Brendon Urie: Imagines and ficlets

Wanna play doctor? 2/2

He doesn't bring it up when he knocks on the door, asking if you want to go to the diner down the highway for breakfast. But he is even more of his usual self: flirty, nervous yet talky, touchy, giggly. A smooshy baby boy. You respond in kind, and wonder if any of it means what you probably want it to mean.

You hint at it three days later, in a way you can just say is a lighthearted but hammy flirt if needed, when he's sore from sleeping in the bunk three nights in a row. "Shit. My neck and shoulders. Must've slept on them wrong."

"Hey, B, wanna play doctor? Or would this be more like play massage therapist?" you tease, hand resting on the back of his neck, lightly massaging. He smiles soft, still cringing, and you get to it. He's noisy: sighs, gasps, mmms, even a couple moans. Maybe even exaggerating—no he is, the goober. Doesn't stop it from sounding so delicious though, and getting your cunt all worked up. You tug on his hair gently, scritch his scalp, the nape of his neck, between cautious pressing, massaging his muscles.

Jon and Ryan come in, Jon smiling, Ryan rolling his eyes. "Noisy pup," you whisper in his ear. He ruffs quietly, and you pet his hair as he nuzzles into you, bum wriggling like a dog waggling his tail, smiling and mmming when you kiss his hair, ear. Ready to ask him something else, you think, your heart is pounding enough that you think you will—but Zack comes in to tell people to get a move on, halting your plans.

Post show, with the band and others, Jon and Brendon break out into the Backstreet Boys, and you join in. "Tell me why!" It devolves into giggles, Quit Playing Games, pot, munchies, Spice Girls, and Disney songs. And your favorite Disney movie, Bambi. Then Jon and Brendon's heads on your lap as you play with both their hair, scalps, Jon saying he should totally get shaggier hair. He does have a nice beard to play with though. B pouts at that. "But you've totally got better lips, Bren..." He purses for a smooch, and you lay one on him. "I'm just not sure whether you're Bambi or Flower. Probably Flower, the little flirt, even though you have those Bambi eyes. And Jon's Thumper." He thumps his foot rapidly on the floor and B makes doe eyes, lashes fluttering as you all giggle.

That night, you dream of him, and it feels so real. It carries on from after your shower escapade, only he's waiting for you when you come out. "So you like me, huh?" he grins. You nod, and because it's a dream: bam, you're making out on the hotel room carpet, you only in a towel, him in jeans, laying on top of him, pressing your mound to him already.

"Wanna feel how this is getting you," he murmurs, so you straddle his hips, more kisses, rocking on the crotch of his jeans. He caresses you from thigh to mound. You're embarrassed that he knows you came, and twice at that, thinking about him but too turned on to worry about it. You lift for his hand, trapping it between his damp from you jeans and your vulva. "So hot and wet already..."

You just nod. You kiss him more as he's rocking his hand over you, fingers sliding through the wetness, spreading it all over your inner pussy, even the hair on the outer lips. You rock back. Impatient, you guide his guide his hand through a couple orgasms: two fingertips on your clit making little circles. Then sliding the fingers down, pressed along your labia, massaging most of you, bulbs, inner lips, clit, holding him by the wrist, fucking his fingers. Switching to his whole hand, rocking it and your pelvis to the second. You kiss all over his face, neck, sucking, and he moves to return the favor when you kiss over his shoulder. Dear god, that's good, and in real life too, for the both of you.

You lick over his hand, then let go, and he slides fingers in his mouth, sucks, licks his palm as you grind on his tummy, mucking your boy all up.

You shift to his clothed dick and balls, and he goes from breathing kinda heavy and gaspy to moany too. You doubt he's wearing any underwear, want to feel him right on you.