him hard, which is pretty much way more than he was expecting.

"Maybe I'm losing my memory. I forgot where my keys were the other day. It turned out they were in the pocket of my hoodie, the one from that Gym Class show we went to in LA last year, you remember? And I was cold and they only had green hoodies and you said it would clash with my outfit and I was like, 'dude, this is not an outfit, this is clothes' and then you laughed at me for, like, an hour. But it's a great hoodie."

Spencer's up on his knees, now, rocking back into Brendon's hand. Brendon's gripping Spencer's hip, leaning over him to press kisses on his back every time he takes a breath.

"Brendon," Spencer says, and pauses to gasp a little when Brendon twists his fingers, "I'm relaxed. Good job. Stop with the chitchat and suck my dick."

"Well," Brendon says, and Spencer turn his head enough to glare a little. "Yeah, all right," Brendon finishes, and pivots onto his back under Spencer, fingers still deep in Spencer's ass. "Pillow," he adds, all faux regal.

"Princess," Spencer says, and helps tuck it under Brendon's head.

"You know it," Brendon says, half muffled by the head of Spencer's cock.

The blowjob out-stimulates the fingering for a minute, and then all of a sudden the fingering is winning, and that's just weird, that Spencer wants to push back into Brendon's fingers more than he wants to push forward into Brendon's mouth. "Witchcraft," he mutters, and Brendon smiles around his cock, sucks a little harder until everything evens up again and Spencer doesn't know what he wants more, except maybe all of it.

"I am going to fuck you so good," Spencer says, "fuck, Brendon," and then he's shaking into it, squeezing around Brendon's fingers and shooting into his mouth.

Brendon swallows, mostly, wipes his face with the back of his free hand and then gently pulls his fingers out of Spencer's ass. "I should get the teacher of the year award," he crows. "I am as a god."

"You are as a dude who's actually had sex with dudes," Spencer say. "All hail you and, like, every guy in San Francisco."

"My unique talents totally gave you an ass orgasm," Brendon says, firmly. "You can't possibly do without me."

"Mmmm," Spencer allows. "I'd rather have you than not, I guess."

"Your declarations of undying devotion and love are so touching, Spence. I don't even know how to contain myself in response to that kind of emotion. I think I have to excuse myself to weep."

"Oh, come here and let me blow you," Spencer says, and that, it seems, is romance enough for Brendon.

[(Anonymous)]

Pete and Patrick are both undercover with some shady mob/drug operation, but with different organisations, so neither one knows the other is actually a good guy...

[pandarus]

Pete and Patrick (and Andy and Joe) as competitive chefs on some kind of 'Iron Chef' show. Pete/Patrick.

[pandarus]

Spencer/Brendon, with previous unrequited Brendon/Ryan, and Spencer & Brendon bonding over shared ideas about musical direction which Ryan & Jon are steamrollering. Brendon having song ideas that Spencer thinks are cool, and the two of them getting excited about half-finished songs, and then Ryan crushing them & insisting that his more overt 60s stylings & Beatles-pastiche direction is The One True Way, and Brendon wilting under Ryan's disdain, and Spencer gradually shifting his allegiance away from long-time-BFF towards Brendon because Brendon is OMG such an adorable wee scone, and has GOOD ideas, damn it, and the way he gets all pink and intimidated and polite and sad.

SpecificAndCanonical!Prompt is specific and canonical.

[littlemousling]

This is such a good one. I hope someone steals it for a full-on wave two BBB, honestly. Brendon IS an adorable wee scone!

[pandarus]

Dungeons'n'Dragons-style/LotR/Epic-fantasy-type setting - elves, warriors, dwarves, orcs, tavern-keepers, thieves, tricksters, bards, wizards, clerics, healers etc etc etc. Who would be what?

[reni_days]

This prompt fills me with joy.

[(Anonymous)]

GSF - Mikey gets hurt and the other Killjoys comfort/take care of him.

[(Anonymous)]

Brendon (or character of your choice) is proselytizing door-to-door. Spencer (or character of your choice) is not pleased to be interrupted from his [insert sexy activity here] ... at least, not at first.