#but damn TWTL!B is my guilty pleasure

[loverontheleft]

Next Round’s On Me

AU!Brendon x reader. Inspired by a post from @warmbeebosoftbeebo: (these are excerpts) “where’s the fic at where’s he’s a hairdresser/cosmetologist? (it was what he was gonna do if they didn’t want him to stay in panic/panic didn’t work out)...also stuff like him as a nurse, massage therapist, secretary, waiter/bartender/barista, customer service phone operator, etc. fics where he lives in a shabby bachelor apartment…” Oh my dear, ask and ye shall receive 😍

I know y’all wanted the AU!Brendon in college with the high sex, or RtL 30, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about this.

Word count: 4.9k Warnings: pretty vanilla. Fluffy at times, oral, maybe some mild dirty talk? language, sex with a condom, etc.

-||-

You’ve been sitting at this bar for a solid hour and you’re only drinking water. You check your phone again, hopelessly, and flip it over, screen down, and swear under your breath.

The bartender approaches- again- and looks at you curiously. “You still waiting?” Bless him, he’s got a water pitcher in his hand.

You look at him and shrug. “I don’t think I’m waiting anymore; I think now I’m processing the fact that I’ve been stood up.” He sets the water pitcher down and frowns.

“You?” He’s surprised and you’re not sure what to do with that. “Sorry, it’s just - you seem nice enough and you’re pretty and you don’t give off any crazy vibes...so…” he shrugs, pushing his dark hair back into its elaborate-for-a-bartender coiff. “I just don’t get it. He’s an idiot to not show up. Sorry if that’s too...whatever.” He blushes a little. “I’ll just-“ and he gestures awkwardly behind him and starts to leave.

“No, stay,” you say suddenly and he freezes. “I do want a drink now and I didn’t plan on drinking alone, so let me buy you a drink for being nice. I am a catch and he’s an idiot for standing me up.”

He grins, relaxing into his familiar role and reaching under the bar for two shot glasses. “I’ll drink to that. But this one’s on me.” He quickly rims the shot glasses with lemon juice and sugar, eyes darting to yours to make sure you’re good with a lemon drop and you nod. He quickly mixes the vodka, lemon juice and simple syrup before expertly slicing a lemon into wedges and sugaring the wedges. He slides one across the bar to you and you accept it gratefully. He raises his shot glass, taps it against yours, saying, “to knowing your worth and value,” before the two of you each take the shot.

“Damn,” you say, after sucking on the sugared lemon wedge and watching him suck on his, “that’s the best lemon drop I’ve had. I know it’s not a hard recipe but - damn.” He smiles appreciatively and you can’t quite read his face as he clears the glasses off the bar. There’s a silence and you study him as he sets the glasses in hot soapy water. He’s handsome, you decide, remembering the little thrill that went through you when his lips closed around the lemon wedge. He’s handsome and you don’t want him to leave. The bar is mostly empty anyway; it’s just another couple at the other end of the bar and they’ve been giggling and holding hands, playing with each other’s fingers and kissing for long lengths of time - basically it’s nauseating and you wish they’d just leave. You turn your attention back to him and he meets your gaze steadily. “So,” you say slowly, “tell me about yourself.”

He grins. “Mama said don’t talk to strangers.”

You roll your eyes, laugh a little, and hold out your hand. “Y/n.”

He takes your hand and shakes it playfully. “That’s what I hoped you’d say. Brendon.” His voice is smooth, you realize, and his eyes...well, you might already be drowning in their depths. “And now that we’re not strangers,” he says, “I can tell you about myself, if you still want to know.” He ends with a little uncertainty in his tone, and you smile.

“How fucked up would that be, to introduce myself and then decide I don’t care and just leave?”

He shrugs. “Fair enough. I’m Brendon, and this,” he says as he gestures around himself, “is only temporary. Bigger things on the horizon.” You must look confused and he elaborates. “I’m working here to a, survive in general, and b, pay my tuition at Aveda.” You choke on your water and he looks concerned.

“You’re at Aveda? The beauty school?” When he nods, you look impressed. “Damn...my friend dropped out of Aveda last year. She’s phenomenal and she said the program was too rigorous and she couldn’t handle it. So...you must be really good...like, really fucking good. Incredible, even.”

