Brendon's surprised to find it's almost noon when he finally cracks his eyes open and scrubs the sleep out of them. Ian's gone and his half of the bed is cool to the touch, so Brendon stretches and gets up, pulls out some boxers and a t-shirt from the drawer and slips them on.
Brendon starts to hear Ian as he's padding down the stairs, very soft strums, and he can't quite pinpoint the melody or the instrument until he's in the living room, watching Ian pluck his mandolin.
He stops in the doorway and just watches for a moment. Ian's as much of a show-off as Brendon himself is, and even when they're alone, it's not so easy to catch glimpses of him when he's just being quiet, like this. What Ian's playing isn't even a full song, just snatches of things, and he's watching his fingers where he's unsure, the mandolin not as practiced for him as his guitar.
Ian had gone to sleep naked but he's dressed for their big windows, and Brendon stifles a laugh when he identifies the Transformers pajama pants he'd been sure Ian had gotten rid of last year. "You are the worst grown-up," Brendon says, grinning, revealing himself, and Ian glances up and smiles at him.
"You say that, but you're rereading Harry Potter. I'm just saying, if we're in a competition for immaturity, you're winning."
"Harry Potter is a classic," Brendon says, as haughty as he can manage it, and he crosses the room to slide in under the mandolin and get his hand on Ian's thigh. He plucks the material, soft worn flannel, and Ian laughs.
"Oh, that. Okay, yeah, these are not my most adult sartorial choice."
"Such fancy language," Brendon says, and he carefully takes the mandolin from Ian and sets it on the coffee table.
Ian raises an eyebrow at him, waiting, and Brendon kisses him, because he has to, he can't not. "Do you have any idea how you look right now?" Ian just puts a hand on Brendon's thigh and squeezes, urging him on. "You're--the beard is the only thing making me feel like I'm not some dirty pervert. You look like a dirty teenage fantasy."
"Mm-hm," Ian says, "a dirty teenage fantasy about ... making me breakfast?"
"Maybe after," Brendon grins, and then he's pushing Ian down on the arm of the couch, getting his hands under the hem of Ian's loose shirt. "You look--I want to debauch you."
"Oh," Ian says, and Brendon can hear him starting to put on a show, starting to put on a character. "I don't know if we should do that."
"You want to, though, don't you?" Brendon asks, and he cups Ian's dick, half-hard by now. "You want me to show you."
"We--we have to be quick," Ian says, grinning, "my mom will be home in an hour," and damn, Brendon loves him, the way he always just goes for it, full-out.
"What haven't you done?" Brendon asks, squeezing Ian's cock a little harder through the thin material of the pajama pants. He kisses Ian's jaw and down his neck, keeps him in place.
"Oh, I--I've done lots of stuff," Ian says. "Tons."
"I don't believe you," Brendon breathes, right up next to Ian's ear. "I think--I think no one's ever touched you like this. Have they." It's not a question, and Ian doesn't protest, just pushes his hips up into Brendon's like he can't help it. "I think you're hoping I'll show you everything."
"That--everything?" Ian asks, swallowing. "Um, what exactly is--"
"You want me to fuck you," Brendon says, and Ian groans. Brendon suspects that one wasn't a character choice. "You want me to open up your virgin ass and push my cock into you, split you open."
"Ye-yes," Ian chokes out, and he's finally remembering that he has arms, getting them up around Brendon's chest and stroking his back, like he isn't sure what to do. Brendon wonders if Ian ever considered acting as a career possibility, because he's kind of fucking spectacular, but then he's distracted by Ian's mouth on his.
"Do--do it, I want you to," Ian says, and Brendon laughs at the unsubtlety, leaves him on the couch to run upstairs for lube and a condom. By the time he gets back Ian's taken his shirt off, but he's left the hideous pajama pants. Brendon closes the curtains, watching Ian squeeze his dick a little through the pants, and then he strips and climbs back over Ian.
"Feeling shy?" Brendon asks, and slides his hand down into Ian's pants, gives him a few tugs, and then lets go to pull the pants down and let Ian kick them off. "Here--hold your knee up," and he arranges Ian as well as he can on the couch, lubes up his fingers and ducks down to lick up Ian's cock.
"Oh--oh, oh," Ian says, and it's nothing like his usual swearing and grunting. Brendon wonders if this is what Ian really sounded like the first time, like he was more surprised than anything else. "Oh, Brendon!"
Brendon stifles a laugh and starts sucking Ian in earnest, pushing a couple of fingers in because Ian isn't, at the end of the day, a virgin, and both their stomachs are starting to growl. "How--how does it feel," he says, and Ian groans.
"It's--strange," he says, "full and--big, it feels big, it--your dick is never going to fit."
