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Fic: (Panic! at the Disco Almost Changed Their Name to) Fuzzy Kitten Cuddle Time (1/2)
Happy three-weeks-belated birthday! President's Day Coming-to-Visit-Me Weekend Random Thursday in February, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iuliamentis!
...for real, if you ever want me to write you birthday fic on your birthday, you are going to have to talk me through it. So weird writing without you! But I wanted to try the surprise thing, and here it is, only three weeks past when I meant it to be! Also, if this had been only as long as I thought it was going to be, it totally would have been finished a lot sooner. And, uh, sorry for posting this at a time when you probably can't read it. I... got excited? I JUST COULDN'T LIVE A LIE ANYMORE.
Anyway! Many many thanks tomissmollyetc for valiant and recursive beta, to strangecobwebs for letting me go on and on and ON about this, and to everyone else inside and outside the computer box who listened. You are all awesome.
Um, and none of those people can be blamed for the title, that was all me (with a respectful bow to whoever wrote the original MCR fact which inspired it).
Jon/Brendon. NC-17. 14,439 words.
In which Jon Walker is sometimes a kitten.
(Panic! at the Disco Almost Changed Their Name to) Fuzzy Kitten Cuddle Time
The morning after Jon and Cassie broke up, Brendon found a kitten in Jon's bunk.
He'd heard the phone call the night before--they all had, he thought. There had been no snoring, no sleepy shifting, not even the tinny spill of music from headphones. There had been nothing but the white noise of the road and the hypnotic awfulness of Jon's heartbreak, his voice pleading and then resigned and miserable, just across the aisle. Jon's final small good-bye, the thump of the phone and the sound of Jon turning to lie with his face to the wall, all those sounds had been loud in the too-careful silence.
When Brendon woke up, it took him a few minutes to locate the source of his feeling of dread, and then he remembered. He could hear normal morning sounds from the front of the bus, loud without the background noise of driving. They were Here, wherever today's Here was, and Ryan and Spencer were getting breakfast. It was two people worth of noise, and they were the only ones who were that quiet together in the morning, with thirteen years of practice between them. Five months in, Jon was still new enough to talk.
Or at least, Jon talked on normal mornings; this was not a normal morning at all. Brendon listened with all his might for any sound from the bunk across the aisle, but everything was quiet now. He was nearly holding his breath, and even Ryan and Spencer's familiar silence seemed deliberate, like the whole bus was holding its breath, waiting to see what Jon would say or do.
And then there was this sound--more than a sound, a movement that made the curtain of Brendon's bunk flutter--and it was huge and strangely like an inhalation, but nothing like the sound of a mouth or throat. And it came from Jon's bunk.
Brendon was rolling out before he thought about it, landing with a thump on his knees between the bunks. He was already reaching toward Jon's curtain--because whatever that sound had been, it was in there with Jon--when another sound started up, stopping Brendon short.
Meowing.
Brendon stared for a few seconds at the closed curtain, and he heard a mug click down on the table up front. Spencer said, "What the fuck?"
Brendon hadn't imagined the meowing, then. He leaned forward. "Jon? Um. Jon?"
The meowing got louder, but Jon didn't answer. Brendon pushed the curtain back, revealing a gray kitten standing beside Jon's squished-up pillow. His tail was sticking straight up, and he was looking right at Brendon.
The kitten went silent as Brendon stared at it. It sat down and lifted one white paw, extending it toward Brendon and giving a single tentative meow. Brendon reached out instinctively, palm up, and the kitten laid its paw--soft, a little cool, with rough pads--in Brendon's hand. Brendon grinned, moving his hand gently up and down like they were shaking, and the kitten got back to its feet, resting some of its weight on Brendon's palm.
The door from the front slid open, and Spencer said, "Brendon, what--where's Jon?"
It was only then that Brendon really realized that Jon wasn't in Jon's bunk. The kitten's weight landed hard on Brendon's hand for a second, and then it was running right up Brendon's arm, perching on Brendon's shoulder. The kitten's side was fluffy-soft against Brendon's cheek as the kitten meowed up at Spencer.
Spencer said, "Seriously, what the fuck. Jon!"
The kitten just meowed louder, and Spencer made an irritated noise and stepped over Brendon, stomping toward the back lounge even as Ryan came into the bunks from the front. "Where'd the kitten come from?"
Brendon said, "Jon's bunk," even as Spencer said, "Where the fuck did Jon go?"
Ryan raised his eyebrows, looking down at Brendon and the kitten and then over his head at Spencer, with that look on his face that meant he and Spencer were having one of those psychic-twin silent conversations.
Spencer snapped, "Don't you fucking even," which pretty much confirmed it, because Ryan wasn't even doing anything.
Brendon sat down in the aisle and tugged the kitten off his shoulder.
"Hey, you," he said, rubbing his knuckles gently between its fuzzy ears.
The kitten shut its eyes and pushed into Brendon's touch, revving up a purr like a motorcycle engine. Brendon settled the kitten against his chest, holding it with one hand under its belly and stroking the other hand over his silky fur, ears to tail. The kitten batted its paws against Brendon's arm a couple of times, but the purring kept up, so Brendon figured he was doing it right.
Brendon was vaguely aware of Ryan sighing and walking off, and then Spencer said, "Where the fuck is he?" and went back up front.
Brendon lowered the kitten into his lap.
"You were in his bunk," he said to the kitten. The kitten stretched, showing its furry belly, and Brendon skritched it, which got the purring going again. "Jon must have brought you in and put you there. He probably went to get stuff for you, or find out where you came from, right? He wouldn't just leave you. He loves cats. He must be coming back soon."
The kitten meowed in what might have been agreement, or might have been something else. A second later, Brendon heard the rumbling of its tiny belly, and was suddenly aware of being hungry himself.
"I don't know what we have for you to eat," Brendon said apologetically, getting to his feet. The kitten climbed up onto his shoulder, and Brendon let one hand rest on the kitten's back as he walked up front to find breakfast for both of them.
Spencer was standing there, hip cocked viciously, talking to Zack. "He obviously went somewhere, because he's not here. And there's this kitten, which wasn't here when we left."
Zack glanced at the kitten and grimaced. Brendon thought he could see Zack calculating how long it would take before he became responsible for the kitten. Brendon was tempted to promise that he would totally feed the kitten and take care of it whenever Jon wasn't around, but Zack looked kind of like he'd heard that one before. Brendon stepped carefully past Spencer and his hip and Zack and his dubious look, and went over to where Ryan was pouring himself some coffee.
"Oh, hey, milk," Brendon said, and grabbed the carton of half-and-half. "Milk's good for kittens, right?"
"I'm just saying," Zack repeated, already sounding tired even though the day had barely started. "No one saw him leave, and apparently his phone is turned off. I'll go look around for him, but he's not late for anything yet, so let's not freak out."
"I'm not freaking out," Spencer said, in the same tight voice he used to use when he totally wasn't freaking out over Brent fucking off because he was homesick, or fought with his girlfriend, or was just miserable for some reason. He stomped off into the back lounge, cursing under his breath.
The kitten jumped down from Brendon's shoulder and tried to get its nose into Ryan's coffee.
"Hey, whoa," Brendon caught the kitten around his middle. "No way, that's hot."
"And mine," Ryan added firmly, yanking the mug away from the kitten.
Brendon rolled his eyes. "Ry, he's a kitten, like he has any idea what that means."
Ryan raised an eyebrow and then took the half-and-half out of Brendon's other hand. The kitten squirmed out of Brendon's grip and batted at the coffee pot, not quite making contact.
"I'm pretty sure it'll stunt your growth," Brendon informed the kitten, but the kitten stayed focused on the coffee.
"Oh, yeah, because he understands that," Ryan said, but he set the half-and-half down and rummaged around in the cupboard until he found a bowl.
Brendon poured out a puddle of half-and-half and made a little here-kitty noise. The kitten finally turned away from the coffee, looked at the bowl and then up at Brendon, and then back at the coffee, with huge kitten eyes.
"Okay," Brendon sighed. "A little."
He poured the teeniest possible bit of coffee into the bowl of cream and stirred it up, and the kitten happily ducked its head, lapping at its breakfast. Brendon just stood there, staring at the kitten's tiny pink tongue and the drops of cream that caught on its whiskers.
When the kitten finished, Brendon realized he still hadn't poured himself any coffee, and that Ryan and Zack had both disappeared without him noticing.
***
Over the next few hours, Brendon discovered that the kitten also liked to eat Fruit Loops and purple sugary milk, but was more interested in attacking the peel than sharing Brendon's banana. Other things the kitten would attack included Brendon's fingers and toes, Brendon's dirty socks, crumpled pieces of paper (whether thrown or sitting harmlessly on the table), and Brendon's phone.
The only way Brendon found to get the kitten to hold still for more than a few seconds at a time--other than letting it see coffee--was to turn his phone around and aim the camera. The kitten would go still, even--Brendon was convinced--striking its cutest poses on purpose, if Brendon said, "Say cheese!" or "Vogue!"
"You are so totally Jon's cat, huh?" Brendon asked, snapping his tenth straight picture of the gray kitten being adorable. "Hey, hey, did Jon take pictures of you?"
The kitten rolled onto its feet and meowed, tilting its head, but Brendon was already standing up, heading back toward Jon's bunk. The curtain was still pushed open, the pillow squished up like Jon had just been sleeping there. The kitten hopped up and inside, and Brendon knelt on the edge and leaned in as well, looking around. The photos stuck on the walls were the same--Jon hadn't taken down the ones of Cassie yet, even, and the only pictures of cats were of Dylan at different ages, not this half-grown gray kitten.
The kitten meowed, and Brendon looked down. The kitten was batting at Jon's phone, jammed between the mattress and the wall.
It wasn't just that Jon had it turned off; he hadn't taken it with him. Brendon looked around nervously, and quickly spotted Jon's camera case, tucked into the safest corner at the foot of the bunk, and that... that wasn't a good sign, either. Jon couldn't have meant to be gone for very long at all, if he hadn't taken his phone or his camera.
He knew he should talk to Ryan and Spencer about this, but they were doing that thing where Spencer got silently madder and madder, and to make up for it Ryan got silently calmer and calmer. Between them it might balance out, but mostly it just made for a lot of silence that Brendon didn't want to go disturbing; normally he had Jon, but now he just had the kitten.
Brendon reached for the kitten as he thought it, tugging the little bundle of fur into his lap. The kitten seemed to know that this wasn't a good time to declare war on Brendon's t-shirt; it cuddled against Brendon's stomach, warm and solid and steadier than something so tiny should be. Brendon petted the kitten even as he looked at Jon's phone, thinking about what he had to do. Then he pulled out his own phone, scrolled down just a little way through the contacts list, and called Cassie.
"Brendon," she answered with a sigh, even as Brendon blurted, "It's important! Don't hang up!"
There were a few seconds of silence, and then Cassie said, "Brendon?"
Brendon swallowed, and looked down at the kitten. It was looking up, but not at his face. At his phone, like it had heard Cassie's voice and knew what Brendon was doing.
"Jon's gone," Brendon said, petting the kitten until it settled into Brendon's lap and started purring again, paying no attention to the phone. "He was gone when I got up this morning, nobody's seen him, and he left his phone, and his camera, and this kitten we've never seen before."
Cassie was silent again, but Brendon focused on petting the kitten, keeping the purr going steady as a metronome, until she finally said, sounding tired, "Is the kitten gray with two white paws?"
"Yeah," Brendon said, cautiously.
The kitten had responded to her voice. Jon must have brought the kitten in here. Jon and Cassie had just broken up, and Cassie didn't seem surprised by any of this. It all had to fit together somehow, but it just didn't make any sense.
"If the kitten's there, then Jon will be back," Cassie said. "Probably for soundcheck, definitely for show time. He's just about physically incapable of letting you guys down."
There was an edge in her voice at the end, and Brendon knew without having to fit anything together at all that Cassie thought Jon had been capable of letting her down. Brendon had heard Jon's voice diminishing last night, though, and he'd seen the forlorn space Jon left behind him. He thought Cassie wasn't the only one let down.
"Do you think..." Brendon said, though he wasn't even sure what he wanted to ask before he trailed off.
"Brendon, don't--Jon can explain it when he gets back, if he wants to. I can't do this. I'm not--don't call again, all right? I have to go."
"Sorry," Brendon said, softly, still petting the kitten in the same steady motions. He thought it was nearly asleep now, and he felt worn out himself, as if he'd just done an entire set without anyone on stage to back him up.
Except the kitten, of course. Brendon set down his phone and fell slowly sideways onto Jon's pillow, tugging the kitten up to cuddle against his chest. The kitten didn't seem to mind, and Brendon fell asleep still listening to it purr.
***
Brendon woke up confused, Ryan gingerly poking his shoulder. "Bren, come on. Soundcheck."
Brendon froze, trying to get his bearings--everything was backwards, and--Oh God, if Ryan saw he was holding his old stuffed bunny he would never hear the end of it--and then he looked down and realized it was the kitten in his arms, and everything was backward because he was in Jon's bunk, on the wrong side of the aisle.
"Jon?"