“I’m trying really hard to look humble right now,” Brendon laughs, “but you’re making it difficult. I’m pretty good, yeah. I’ve got three more months in the program, but my instructor said I could work double-shifts on the training floor, if I wanted, and graduate in less than two. I’m talking a lot, I’m sorry.” He blushes again and you like the flush of color on his neck and cheeks.

“You don’t need to apologize; I asked. Keep talking. I like your voice.” You make a face. “Sorry, that was weird. I just mean-“

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says with a grin. “I’m not sure if I’m going to do the double-shifts, because it’ll probably conflict with band rehearsals. I sing in this band; we’re trying to make something of it I guess,” he explains.

Your eyes rove over him, taking in the hair and the eyes and the lips and the assured, languid, almost sexy, way he carries himself and leans over the bar and meets your eyes. Yeah, you could see him on stage, girls going fucking nuts. Hell, at this point, you might be one of them. “A bartender who sings in a band and is a cosmetologist,” you muse. “I’m impressed. When’s your next show?”

“Almost a cosmetologist,” Brendon corrects good-naturedly. “As for the show...not sure. We’re dealing with a flakey bassist and trying to find a replacement.” You nod, understanding, and he nods his head towards the menu to your left. “You want anything else?”

You hesitate and he reaches under the bar for a notepad. He glances at you, smiles, and scrawls something down before ripping the page off and, with surprising grace (only because you surely would have tripped by now) spins on the spot and holds the paper to the wall before stealing a thumbtack from another sign (he doesn’t seem to care or notice when it flutters to the ground) and stabbing his sign into place. “Nice, pretty girls drink for free when Brendon is on shift,” he says, meeting your eyes. “Bar policy, see?” He gestures behind him at the yellow piece of paper he’s just posted. His exact words are in Sharpie on the wall.

“I bet you do that with every ‘nice, pretty’ girl,” you comment, feeling yourself blush now.

“Nope.” He doesn’t continue, elaborate, or clarify; his eyes still on yours.

Your breath catches in your throat and you believe him. “Well, it was smooth.”

“Don’t give me too much credit, I fully expected it to fail in some way. It was a small miracle that I didn’t fall and bust my ass or stab myself with the thumbtack. So what can I get you?”

“Surprise me,” you decide, shrugging. “I don’t really like rum, dark or light. Vodka and tequila though…” and you grin.

He nods and grabs a short glass and a stainless steel pitcher from the fridge before reaching up and grabbing two bottles and pouring at, what seems to you, total random, but he’s concentrating, so there must be a recipe he’s mentally following. “Voila.” The drink is gorgeous and you tell him this, impressed. “Cranberry screwdriver. Cranberry vodka, orange juice, and Grand Marnier.”

“Top shelf,” you muse, and he nods, winking at you playfully, reminding you to know your worth. “Am I drinking alone?” The question falls breathlessly from your lips and he shakes his head, duplicating the drink quickly. “You won’t get in trouble for this, right?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. So tell me about you.” You both take a long sip from the drink and your eyes go wide.

“That’s so good,” you tell him and he smiles, nodding. “Okay, me...uh...fuck, I don’t know. Give me more specific questions.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a writer.” You pause and laugh. “Which is to say, I’m a waitress who is revising her manuscript of her first novel for the ninth time without having submitted it anywhere.”

Brendon looks impressed. “A writer, huh? What do you write?”

“A little of everything. I’ve been writing for years; contemporary fiction, historical, romance, ghost-written for newspapers and magazines...but my novel is...I guess you’d call it psychological? A psychological thriller? I hope that’s how they describe it, if it ever gets published, at least.”

“You should submit it. Stop revising and submit it.”

You hesitate before considering. “Okay. Okay. Maybe I will.”

“Good.” He takes another long sip of his drink it reminds you of how good it is, prompting you to take another sip as well. “What restaurant do you work at?”

“Jag’s,” you say simply and he laughs a little. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because,” he says, trying to stop laughing, ”you are so above my pay grade.”

