Fic: (Panic! at the Disco Almost Changed Their Name to) Fuzzy Kitten Cuddle Time (2/2)

[dira]

Part One

Something was weird when Jon woke up, and it took him a few seconds to figure out what. He was in Brendon's bunk, which was usual lately, curled up against Brendon's side. Brendon smelled like Brendon, and like sex and sweat, and Jon smiled.

That was when he got it, finally: he'd woken up human for the first time in forever--the first time since... since the morning after he and Cassie broke up.

Jon kept his eyes shut, blowing out a small sigh against Brendon's shoulder at the thought. It still hurt like a motherfucker, like a punch in the gut--but it was like a punch from the same old bully. It still hurt just as bad, but it was getting so it was more annoying than scary. He wasn't over Cassie yet, but he wanted to be.

Jon opened his eyes halfway, peeking at Brendon. At least there were some consolations. Even through the gut-punch of losing Cassie he could still feel a different kind of relief, a knot in his chest unwinding. The guys knew, and they didn't mind. He hadn't thought they would just kick him out of the band--not right away.

He'd watched the way things went down with Tom. He knew it wouldn't be a clean break like that, one big blowup and done.

But they seemed genuinely okay with him, getting more used to it every day, and Brendon--Brendon seemed to be completely on board, which was cool. And hot. Jon winced--God, he'd just earwormed himself with a Pop Tarts commercial--and Brendon stirred, coming awake with a sleepy frown on his face.

"Hey," he mumbled. "No kitten in my bunk."

"Nah," Jon said. "Just me."

Brendon shook his head. "Always you."

Brendon reached for him, brushing his fingers over the back of Jon's neck, and Jon couldn't help pushing into the touch. He usually managed to at least pretend he wasn't a total whore for petting, but once he'd been a kitten around anyone there was really no point. Less, once he'd also had sex with them. Less still when it was Brendon, who didn't exactly have any moral high ground when it came to cuddles.

Brendon yawned. "I was gonna be a gentleman and make you breakfast, but you probably don't want a bowl of milk with a drop of coffee, huh?"

"Maybe a bowl of milk with cereal," Jon said, after taking a few seconds to consider, Brendon's fingers still stroking along his spine. "Or maybe it's my turn to--"

Brendon's fingers went still, Brendon's whole body suddenly going tense everywhere Jon could feel.

"Huh," he said, sounding suddenly wide awake.

Jon felt the sound like an electric shock, his own eyes flashing open to meet Brendon's. Brendon was frowning a little in concentration.

"I feel kind of--"

"Shit," Jon said, which wasn't really helpful, and there wasn't a lot of time. "Shit, Bren, I'm sorry, I should've--I didn't think--it'll probably wear off really fast, okay? Try not to freak out."

Brendon's eyebrows went up, and his mouth fell open. He started to say something, and then Jon flinched away from the static-shock feeling of Brendon's skin and turned his head aside to sneeze.

He didn't want to look, but Brendon didn't exactly give him a choice. A small, fuzzy weight rammed against Jon's stomach, and he looked down, reaching for Brendon reflexively. He was solid jet black, his fur sticking out all over the place, soft as silk in Jon's hands. His eyes were wide and green-gold. He wriggled in Jon's grasp, batting playfully at his face, and Jon shut his eyes.

He was about to be so, so fired. And probably dumped again for good measure.

"Fuck."

***

The morning after Jon and Brendon finally stopped stalling and hooked up, Ryan was sitting with Spencer in silence in the back lounge. They were drinking coffee and watching TV, hoping it would cover the sound of the new lovebirds going for morning-after seconds.

That was probably why Jon had to clear his throat twice to get their attention. Ryan looked up and Jon was standing in the doorway, one hand hovering over the black kitten perched on his shoulder. The kitten was pressing one paw against Jon's ear, batting at Jon's bedhead with the other.

"Huh," Ryan said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan saw the abortive motion that was Spencer deciding not to throw his coffee at the wall since he'd hardly drunk any of it, and the rest of the pot was way up at the front of the bus on the other side of Jon and the kitten. "Tell me that's not Brendon, fucker."

Jon winced. "Uh, sorry. It's Brendon."

Spencer twitched, and resorted to drinking his coffee in silence.

Ryan kept his eyes on Jon and Brendon, letting Spencer have his silent hissy fit as long as he wasn't hurting anything. "So it's contagious."

Jon winced again, though it might not have been just what Ryan said, as he reached up at the same time to tug Brendon's paw away from his ear. "It doesn't usually happen this fast. I mean, it happened to Cassie a couple of times, but not until way later, and she..."

Spencer lowered his coffee mug. "It's just people you sleep with, though, right?"