Ryan shook his head, already getting to his feet, and the kitten started squirming, making tiny sounds smaller than proper meows. "Zack says nobody's seen him. Spence wants to go look himself after soundcheck, but Zack wants us all on the bus or with him."
Brendon shook his head. "He--wait, what? Does he think something...?"
"It's Zack's job to think stuff like that. Bren, come on. Soundcheck, seriously. Spence is waiting."
Brendon shook his head again, petting the kitten as it woke. He couldn't help smiling when it yawned hugely, showing its pink tongue and tiny fierce teeth. When he tried to set the kitten down, it clung to him, hooking its claws into his shirt, though it barely scratched the skin beneath.
"Hey, whoa, buddy," Brendon said, rolling out of the bunk and getting to his knees to try to detach his passenger. "You have to stay here. Soundcheck would probably freak you right out. I'll be back after, soon as I can, okay?"
Brendon knew Ryan was still standing there, and he sort of expected Ryan to point out that the kitten didn't understand a word of what Brendon was saying, but he kept quiet. The kitten made a mournful little noise, but retracted its claws and let Brendon set it back down in Jon's bunk.
"That's right," Brendon said, giving it a last few lingering pets. "We'll go to soundcheck, and hopefully Jon will show up, and then we'll have him back for you, huh? Then everything will be fine."
The kitten tilted its head and meowed, a long string of sounds like it was trying to say something. Brendon couldn't help meeting its eyes--though he wasn't sure if you were supposed to do that with cats or not--and listening intently all the way through.
"Sorry," Brendon repeated. "Soundcheck waits for no man. We'll see you when we're done, promise."
"Bren," Ryan said.
The kitten sat down and kept meowing, and Brendon wanted to stay, but the idea that Jon's kitten might get lonely was no reason to miss soundcheck--and anyway, if Jon was there waiting for them, somebody was going to have to be there to get between him and Spencer. It was likely to be at least a two-man job.
"Yeah," Brendon said. He got up, stuck his feet in a pair of shoes, and followed Ryan out. The kitten was meowing after them all the way to the door, and Brendon thought he could still hear the faint sounds after it closed behind them with a hydraulic hiss.
Spencer was standing just outside with Zack, looking impatient. He raked a look over Brendon, from his unlaced shoes to his bedhead.
"You have cat hair all over your shirt."
Brendon looked down, and realized his red t-shirt was covered with little gray hairs. He brushed at it a few times, raising a little cloud of hairs in the air between him and Spencer, and Spencer just huffed in annoyance and turned on his heel, striking out across the parking lot. Brendon and Ryan trailed after him, Zack splitting the difference like he was hitting his mark on stage.
Brendon heard the sound behind them and stopped dead. Zack was already turning as Brendon turned, Ryan following a second later, to see the bus door open and Jon stumble out. He looked like he'd gotten dressed in a hurry: his hair was all over the place, his t-shirt was the one Brendon had last seen wadded up at the foot of his bunk, and he was still pulling it down. He jogged awkwardly in flip-flops, covering the distance between them as quickly as he could.
Behind him, Zack muttered, "Christ, what," and then clicked his walkie-talkie on and started saying something in his I'm-in-charge voice.
Brendon grinned. "Jon Walker!"
Jon grinned back, and let Brendon pounce on him a little when he caught up, though Brendon only gave him a quick squeeze before letting go. Jon reached out and brushed at the cat hair on Brendon's shirt, and Brendon brushed at Jon's, where the hair had already rubbed off, even as he said, "Where did you come from? Where have you been all day?"
Jon's hand dropped, and so did his smile. "I was..."
Brendon watched Jon look past him, to Ryan and Zack and Spencer in turn. "You guys, I was. I was on the bus."
"You weren't fucking on the bus, Jon, we fucking checked everywhere on the bus," Spencer snapped, and Brendon winced. He was between them, at least. And Zack wouldn't let anything go on too long when they had soundcheck to get to.
Ryan just said, "Ha."
"Shut the fuck up, Ryan, he wasn't--"
"I was," Jon said, and he swiped at the front of Brendon's shirt and stepped up to flick a small puff of gray cat hair toward Spencer. "I wasn't exactly myself, but I--"
Jon stopped short, looking around at them again, bewildered. Brendon thought of the kitten, meowing frantically at him, and it started to actually, impossibly, fit together in his brain. Cassie had said if the kitten was there, Jon would be back. Cassie had known what the kitten would look like, and the kitten had always responded when they said Jon's name. The kitten hadn't been there the night before, and no one had seen Jon leave the bus.
"You guys, I thought--I thought you knew it was me."
At Brendon's side, Ryan cleared his throat significantly, and on his other side, Zack had turned his back and was muttering something that sounded like, "Not in my fucking job description."
Jon just kept looking more lost, and Brendon wanted to grab him, pull him close and pet him and make it okay, except clearly he hadn't been making anything okay at all.
"I thought--I mean, it's kind of hard to understand words when I--but you all saw me and you--you weren't worried. You weren't out looking. So I thought you had to..."
Jon's voice kept getting smaller, and all Brendon could think of was the way he'd talked to Cassie the night before, until he finally said, "You had to know where I was. You had to know I was there."
He turned his eyes on Brendon, silently pleading harder than the kitten had for coffee, but Brendon couldn't give him this, either.
"I didn't," Brendon said, his own voice coming out just as small. "I--Jon, I didn't--"
"How the fuck would he? That shit doesn't happen," Spencer snapped. "We weren't worried because there was nothing to worry about, Walker. We knew you'd be where you were supposed to be, that's what we goddamn got you for. Speaking of which."
Spencer turned on his heel and stalked off toward the venue. Zack cleared his throat and brushed a hand across Brendon's shoulder, but Brendon was staring at Jon, and Jon was staring at the ground, fists and jaw clenched. Brendon wanted to say something--Spencer was just freaked, Spencer had said way worse things to Brent (and that had been half the trouble by the end, the way Brent could never hear how scared Spencer was, and Spencer could never see that Brent was just taking cover or returning fire)--but there was nothing to say. Brendon hadn't known, and he still hadn't gone looking for Jon.
He'd worried, though.
"I called Cassie," Brendon blurted, even though Jon had to know that, didn't he? He'd been right there.
Jon's head jerked up, and there was something angry and hurt at once in his eyes.
"Oh, fucking thanks," Jon snapped. He pushed by Brendon and Ryan both, stalking after Spencer with stiff strides, and Brendon turned and watched him go.
"Did Cassie seem surprised?" Ryan asked, when Jon was out of earshot and they were following Zack across the parking lot, dragging their feet.
Brendon shook his head, watching the stiff set of Jon's shoulders. He could almost see the kitten's back arching, fur fluffing out to try to seem imposing. To hide how small he was, how easily hurt.
"Ha," Ryan said again, and Brendon realized, finally, that one of them had known, and it didn't really make it any better. Brendon had been right there. It should have been him.
***
By the time Brendon and Ryan got to soundcheck, Jon already had an open beer by his side. He didn't come back to the bus afterward, and when they saw him again, in the dressing room, there was another open beer in his hand and a definite flush on his cheeks, though otherwise he looked the same, tense and angry (or defiant, or hurt). Spencer just glared at him, and Ryan steered quietly clear, drawing Spencer's attention to himself without quite seeming to, avoiding the simmering conflict. He was taking the makeup to all new heights of elaboration, even by his own high standards, quietly demanding Spencer's help to get the edges just right.
That left Brendon to handle Jon, though he clearly didn't want to be handled. Jon got dressed when he would normally get dressed, warmed up the way he would normally warm up. Brendon went through his own routine, trying to ignore the attitude in the dressing room, keeping himself close to Jon, or at least between Jon and Spencer (SpencerandRyan, really, tonight) the best he could.
On stage, he split his time more evenly between Jon and Ryan than he usually did, and kept a nervous eye on Jon's fingers when he was pointed that way--but Jon was steady and reliable (like Brent had never been, even sober, even at the beginning when he wasn't angry or sad all the time). Even when Brendon thought he could hear Spencer messing with them a little, pushing or dragging the beat, Jon followed his lead, steadied them all, kept everything going smoothly.
The show was great, the crowd was roaring, and by the end of it Spencer seemed to have given up on being angry. Brendon couldn't tell whether it was the high of performing that made Spencer forget about it, or if Jon had passed some kind of test by getting through it without any fuckups. He kind of hoped it was the first, because if it was the second, then Spencer was either being kind of an asshole, or kind of practical. Brendon didn't know which would be worse.
***
Back on the bus, Spencer and Ryan disappeared into the back lounge immediately. Jon stood a moment, looking after them, and then turned and fell into a seat at the booth like he'd been told to. Brendon winced and sat down next to him. Brendon kept his hands on the table, only watching out of the corner of his eye as Jon steadily drained the last beer he'd brought back.
Brendon wanted to scoot closer, to reach for him. He wanted to pet Jon's hair and tell him things would be all right. But this wasn't just about Spencer being pissed, this was about Jon losing Cassie, about Jon turning into a kitten, and Brendon couldn't fix any of that, and he didn't know what any of it was going to mean.
He closed his eyes and opened his mouth. "I wish you were still a cat."
His stomach clenched even as he said it. Nobody had said it out loud like that so far, and he felt suddenly horribly certain that it had been a joke, and that he had just made himself the punchline.
But Jon's laugh was a single harsh syllable, punctuated with the hollow sound of his beer bottle hitting the tabletop. "I was better fuckin' company, huh?"
Brendon turned his head, looking directly at Jon for the first time since they got off stage. Jon was still frowning, still rigidly human, the furthest thing from the kitten who'd puddled in his lap, who he'd soothed with a touch. Jon was still hurt, and Brendon still couldn't fix it.
"You kept purring," Brendon said, even though that was kind of stupid, that was just what kittens did.
Jon looked back at him.
"You were purring," Brendon repeated. "It seemed like you were happy. I wish you were still..."
Brendon shrugged awkwardly, unable to quite say it.
Jon frowned a little, but it was a different frown, and then he shook his head. "That's the most fucked up nicest thing anyone's ever said to me, Brendon."
Brendon shrugged again and shut his eyes. "You're welcome."
Jon laughed again, again just a single breath, but softer this time. "Fuck, I am drunk," he mumbled. "I'm gonna crash."
Brendon nodded and stayed put, listening as Jon walked back into the bunks. He heard him stop halfway, and heard him say, loud enough to carry through the whole bus without quite being a shout, "Hey, Spencer Smith, I'm sorry I was such a pussy all day."
Brendon didn't hold his breath, he didn't, he just happened to inhale when Ryan called back, "Hey, Jon Walker, Spencer is sorry he was a bitch."
Ryan's voice rose toward the end, like Spencer was taking that out of him in tickles, and Brendon smiled, half asleep on the bench.
***
Later, after Spencer had made him wake up and go to bed, Brendon woke up again. It was still dark, the bus was still moving, and he was confused until he heard the soft, tentative meow.
Brendon pushed the curtain back, and the gray kitten--Jon--tumbled into his bunk. He stood up and meowed again, still sounding hesitant, and Brendon smiled. Jon could probably see that fine. Cats could see better in the dark.
"Yeah," Brendon whispered, "yeah, of course. C'mere, lie down."
He raised his arm, and Jon burrowed into his side, settling in against his ribs even before Brendon lowered his arm to cuddle him close.
Jon was purring again. Brendon went back to sleep with a smile on his face.
***
The morning after they all found out, Ryan saw the gray kitten slip out of Brendon's bunk and head quietly toward the front lounge. Ryan put his hand over the top of his coffee mug and watched Jon creep toward him.
Jon hadn't been surprised by what happened. Brendon said Cassie hadn't been surprised. This wasn't a new thing, which sort of begged the question of why they were only finding out about it after Jon had been in the band for five months.
It did explain some of William's direr mutterings about how they wouldn't be able to take care of his Jonny Walker properly, though.
Jon jumped up onto the far edge of the table, crouching low over the surface as if Ryan might not spot him, his eyes fixed on the coffee.
"So I guess kittens don't have hangovers, then," Ryan said. It was early, Spencer and Brendon were both still asleep. After last night, he wouldn't have been surprised if Jon stayed in his bunk straight through to soundcheck.
Jon's eyes and ears flicked in Ryan's direction, and his front paws flexed, claws suddenly appearing to click against the tabletop. So he might have a hard time understanding words when he was like this, but he'd gotten that loud and clear.
Ryan arched an eyebrow. "Try it, and I'll sic Spencer on you."
The momentary tension went out of Jon, and he gave a low, pathetic mrow. He slunk a few inches closer and collapsed on the table, giving Ryan a sad look.
"Dude," Ryan said. "It's your hangover, you earned it. No."
Jon raised a pathetic paw, batting weakly in the direction of Ryan's coffee. Ryan took a sip, and kept a firm grip on the mug. "Jon, seriously, you weigh like six pounds. One sip would be a venti red-eye. You'd have a little kitty heart attack and die."
Jon lifted his head and gave a single mournful meow that Ryan suspected meant Jon was pretty much willing to court death for coffee at this point. Ryan just shook his head. "And people call me emo."
Jon wriggled an inch or two closer without actually putting his paws down, still looking pathetic and eyeing Ryan's coffee.