“Hey,” you protest, “It’s not like I own the place or even manage it, I just wait tables.”

“Yeah,” Brendon nods, “and the odds of me ever coming to visit you at work to casually ask to be seated in your section and flirt with you the entire time just plummeted.”

“You’d come flirt with me?”

He blushes and takes another sip. “I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry. I just get anxious sometimes and things slip out. I shouldn’t have said that, that was so inappropriate; I’m so sor-“

“No,” you assure him, nudging his glass with yours. “I didn’t mind. It was sweet.” He relaxes a little and you smile at him. “Really.”

“So when you’re not waiting on this city’s wealthiest or writing, what do you do?”

You consider. “Well, I love sleeping.” He laughs and you grin. “And...god I’m boring, aren't I? I write and work and sleep and let my friends set me up on blind dates and that’s my life. Damn.”

“What I’m hearing is, if I want to accidentally-on-total-purpose run into you again, I’ll have to find you in bed.” He bites his lower lip and you definitely feel something deep in the pit of your stomach. “Or just hope that another blind date chooses this bar on one of my shifts and bails. Or is sketchy enough that you’d willingly let me steal you away.”

“I’m not letting my friends set me up with anyone else.”

“Good plan. But why were you on a blind date in the first place?” He's leaning forward, elbows on the bar. “Why is there no guy barging in here to yell at me to stop hitting on his girlfriend? You’re smart, funny, nice, and gorgeous. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I’ve been promoted from pretty to gorgeous?” He nods and you grin. “An excellent question, one for which I have no answer.” You quip and he shakes his head.

“A travesty.” The couple at the other end of the bar flags him down and he pauses. “I’ll be right back.”

You watch him walk and try to control your thoughts. He’s the gorgeous one, you tell yourself, eyes closing briefly as you remember the lemon wedge between his lips and how he met your eyes when he told you nice, pretty girls drank for free. He’s gorgeous and kind and funny, but he’s also awkward and self-conscious and anxious - you love it. He’s real. He’s not the typical guy, hiding his insecurities or putting on a front. He’s real and you’re definitely attracted to him. He’s closed out the other couple’s tab and they’re leaving. As they pass you, the girl catches your eye and grins. “Get it,” she mouths, giving you a thumbs up. You blush and she winks, turning back to her boyfriend.

“So where were we?” Brendon is back in front of you and he’s thinking. “Ah, yes. It’s a travesty that you don’t have some guy in here, defending your honor.”

“Is it?” You pose the question casually and he pauses. “I don’t think it is.” You glance at him and then down at his lips, not even trying to be subtle.

“Maybe it’s not,” Brendon agrees in a low voice. His eyes match your movements; moving slowly to your lips. He downs the last half of his cranberry screwdriver. “I need another drink. You want one?” You tell him yes and he smiles. “Tequila this time?”

You nod, finishing off your own drink. “Yeah.”

He places the drink in your hand moments later and you sip at the margarita, moaning quietly. “Damn, that’s good.” You check your phone and wince. “It’s getting late. When do you close?”

“It’s a Tuesday,” Brendon answers, glancing at the clock. “So...technically midnight. One more hour.”

“One more hour,” you echo, taking another sip. “This should probably be my last drink then. Will need to sober up to get home.”

“Please,” Brendon scoffs. “I’ll call you an Uber or something.”

“Still,” you argue, “I should cut myself off. After I finish this amazing margarita though…”

-||-

It’s midnight and you reach for your purse. “About that Uber,” you say with a laugh. Brendon grins and nods but you keep talking. “I’m almost sober. But I was thinking…”

Brendon looks at you from over the bar, eyes dark. “I was thinking that I shouldn’t drive. And I was thinking we could share that Uber.” His eyes widen a little and you smile, leaning over the bar. “My roommate is home but…”

“Mine is out of town.” Brendon interrupts you softly, taking the register out and putting it in a safe under the bar and surveying the glasses and soapy water. “Let me just…yeah, no. I’m opening tomorrow. I’ll deal with this then. Let’s go.” He walks around the bar and pulls up the app on his phone and taps at it urgently, eyes flicking from the screen to your face. “They’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Perfect,” you murmur, stepping closer. “I can think of a few ways to kill those five minutes.” Brendon smiles and leans down to kiss you.