Jon's face was seriously going to stick like that. He couldn't possibly wince any harder. The kitten--Brendon--seemed to be trying to wrap himself around Jon's neck now that Jon had detached him from his ear, which probably wasn't helping.

"And Tom," Jon said, sounding more strangled than Brendon's grip on him could really explain.

"So just people you've slept with," Spencer repeated grimly. "Right?"

Jon closed his eyes. Ryan wondered whether Tom would photograph him like that, whether he'd see art in Jon's perfectly miserable expression, or just his friend in pain. "And Tom."

Ryan thought back to that whole Situation. It had definitely earned the capital S by the end. The silences between Jon and Tom had sometimes been even more awkward than you'd expect, given that Tom was out on the road with Jon's new band just after getting kicked out of his own. No one had ever been willing to talk about why, what happened, but it wasn't hard to imagine that maybe Bill hadn't minded keeping feathers and meesies on hand for a tech but felt differently when it was his guitarist. And "way later" with Cassie had probably been close to the end, maybe even the beginning of the end.

Jon didn't think anything good was going to come of this, and he obviously thought it was all his fault.

Ryan slapped his hand down on Spencer's arm, just hard enough to get the message across. Spencer sighed and shifted slightly away, looking back at the TV and drinking more coffee.

"He'll be okay, right?" Ryan said, because Jon was still just standing there, looking stricken, with Brendon's tail-tip brushing his chin. "He'll be back by soundcheck. Just like you."

"Probably way before that," Jon said, without much confidence--but at least he was relaxing out of that permanent flinch. "It wore off really fast with Cassie. Brendon doesn't seem too freaked out about it, at least."

"What about Tom?" Ryan asked, even knowing he shouldn't, even knowing he should resist the gross fascination of picking at somebody else's scabs. "Did it wear off fast with him, too? Did he get freaked out?"

Jon bit his lip and looked away, reaching up to pet Brendon for the first time. "He wouldn't talk about it. I never really--I don't know. He wouldn't talk about it."

It was Ryan's turn to wince--he'd gotten what he deserved, there--and Jon grimaced and turned away. "I'm gonna just--Brendon's probably hungry. I should get him something."

Ryan nodded and let them go. Beside him, Spencer sighed harshly and changed the channel. He settled on a Spanish-language soap opera, though, so Ryan knew he wasn't completely freaked. With Brent it had been hours of the TV Guide channel and the Home Shopping Network. If he was scared he'd turn the TV off, and avoid Ryan's eyes in the darkened screen. Soap operas just meant he needed a little time to avoid the issue. Ryan would give it fifteen minutes and then start dubbing in random dialogue in the flattest possible monotone for the most hysterical tirades, and Spencer would bitch about Ryan trying to make him laugh at a Moment Like This.

Ryan would make him laugh, though. Ryan always did, at a Moment Like This.

***

Jon had grown up being sometimes a kitten, and he hadn't really realized until he was watching Brendon bug the crap out of Spencer that his parents had taught him to have manners about it. Jon managed to periodically distract Brendon so he'd leave Spencer and Ryan alone, but Brendon seemed determined to play with all three of them, including Spencer, no matter how blatantly Spencer tried to avoid him.

Spencer lasted three hours before he finally just flicked his finger against Brendon's little kitten skull, right between the eyes. Jon was on his feet before he had time to think about what had just happened, but it wasn't a rush of protectiveness for Brendon--God knew he had that flick coming and more, and Spencer hadn't really hurt him.

Jon jumped because he knew that Brendon was going to retaliate, and depending on what it was, Jon might have to intervene. If Brendon settled for just firing back--scratching Spencer, say--then Spencer got no more than he deserved and that was the end of it.

But Jon knew Brendon, and he knew what it was like being a kitten, and he knew that there was a tendency to escalate.

Sure enough, after a frozen second, Brendon bolted away from Spencer, running toward the bunks. Jon took off after him, catching up just in time to see Brendon taking up a position on Spencer's favorite pair of shoes.

Jon acted completely without thinking again, grabbing Brendon by the scruff of the neck and swinging him up into the air, to his own eye level. "Brendon Boyd Urie! We do not piss in people's shoes! Especially not Spencer's, for fuck's sake!"

Brendon hissed at him and flexed his claws, angry at being thwarted and probably not really happy about dangling five feet off the ground. Jon could hear Spencer and Ryan both coming after him, but all he could really think was Oh my God, I've turned into my dad.

He proved it, too, by giving Brendon a little shake and snapping, "Oh don't even start with me, Urie--"

That was as far as he got, because all of a sudden Spencer was there, snatching Brendon out of his grip and cuddling him protectively. Jon dropped his hand and stared.

Spencer glared back. "What the fuck, dude, you were shaking him."