"Jon, no," Ryan repeated. What had William said? There had been three things you always had to keep handy if you were going to have a Jonny Walker, none of which had made sense at the time. But if it hadn't been just William being drunk and territorial about Jon... meeeses had to mean mice, right? Probably the little stuffed ones with catnip inside? Because Brendon, at least, was going to object to feeding Jon real mice, and it'd be pretty gross, anyway. And Ryan didn't think they had any tuna on the bus, so that was no good, but the third and most important, Ryan Rossy, the mosssst important thing...
"Jon, I’m going to tell you a secret."
Jon didn't take his eyes off the coffee.
"Jon," Ryan repeated, speaking slowly and clearly. "Jon, Brendon has a feather boa."
Jon rolled up onto his feet, his attention suddenly and totally fixed on Ryan.
"I don't know where it is," Ryan said. "He hid it. But it's somewhere on the bus, and he'll totally let you play with it if you find it. I bet he's keeping it in his bunk."
Jon gave the coffee one last look, but Ryan said, "Feathers, Jon Walker. Brendon has feathers."
Jon whirled and was gone, barely making a sound as he landed on the floor, already running back to Brendon's bunk. A couple of minutes later, Brendon yelped, "Jon? Jon, what the fuck are you doing?"
Ryan smiled into his coffee and reached for his phone. It was time to let William know his band was taking care of their Jonny Walker just fine.
***
Brendon had gone out to buy a feather boa. Spencer had no idea why Brendon needed a feather boa right now, although it probably had something to do with the yelling that woke Spencer up at a totally unnecessary hour that morning. He wasn't really sure what the deal was. All he knew was that Ryan agreed to go with Brendon, in the too-willing way that meant it was probably Ryan's fault.
He knew that, and he knew Jon wasn't around. He knew there was cat hair on Brendon's shirt again, a shirt he hadn't been wearing yesterday or last night. Spencer almost held his breath as he slipped past the bunks--the curtains on Jon's and Brendon's were both closed, so Jon had to be in one of them.
Jon, regular old Jon, who was a hair shorter than Spencer with broad shoulders and brown eyes and an easy smile. Jon, who had two legs and two arms and opposable thumbs. Jon. He was probably sleeping or something, he had to have a fucker of a hangover. Spencer was being quiet because he was thoughtful, because he didn't want to wake Jon.
Spencer shut the door to the back lounge and breathed a sigh of relief--not that he was avoiding anyone, just... he hadn't woken Jon up. Right.
He dropped down to sit on the couch and reached for the remote. There was always something in the DVD player, and he really, really didn't care what he was watching right now. He turned it on, and--of fucking course--the theme music for The OC started up. Jon had been watching it when Cassie called.
On the other couch, a lump of blanket exploded and a gray kitten appeared, taking a few bounding steps toward the TV and then wriggling with something that certainly looked like happiness.
So it was Jon, then. Spencer didn't realize he'd laughed out loud until the kitten turned toward him, and then he almost choked on the sound.
He was a kitten.
Jon took a couple of slow steps toward Spencer, moving stiffly and carefully now, nothing like that gleeful leap toward the TV. He tilted his head, and then sat down, raised one paw, and flapped it up and down.
He was waving, Spencer realized. He could feel the surreal moment taking over his brain, and wondered if doing drugs felt like this--drinking didn't, drinking wasn't sharp and bright and immediate like this, the impossible made real in the back lounge.
Jon stopped waving, but he still didn't make a sound. He was holding perfectly still, not coming too close.
"Are you trying not to freak me out?" Spencer heard his own voice come out high and childish, and couldn't change it.
Jon's head tilted up and down, careful, deliberate motions. Totally unnatural for a kitten, but it was Jon. Jon wanted him to understand. Jon was nodding yes.
"I'm sorry," Spencer said helplessly, when what he wanted to say was go away, or stop it, or I want Jon back, where the hell is Jon?
He was sorry. Ryan had made a pretty good case for it not being Jon's fault, and it wasn't really like turning into a kitten was a wrong thing to do. Jon hadn't hurt anybody, it was a--a valid lifestyle choice or whatever, maybe he was born this way, it was just--it was so fucking crazy, and not the regular rock star kind of crazy, which Spencer was starting to get used to.
Jon stood up slowly, took another step closer, and sat down again.
Spencer bit his lip. It was Jon, and Jon--the real--the regular Jon--would be back later, just like he had been yesterday, and for now, Spencer just had to deal.
He looked away, toward the TV, and then back to Jon. "Which episode were you on?"
Jon looked toward the TV, then to Spencer, then came slowly across the distance, settling down beside him and reaching one paw toward the remote. It took a second for Spencer to work out that the kitten's pat on his hand was telling him which buttons to push, but he got it soon enough, and when the episode started up, Jon settled down beside him to watch.
Halfway through the episode, Spencer reached over without looking and rested one hand on Jon's back. Jon shifted a little, but into Spencer's hand, not away, so Spencer figured it was probably all right. He was soft and fuzzy, nice to touch, even if it was more like hanging out with a stuffed animal than the big dogs Spencer was used to.
Jon still did the same little gleeful bounce he always had, whenever Summer appeared on the screen. Spencer smiled at that, something unclenching somewhere in his stomach. That hadn't changed. He really was Jon in there.
Spencer wondered if Jon had always purred like that for Seth, and he just hadn't been able to tell before.
***
Jon showed up a couple of minutes after the rest of them for soundcheck, looking sheepish and shyer than he ever had when he was new. There were a couple of bits of bright pink down in his hair from the feather boa, but Brendon didn't point that out, and he didn't argue afterward when Jon went straight back to his bunk. Jon had been in constant motion since Brendon and Ryan and the feather boa had come back to the bus that morning. Brendon wasn't exactly sure how that worked, but if Jon wasn't exhausted from his kitten self's hyperactivity, he had to still be fighting off his hangover.
Whichever it was, he was sound asleep when Brendon went to wake him up for makeup call, his face mashed into the pillow, one hand tucked into the much-abused feather boa beside it.
"Jon?" He didn't so much as twitch. Brendon shook his shoulder gently, and Jon's sleepy noise of protest didn't sound quite like one of his kitten noises, but not entirely unlike one, either.
Brendon smiled, and shook harder. "Jon, Jon Walker, come on. Show time."
Jon turned his face toward Brendon, blinking and yawning hugely, as unselfconscious as a kitten. He stretched under Brendon's hand, spine arching, with his heavy-lidded eyes still fixed on Brendon, his mouth settling into a smile as it closed. His shoulder was solid and warm under Brendon's hand, and he was relaxed and happy, and Brendon wished he would never wake up all the way, would stay like this forever.
Before the thought had fully formed, Brendon's gaze flicked away from Jon's eyes to the photos that were still stuck to his bunk wall, Cassie smiling out at both of them, frozen in time by Jon's lens.
When Brendon looked down again, Jon's gaze was sharp and alert, and his smile was sadder.
Brendon squeezed his shoulder. "Show time."
Jon nodded and cleared his throat. "Yeah, be right there."
Brendon let go and stood up, but he didn't walk away fast enough not to hear the sound of tape pulling off the wall.
***
After the show that night, Ryan and Spencer took advantage of a late bus call to go off somewhere, hanging out with someone Ryan swore up and down was an old friend. Brendon noticed they took Zack, though, and he didn't argue when Zack asked quietly if he and Jon would stay on the bus, please.
Jon put his pajamas on as soon as they were back on the bus, rubbing his face and yawning when he came up front to find a snack. Brendon watched quietly as he shuffled around, thinking that he should probably go to bed himself. He couldn't help wondering if Jon would crawl in with him again, if he would wake up to that small, rumbling warmth against his side and know that everything was all right. It was almost a guilty thought, definitely a strange one, when Jon was still right there, four feet away, eating a cold Pop Tart in six bites.
Jon brushed crumbs off his t-shirt, and Brendon thought of the kitten fussily licking his paws after he'd been playing with the feather boa for a while. Jon stood up and stretched, showing a line of pale skin under his shirt, though Brendon found his eye drawn just as much to the way his spine stayed straight, steady, upright, even as his head tipped back and his fingers spread like retractable claws.
"I'm gonna--" Jon said, tipping his head toward his bunk.
Brendon nodded, standing up as well. "Yeah, me too. Long day, right?"
Jon nodded, already turning away, and Brendon followed him back to the bunks; it was only when they were both crouching down, pushing their curtains back, that Brendon thought, This is stupid.
"Hey," he said. "Hey, why don't you come in with me?"
Jon's eyes flicked up, something almost wary there, but not not-wanting, Brendon thought, just uncertainty. Brendon just had to give a reason, to make it okay.
He smiled. "I mean, I feel like I hardly see you anymore."
Jon flinched, looked back into his bunk, and--fuck, that had been the wrong reason, very much the wrong reason. What was it Cassie had said? He's incapable of letting you guys down. Unless Brendon told him he had.
"Whoa," he said quickly. "No, I didn't mean--I just--come on, please? Slumber-bunk-party?"
Jon looked at him again, and the corner of his mouth tipped up, like he was willing to be persuaded. "Two people's kind of a pathetic party, Bren."
"Well, yeah, but three's a crowd. Especially in a bunk, I mean, not that it can't be done, but someone always gets an elbow somewhere they shouldn't, and nobody can really move or talk and then inevitably somebody realizes they have to pee and everybody has to have brushed their teeth really recently and--"
"Brendon," Jon said, and he was actually smiling now. "Jesus, calm down. I brushed my teeth in the shower and I took a piss when I changed. I will come to your party. Get in."
Brendon bit his lip, to remind himself to shut the hell up--it was Jon, just Jon, he didn't have to be nervous. They'd crammed into bunks together lots of times, though Brendon wasn't sure he'd ever exactly invited Jon into his bunk to sleep. Unless you counted last night.
After another couple of seconds of Jon staring at him in patient silence, Brendon remembered to actually get in the bunk. Jon waited until he was settled and then squeezed in beside him. They shared Brendon's pillow, and Jon laid his head down and closed his eyes, but didn't say good night or really pretend he was asleep. Brendon thought Jon was waiting for something, and Brendon even kind of thought he knew what.
He cleared his throat. "So is it--are you, like, a were-cat? Or an animagus? Does it--" he hadn't really let himself think about it until he was saying it, but he remembered the sucking sound from the next bunk, like an enormous, inhuman gasp. "Does it hurt?"
Jon's eyes scrunched more tightly shut. "No."
Brendon waited a few seconds, but when he opened his mouth to ask which one, Jon finally opened his eyes.
"No to all of them. Not really. Not--it's not, like, the full moon or something, it's any time. I didn't get bitten by a radioactive cat. My mom says I learned it from my older brothers, and I guess they got it from our parents somehow. It's not--it's not, like, reading and studying and trying. I started doing it before I can even remember. I was just always, you know."
Jon laughed a little, shutting his eyes again as his cheeks tinted faintly pink. The reading light at the head of the bunk cast shadows from Jon's eyelashes.
Jon said carefully, deliberately, "I can't remember when I wasn't sometimes a cat. A kitten."
Brendon got the feeling he didn't say that out loud very often, and it made his heart beat faster, knowing Jon said it to him, even if it was obvious, even if he already knew. Jon hadn't had to say the words at all, but he'd said them to Brendon.
And now that he'd said that, other words just kept following. Jon still had his eyes closed, but Brendon watched the wrinkling of his forehead, the tension of his mouth. "Cassie--when I first tried to explain it to her, that's what she said, animagus. She explained to me about Harry Potter and everything, and that's kind of why I never read those books, you know? I didn't want to know what somebody else thought of it. But I think she never--I know you have to try really hard to do it in the story, and I think she could never really exactly understand that I didn't mean to do it, even after she--"
Jon stopped short, opened his eyes and met Brendon's, licked his lips.
"I don't--I really don't mean for it to happen," he said. "And it doesn't happen when I really, really need it not to, and all this time it never happened around you guys, you know? And never when I needed to work or something. Sometimes when I had class, but never when there was a test. So I guess, I mean. In a way she's right, I must have some kind of control over it, somehow. It's not a coincidence that I change back for soundcheck, and it's not a coincidence I didn't change for five months on tour with you guys, except when I was home on breaks."
It was Brendon's turn to wince. "And Cassie felt like she never saw you anymore, huh?"
Jon nodded. He didn't quite close his eyes this time, but he looked away, past Brendon's shoulder and down to their bodies, pressed together in the tight space.
"It wasn't fair to her, it really wasn't. And if--if she was as important to me as impressing you guys, or playing shows, or taking finals, then I wouldn't--"
"Hey, no way," Brendon said, unable to listen to the quiet way Jon blamed himself. "You were just--you were being yourself with her!"
And he hadn't been himself with them, not for five months--Brendon couldn't stand the thought that all this time, when Brendon thought Jon was settling in, getting to be friends, one of them, part of the band--all that time Jon had been working to impress them, couldn't be himself, like all the time they were together was time he was on stage, at work, and had to be standing up straight.
Jon looked up at Brendon. "Yeah, well. Apparently 'myself' is a cat, and Cass just isn't that kind of girl."