Oh thank god, you think, kissing him back fervently. He’s a good kisser. He’s a great kisser, actually, and his hands are sliding down your back. You make an encouraging noise against his lips, tentatively reaching for his hair, purposefully going to the back, to avoid messing up the front. Even though it’ll probably get messed up later...and you push the thought away, focusing on his lips.

He mumbles something against your mouth and you take the opportunity to part your lips. He mimics you and then just when you think you’re about to blackout from euphoria, from his tongue meeting yours, two headlights move over you both and he groans, pulling back regretfully. “Car’s here.” He sees the question in your eyes and grins. “Ten minutes to my place.”

-||-

You’re behaving in the back of this car, but it’s taking all of your control. His hand is laced with yours and he’s rubbing his thumb so soothingly and you’re both just watching each other, longingly, desperately, needily. “Soon,” you mouth, and his head falls back against the headrest, eyes closing as he nods.

After what feels like forever, the car comes to an abrupt halt and Brendon scrambles out of the car and extends his hand to you. “Have a good night,” he calls to the driver as he closes the door. “I’ve got bad news.” He looks at you and you frown. “There’s no elevator.” You blink slowly, processing. “And I live on the third floor.” He points to a stairwell glumly.

“So no making out in the elevator,” you observe and he shakes his head. “And we’re climbing three flights of stairs.” He nods and you grin. “Race you.”

You take off, giggling and Brendon stands still for a moment, watching you in awe. “Oh, you’re on,” he calls, coming after you. You slow down as he comes up behind you on the third floor and grabs your waist, kissing you hard. “Caught you,” he murmurs against your lips. He presses you back against the wall and you arch into the embrace, gripping his shoulders firmly.

“Caught me,” you agree, grinning. “But for the record, I’m letting you win. Mostly because I don’t know which apartment is yours,” you say with a laugh.

“Either way,” Brendon laughs now too, “I win.” He’s kissing you again and fumbling for his keys in his back pocket, making a triumphant noise against your lips when he pulls them out and shoves them into the door to your immediate right. “Inside,” he urges, stepping backwards and you follow, lips still seeking his. You kick the door shut behind you as he pulls you into the living room and you glance around.

“IKEA?” You point at the couch and he nods. “I have the same one in grey,” you say with a grin and he laughs as you shove him down on top of it. “It’s a good couch.”

“It is a good couch,” Brendon agrees, stroking your hips as you straddle him. “But let’s stop talking about my couch.” You laugh and kiss him hard before moving down his neck, nipping and sucking lightly. “Damn,” he groans, and his hips move under you. You smile against his neck and the two of you pull his shirt off.

“Damn,” you echo, taking him in slowly. “You’re gorgeous.” He blushes and you grin, kissing his neck again before pulling back to look at him. You run your fingers down his arm, tracing the tattoos there. “These are lovely.” You lean down to kiss his shoulder and move across his collarbone, pressing warm, soft kisses against him. Your hands move down his chest and you press gently against the flat planes of his stomach, smiling when he inhales sharply. You slide your hand into his jeans and curl your fingers around his erection and he inhales again as you sigh happily. “Been wanting to do this,” you admit, looking up at him longingly. “Will you take these pants off?”

“As if you really have to ask,” Brendon says in a rough voice, arching his hips as his fingers fly to the button on his jeans. He shoves them down and you moan, low in the back of your throat, when his cock springs free.

“You’re gorgeous,” you repeat, leaning in to press your lips to the tip, your eyes moving up to his.