Jon blinked a couple of times, wondering if maybe he'd hit his head somewhere along the way, or if Spencer was really cuddling Brendon against his chest all of a sudden. He turned to look at Ryan, but Ryan just shrugged. "You were shaking him, Jon."

"Not hard," Jon said, and, wow, that sounded bad out loud. "I mean--he's a kitten, they're--we're--sort of springy, honestly. And kittens have, like, no impulse control, so even if it's a perfectly sensible person in there, you have to be kind of firm about reminding them not to do stupid kitten shit. It's really tempting. My parents did that to me all the time when I was little, to teach me to behave."

Jon turned back to look at Spencer, who finally seemed to have realized that he was clutching his bandmate in kitten form, and was giving Brendon a dubious look.

"Seriously," Jon said, "I wouldn't actually hurt him, I was just trying to save your shoes."

And Brendon's life, after Spencer saw the shoes, but Jon didn't think he needed to point that out right now. Spencer was still frowning at Brendon, but he hadn't dropped him or thrown him at Jon yet. In fact, he was rubbing one thumb behind Brendon's ear. In a second, Brendon was going to start purring, and Jon was going to have to go throw himself under a bus because when that happened he was going to start feeling actually jealous, and not just almost.

Brendon picked his head up like he'd heard that thought, looking straight at Jon with his fuzzy black head tilted, his eyes wide. Spencer was still petting him, but Jon saw Brendon go even more tense, fur fluffing out suddenly.

Spencer looked down at him and said, "Hey, Bren, are you--"

"Give him here, Spence," Jon said, in his best commanding voice, though it didn't have the unconscious burst of authority from that out-of-body dad experience. Still, Spencer actually held Brendon halfway out to Jon before he hesitated.

"Why, what--"

"He's about to change back," Jon said. "And he's going to be naked when he does, and either pissed off, or happy to see me. And naked. Just--give him here."

Spencer's eyes went as wide as Brendon's, and Brendon made a startled little sound. Spencer really did kind of throw him, then, turning to bolt back into the lounge after Ryan. Jon heard them both sneeze as they shut the door, trying pointlessly to keep his own eyes open so he could catch Brendon--but Brendon hit him weighing a hundred and thirty pounds, so he was actually pretty hard to miss.

He was also naked and plastered against Jon, who was pinned up against the wall beside Spencer's bunk. Brendon didn't move away in a hurry, either. His hands were on Jon's sides, like he was steadying himself. Jon could understand that; one of the many things Cassie hated the most about it was that she had to figure out how to walk on two legs all over again afterward.

But Brendon wasn't just leaning against Jon to catch his balance; he was pressing his face to Jon's shoulder. When Jon dared to take a breath, Brendon let out a long sigh that was nearly a moan, and rocked his body against Jon's.

"Jon, God," Brendon murmured. "Jon, Jon, that was so awesome."

"Oh," Jon said blankly. "You liked it?"

"Dude, yeah. Fuck yeah." He moved again, rubbing himself against Jon, legs and hips and chest, his face against Jon's throat, everywhere. "And now I--I have all this skin, and, like. Fingers, fingers are so cool."

Brendon flexed his fingers against Jon's sides, by way of demonstration, maybe, although Jon wasn't paying so much attention to Brendon's fingers, because Brendon was half-hard and still rocking against him. Jon gave up and set his hands on Brendon's hips. "Fingers are pretty cool. I would have to agree."

"Also, my dick," Brendon muttered, licking lightly at the skin just above the collar of Jon's shirt. "Dude, is it like suddenly going through puberty every time you change back?"

"Uh," Jon said. He'd had this conversation with his oldest brother, exactly once, the first time he changed back after he was old enough to notice the difference. It had been sort of humiliating--his brother had laughed at him for days--but that was still less awful than the idea of asking his dad. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Fuck," Brendon muttered. "God, this is so cool. Can I blow you?"

Jon opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. "I--uh--I was really expecting you to be mad at me."

"For what, not sharing sooner?" Brendon finally shifted backward a little, enough to look Jon in the eye. Brendon's eyes were brown again, the pupils wide and round and black. "Jon, seriously, that was the most fun I've had in forever. And now I really want to thank you, okay?"

"Oh," Jon said, still feeling way behind the conversation. "Uh."

Brendon slid down to his knees, and his fingers walked down Jon's sides to his hips and then to the fly of his jeans.

"Yeah," Jon said faintly, and Brendon looked up just long enough to flash him a smile. Then he had his hand in Jon's pants, and then his mouth on Jon's dick, and Jon tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. The sound of the TV in the lounge got suddenly louder, and Jon smiled. It was hard to feel like he was anything but forgiven.