Brendon smiled, and swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat, the words that suddenly wanted to push out of his mouth. He was suddenly conscious of his knee pressing against Jon's thigh, of the careful small space between their bodies, the way he could feel the heat rising off their skin and collecting between them, the way he could smell that Jon had, in fact, brushed his teeth pretty recently. Jon was smiling back at him, and Brendon didn't know why, because he was pretty sure he didn't deserve that smile at all.
Jon closed his eyes again, lightly, his eyelashes shadowing his cheeks and his forehead smooth until a yawn scrunched up his face.
"Tired," he mumbled, and Brendon reached up and shut off the light, closing his own eyes. It seemed to work all right for Jon.
***
Brendon woke up sometime in the night to a tiny flurry of motion at his side, and he made an instinctive soothing noise as he reached into Jon's t-shirt to fish him out. Jon's meow was small, maybe sheepish, maybe grateful.
"No problem," Brendon muttered, and didn't really think before he settled Jon in the center of his chest, one arm curled around him. His heart thudded against his ribs in a startled-awake rhythm, but Jon was already purring steadily. Brendon was asleep again before he could give it much thought.
***
Brendon got used to it pretty quickly. They all did, he thought. They kept careful watch over their coffee, and always, always left the bathroom door open, and there was always a bowl of water on the counter. If anybody noticed anything floating in it, he dumped it out and refilled it from a bottle. Jon was Jon, sometimes with two legs, sometimes four, but always Jon. He was always where he was supposed to be, standing in his spot on stage. He was nearly always where Brendon expected him to be, curled against his ribs when Brendon woke up, purring in his sleep. He always really liked the hot pink feather boa, but sometimes he was more willing to play with it in the middle of the lounge, sometimes less.
Honestly, Brendon didn't think about it that much, except for the times when Jon would suddenly jump up, run out of the room on four silent feet, and come back a few minutes later on two loud ones, jeans sagging to show his boxers under a shirt he was still pulling down. At moments like that, Brendon couldn't really think about anything but Jon, and what was going on, and what kind of boy it made him if he thought about it too much.
Jon, for his part, would just finish pulling his shirt down, maybe hike his jeans up or maybe not. Then he would walk over and settle right back in against Brendon's side, or sprawl half across his lap, like he hardly even knew the difference, like he thought it was all the same to Brendon, too. Jon really wasn't helping matters.
***
It was kind of late, and they were already on the road. Ryan and Spencer were watching something in the back lounge. Jon was watching too, Brendon thought, except that Jon poked his fuzzy gray head through Brendon's bunk curtain before Brendon had read two pages of his book. He didn't even ask permission anymore, but he did hesitate a second. Brendon tucked his book between the pillow and the wall, turning onto his side and scooting back, giving Jon as much room as he would give the full-sized version.
Jon came in, stretched thoroughly, and sprawled across all the space Brendon had given him, flopping down bonelessly except for one ear, which twitched invitingly in Brendon's direction.
"Oh, I see how it is," Brendon murmured, but he was smiling. Ryan and Spencer were okay with Jon like this, but Brendon was the only one who would pet him as much as he liked, and it made Brendon feel stupidly pleased every time Jon sought him out for it.
Brendon started petting, long strokes from ears to tail, feeling Jon's fur silky-soft under his palm, the rumble of him like a motor, a wind-up toy compared to the steady growl of the bus's engine. Jon's head tilted to one side, his eyes resting half-closed, and Brendon felt himself growing just as relaxed. He didn't even tell his hand to move anymore, it just did, over and over, down the familiar curve of Jon's back.
It was almost like being jolted awake when Jon suddenly tensed, the purr cutting off. Brendon's hand stilled, but Jon didn't stand all the way, only rising into the crouch he usually used to attack a particularly wily shoe. He turned his head and looked Brendon straight in the eye, trembling with tension instead of with happiness, and Brendon got it suddenly. This was the moment he'd seen plenty of times already, the moment when Jon sprang up from whatever he was doing and ran off to change.
Except Jon wasn't running off.
Brendon forced his hand to move, rubbing the fur behind Jon's ears and running his hand down the hard line of Jon's spine. He knew what he had to say, and he said it. "You can stay, you don't have to go anywhere."
On the second slow stroke, Jon settled down flat, tucking his nose under his paws. Brendon petted him once more, holding his breath, waiting to see--Jon had said it didn't hurt, but how did it work? Brendon kept his hand on Jon--like holding his finger to the tip of a candle flame when he was a kid--but a sensation of something, like static electricity, like the sudden sharp vibration of a plucked guitar string over the entire surface of Jon's small body, made him jerk back. Brendon sneezed, of all things, instinctively turning his head away to press his nose and mouth to his shoulder, and when he looked back Jon was there, face down in his bunk, naked. Jon.
Brendon's hand was still in midair between them, and Jon looked just as tense as he had a few seconds ago, face hidden in his folded arms. Brendon reached out cautiously, his fingers curling in like Jon's skin would burn him. He touched his knuckles to the nape of Jon's neck, trailed the touch all the way down his spine, right to his tailbone. Brendon stopped just short of the naked curve of Jon's ass, forcing himself not to think too hard about it--maybe it was all the same to Jon, somehow. Maybe he'd stayed for some reason Brendon didn't understand. Brendon couldn't be sure he was as good at reading a kitten's expressions as he thought; he couldn't know what that look had meant.
Brendon raised his hand, forcing his fingers to uncurl, and skritched a little through Jon's hair, just at the base of his skull. Jon finally moved, shuddering, his shoulders sinking down, his whole back losing its tension. Brendon dared to pet him with an open hand then, again and again down the line of his spine, trying not to think about soft, bare skin instead of velvety fur under his palm, trying not to think about anything but how nice it was that Jon seemed comfortable now.
It was a little weird to pet him and not feel him purring, though.
Jon turned his head as Brendon was reaching for the nape of his neck again, just enough to let Brendon see one of his eyes, heavy-lidded and creased at the corner with a smile.
"You've noticed I'm not a kitten anymore, right?"
Brendon's stomach flipped. It was a lot harder to mistake that look, and the low, warm rasp of Jon's voice. He let his hand settle on the back of Jon's neck, kept his voice easy just like Jon's.
"You've noticed you're in my bunk naked, right?"
Jon shrugged and turned his face all the way out of his arms, so Brendon could see his entire lazy smile. Brendon held on to the back of Jon's neck, his wrist resting lightly on Jon's throat.
"In my defense, I'm actually in your bunk naked pretty often."
Brendon was smiling back, he knew he was, and he just hoped to God it didn't look as crazed as it felt. Jon was acting like this was no big deal, and Brendon was going to blow the whole thing any second.
He licked his lips, and Jon's eyes followed the motion, and Brendon's smile widened a little. Oh, yeah, he was going to blow something.
"Well, Jon," Brendon said. "I'm not actually that kind of boy."
"Yeah?" Jon's eyes skimmed lower this time, down to Brendon's pajama pants and back up, like he was trying to see what kind of boy Brendon was. Brendon bit down hard on his lip to keep still, suddenly conscious of the brush of flannel against his dick as it hardened. It had to be pretty obvious.
"That's cool," Jon said, though his eyes were maybe a little more enthusiastic. "It is kind of a different thing."
Brendon spent half a second staring at Jon's mouth, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to say next, how he was supposed to keep playing this game of not saying anything to the point, when Jon was naked--human naked--in his bunk. Then he gave up, tightening his fingers on Jon's neck and tugging him into a kiss.
Jon was totally with him, twisting his whole body to face Brendon, his hand coming to rest on Brendon's hip as his mouth opened to Brendon's. Jon's knee bumped against Brendon's thigh and Jon's tongue was in his mouth. Brendon felt the heat of Jon's body through his clothes, and realized all over again that Jon was naked and in his bunk. It was a whole different thing now. Jon's hand on his hip scrabbled up and down, at the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of his pants, like he couldn't figure out which one to go after first.
"This is seriously not fucking fair," Jon muttered. "You have all these clothes on all the fucking time, man."
"Sorry," Brendon said, almost a laugh. "Here, I'll--"
He shoved his pants down, and Jon followed his lead, pushing his shirt up. Brendon somehow managed not to hit Jon with an elbow or knee anywhere really bad, though once his shirt was over his head Jon's hand closed around his wrist and held it against the wall.
"I just, I've really been wanting," Jon muttered. He sounded apologetic, but he was nuzzling kisses down Brendon's throat, and Brendon really didn't see where he had anything to apologize for.
"I can--if you want me to stay still," Brendon said, and pressed his arm to the wall, keeping his hand slack under Jon's grip. He wasn't actually sure he could stay still, but he could think of lots of better things Jon could be doing with that hand, so it was worth a shot.
"You just have to stop petting me, or I'm going to get all fucking distracted, is the thing," Jon said, all of his words a tickling buzzing tease against the skin right next to Brendon's nipple.
"Right," Brendon said, knocking his knuckles against the bunk wall. "Right, no petting, got it."
Jon huffed a laugh and licked--lapped--at Brendon's nipple even as he let go of Brendon's wrist. In the next second, he had his hand on Brendon's dick. He wasn't playing around. He'd been wanting.
Brendon's hand dropped from the wall, reaching for Jon. He caught the nape of Jon's neck, curled his fingers in and pulled, tugging Jon up, writhing down to get closer to him. Jon had callused fingers and this little twisting motion going on and Brendon wasn't great at keeping quiet even when he wasn't getting jerked off by his very favorite bass player of all time. If he couldn't shut himself up with Jon's mouth, Ryan and Spencer would never let him live down what happened next.
Jon kissed him, still smiling, and his other hand slipped between Brendon's cheek and the pillow, cradling his face as Jon's hand moved on his dick, kind of fast, kind of rough, kind of a thousand times better than his own hand had ever been. Brendon wasn't exactly one to complain about finesse, now or ever. It was Jon, Jon's hand and Jon's mouth and all of Jon's bare skin pressed to his, Jon's legs tangled with his.
Jon was kissing him in little licks and bites and brushes of lips, and Brendon felt dizzy with it before long, couldn't figure out when to breathe and when to try to talk, when to lick at the taste of Jon, the feeling of lips on lips. He kept blurting incoherent half-syllables, and Jon was laughing into his mouth. Jon's eyes were nearly closed with smiling, bright and crinkled at the corners. Brendon dug his fingernails into Jon's nape and tipped his forehead just a little too hard against Jon's, coming on impact.
"You're going to have to kiss that better," Jon mumbled, his thumb sweeping gently at the corner of Brendon's mouth. His other hand was back on Brendon's hip, just holding on, no pressure.
"Oh, hell yeah, I’m kissing it better." Brendon shifted his hand down to Jon's shoulder, pushing until he got the idea and settled onto his back, letting Brendon brace himself over top of him, his back almost against the ceiling of the bunk.
Brendon started by making good on his word, pressing his lips softly against Jon's forehead, breathing against his skin as he brushed it with his lips. He planted his knee between Jon's legs at the same time, pressing his thigh low enough for Jon to grind up against. Jon didn't waste any time, pushing up against Brendon. He made a small sound, half laugh and half frustration, and rocked up again, slightly harder, still not getting enough friction. It was like that game where you held one finger against a person's forehead, and then no matter how they tried they couldn't get up. Jon just didn't have any leverage.
"I can pet you now, right?" Brendon didn't take his mouth away from Jon's forehead, though it was the lightest possible contact. Jon's dick twitched up against his thigh again, and Brendon knew he was going to be getting hard again just from that in a few minutes.
"Whatever you want," Jon said, but his hands settled on Brendon's hips, fingers digging in just a little, and Brendon knew he couldn't actually tease Jon for very long.
He brushed another kiss across Jon's mouth, and then dragged his lips along Jon's jaw. He had one hand planted beside Jon's shoulder, bearing his own weight, but Brendon slid the other down lower, over Jon's throat, tracing the lines of his collarbones and down onto his chest. He spread his fingers wide, taking in the texture of skin, the terrain of ribs and belly and the muscles that tensed under his touch. The brush of his thumb against a hard nipple made Jon's jaw drop, just a little, which Brendon might not have noticed without his mouth on it. A harder touch made him sigh, his hands tightening on Brendon's hips and his cock jerking.
"Bren," Jon murmured. "Seriously, please--"
Jon sounded almost desperate already, and he hadn't made Brendon wait at all, except for the weeks he'd spent being a kitten, which really wasn't his fault. Brendon shifted his weight, reaching his hand lower, but Jon shook his head. "Just--come here--"
Jon's hands tightened on his hips, pulling him down, and Jon's mouth pressed to his cheek for a second before Brendon got with the program. He settled his weight over Jon, his mouth on Jon's, kissing him and rocking down into him as Jon ground against his hip, bucking like Brendon's very own sweaty carnival ride. Brendon sunk his fingers into Jon's hair, tilting his head back, kissing him until neither of them could breathe and Jon came, muffling a groan against Brendon's mouth.
His hands finally let go of Brendon's hips, arms circling him and holding him down. Brendon wasted half a second thinking about how completely gross they were going to feel later, and then gave up.
Jon pulled his mouth away from Brendon's to mutter, "Sleep here?"