"Oh, yeah, it will," Brendon says, "and you'll feel stretched and good and you'll be begging me to fuck you harder."
"Okay," Ian says, and Brendon starts stroking his prostate, just to hear him say, "okay, fuck, yes, I will, I--I will, please."
Brendon gets the condom on and strokes himself to stay hard under the cold squeeze of it, watching Ian's tongue glide over his dry lips. "You've never had a cock in you," he muses, and strokes a hand up Ian's belly.
"No," Ian says, "no--no one, just you," and Brendon sucks in a breath at how fucking hot the idea of that is, how possessive it makes him feel, and he lines up and pushes in, slow and steady.
Ian's keening, one hand on his own cock and the other thrown up over the arm of the couch, body writhing from the sensations. Brendon pauses when he's fully in, waits for Ian to ask for it.
"You can--you--fuck me," Ian says, pleadingly, and his face is--innocent and desperate and curious, fucking perfect, and Brendon can't do anything in response to that except pound him.
He fucks as hard and quick as he can, desperate rabbiting pumps of his hips, and Ian's giving just as good. It's not going to take long, but Brendon doesn't care, because he knows he'll get to fuck Ian again and again, after they've had a sensible breakfast and maybe run some errands. And then he laughs at himself for thinking about any of that stuff when he's balls-deep in Ian's tight ass, and he rocks forward and comes, shuddering.
"Motherfuck," Ian says, grinding himself up onto Brendon's sensitive cock, and he strokes himself harder as Brendon pulls out. "God--fingers," he chokes out, and Brendon pushes three into him, strokes his thumb around the stretched skin.
"You--fuck, you're so fucking perfect like this," Brendon says, "just--taking it like that, just--"
Ian's stomach muscles tighten up and he comes all over them, stroking himself through it and splattering the come higher, almost to his neck. Brendon's licking it off Ian's chest almost before Ian's done shaking.
They go back upstairs to clean up, taking the lube and the knotted condom with them, and then Brendon pushes Ian against the wall next to the bedroom door. "You're sort of awesome," he says, and kisses him until their stomachs growl.
"Like, ditto," Ian says, in full Valley Girl voice, and then, "I'll make French toast if you make lattes."
Brendon finds it hilarious that Ian is more or less afraid of their fancy coffeemaker and its many options, but if he gets French toast out of the deal, Ian never has to learn to use it. "Deal, as long as you put those pajamas back on," and Ian may be laughing at him but Brendon's pretty sure they're both going to enjoy the results.
It's Not A Transformers Fetish, I Swear; Brendon/Ian, established relationship, virginity roleplay
Brendon starts to hear Ian as he's padding down the stairs, very soft strums, and he can't quite pinpoint the melody or the instrument until he's in the living room, watching Ian pluck his mandolin.
He stops in the doorway and just watches for a moment. Ian's as much of a show-off as Brendon himself is, and even when they're alone, it's not so easy to catch glimpses of him when he's just being quiet, like this. What Ian's playing isn't even a full song, just snatches of things, and he's watching his fingers where he's unsure, the mandolin not as practiced for him as his guitar.
Ian had gone to sleep naked but he's dressed for their big windows, and Brendon stifles a laugh when he identifies the Transformers pajama pants he'd been sure Ian had gotten rid of last year. "You are the worst grown-up," Brendon says, grinning, revealing himself, and Ian glances up and smiles at him.
"You say that, but you're rereading Harry Potter. I'm just saying, if we're in a competition for immaturity, you're winning."
"Harry Potter is a classic," Brendon says, as haughty as he can manage it, and he crosses the room to slide in under the mandolin and get his hand on Ian's thigh. He plucks the material, soft worn flannel, and Ian laughs.
"Oh, that. Okay, yeah, these are not my most adult sartorial choice."
"Such fancy language," Brendon says, and he carefully takes the mandolin from Ian and sets it on the coffee table.
Ian raises an eyebrow at him, waiting, and Brendon kisses him, because he has to, he can't not. "Do you have any idea how you look right now?" Ian just puts a hand on Brendon's thigh and squeezes, urging him on. "You're--the beard is the only thing making me feel like I'm not some dirty pervert. You look like a dirty teenage fantasy."
"Mm-hm," Ian says, "a dirty teenage fantasy about ... making me breakfast?"
"Maybe after," Brendon grins, and then he's pushing Ian down on the arm of the couch, getting his hands under the hem of Ian's loose shirt. "You look--I want to debauch you."
"Oh," Ian says, and Brendon can hear him starting to put on a show, starting to put on a character. "I don't know if we should do that."
"You want to, though, don't you?" Brendon asks, and he cups Ian's dick, half-hard by now. "You want me to show you."
"We--we have to be quick," Ian says, grinning, "my mom will be home in an hour," and damn, Brendon loves him, the way he always just goes for it, full-out.
