die trying // discontinued

13 // irl

a/n // art is related,,, nsfw, kids yIKES
[artist unknown s orry,, let me know if you know plsplspls]
direct continuation of last chapter !!

Surprisingly, Brendon behaves himsef; he doesn't refer once to his earlier behavior or comment, just grins and acts like he's kidding, before turning back to The Lion King. Eventually, he started to lean into Dallon's shoulder, yawning, which resulted into him laughing softly, yet accepting it.

He didn't realize he was starting to drift off until he felt Brendon snuffle, curling further into his chest before falling back to sleep, one of Dallon's hands in his hair, the other around his waist. He smiled, before letting his tired eyes closed and giving into sleep.

That was how he woke up the next morning; wound up in Brendon, legs and arms coiled together, pressed together like they could've fused.
"Good morning." Dallon's voice is low, a croon of a tone smoother than honey; his jaw resting on Dallon's chest, Brendon just stares, and realizes that wow, he's beautiful. He shuffles so he's straddling Dallon instead, and the two just make eye contact and hold it beautifully, brown clashing against icicle ocean blues.

There's such a rush of emotions welling up in Brendon, but every single thought is dallondallondallon - Brendon grips Dallon's face and surges forward, kissing him hard, hoping every ounce of love somehow conveys - Dallon smiles against his mouth, and he thinks it does. "You could've just said 'I like you'." Dallon says, breathless, searching Brendon's eyes, committing every shade of chocolate to memory, wonders where they can compare anywhere else in color or beauty. Brendon nods, leaning in to kiss him again, cold fingers creeping under Dallon's shirt. When he jerks away from the touch, he laughs and digs his fingers into the pointed edges and angles of his sides, tickling relentlessly until Dallon yells and laughs, trying to bat his hands away with little results.

Brendon keeps his fingers dancing along Dallon's skin, until he accidentally brushes against his nipple. His giggles catch in his chest, and it all dissolves from there. "Fuck," he breathes, pressing into Brendon's now very deliberate touches. Brendon fumbles with the button of Dallon's far too tight skinny jeans, rumpled from being slept in - he eases them down his thighs, but not before looking up as if asking for permission. "Are you okay with doing this? I don't wanna do anything you're not comfy with." Dallon laughs at his expert usage of the term comfy, and just nods, eyes half shut. "God, just do it, nerd." He presses a kiss against Brendon's temple - he takes this as consent, because consent is always important, and pulls down the jeans over his knees.

Dallon's legs tense, muscles jumping and twitching under golden skin. Not in the mood to tease, he pulls Dallon's boxers down, placing another sloppy kiss in the crease of his thigh before lowering his mouth to Dallon's dick. He's never been someone who loves putting what Gabe's called 'pee parts' on too many occasions in his mouth, but for Dallon, he doesn't really mind.

He keeps one hand massaging small circles into Dallon's hipbone, the other one wrapped around what Brendon can't fit in his mouth. Dallon's whimpering is near constant, little whines and gasps that shudder through his whole body. Every single one of Brendon's nerve endings is a litany of dallondallondallon; the fingers tugging gently in his hair, the hand cupping his jaw, every sense alive and receptive to him. It's not long before Dallon's tapping jerkily on his shoulder in warning, but he just flicks his tongue under the head and swallows as neat as he can, ghosting hands and featherlight touches over Dallon's lax thighs.

"Jesus fucking Christ," He pants, staring at Brendon with a look far too close to pure, animal lust; he pushes Brendon back, careful as not to make him smack his head into the coffee table, but so he hits against the couch on his back, and kisses him, long and hard - grins as Brendon gasps against his lips, sighs as Brendon slips his tongue into his mouth.
"Fuck," Brendon pants as Dallon pulls away for oxygen, arms bracing either side of his head; Dallon makes quick work of Brendon's shirt, undoing buttons as fast as he can, leaving a whole new frontier of skin to mark as his. "Wanna fuck you so bad," He says in between wheezes, "Can I?" Brendon can't nod fast enough.

Dallon doesn't fuck like Brendon does; he's not gentle. He doesn't wait patiently or ask if things are okay midway through.

(However, he would stop if asked, because it takes respect to be a top, obviously, so you have to do these sorts of things).

He pins back Brendon's arms above his head - when Brendon's eyes widen he just gives him a little smirk, before working on unbuttoning his jeans, slipping his hand into his underwear and rocking his hand against Brendon's dick, which had been hard enough before he'd decided to make out with him. Brendon lets out a low, long moan, eyelids fluttering as his hips buck up into the sweet release of friction, desperate to get off.

Predictably, he doesn't last long before he's whimpering and squirming, begging, "Sir, sir, please, l-let me c-come, God," and Dallon lets him, kissing him hard as he releases, both of them moaning in harmony.

Brendon kisses him again, shorter but equally breathless, oh-so-desperate for round two; Dallon laughed at his eagerness, instead sighing, suggesting, "Shower?" - Brendon didn't exactly complain.