Brendon nodded, shifting down to settle his head on Jon's shoulder. He thought it was kind of a novel experience, being the one asleep on top, the one who got cuddled, and he even made his best approximation of a purr against Jon's skin before he fell asleep.
Part Two
iuliamentis!...for real, if you ever want me to write you birthday fic on your birthday, you are going to have to talk me through it. So weird writing without you! But I wanted to try the surprise thing, and here it is, only three weeks past when I meant it to be! Also, if this had been only as long as I thought it was going to be, it totally would have been finished a lot sooner. And, uh, sorry for posting this at a time when you probably can't read it. I... got excited? I JUST COULDN'T LIVE A LIE ANYMORE.
Anyway! Many many thanks to
missmollyetc for valiant and recursive beta, to strangecobwebs for letting me go on and on and ON about this, and to everyone else inside and outside the computer box who listened. You are all awesome. Um, and none of those people can be blamed for the title, that was all me (with a respectful bow to whoever wrote the original MCR fact which inspired it).
Jon/Brendon. NC-17. 14,439 words.
In which Jon Walker is sometimes a kitten.
(Panic! at the Disco Almost Changed Their Name to) Fuzzy Kitten Cuddle Time
The morning after Jon and Cassie broke up, Brendon found a kitten in Jon's bunk.
He'd heard the phone call the night before--they all had, he thought. There had been no snoring, no sleepy shifting, not even the tinny spill of music from headphones. There had been nothing but the white noise of the road and the hypnotic awfulness of Jon's heartbreak, his voice pleading and then resigned and miserable, just across the aisle. Jon's final small good-bye, the thump of the phone and the sound of Jon turning to lie with his face to the wall, all those sounds had been loud in the too-careful silence.
When Brendon woke up, it took him a few minutes to locate the source of his feeling of dread, and then he remembered. He could hear normal morning sounds from the front of the bus, loud without the background noise of driving. They were Here, wherever today's Here was, and Ryan and Spencer were getting breakfast. It was two people worth of noise, and they were the only ones who were that quiet together in the morning, with thirteen years of practice between them. Five months in, Jon was still new enough to talk.
Or at least, Jon talked on normal mornings; this was not a normal morning at all. Brendon listened with all his might for any sound from the bunk across the aisle, but everything was quiet now. He was nearly holding his breath, and even Ryan and Spencer's familiar silence seemed deliberate, like the whole bus was holding its breath, waiting to see what Jon would say or do.
And then there was this sound--more than a sound, a movement that made the curtain of Brendon's bunk flutter--and it was huge and strangely like an inhalation, but nothing like the sound of a mouth or throat. And it came from Jon's bunk.
Brendon was rolling out before he thought about it, landing with a thump on his knees between the bunks. He was already reaching toward Jon's curtain--because whatever that sound had been, it was in there with Jon--when another sound started up, stopping Brendon short.
Meowing.
Brendon stared for a few seconds at the closed curtain, and he heard a mug click down on the table up front. Spencer said, "What the fuck?"
Brendon hadn't imagined the meowing, then. He leaned forward. "Jon? Um. Jon?"
The meowing got louder, but Jon didn't answer. Brendon pushed the curtain back, revealing a gray kitten standing beside Jon's squished-up pillow. His tail was sticking straight up, and he was looking right at Brendon.
The kitten went silent as Brendon stared at it. It sat down and lifted one white paw, extending it toward Brendon and giving a single tentative meow. Brendon reached out instinctively, palm up, and the kitten laid its paw--soft, a little cool, with rough pads--in Brendon's hand. Brendon grinned, moving his hand gently up and down like they were shaking, and the kitten got back to its feet, resting some of its weight on Brendon's palm.
The door from the front slid open, and Spencer said, "Brendon, what--where's Jon?"
It was only then that Brendon really realized that Jon wasn't in Jon's bunk. The kitten's weight landed hard on Brendon's hand for a second, and then it was running right up Brendon's arm, perching on Brendon's shoulder. The kitten's side was fluffy-soft against Brendon's cheek as the kitten meowed up at Spencer.
Spencer said, "Seriously, what the fuck. Jon!"
The kitten just meowed louder, and Spencer made an irritated noise and stepped over Brendon, stomping toward the back lounge even as Ryan came into the bunks from the front. "Where'd the kitten come from?"
Brendon said, "Jon's bunk," even as Spencer said, "Where the fuck did Jon go?"
Ryan raised his eyebrows, looking down at Brendon and the kitten and then over his head at Spencer, with that look on his face that meant he and Spencer were having one of those psychic-twin silent conversations.
Spencer snapped, "Don't you fucking even," which pretty much confirmed it, because Ryan wasn't even doing anything.
Brendon sat down in the aisle and tugged the kitten off his shoulder.
"Hey, you," he said, rubbing his knuckles gently between its fuzzy ears.
The kitten shut its eyes and pushed into Brendon's touch, revving up a purr like a motorcycle engine. Brendon settled the kitten against his chest, holding it with one hand under its belly and stroking the other hand over his silky fur, ears to tail. The kitten batted its paws against Brendon's arm a couple of times, but the purring kept up, so Brendon figured he was doing it right.
Brendon was vaguely aware of Ryan sighing and walking off, and then Spencer said, "Where the fuck is he?" and went back up front.
Brendon lowered the kitten into his lap.
"You were in his bunk," he said to the kitten. The kitten stretched, showing its furry belly, and Brendon skritched it, which got the purring going again. "Jon must have brought you in and put you there. He probably went to get stuff for you, or find out where you came from, right? He wouldn't just leave you. He loves cats. He must be coming back soon."
The kitten meowed in what might have been agreement, or might have been something else. A second later, Brendon heard the rumbling of its tiny belly, and was suddenly aware of being hungry himself.
"I don't know what we have for you to eat," Brendon said apologetically, getting to his feet. The kitten climbed up onto his shoulder, and Brendon let one hand rest on the kitten's back as he walked up front to find breakfast for both of them.
Spencer was standing there, hip cocked viciously, talking to Zack. "He obviously went somewhere, because he's not here. And there's this kitten, which wasn't here when we left."
Zack glanced at the kitten and grimaced. Brendon thought he could see Zack calculating how long it would take before he became responsible for the kitten. Brendon was tempted to promise that he would totally feed the kitten and take care of it whenever Jon wasn't around, but Zack looked kind of like he'd heard that one before. Brendon stepped carefully past Spencer and his hip and Zack and his dubious look, and went over to where Ryan was pouring himself some coffee.
"Oh, hey, milk," Brendon said, and grabbed the carton of half-and-half. "Milk's good for kittens, right?"
"I'm just saying," Zack repeated, already sounding tired even though the day had barely started. "No one saw him leave, and apparently his phone is turned off. I'll go look around for him, but he's not late for anything yet, so let's not freak out."
"I'm not freaking out," Spencer said, in the same tight voice he used to use when he totally wasn't freaking out over Brent fucking off because he was homesick, or fought with his girlfriend, or was just miserable for some reason. He stomped off into the back lounge, cursing under his breath.
The kitten jumped down from Brendon's shoulder and tried to get its nose into Ryan's coffee.
"Hey, whoa," Brendon caught the kitten around his middle. "No way, that's hot."
"And mine," Ryan added firmly, yanking the mug away from the kitten.
Brendon rolled his eyes. "Ry, he's a kitten, like he has any idea what that means."
Ryan raised an eyebrow and then took the half-and-half out of Brendon's other hand. The kitten squirmed out of Brendon's grip and batted at the coffee pot, not quite making contact.
"I'm pretty sure it'll stunt your growth," Brendon informed the kitten, but the kitten stayed focused on the coffee.
"Oh, yeah, because he understands that," Ryan said, but he set the half-and-half down and rummaged around in the cupboard until he found a bowl.
Brendon poured out a puddle of half-and-half and made a little here-kitty noise. The kitten finally turned away from the coffee, looked at the bowl and then up at Brendon, and then back at the coffee, with huge kitten eyes.
"Okay," Brendon sighed. "A little."
He poured the teeniest possible bit of coffee into the bowl of cream and stirred it up, and the kitten happily ducked its head, lapping at its breakfast. Brendon just stood there, staring at the kitten's tiny pink tongue and the drops of cream that caught on its whiskers.
When the kitten finished, Brendon realized he still hadn't poured himself any coffee, and that Ryan and Zack had both disappeared without him noticing.
***
Over the next few hours, Brendon discovered that the kitten also liked to eat Fruit Loops and purple sugary milk, but was more interested in attacking the peel than sharing Brendon's banana. Other things the kitten would attack included Brendon's fingers and toes, Brendon's dirty socks, crumpled pieces of paper (whether thrown or sitting harmlessly on the table), and Brendon's phone.
The only way Brendon found to get the kitten to hold still for more than a few seconds at a time--other than letting it see coffee--was to turn his phone around and aim the camera. The kitten would go still, even--Brendon was convinced--striking its cutest poses on purpose, if Brendon said, "Say cheese!" or "Vogue!"
"You are so totally Jon's cat, huh?" Brendon asked, snapping his tenth straight picture of the gray kitten being adorable. "Hey, hey, did Jon take pictures of you?"
The kitten rolled onto its feet and meowed, tilting its head, but Brendon was already standing up, heading back toward Jon's bunk. The curtain was still pushed open, the pillow squished up like Jon had just been sleeping there. The kitten hopped up and inside, and Brendon knelt on the edge and leaned in as well, looking around. The photos stuck on the walls were the same--Jon hadn't taken down the ones of Cassie yet, even, and the only pictures of cats were of Dylan at different ages, not this half-grown gray kitten.
The kitten meowed, and Brendon looked down. The kitten was batting at Jon's phone, jammed between the mattress and the wall.
It wasn't just that Jon had it turned off; he hadn't taken it with him. Brendon looked around nervously, and quickly spotted Jon's camera case, tucked into the safest corner at the foot of the bunk, and that... that wasn't a good sign, either. Jon couldn't have meant to be gone for very long at all, if he hadn't taken his phone or his camera.
He knew he should talk to Ryan and Spencer about this, but they were doing that thing where Spencer got silently madder and madder, and to make up for it Ryan got silently calmer and calmer. Between them it might balance out, but mostly it just made for a lot of silence that Brendon didn't want to go disturbing; normally he had Jon, but now he just had the kitten.
Brendon reached for the kitten as he thought it, tugging the little bundle of fur into his lap. The kitten seemed to know that this wasn't a good time to declare war on Brendon's t-shirt; it cuddled against Brendon's stomach, warm and solid and steadier than something so tiny should be. Brendon petted the kitten even as he looked at Jon's phone, thinking about what he had to do. Then he pulled out his own phone, scrolled down just a little way through the contacts list, and called Cassie.
"Brendon," she answered with a sigh, even as Brendon blurted, "It's important! Don't hang up!"
There were a few seconds of silence, and then Cassie said, "Brendon?"
Brendon swallowed, and looked down at the kitten. It was looking up, but not at his face. At his phone, like it had heard Cassie's voice and knew what Brendon was doing.
"Jon's gone," Brendon said, petting the kitten until it settled into Brendon's lap and started purring again, paying no attention to the phone. "He was gone when I got up this morning, nobody's seen him, and he left his phone, and his camera, and this kitten we've never seen before."
Cassie was silent again, but Brendon focused on petting the kitten, keeping the purr going steady as a metronome, until she finally said, sounding tired, "Is the kitten gray with two white paws?"
"Yeah," Brendon said, cautiously.
The kitten had responded to her voice. Jon must have brought the kitten in here. Jon and Cassie had just broken up, and Cassie didn't seem surprised by any of this. It all had to fit together somehow, but it just didn't make any sense.
"If the kitten's there, then Jon will be back," Cassie said. "Probably for soundcheck, definitely for show time. He's just about physically incapable of letting you guys down."
There was an edge in her voice at the end, and Brendon knew without having to fit anything together at all that Cassie thought Jon had been capable of letting her down. Brendon had heard Jon's voice diminishing last night, though, and he'd seen the forlorn space Jon left behind him. He thought Cassie wasn't the only one let down.
"Do you think..." Brendon said, though he wasn't even sure what he wanted to ask before he trailed off.
"Brendon, don't--Jon can explain it when he gets back, if he wants to. I can't do this. I'm not--don't call again, all right? I have to go."
"Sorry," Brendon said, softly, still petting the kitten in the same steady motions. He thought it was nearly asleep now, and he felt worn out himself, as if he'd just done an entire set without anyone on stage to back him up.
Except the kitten, of course. Brendon set down his phone and fell slowly sideways onto Jon's pillow, tugging the kitten up to cuddle against his chest. The kitten didn't seem to mind, and Brendon fell asleep still listening to it purr.
***
Brendon woke up confused, Ryan gingerly poking his shoulder. "Bren, come on. Soundcheck."
Brendon froze, trying to get his bearings--everything was backwards, and--Oh God, if Ryan saw he was holding his old stuffed bunny he would never hear the end of it--and then he looked down and realized it was the kitten in his arms, and everything was backward because he was in Jon's bunk, on the wrong side of the aisle.
"Jon?"
Ryan shook his head, already getting to his feet, and the kitten started squirming, making tiny sounds smaller than proper meows. "Zack says nobody's seen him. Spence wants to go look himself after soundcheck, but Zack wants us all on the bus or with him."