***

Being sometimes a kitten really never got any less awesome. Brendon sometimes got to be a kitten at the same time as Jon, and sometimes they traded off, but either way it was fun. It was a little bit like being periodically unexpectedly drunk for a few hours, always ending before he had anything really important to do--and instead of a hangover afterward, he just got tactile and horny, which was actually also pretty much like being drunk.

Brendon kept trying to pick a best part--like he needed an answer for that. Like someone was going to put a microphone in his face and--instead of asking him what inspired their songs, or their stage show, or their fashion choices--they were going to ask him his one absolute favorite thing about having a bandmate who was sometimes a kitten who he sometimes had sex with while they were both human (because neither of them were that kind of boy, and they'd made a solemn vow never to let Pete Wentz find out, just in case).

He thought the best might be waking up with Jon, in any combination of shapes, or it might be going to sleep with him, or it might be all the awesome sex. There was kind of a lot of awesome sex. But then he'd be a foot tall, wrestling with Jon on the floor, and look up to see Spencer Smith laughing at them, or Ryan would sneak each of them a little sip of coffee, or Brendon would be tiny and asleep in Jon's lap, or Jon would suddenly decide it was time to attack Brendon's hair. Sometimes Jon would smile, like he wasn't scared, and wasn't hurt, and wasn't on duty. Like he belonged with them, with Brendon.

Brendon really hoped no one ever asked. He couldn't even say it to himself, or to Jon, let alone to anyone else. Jon was the best part. Jon was all the best parts.

***

Spencer was alone in the kitchen when he heard the now-familiar sound from the back lounge. "Ry? Was that both of them?"

Nobody answered.

Spencer stared at the kitchen counter and counted to ten, then to a hundred, then yelled again. "Ryan?"

Still nothing.

Spencer took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked to the back lounge.

There were three kittens on the floor, fighting over a blanket: gray Jon, and black Brendon, and a sleek little kitten with subtly striped dark fur and dramatic golden eyes. All three stopped a few seconds after Spencer walked in, and the new kitten--Ryan--bounced over and sat at Spencer's feet. He yawned and stretched, and though he didn't make a sound Spencer knew he was being laughed at.

"Traitor," Spencer snapped.

Ryan licked one perfectly sleek paw, unconcerned, and behind him Brendon leapt over a fold of the blanket and tackled Jon, rolling them both over, across the floor.

Spencer shivered, his skin going tight, rising up in goosebumps all over.

"Oh," he said, looking down at Ryan, who tilted his head and looked back. "Oh, I fucking hate all of you."

The weird tight feeling intensified, squeezing and pulling all at once, his skin crawling with some strange energy. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut, felt his stomach drop, and then everything changed.

***

Jon and Brendon were later to soundcheck than Ryan and Spencer were, though they'd all been late. Spencer had been blushing more than any of them, so Brendon valiantly didn't tease him very much.

It was only after soundcheck that Brendon happened to stick his head into his bunk and spot Jon's camera lying there, though he knew perfectly well Jon hadn't left it there. Just then, Jon said, "Hey, where's my--"

"Here," Brendon said, leaning back out of his bunk. "Zack must have moved it, he was the only one here who wasn't, you know."

"A kitten," Jon said absently, powering the camera on. "He's probably immune--he's a grownup. My parents said they never changed again after they had kids, because they always had to be there for us."

Jon glanced up at Brendon and wrinkled his nose, and Brendon wrinkled his back. He liked being treated like an adult, like anything but a kid, but fuck being a grownup if it meant he couldn't be a kitten.

Still, it was good to know Zack would be there for them, unaffected.

"Ha," Jon said, with a sudden bright smile that Brendon wanted to lick.

Jon tilted the camera screen toward him, and Brendon abruptly forgot all about impure thoughts. It was a photo of four kittens--black, gray, darkly tiger-striped, and cream--curled up together on the couch in the back lounge. The cream-colored kitten was glaring directly into the camera with green eyes that glowed in the captured light. Ryan was licking Spencer's ear with a long-suffering expression. Jon and Brendon were lying still behind them, asleep or just relaxing. Their heads were tucked together, their legs crossing each other.

Jon looked up from the camera, still smiling, and Brendon kissed him after all.

***

It turned out that Zack had taken lots of pictures, the kittens in all combinations. They were good pictures--not art like Tom or Jon's photos, or like the single picture that appeared in Jon's bunk when Brendon wasn't looking. It showed a gray kitten and a yellow one perched together on Butcher's drum kit, and it had been taken by somebody with actual photographic skills. But Zack had taken a bunch of decent snapshots, and they were full of Brendon and Jon, Jon and his band.

Brendon printed out his favorites, and slipped into Jon's bunk one day while Jon was asleep in his. There were more than enough pictures to fill up the empty spaces on Jon's walls.