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mayqueen517So this is my Xmas_rocks fic that I wrote for Marianna/![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
insunshine during the 2008/2009 fic exchange. It was an absolute blast to write this and have so much fun for it.
This fic would not have been possible without Adele (x_paper_stars_x ) for her fabulous beta skills; thank you so much, Adele!
And also, this fic would not be here without the help ofhector_rashbaum who had to sit through A LOT of fretting and worrying. Thank you so much.
Title: Radiate
Author: Chrissy/mayqueen517
Pairing: Jon Walker (Panic at the Disco)/William Beckett (The Academy Is..)
Rating: R
Word Count: 2054
Disclaimer: I OWN ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WITHIN THIS FIC. PLEASE DON'T THINK I DO, AS I AM JUST A VERY BROKE GIRL WRITING STORIES ABOUT A COUPLE OF BOYS IN SOME BANDS.
Summary: 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 both of them in there.
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 watching those nearly legal boys from Panic … well, panic, and then 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 the star.
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 his guitar tech.
It's not long after meeting the Panic boys ("Two months," Gabe informs him) 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 is hoping for an invite into whatever it is that they're doing
By the time he makes it back to Jon and the safety of The Academy Is … 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 in 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 joining in 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 that's just 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 both of them in there.
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 that 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 soon be sick of; it's amazing. Cozy and soft - 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 to it, or such a tang of exhilaration. Sure, it's been fun and exciting, but there's something about Jon's scent that Bill's never really noticed before. It's warm and spicy, just enough to tickle at his nostrils and remind him of something, but not so much so that he's pulled out of what they're doing. 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 nearby in the lounge.
It's almost nauseating with the nerves and first 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 always hotter than he 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. Tom stands there, staring at them for a long moment, meeting Bill's eyes and then Jon's. 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 voice probably heard five miles up the fucking 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 so that Bill can feel the miniscule hairs on his nose standing up in awareness as a smile spreads over Jon's face. Like they're letting him know just how close Jon is (which is ridiculous, because Bill knows just how close).
"I'm not like ... all for one in this bunk, 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, and Bill wriggles a little, moving around to get a better angle. While shifting out of his shirt, he takes a glance at Jon's face, the open hunger visible in it. Matching him isn't exactly easy when you’re trying to reattach earbuds (ones that are still repeating Panic'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, bringing soft noises that he just can't help making for Jon's searching lips. Hot and soft lips around one of his nipples coaxes a thick noise up from the depths 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, body shaking violently as he slowly lets out a strained, gasping noise. Electricity runs over every square inch of his body, sending vaguely itchy sensations down his back and legs before it fades out slowly. Groaning, he finally gives up on getting naked and simply unbuttons Jon's pants clumsily.
There are a lot of things he can do one-handed, but unbuttoning and unzipping jeans on someone else (let alone himself) is something else entirely. He struggles with it for what feels like fucking forever, but it doesn't matter, because Jon's shifting around and helping him out. Bill kisses him hard, letting their tongues tangle together as he pushes his hand into Jon's pants.
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 exactly 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.
insunshine during the 2008/2009 fic exchange. It was an absolute blast to write this and have so much fun for it.This fic would not have been possible without Adele (
x_paper_stars_x ) for her fabulous beta skills; thank you so much, Adele!And also, this fic would not be here without the help of
hector_rashbaum who had to sit through A LOT of fretting and worrying. Thank you so much. Title: Radiate
Author: Chrissy/
mayqueen517 Pairing: Jon Walker (Panic at the Disco)/William Beckett (The Academy Is..)
Rating: R
Word Count: 2054
Disclaimer: I OWN ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WITHIN THIS FIC. PLEASE DON'T THINK I DO, AS I AM JUST A VERY BROKE GIRL WRITING STORIES ABOUT A COUPLE OF BOYS IN SOME BANDS.
Summary: 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 both of them in there.
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 watching those nearly legal boys from Panic … well, panic, and then 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 the star.
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 his guitar tech.
It's not long after meeting the Panic boys ("Two months," Gabe informs him) 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 is hoping for an invite into whatever it is that they're doing
By the time he makes it back to Jon and the safety of The Academy Is … 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 in 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 joining in 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 that's just 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 both of them in there.
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 that 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 soon be sick of; it's amazing. Cozy and soft - 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 to it, or such a tang of exhilaration. Sure, it's been fun and exciting, but there's something about Jon's scent that Bill's never really noticed before. It's warm and spicy, just enough to tickle at his nostrils and remind him of something, but not so much so that he's pulled out of what they're doing. 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 nearby in the lounge.
It's almost nauseating with the nerves and first 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 always hotter than he 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. Tom stands there, staring at them for a long moment, meeting Bill's eyes and then Jon's. 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 voice probably heard five miles up the fucking 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 so that Bill can feel the miniscule hairs on his nose standing up in awareness as a smile spreads over Jon's face. Like they're letting him know just how close Jon is (which is ridiculous, because Bill knows just how close).
"I'm not like ... all for one in this bunk, 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, and Bill wriggles a little, moving around to get a better angle. While shifting out of his shirt, he takes a glance at Jon's face, the open hunger visible in it. Matching him isn't exactly easy when you’re trying to reattach earbuds (ones that are still repeating Panic'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, bringing soft noises that he just can't help making for Jon's searching lips. Hot and soft lips around one of his nipples coaxes a thick noise up from the depths 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, body shaking violently as he slowly lets out a strained, gasping noise. Electricity runs over every square inch of his body, sending vaguely itchy sensations down his back and legs before it fades out slowly. Groaning, he finally gives up on getting naked and simply unbuttons Jon's pants clumsily.
There are a lot of things he can do one-handed, but unbuttoning and unzipping jeans on someone else (let alone himself) is something else entirely. He struggles with it for what feels like fucking forever, but it doesn't matter, because Jon's shifting around and helping him out. Bill kisses him hard, letting their tongues tangle together as he pushes his hand into Jon's pants.
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 exactly 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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Radiate
Date: 11 Jan 2009 16:52 (UTC)