Brendon shook his head. "He--wait, what? Does he think something...?"
"It's Zack's job to think stuff like that. Bren, come on. Soundcheck, seriously. Spence is waiting."
Brendon shook his head again, petting the kitten as it woke. He couldn't help smiling when it yawned hugely, showing its pink tongue and tiny fierce teeth. When he tried to set the kitten down, it clung to him, hooking its claws into his shirt, though it barely scratched the skin beneath.
"Hey, whoa, buddy," Brendon said, rolling out of the bunk and getting to his knees to try to detach his passenger. "You have to stay here. Soundcheck would probably freak you right out. I'll be back after, soon as I can, okay?"
Brendon knew Ryan was still standing there, and he sort of expected Ryan to point out that the kitten didn't understand a word of what Brendon was saying, but he kept quiet. The kitten made a mournful little noise, but retracted its claws and let Brendon set it back down in Jon's bunk.
"That's right," Brendon said, giving it a last few lingering pets. "We'll go to soundcheck, and hopefully Jon will show up, and then we'll have him back for you, huh? Then everything will be fine."
The kitten tilted its head and meowed, a long string of sounds like it was trying to say something. Brendon couldn't help meeting its eyes--though he wasn't sure if you were supposed to do that with cats or not--and listening intently all the way through.
"Sorry," Brendon repeated. "Soundcheck waits for no man. We'll see you when we're done, promise."
"Bren," Ryan said.
The kitten sat down and kept meowing, and Brendon wanted to stay, but the idea that Jon's kitten might get lonely was no reason to miss soundcheck--and anyway, if Jon was there waiting for them, somebody was going to have to be there to get between him and Spencer. It was likely to be at least a two-man job.
"Yeah," Brendon said. He got up, stuck his feet in a pair of shoes, and followed Ryan out. The kitten was meowing after them all the way to the door, and Brendon thought he could still hear the faint sounds after it closed behind them with a hydraulic hiss.
Spencer was standing just outside with Zack, looking impatient. He raked a look over Brendon, from his unlaced shoes to his bedhead.
"You have cat hair all over your shirt."
Brendon looked down, and realized his red t-shirt was covered with little gray hairs. He brushed at it a few times, raising a little cloud of hairs in the air between him and Spencer, and Spencer just huffed in annoyance and turned on his heel, striking out across the parking lot. Brendon and Ryan trailed after him, Zack splitting the difference like he was hitting his mark on stage.
Brendon heard the sound behind them and stopped dead. Zack was already turning as Brendon turned, Ryan following a second later, to see the bus door open and Jon stumble out. He looked like he'd gotten dressed in a hurry: his hair was all over the place, his t-shirt was the one Brendon had last seen wadded up at the foot of his bunk, and he was still pulling it down. He jogged awkwardly in flip-flops, covering the distance between them as quickly as he could.
Behind him, Zack muttered, "Christ, what," and then clicked his walkie-talkie on and started saying something in his I'm-in-charge voice.
Brendon grinned. "Jon Walker!"
Jon grinned back, and let Brendon pounce on him a little when he caught up, though Brendon only gave him a quick squeeze before letting go. Jon reached out and brushed at the cat hair on Brendon's shirt, and Brendon brushed at Jon's, where the hair had already rubbed off, even as he said, "Where did you come from? Where have you been all day?"
Jon's hand dropped, and so did his smile. "I was..."
Brendon watched Jon look past him, to Ryan and Zack and Spencer in turn. "You guys, I was. I was on the bus."
"You weren't fucking on the bus, Jon, we fucking checked everywhere on the bus," Spencer snapped, and Brendon winced. He was between them, at least. And Zack wouldn't let anything go on too long when they had soundcheck to get to.
Ryan just said, "Ha."
"Shut the fuck up, Ryan, he wasn't--"
"I was," Jon said, and he swiped at the front of Brendon's shirt and stepped up to flick a small puff of gray cat hair toward Spencer. "I wasn't exactly myself, but I--"
Jon stopped short, looking around at them again, bewildered. Brendon thought of the kitten, meowing frantically at him, and it started to actually, impossibly, fit together in his brain. Cassie had said if the kitten was there, Jon would be back. Cassie had known what the kitten would look like, and the kitten had always responded when they said Jon's name. The kitten hadn't been there the night before, and no one had seen Jon leave the bus.
"You guys, I thought--I thought you knew it was me."
At Brendon's side, Ryan cleared his throat significantly, and on his other side, Zack had turned his back and was muttering something that sounded like, "Not in my fucking job description."
Jon just kept looking more lost, and Brendon wanted to grab him, pull him close and pet him and make it okay, except clearly he hadn't been making anything okay at all.
"I thought--I mean, it's kind of hard to understand words when I--but you all saw me and you--you weren't worried. You weren't out looking. So I thought you had to..."
Jon's voice kept getting smaller, and all Brendon could think of was the way he'd talked to Cassie the night before, until he finally said, "You had to know where I was. You had to know I was there."
He turned his eyes on Brendon, silently pleading harder than the kitten had for coffee, but Brendon couldn't give him this, either.
"I didn't," Brendon said, his own voice coming out just as small. "I--Jon, I didn't--"
"How the fuck would he? That shit doesn't happen," Spencer snapped. "We weren't worried because there was nothing to worry about, Walker. We knew you'd be where you were supposed to be, that's what we goddamn got you for. Speaking of which."
Spencer turned on his heel and stalked off toward the venue. Zack cleared his throat and brushed a hand across Brendon's shoulder, but Brendon was staring at Jon, and Jon was staring at the ground, fists and jaw clenched. Brendon wanted to say something--Spencer was just freaked, Spencer had said way worse things to Brent (and that had been half the trouble by the end, the way Brent could never hear how scared Spencer was, and Spencer could never see that Brent was just taking cover or returning fire)--but there was nothing to say. Brendon hadn't known, and he still hadn't gone looking for Jon.
He'd worried, though.
"I called Cassie," Brendon blurted, even though Jon had to know that, didn't he? He'd been right there.
Jon's head jerked up, and there was something angry and hurt at once in his eyes.
"Oh, fucking thanks," Jon snapped. He pushed by Brendon and Ryan both, stalking after Spencer with stiff strides, and Brendon turned and watched him go.
"Did Cassie seem surprised?" Ryan asked, when Jon was out of earshot and they were following Zack across the parking lot, dragging their feet.
Brendon shook his head, watching the stiff set of Jon's shoulders. He could almost see the kitten's back arching, fur fluffing out to try to seem imposing. To hide how small he was, how easily hurt.
"Ha," Ryan said again, and Brendon realized, finally, that one of them had known, and it didn't really make it any better. Brendon had been right there. It should have been him.
***
By the time Brendon and Ryan got to soundcheck, Jon already had an open beer by his side. He didn't come back to the bus afterward, and when they saw him again, in the dressing room, there was another open beer in his hand and a definite flush on his cheeks, though otherwise he looked the same, tense and angry (or defiant, or hurt). Spencer just glared at him, and Ryan steered quietly clear, drawing Spencer's attention to himself without quite seeming to, avoiding the simmering conflict. He was taking the makeup to all new heights of elaboration, even by his own high standards, quietly demanding Spencer's help to get the edges just right.
That left Brendon to handle Jon, though he clearly didn't want to be handled. Jon got dressed when he would normally get dressed, warmed up the way he would normally warm up. Brendon went through his own routine, trying to ignore the attitude in the dressing room, keeping himself close to Jon, or at least between Jon and Spencer (SpencerandRyan, really, tonight) the best he could.
On stage, he split his time more evenly between Jon and Ryan than he usually did, and kept a nervous eye on Jon's fingers when he was pointed that way--but Jon was steady and reliable (like Brent had never been, even sober, even at the beginning when he wasn't angry or sad all the time). Even when Brendon thought he could hear Spencer messing with them a little, pushing or dragging the beat, Jon followed his lead, steadied them all, kept everything going smoothly.
The show was great, the crowd was roaring, and by the end of it Spencer seemed to have given up on being angry. Brendon couldn't tell whether it was the high of performing that made Spencer forget about it, or if Jon had passed some kind of test by getting through it without any fuckups. He kind of hoped it was the first, because if it was the second, then Spencer was either being kind of an asshole, or kind of practical. Brendon didn't know which would be worse.
***
Back on the bus, Spencer and Ryan disappeared into the back lounge immediately. Jon stood a moment, looking after them, and then turned and fell into a seat at the booth like he'd been told to. Brendon winced and sat down next to him. Brendon kept his hands on the table, only watching out of the corner of his eye as Jon steadily drained the last beer he'd brought back.
Brendon wanted to scoot closer, to reach for him. He wanted to pet Jon's hair and tell him things would be all right. But this wasn't just about Spencer being pissed, this was about Jon losing Cassie, about Jon turning into a kitten, and Brendon couldn't fix any of that, and he didn't know what any of it was going to mean.
He closed his eyes and opened his mouth. "I wish you were still a cat."
His stomach clenched even as he said it. Nobody had said it out loud like that so far, and he felt suddenly horribly certain that it had been a joke, and that he had just made himself the punchline.
But Jon's laugh was a single harsh syllable, punctuated with the hollow sound of his beer bottle hitting the tabletop. "I was better fuckin' company, huh?"
Brendon turned his head, looking directly at Jon for the first time since they got off stage. Jon was still frowning, still rigidly human, the furthest thing from the kitten who'd puddled in his lap, who he'd soothed with a touch. Jon was still hurt, and Brendon still couldn't fix it.
"You kept purring," Brendon said, even though that was kind of stupid, that was just what kittens did.
Jon looked back at him.
"You were purring," Brendon repeated. "It seemed like you were happy. I wish you were still..."
Brendon shrugged awkwardly, unable to quite say it.
Jon frowned a little, but it was a different frown, and then he shook his head. "That's the most fucked up nicest thing anyone's ever said to me, Brendon."
Brendon shrugged again and shut his eyes. "You're welcome."
Jon laughed again, again just a single breath, but softer this time. "Fuck, I am drunk," he mumbled. "I'm gonna crash."
Brendon nodded and stayed put, listening as Jon walked back into the bunks. He heard him stop halfway, and heard him say, loud enough to carry through the whole bus without quite being a shout, "Hey, Spencer Smith, I'm sorry I was such a pussy all day."
Brendon didn't hold his breath, he didn't, he just happened to inhale when Ryan called back, "Hey, Jon Walker, Spencer is sorry he was a bitch."
Ryan's voice rose toward the end, like Spencer was taking that out of him in tickles, and Brendon smiled, half asleep on the bench.
***
Later, after Spencer had made him wake up and go to bed, Brendon woke up again. It was still dark, the bus was still moving, and he was confused until he heard the soft, tentative meow.
Brendon pushed the curtain back, and the gray kitten--Jon--tumbled into his bunk. He stood up and meowed again, still sounding hesitant, and Brendon smiled. Jon could probably see that fine. Cats could see better in the dark.
"Yeah," Brendon whispered, "yeah, of course. C'mere, lie down."
He raised his arm, and Jon burrowed into his side, settling in against his ribs even before Brendon lowered his arm to cuddle him close.
Jon was purring again. Brendon went back to sleep with a smile on his face.
***
The morning after they all found out, Ryan saw the gray kitten slip out of Brendon's bunk and head quietly toward the front lounge. Ryan put his hand over the top of his coffee mug and watched Jon creep toward him.
Jon hadn't been surprised by what happened. Brendon said Cassie hadn't been surprised. This wasn't a new thing, which sort of begged the question of why they were only finding out about it after Jon had been in the band for five months.
It did explain some of William's direr mutterings about how they wouldn't be able to take care of his Jonny Walker properly, though.
Jon jumped up onto the far edge of the table, crouching low over the surface as if Ryan might not spot him, his eyes fixed on the coffee.
"So I guess kittens don't have hangovers, then," Ryan said. It was early, Spencer and Brendon were both still asleep. After last night, he wouldn't have been surprised if Jon stayed in his bunk straight through to soundcheck.
Jon's eyes and ears flicked in Ryan's direction, and his front paws flexed, claws suddenly appearing to click against the tabletop. So he might have a hard time understanding words when he was like this, but he'd gotten that loud and clear.
Ryan arched an eyebrow. "Try it, and I'll sic Spencer on you."
The momentary tension went out of Jon, and he gave a low, pathetic mrow. He slunk a few inches closer and collapsed on the table, giving Ryan a sad look.
"Dude," Ryan said. "It's your hangover, you earned it. No."
Jon raised a pathetic paw, batting weakly in the direction of Ryan's coffee. Ryan took a sip, and kept a firm grip on the mug. "Jon, seriously, you weigh like six pounds. One sip would be a venti red-eye. You'd have a little kitty heart attack and die."
Jon lifted his head and gave a single mournful meow that Ryan suspected meant Jon was pretty much willing to court death for coffee at this point. Ryan just shook his head. "And people call me emo."
Jon wriggled an inch or two closer without actually putting his paws down, still looking pathetic and eyeing Ryan's coffee.