“You don’t have to-“ Brendon protests suddenly, as if he’s just now realizing your intentions. “Thought you’d get- and we’d- Y/n, you don’t have to-“ he’s cut off when you take him deep and he groans, cradling your face in one hand, the other flying to his hair. “Jesus,” he sighs as you lick over his length, your hand squeezing around him in a pulsing manner. “Jesus, that’s good.” You smile faintly and take him in your mouth, making sure to caress the length of him as he slides over your tongue and between your lips. “Your mouth, Jesus, your mouth,” he sighs, and when you look up, the hand fisted in his hair is tugging slightly. “Y/n, your hot, wet mouth, goddamn.” You moan around him and he shudders, eyes wide and locked on yours. “Oh god,” Brendon says sharply after a moment, “you’re-“ and his eyes land between your legs where you’re rubbing with two fingers as you suck noisily at him, whimpering and moaning, like you’re getting off from having him in your mouth - which you kind of are, you realize. He tastes good. “Y/n, you’re-“ he tries again, cutting himself off with a groan. “Jesus, god, you’re gonna make me- and you’re just-“ his back stiffens and he seems to reach some conclusion in his own head and his hips drop, pulling out of your mouth. You make a confused, whimpering noise, and he rolls onto his knees and crawls towards you at the end of his couch.

“You didn’t come,” you protest, and he smiles, his eyes dark. His lips meet yours and you grab his hair, moaning and tugging when his tongue caresses yours. “Wanted to make you come.”

“I like to revel in the prolonged delay,” Brendon murmurs in your ear, his hands moving over you.

“That’s fucking poetry,” you tell him, and he grins, hands slipping up under your shirt and pulling it off. He drops it somewhere on his floor and stares at you hungrily.

“You’re-Jesus,” he sighs and you refrain from making the standard joke. “God, you’re beautiful.” His hands move to cup your breasts through your black lace bra and he launches forward, kissing your neck and moving down to your cleavage, burying his face and licking and sucking and kissing greedily. “Goddamn,” he mumbles, one hand moving to the small of your back and the other going to your jeans. “Y/n, you’re so- and, Jesus, you’re just - soft and smooth and you smell good and oh my god.” You giggle and he unclasps your bra to lick and suck at your nipples, making you moan and arch into his touch. “This is okay?” You nod and he kisses his way down your stomach, tongue circling your navel and you gasp, clutching at his shoulders. He manages to unbutton your jeans and pulls them down, groaning when he takes in the black lace that matches your bra. “You were planning on fucking someone tonight,” he comments, fingers running over your panties. You nod and he kisses your stomach again. “Glad it’s me.”

“Well, not planning,” you gasp, clarifying. “Since I didn’t know the guy. Preparing. Just in case. Better to be ready.”

“Yeah,” Brendon says with a grin. “Best to be prepared. God, you’re gorgeous. You’re something else. How did I get so lucky?” You blush and he gets your jeans all the way down and you kick them off, waiting for him to come back to your mouth. He has other plans though, and he is looking at you longingly as his mouth moves lower and lower until his lower lip is brushing against the hem of your panties. Oh. He watches you as his fingers slip under the sides and he pulls the lacy material away. “Oh fuck,” Brendon sighs, and you try to steady your breathing.

“You don’t have to- I mean- that’s a little intimate for our first time- so you don’t have to-“ You’re stammering and Brendon looks up at you, confused.

“It’s the exact same as you blowing me,” he points out, and you consider this. “Which you did. Besides, this isn’t me returning the favor or doing this because I ‘have to.’ I want to. Can I?” You hesitate and he kisses your thigh. “You can say no and my feelings won’t be hurt.” He grins suddenly. “My pride might be, but my feelings will be fine.”

“If you really want to, you ca-“ but you interrupt yourself with a sharp cry of pleasure as he licks you swiftly. “Jesus god in heaven my god that feels so good,” you groan, and Brendon chuckles, kissing your inner thigh before pulling back and standing up.