"What haven't you done?" Brendon asks, squeezing Ian's cock a little harder through the thin material of the pajama pants. He kisses Ian's jaw and down his neck, keeps him in place.
"Oh, I--I've done lots of stuff," Ian says. "Tons."
"I don't believe you," Brendon breathes, right up next to Ian's ear. "I think--I think no one's ever touched you like this. Have they." It's not a question, and Ian doesn't protest, just pushes his hips up into Brendon's like he can't help it. "I think you're hoping I'll show you everything."
"That--everything?" Ian asks, swallowing. "Um, what exactly is--"
"You want me to fuck you," Brendon says, and Ian groans. Brendon suspects that one wasn't a character choice. "You want me to open up your virgin ass and push my cock into you, split you open."
"Ye-yes," Ian chokes out, and he's finally remembering that he has arms, getting them up around Brendon's chest and stroking his back, like he isn't sure what to do. Brendon wonders if Ian ever considered acting as a career possibility, because he's kind of fucking spectacular, but then he's distracted by Ian's mouth on his.
"Do--do it, I want you to," Ian says, and Brendon laughs at the unsubtlety, leaves him on the couch to run upstairs for lube and a condom. By the time he gets back Ian's taken his shirt off, but he's left the hideous pajama pants. Brendon closes the curtains, watching Ian squeeze his dick a little through the pants, and then he strips and climbs back over Ian.
"Feeling shy?" Brendon asks, and slides his hand down into Ian's pants, gives him a few tugs, and then lets go to pull the pants down and let Ian kick them off. "Here--hold your knee up," and he arranges Ian as well as he can on the couch, lubes up his fingers and ducks down to lick up Ian's cock.
"Oh--oh, oh," Ian says, and it's nothing like his usual swearing and grunting. Brendon wonders if this is what Ian really sounded like the first time, like he was more surprised than anything else. "Oh, Brendon!"
Brendon stifles a laugh and starts sucking Ian in earnest, pushing a couple of fingers in because Ian isn't, at the end of the day, a virgin, and both their stomachs are starting to growl. "How--how does it feel," he says, and Ian groans.
"It's--strange," he says, "full and--big, it feels big, it--your dick is never going to fit."
"Oh, yeah, it will," Brendon says, "and you'll feel stretched and good and you'll be begging me to fuck you harder."
"Okay," Ian says, and Brendon starts stroking his prostate, just to hear him say, "okay, fuck, yes, I will, I--I will, please."
Brendon gets the condom on and strokes himself to stay hard under the cold squeeze of it, watching Ian's tongue glide over his dry lips. "You've never had a cock in you," he muses, and strokes a hand up Ian's belly.
"No," Ian says, "no--no one, just you," and Brendon sucks in a breath at how fucking hot the idea of that is, how possessive it makes him feel, and he lines up and pushes in, slow and steady.
Ian's keening, one hand on his own cock and the other thrown up over the arm of the couch, body writhing from the sensations. Brendon pauses when he's fully in, waits for Ian to ask for it.
"You can--you--fuck me," Ian says, pleadingly, and his face is--innocent and desperate and curious, fucking perfect, and Brendon can't do anything in response to that except pound him.
He fucks as hard and quick as he can, desperate rabbiting pumps of his hips, and Ian's giving just as good. It's not going to take long, but Brendon doesn't care, because he knows he'll get to fuck Ian again and again, after they've had a sensible breakfast and maybe run some errands. And then he laughs at himself for thinking about any of that stuff when he's balls-deep in Ian's tight ass, and he rocks forward and comes, shuddering.
"Motherfuck," Ian says, grinding himself up onto Brendon's sensitive cock, and he strokes himself harder as Brendon pulls out. "God--fingers," he chokes out, and Brendon pushes three into him, strokes his thumb around the stretched skin.
"You--fuck, you're so fucking perfect like this," Brendon says, "just--taking it like that, just--"
Ian's stomach muscles tighten up and he comes all over them, stroking himself through it and splattering the come higher, almost to his neck. Brendon's licking it off Ian's chest almost before Ian's done shaking.
They go back upstairs to clean up, taking the lube and the knotted condom with them, and then Brendon pushes Ian against the wall next to the bedroom door. "You're sort of awesome," he says, and kisses him until their stomachs growl.
"Like, ditto," Ian says, in full Valley Girl voice, and then, "I'll make French toast if you make lattes."
Brendon finds it hilarious that Ian is more or less afraid of their fancy coffeemaker and its many options, but if he gets French toast out of the deal, Ian never has to learn to use it. "Deal, as long as you put those pajamas back on," and Ian may be laughing at him but Brendon's pretty sure they're both going to enjoy the results.