"Jon, no," Ryan repeated. What had William said? There had been three things you always had to keep handy if you were going to have a Jonny Walker, none of which had made sense at the time. But if it hadn't been just William being drunk and territorial about Jon... meeeses had to mean mice, right? Probably the little stuffed ones with catnip inside? Because Brendon, at least, was going to object to feeding Jon real mice, and it'd be pretty gross, anyway. And Ryan didn't think they had any tuna on the bus, so that was no good, but the third and most important, Ryan Rossy, the mosssst important thing...
"Jon, I’m going to tell you a secret."
Jon didn't take his eyes off the coffee.
"Jon," Ryan repeated, speaking slowly and clearly. "Jon, Brendon has a feather boa."
Jon rolled up onto his feet, his attention suddenly and totally fixed on Ryan.
"I don't know where it is," Ryan said. "He hid it. But it's somewhere on the bus, and he'll totally let you play with it if you find it. I bet he's keeping it in his bunk."
Jon gave the coffee one last look, but Ryan said, "Feathers, Jon Walker. Brendon has feathers."
Jon whirled and was gone, barely making a sound as he landed on the floor, already running back to Brendon's bunk. A couple of minutes later, Brendon yelped, "Jon? Jon, what the fuck are you doing?"
Ryan smiled into his coffee and reached for his phone. It was time to let William know his band was taking care of their Jonny Walker just fine.
***
Brendon had gone out to buy a feather boa. Spencer had no idea why Brendon needed a feather boa right now, although it probably had something to do with the yelling that woke Spencer up at a totally unnecessary hour that morning. He wasn't really sure what the deal was. All he knew was that Ryan agreed to go with Brendon, in the too-willing way that meant it was probably Ryan's fault.
He knew that, and he knew Jon wasn't around. He knew there was cat hair on Brendon's shirt again, a shirt he hadn't been wearing yesterday or last night. Spencer almost held his breath as he slipped past the bunks--the curtains on Jon's and Brendon's were both closed, so Jon had to be in one of them.
Jon, regular old Jon, who was a hair shorter than Spencer with broad shoulders and brown eyes and an easy smile. Jon, who had two legs and two arms and opposable thumbs. Jon. He was probably sleeping or something, he had to have a fucker of a hangover. Spencer was being quiet because he was thoughtful, because he didn't want to wake Jon.
Spencer shut the door to the back lounge and breathed a sigh of relief--not that he was avoiding anyone, just... he hadn't woken Jon up. Right.
He dropped down to sit on the couch and reached for the remote. There was always something in the DVD player, and he really, really didn't care what he was watching right now. He turned it on, and--of fucking course--the theme music for The OC started up. Jon had been watching it when Cassie called.
On the other couch, a lump of blanket exploded and a gray kitten appeared, taking a few bounding steps toward the TV and then wriggling with something that certainly looked like happiness.
So it was Jon, then. Spencer didn't realize he'd laughed out loud until the kitten turned toward him, and then he almost choked on the sound.
He was a kitten.
Jon took a couple of slow steps toward Spencer, moving stiffly and carefully now, nothing like that gleeful leap toward the TV. He tilted his head, and then sat down, raised one paw, and flapped it up and down.
He was waving, Spencer realized. He could feel the surreal moment taking over his brain, and wondered if doing drugs felt like this--drinking didn't, drinking wasn't sharp and bright and immediate like this, the impossible made real in the back lounge.
Jon stopped waving, but he still didn't make a sound. He was holding perfectly still, not coming too close.
"Are you trying not to freak me out?" Spencer heard his own voice come out high and childish, and couldn't change it.
Jon's head tilted up and down, careful, deliberate motions. Totally unnatural for a kitten, but it was Jon. Jon wanted him to understand. Jon was nodding yes.
"I'm sorry," Spencer said helplessly, when what he wanted to say was go away, or stop it, or I want Jon back, where the hell is Jon?
He was sorry. Ryan had made a pretty good case for it not being Jon's fault, and it wasn't really like turning into a kitten was a wrong thing to do. Jon hadn't hurt anybody, it was a--a valid lifestyle choice or whatever, maybe he was born this way, it was just--it was so fucking crazy, and not the regular rock star kind of crazy, which Spencer was starting to get used to.
Jon stood up slowly, took another step closer, and sat down again.
Spencer bit his lip. It was Jon, and Jon--the real--the regular Jon--would be back later, just like he had been yesterday, and for now, Spencer just had to deal.
He looked away, toward the TV, and then back to Jon. "Which episode were you on?"
Jon looked toward the TV, then to Spencer, then came slowly across the distance, settling down beside him and reaching one paw toward the remote. It took a second for Spencer to work out that the kitten's pat on his hand was telling him which buttons to push, but he got it soon enough, and when the episode started up, Jon settled down beside him to watch.
Halfway through the episode, Spencer reached over without looking and rested one hand on Jon's back. Jon shifted a little, but into Spencer's hand, not away, so Spencer figured it was probably all right. He was soft and fuzzy, nice to touch, even if it was more like hanging out with a stuffed animal than the big dogs Spencer was used to.
Jon still did the same little gleeful bounce he always had, whenever Summer appeared on the screen. Spencer smiled at that, something unclenching somewhere in his stomach. That hadn't changed. He really was Jon in there.
Spencer wondered if Jon had always purred like that for Seth, and he just hadn't been able to tell before.
***
Jon showed up a couple of minutes after the rest of them for soundcheck, looking sheepish and shyer than he ever had when he was new. There were a couple of bits of bright pink down in his hair from the feather boa, but Brendon didn't point that out, and he didn't argue afterward when Jon went straight back to his bunk. Jon had been in constant motion since Brendon and Ryan and the feather boa had come back to the bus that morning. Brendon wasn't exactly sure how that worked, but if Jon wasn't exhausted from his kitten self's hyperactivity, he had to still be fighting off his hangover.
Whichever it was, he was sound asleep when Brendon went to wake him up for makeup call, his face mashed into the pillow, one hand tucked into the much-abused feather boa beside it.
"Jon?" He didn't so much as twitch. Brendon shook his shoulder gently, and Jon's sleepy noise of protest didn't sound quite like one of his kitten noises, but not entirely unlike one, either.
Brendon smiled, and shook harder. "Jon, Jon Walker, come on. Show time."
Jon turned his face toward Brendon, blinking and yawning hugely, as unselfconscious as a kitten. He stretched under Brendon's hand, spine arching, with his heavy-lidded eyes still fixed on Brendon, his mouth settling into a smile as it closed. His shoulder was solid and warm under Brendon's hand, and he was relaxed and happy, and Brendon wished he would never wake up all the way, would stay like this forever.
Before the thought had fully formed, Brendon's gaze flicked away from Jon's eyes to the photos that were still stuck to his bunk wall, Cassie smiling out at both of them, frozen in time by Jon's lens.
When Brendon looked down again, Jon's gaze was sharp and alert, and his smile was sadder.
Brendon squeezed his shoulder. "Show time."
Jon nodded and cleared his throat. "Yeah, be right there."
Brendon let go and stood up, but he didn't walk away fast enough not to hear the sound of tape pulling off the wall.
***
After the show that night, Ryan and Spencer took advantage of a late bus call to go off somewhere, hanging out with someone Ryan swore up and down was an old friend. Brendon noticed they took Zack, though, and he didn't argue when Zack asked quietly if he and Jon would stay on the bus, please.
Jon put his pajamas on as soon as they were back on the bus, rubbing his face and yawning when he came up front to find a snack. Brendon watched quietly as he shuffled around, thinking that he should probably go to bed himself. He couldn't help wondering if Jon would crawl in with him again, if he would wake up to that small, rumbling warmth against his side and know that everything was all right. It was almost a guilty thought, definitely a strange one, when Jon was still right there, four feet away, eating a cold Pop Tart in six bites.
Jon brushed crumbs off his t-shirt, and Brendon thought of the kitten fussily licking his paws after he'd been playing with the feather boa for a while. Jon stood up and stretched, showing a line of pale skin under his shirt, though Brendon found his eye drawn just as much to the way his spine stayed straight, steady, upright, even as his head tipped back and his fingers spread like retractable claws.
"I'm gonna--" Jon said, tipping his head toward his bunk.
Brendon nodded, standing up as well. "Yeah, me too. Long day, right?"
Jon nodded, already turning away, and Brendon followed him back to the bunks; it was only when they were both crouching down, pushing their curtains back, that Brendon thought, This is stupid.
"Hey," he said. "Hey, why don't you come in with me?"
Jon's eyes flicked up, something almost wary there, but not not-wanting, Brendon thought, just uncertainty. Brendon just had to give a reason, to make it okay.
He smiled. "I mean, I feel like I hardly see you anymore."
Jon flinched, looked back into his bunk, and--fuck, that had been the wrong reason, very much the wrong reason. What was it Cassie had said? He's incapable of letting you guys down. Unless Brendon told him he had.
"Whoa," he said quickly. "No, I didn't mean--I just--come on, please? Slumber-bunk-party?"
Jon looked at him again, and the corner of his mouth tipped up, like he was willing to be persuaded. "Two people's kind of a pathetic party, Bren."
"Well, yeah, but three's a crowd. Especially in a bunk, I mean, not that it can't be done, but someone always gets an elbow somewhere they shouldn't, and nobody can really move or talk and then inevitably somebody realizes they have to pee and everybody has to have brushed their teeth really recently and--"
"Brendon," Jon said, and he was actually smiling now. "Jesus, calm down. I brushed my teeth in the shower and I took a piss when I changed. I will come to your party. Get in."
Brendon bit his lip, to remind himself to shut the hell up--it was Jon, just Jon, he didn't have to be nervous. They'd crammed into bunks together lots of times, though Brendon wasn't sure he'd ever exactly invited Jon into his bunk to sleep. Unless you counted last night.
After another couple of seconds of Jon staring at him in patient silence, Brendon remembered to actually get in the bunk. Jon waited until he was settled and then squeezed in beside him. They shared Brendon's pillow, and Jon laid his head down and closed his eyes, but didn't say good night or really pretend he was asleep. Brendon thought Jon was waiting for something, and Brendon even kind of thought he knew what.
He cleared his throat. "So is it--are you, like, a were-cat? Or an animagus? Does it--" he hadn't really let himself think about it until he was saying it, but he remembered the sucking sound from the next bunk, like an enormous, inhuman gasp. "Does it hurt?"
Jon's eyes scrunched more tightly shut. "No."
Brendon waited a few seconds, but when he opened his mouth to ask which one, Jon finally opened his eyes.
"No to all of them. Not really. Not--it's not, like, the full moon or something, it's any time. I didn't get bitten by a radioactive cat. My mom says I learned it from my older brothers, and I guess they got it from our parents somehow. It's not--it's not, like, reading and studying and trying. I started doing it before I can even remember. I was just always, you know."
Jon laughed a little, shutting his eyes again as his cheeks tinted faintly pink. The reading light at the head of the bunk cast shadows from Jon's eyelashes.
Jon said carefully, deliberately, "I can't remember when I wasn't sometimes a cat. A kitten."
Brendon got the feeling he didn't say that out loud very often, and it made his heart beat faster, knowing Jon said it to him, even if it was obvious, even if he already knew. Jon hadn't had to say the words at all, but he'd said them to Brendon.
And now that he'd said that, other words just kept following. Jon still had his eyes closed, but Brendon watched the wrinkling of his forehead, the tension of his mouth. "Cassie--when I first tried to explain it to her, that's what she said, animagus. She explained to me about Harry Potter and everything, and that's kind of why I never read those books, you know? I didn't want to know what somebody else thought of it. But I think she never--I know you have to try really hard to do it in the story, and I think she could never really exactly understand that I didn't mean to do it, even after she--"
Jon stopped short, opened his eyes and met Brendon's, licked his lips.
"I don't--I really don't mean for it to happen," he said. "And it doesn't happen when I really, really need it not to, and all this time it never happened around you guys, you know? And never when I needed to work or something. Sometimes when I had class, but never when there was a test. So I guess, I mean. In a way she's right, I must have some kind of control over it, somehow. It's not a coincidence that I change back for soundcheck, and it's not a coincidence I didn't change for five months on tour with you guys, except when I was home on breaks."
It was Brendon's turn to wince. "And Cassie felt like she never saw you anymore, huh?"
Jon nodded. He didn't quite close his eyes this time, but he looked away, past Brendon's shoulder and down to their bodies, pressed together in the tight space.
"It wasn't fair to her, it really wasn't. And if--if she was as important to me as impressing you guys, or playing shows, or taking finals, then I wouldn't--"
"Hey, no way," Brendon said, unable to listen to the quiet way Jon blamed himself. "You were just--you were being yourself with her!"
And he hadn't been himself with them, not for five months--Brendon couldn't stand the thought that all this time, when Brendon thought Jon was settling in, getting to be friends, one of them, part of the band--all that time Jon had been working to impress them, couldn't be himself, like all the time they were together was time he was on stage, at work, and had to be standing up straight.
Jon looked up at Brendon. "Yeah, well. Apparently 'myself' is a cat, and Cass just isn't that kind of girl."