“I didn’t change my mind about this,” he tells you. “I’m just taking you to bed.” You nod and he scoops you into his arms, setting off down the hallway. “Good thing you like IKEA furniture,” Brendon comments as he pushes the door open with his foot. “Because my bed is definitely from IKEA. But my mattress isn’t,” he adds. You laugh and he places you on his bed gently, staring at you, naked in his bed, giggling and writhing in your need, reaching for him. “Jesus, I want to be that guy.” You look at him curiously. “That guy coming into bars and telling bartenders and random guys to stop hitting on you. If you’ll let me be.” You smile and nod, bringing his mouth down to yours. His fingers walk down your stomach and pause, making you painfully aware of your wetness. “Yes?” You nod desperately and he smiles, wriggling down the bed to lick at you eagerly again. “Yes,” he repeats as a moan now; it blends with yours and you’re both gasping and swearing as his tongue and fingers bring you close. You can’t believe you almost denied him - yourself- this. He’s so good. He’s moaning and thrusting against the bed as his tongue goes deep; he looks up at you from between your thighs and winks at you. You swear; he licks you more urgently before pulling back, his lips swollen and shining. “You taste...my god, I could get drunk off of you, you taste so good.” His voice is low and smooth, and he’s kissing the inside of your thighs; he’s letting his tongue move over you sloppily, just licking and tasting as his eyes flutter shut blissfully. “Can I make you wait for it too?” He stares up at you from between your legs. The question is soft and his pupils are fully dilated and he’s licking his lips and you might die from lust. But you nod regardless and he crawls up over you and kisses you gently. “I won’t make you wait long, promise.” Still kissing you, he reaches for the bedside table by your head and pulls the drawer open, hand rummaging. “Ha!” It’s a triumphant noise and you kiss him as he plucks the foil square from its box. You take it from him and rip it open, your hand curling around him and rolling the latex into place. “Ready?” His voice is low and you nod, legs spreading wide so he can settle between your thighs. He rocks into you gently and you both moan. “Y/n, you sound so fucking good,” Brendon murmurs in your ear. “So good, moaning for me. And you feel incredible.”

“Brendon,” you whisper, clinging to his back. “Feels so good. So fucking good. Please, please,” you beg, nails raking across his skin. “Please.” You’re not even sure what you’re begging for; he’s thrusting smoothly and steadily - he’s hardly denying you anything. One of his hands is on your hip, keeping you in place for him to work; the other is tangled in your hair at the base of your neck and he’s propped up on that hand’s forearm, murmuring dirty promises in your ear. His hips pick up the tempo and you whimper when he moves his hand from your hip to your thigh. His hand moves further between your legs to tease your clit and you shriek, thighs tightening around his hips. He only nods his encouragement, still breathing hard and whispering filth in your ear, promising to make you come, to make you feel so fucking good. “Rub my clit just a little,” you beg and he obliges immediately. “I’m gonna fucking- oh god, right there.” Your eyes snap open and you’re clinging, clawing, clutching at him desperately as your back arches and your climax rips through you. Your lips part wordlessly and he takes the opportunity to kiss you deeply, tongue rolling over yours. “Yes,” you murmur into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut when you feel him come, despite the condom.

“Oh holy fucking hell,” Brendon whispers in a choked voice before crushing his mouth back over yours, his own climax making his hips rock into you gracelessly, rhythm long gone. “Yes, Y/n, yes, I’m coming for you. You’re making me come, Jesus.” He’s gasping this against your lips and you moan, wrapping both legs around his waist and matching his thrusts with your hips.

As both of your peaks subside, you’re still clinging to each other and he kisses you softly, moving from your lips to your ear, where he nuzzles your skin with his nose and whispers sweet things to you. “So good, so fucking good,” he tells you. You nod wordlessly, urgently. “Best I’ve ever had,” he murmurs against your neck, eyes flicking up to yours.

“Oh hell yeah,” you laugh softly. “Me too, definitely. Jesus Christ, no guy has ever made me come so fast.” He grins and rolls off of you and you curl into his side, stroking his chest idly as you snuggle under his arm. You’re both exhausted, justifiably so, but it feels so right to just hold each other like this, breathing softly and occasionally kissing lazily. “I’m so glad you started this, with that round of lemon drop shots,” you tell him, snuggling in closer. He nods, fatigue evident in his every move. “Relax,” you tell him. “Get some sleep. Next round’s on me.” You wink and he laughs, eyes fluttering shut.

“Please tell me you mean morning sex,” he murmurs with a grin and you nod. His smile widens and he runs a hand down your side, pulling you flush against him. “Then we should get some rest,” he whispers, and you yawn your agreement. He chuckles and pulls the blanket up over both of you. “Goodnight, Y/n. Sweet dreams. See you in the morning.” He kisses you one last time and within moments, you’re both asleep.

Flash fiction sequel