Brendon smiled, and swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat, the words that suddenly wanted to push out of his mouth. He was suddenly conscious of his knee pressing against Jon's thigh, of the careful small space between their bodies, the way he could feel the heat rising off their skin and collecting between them, the way he could smell that Jon had, in fact, brushed his teeth pretty recently. Jon was smiling back at him, and Brendon didn't know why, because he was pretty sure he didn't deserve that smile at all.
Jon closed his eyes again, lightly, his eyelashes shadowing his cheeks and his forehead smooth until a yawn scrunched up his face.
"Tired," he mumbled, and Brendon reached up and shut off the light, closing his own eyes. It seemed to work all right for Jon.
***
Brendon woke up sometime in the night to a tiny flurry of motion at his side, and he made an instinctive soothing noise as he reached into Jon's t-shirt to fish him out. Jon's meow was small, maybe sheepish, maybe grateful.
"No problem," Brendon muttered, and didn't really think before he settled Jon in the center of his chest, one arm curled around him. His heart thudded against his ribs in a startled-awake rhythm, but Jon was already purring steadily. Brendon was asleep again before he could give it much thought.
***
Brendon got used to it pretty quickly. They all did, he thought. They kept careful watch over their coffee, and always, always left the bathroom door open, and there was always a bowl of water on the counter. If anybody noticed anything floating in it, he dumped it out and refilled it from a bottle. Jon was Jon, sometimes with two legs, sometimes four, but always Jon. He was always where he was supposed to be, standing in his spot on stage. He was nearly always where Brendon expected him to be, curled against his ribs when Brendon woke up, purring in his sleep. He always really liked the hot pink feather boa, but sometimes he was more willing to play with it in the middle of the lounge, sometimes less.
Honestly, Brendon didn't think about it that much, except for the times when Jon would suddenly jump up, run out of the room on four silent feet, and come back a few minutes later on two loud ones, jeans sagging to show his boxers under a shirt he was still pulling down. At moments like that, Brendon couldn't really think about anything but Jon, and what was going on, and what kind of boy it made him if he thought about it too much.
Jon, for his part, would just finish pulling his shirt down, maybe hike his jeans up or maybe not. Then he would walk over and settle right back in against Brendon's side, or sprawl half across his lap, like he hardly even knew the difference, like he thought it was all the same to Brendon, too. Jon really wasn't helping matters.
***
It was kind of late, and they were already on the road. Ryan and Spencer were watching something in the back lounge. Jon was watching too, Brendon thought, except that Jon poked his fuzzy gray head through Brendon's bunk curtain before Brendon had read two pages of his book. He didn't even ask permission anymore, but he did hesitate a second. Brendon tucked his book between the pillow and the wall, turning onto his side and scooting back, giving Jon as much room as he would give the full-sized version.
Jon came in, stretched thoroughly, and sprawled across all the space Brendon had given him, flopping down bonelessly except for one ear, which twitched invitingly in Brendon's direction.
"Oh, I see how it is," Brendon murmured, but he was smiling. Ryan and Spencer were okay with Jon like this, but Brendon was the only one who would pet him as much as he liked, and it made Brendon feel stupidly pleased every time Jon sought him out for it.
Brendon started petting, long strokes from ears to tail, feeling Jon's fur silky-soft under his palm, the rumble of him like a motor, a wind-up toy compared to the steady growl of the bus's engine. Jon's head tilted to one side, his eyes resting half-closed, and Brendon felt himself growing just as relaxed. He didn't even tell his hand to move anymore, it just did, over and over, down the familiar curve of Jon's back.
It was almost like being jolted awake when Jon suddenly tensed, the purr cutting off. Brendon's hand stilled, but Jon didn't stand all the way, only rising into the crouch he usually used to attack a particularly wily shoe. He turned his head and looked Brendon straight in the eye, trembling with tension instead of with happiness, and Brendon got it suddenly. This was the moment he'd seen plenty of times already, the moment when Jon sprang up from whatever he was doing and ran off to change.
Except Jon wasn't running off.
Brendon forced his hand to move, rubbing the fur behind Jon's ears and running his hand down the hard line of Jon's spine. He knew what he had to say, and he said it. "You can stay, you don't have to go anywhere."
On the second slow stroke, Jon settled down flat, tucking his nose under his paws. Brendon petted him once more, holding his breath, waiting to see--Jon had said it didn't hurt, but how did it work? Brendon kept his hand on Jon--like holding his finger to the tip of a candle flame when he was a kid--but a sensation of something, like static electricity, like the sudden sharp vibration of a plucked guitar string over the entire surface of Jon's small body, made him jerk back. Brendon sneezed, of all things, instinctively turning his head away to press his nose and mouth to his shoulder, and when he looked back Jon was there, face down in his bunk, naked. Jon.
Brendon's hand was still in midair between them, and Jon looked just as tense as he had a few seconds ago, face hidden in his folded arms. Brendon reached out cautiously, his fingers curling in like Jon's skin would burn him. He touched his knuckles to the nape of Jon's neck, trailed the touch all the way down his spine, right to his tailbone. Brendon stopped just short of the naked curve of Jon's ass, forcing himself not to think too hard about it--maybe it was all the same to Jon, somehow. Maybe he'd stayed for some reason Brendon didn't understand. Brendon couldn't be sure he was as good at reading a kitten's expressions as he thought; he couldn't know what that look had meant.
Brendon raised his hand, forcing his fingers to uncurl, and skritched a little through Jon's hair, just at the base of his skull. Jon finally moved, shuddering, his shoulders sinking down, his whole back losing its tension. Brendon dared to pet him with an open hand then, again and again down the line of his spine, trying not to think about soft, bare skin instead of velvety fur under his palm, trying not to think about anything but how nice it was that Jon seemed comfortable now.
It was a little weird to pet him and not feel him purring, though.
Jon turned his head as Brendon was reaching for the nape of his neck again, just enough to let Brendon see one of his eyes, heavy-lidded and creased at the corner with a smile.
"You've noticed I'm not a kitten anymore, right?"
Brendon's stomach flipped. It was a lot harder to mistake that look, and the low, warm rasp of Jon's voice. He let his hand settle on the back of Jon's neck, kept his voice easy just like Jon's.
"You've noticed you're in my bunk naked, right?"
Jon shrugged and turned his face all the way out of his arms, so Brendon could see his entire lazy smile. Brendon held on to the back of Jon's neck, his wrist resting lightly on Jon's throat.
"In my defense, I'm actually in your bunk naked pretty often."
Brendon was smiling back, he knew he was, and he just hoped to God it didn't look as crazed as it felt. Jon was acting like this was no big deal, and Brendon was going to blow the whole thing any second.
He licked his lips, and Jon's eyes followed the motion, and Brendon's smile widened a little. Oh, yeah, he was going to blow something.
"Well, Jon," Brendon said. "I'm not actually that kind of boy."
"Yeah?" Jon's eyes skimmed lower this time, down to Brendon's pajama pants and back up, like he was trying to see what kind of boy Brendon was. Brendon bit down hard on his lip to keep still, suddenly conscious of the brush of flannel against his dick as it hardened. It had to be pretty obvious.
"That's cool," Jon said, though his eyes were maybe a little more enthusiastic. "It is kind of a different thing."
Brendon spent half a second staring at Jon's mouth, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to say next, how he was supposed to keep playing this game of not saying anything to the point, when Jon was naked--human naked--in his bunk. Then he gave up, tightening his fingers on Jon's neck and tugging him into a kiss.
Jon was totally with him, twisting his whole body to face Brendon, his hand coming to rest on Brendon's hip as his mouth opened to Brendon's. Jon's knee bumped against Brendon's thigh and Jon's tongue was in his mouth. Brendon felt the heat of Jon's body through his clothes, and realized all over again that Jon was naked and in his bunk. It was a whole different thing now. Jon's hand on his hip scrabbled up and down, at the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of his pants, like he couldn't figure out which one to go after first.
"This is seriously not fucking fair," Jon muttered. "You have all these clothes on all the fucking time, man."
"Sorry," Brendon said, almost a laugh. "Here, I'll--"
He shoved his pants down, and Jon followed his lead, pushing his shirt up. Brendon somehow managed not to hit Jon with an elbow or knee anywhere really bad, though once his shirt was over his head Jon's hand closed around his wrist and held it against the wall.
"I just, I've really been wanting," Jon muttered. He sounded apologetic, but he was nuzzling kisses down Brendon's throat, and Brendon really didn't see where he had anything to apologize for.
"I can--if you want me to stay still," Brendon said, and pressed his arm to the wall, keeping his hand slack under Jon's grip. He wasn't actually sure he could stay still, but he could think of lots of better things Jon could be doing with that hand, so it was worth a shot.
"You just have to stop petting me, or I'm going to get all fucking distracted, is the thing," Jon said, all of his words a tickling buzzing tease against the skin right next to Brendon's nipple.
"Right," Brendon said, knocking his knuckles against the bunk wall. "Right, no petting, got it."
Jon huffed a laugh and licked--lapped--at Brendon's nipple even as he let go of Brendon's wrist. In the next second, he had his hand on Brendon's dick. He wasn't playing around. He'd been wanting.
Brendon's hand dropped from the wall, reaching for Jon. He caught the nape of Jon's neck, curled his fingers in and pulled, tugging Jon up, writhing down to get closer to him. Jon had callused fingers and this little twisting motion going on and Brendon wasn't great at keeping quiet even when he wasn't getting jerked off by his very favorite bass player of all time. If he couldn't shut himself up with Jon's mouth, Ryan and Spencer would never let him live down what happened next.
Jon kissed him, still smiling, and his other hand slipped between Brendon's cheek and the pillow, cradling his face as Jon's hand moved on his dick, kind of fast, kind of rough, kind of a thousand times better than his own hand had ever been. Brendon wasn't exactly one to complain about finesse, now or ever. It was Jon, Jon's hand and Jon's mouth and all of Jon's bare skin pressed to his, Jon's legs tangled with his.
Jon was kissing him in little licks and bites and brushes of lips, and Brendon felt dizzy with it before long, couldn't figure out when to breathe and when to try to talk, when to lick at the taste of Jon, the feeling of lips on lips. He kept blurting incoherent half-syllables, and Jon was laughing into his mouth. Jon's eyes were nearly closed with smiling, bright and crinkled at the corners. Brendon dug his fingernails into Jon's nape and tipped his forehead just a little too hard against Jon's, coming on impact.
"You're going to have to kiss that better," Jon mumbled, his thumb sweeping gently at the corner of Brendon's mouth. His other hand was back on Brendon's hip, just holding on, no pressure.
"Oh, hell yeah, I’m kissing it better." Brendon shifted his hand down to Jon's shoulder, pushing until he got the idea and settled onto his back, letting Brendon brace himself over top of him, his back almost against the ceiling of the bunk.
Brendon started by making good on his word, pressing his lips softly against Jon's forehead, breathing against his skin as he brushed it with his lips. He planted his knee between Jon's legs at the same time, pressing his thigh low enough for Jon to grind up against. Jon didn't waste any time, pushing up against Brendon. He made a small sound, half laugh and half frustration, and rocked up again, slightly harder, still not getting enough friction. It was like that game where you held one finger against a person's forehead, and then no matter how they tried they couldn't get up. Jon just didn't have any leverage.
"I can pet you now, right?" Brendon didn't take his mouth away from Jon's forehead, though it was the lightest possible contact. Jon's dick twitched up against his thigh again, and Brendon knew he was going to be getting hard again just from that in a few minutes.
"Whatever you want," Jon said, but his hands settled on Brendon's hips, fingers digging in just a little, and Brendon knew he couldn't actually tease Jon for very long.
He brushed another kiss across Jon's mouth, and then dragged his lips along Jon's jaw. He had one hand planted beside Jon's shoulder, bearing his own weight, but Brendon slid the other down lower, over Jon's throat, tracing the lines of his collarbones and down onto his chest. He spread his fingers wide, taking in the texture of skin, the terrain of ribs and belly and the muscles that tensed under his touch. The brush of his thumb against a hard nipple made Jon's jaw drop, just a little, which Brendon might not have noticed without his mouth on it. A harder touch made him sigh, his hands tightening on Brendon's hips and his cock jerking.
"Bren," Jon murmured. "Seriously, please--"
Jon sounded almost desperate already, and he hadn't made Brendon wait at all, except for the weeks he'd spent being a kitten, which really wasn't his fault. Brendon shifted his weight, reaching his hand lower, but Jon shook his head. "Just--come here--"
Jon's hands tightened on his hips, pulling him down, and Jon's mouth pressed to his cheek for a second before Brendon got with the program. He settled his weight over Jon, his mouth on Jon's, kissing him and rocking down into him as Jon ground against his hip, bucking like Brendon's very own sweaty carnival ride. Brendon sunk his fingers into Jon's hair, tilting his head back, kissing him until neither of them could breathe and Jon came, muffling a groan against Brendon's mouth.
His hands finally let go of Brendon's hips, arms circling him and holding him down. Brendon wasted half a second thinking about how completely gross they were going to feel later, and then gave up.
Jon pulled his mouth away from Brendon's to mutter, "Sleep here?"
Brendon nodded, shifting down to settle his head on Jon's shoulder. He thought it was kind of a novel experience, being the one asleep on top, the one who got cuddled, and he even made his best approximation of a purr against Jon's skin before he fell asleep.
Part Two