7-11, Pure Heaven

When I say Truck stop bathroom, what do you think of? Dirty tiles and the stench of human waste, vomit and smoked joints. Basically, filth. You would think of filth. A small space with a flickering light and the sound of non-existent dripping, not exactly someones idea of a romantic setting. But whoever said sex needed to be romantic?

7 hours cooped up in a shitty Van with three other males, boredom and a Blink-182 CD playing on repeat for the 13th odd time was bound to send anyone up the walls.

Tappa-tappa-tap. The vocalist of the small town band flicked a biro against the window in sync with the raindrops hammering on top the roof. His eyelids struggling against sleep to stay open.

"Brendon?"

The young boy snorted and lifted his head, mumbling a reply. "Wha-? Ry? What?"

The brown eyed boy in front of Brendon's general vision blurred into focus. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, sniffling loudly. Ryan looked Brendon over with sad, concerned eyes. He knew what all this was doing to his Friend. The whole "touring" thing. Being inside this Van the majority of the time was unhealthy for all of them but Brendon was hitting it hard.

Ryan reached up, touching the 18 year old's face, trailing his fingers around his cheekbones and pushing his hair back. He studied the face in front of him. A thin, faint line of acne along Brendon's hairline and pours clearly visible on his unwashed skin. Obviously noticeable, the innocent pout on his lip was gone as was the gleam in his eyes. It broke Ryan's heart to see the effects the band's choice was taking their toll on the Vocals.

Brendon shook Ryan off roughly and turned on his side, the pen and magazine that he had been filling a crossword puzzle in fell to the floor. He grumbled, pulling a blanket over his head. Brendon's babyish antics frustrated the
guitarist. Ryan rolled his eyes and turned away from the lump on the opposite seat. Why did he even bother?

"Goddamnit Bren, grow up."

The chauffeur this evening was in fact the notorious Pete Wentz. Having given Panic! At The Disco their big break, they invited him along. Mainly because they all hated driving. Pete's head started to nod every couple of minutes, each time hitting the steering wheel and snapping him awake.

This amused the occupant of the passenger seat, Spencer Smith. Him and Jon Walker were placing bets on how long it would take for them to crash.

"Ok, ok!" Jon giggled, crossing his legs, "I raise $2 that the airbags will fail."

"You're on!" Spencer replied, smacking his hand against the bassist's to seal the deal. Pete glared at the two probably wishing the heat of a thousand desert suns upon them. He was seriously re-considering his agreement to tag along the entire tour. "I'm pulling over at the next 7-11 we see. I need to get out of this tin on wheels!"

Pete didn't need to wait long. After another agonizing 20 minutes he could hear the hallelujah chorus. The bright orange and green sign came to view in the early morning sky and he yelled in joy, "Thank fuck!" Pete bounced up and down in his seat as he parked the van outside the entrance and flew out the door.

Spencer and Jon were sent into hysterics, cheeks stinging and eyes watering. "Do you think he could of undone his seat belt any faster?"

All four boys slowly clambered out of the vehicle and out into the warm night air. Ryan looked at Brendon worriedly as he stumbled in his tired state, towards the public toilet door. Shaking his head, Ryan proceeded inside the building.

Brendon pushed the squeaky door open to reveal a janitor's nightmare. He even recoiled back a step in shock. The walls where what seemed an inch thick with dirt, as was the floor and pretty much everything else. "Oh... god, disgusting."

Rushing into the nearest cubicle, all he wanted was to go in, do his stuff and get the fuck out. He felt dirty just thinking about what germs were lurking everywhere.

As Brendon unzipped, he examined the graffiti walls. Said things like;

Toilet Tennis, Look left. Toilet Tennis look right.

Looking for a wild night? Call Lynda on 044... [The rest was scribbled over with the words YOU LIE!]

Tell Slater Not To Wash His Dick. BMTH rulezz!

"BMT- What?" Brendon raised a confused eyebrow at that one and shook it off. He finished urinating and flushed the toilet, cringing as his finger came in contact with the stained button. "Ew! Ew! Ew! Fuck!"

Right above the toilet bowl was a small message written in fresh sharpie ink, can't have been two days old. Brendon leaned in for a closer look. "3:15AM sharp for good time. Three knocks me, two knocks you...?" He mumbled, squinting his eyes.

The loud squeak of the door opening caused Brendon to jump and hit his head against the wall. He groaned and slumped into the corner, clutching his throbbing skull. Thats when he
noticed the large hole that lead into the toilet next to his. His brown eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he realized he was in fact, inside a man love toilet.

"OK, ok breathe Bren... Breathe goddamnit!"

Two feet stood visible under the door, quite expensive dress shoes actually. The hem of black pinstripes just peeking into view. The feeling of fear in Brendon's stomach slowly ebbed away, turning his hormones crazy. He always had a fetish for 1950s style clothing.

As promised in the scrawl of letters on the tile, there were three sharp knocks against the laminated door. Brendon reached out, his hand shaking and knocked back twice. He was thinking with his dick again, for the hundredth time.

He unlatched the door and it swung open to reveal his new fuck buddy. He was a smartly dressed Gentlemen with short brown hair gelled up into a fauxhawk. To top off the shoes and pants he wore a matching jacket and shirt.

Brendon looked up at the man with large innocent eyes, teeth sinking painfully into his bottom lip. "What's your name, sugar?" He asked, leaning against the frame and looking the boy up and down. "Brendon..." Brendon replied, standing up slowly. The man chuckled and stepped inside the cubicle, closing the door behind him.

"Funny, My names Brandon." He said casually, locking the door once more. Brandon reached out and cradled Brendon's chin in his hand. Brendon swallowed nervously. Wide-eyed browns stared into each others, daring the other to blink.

Brandon's lips softly connected to Bren's, slowly slipping in his tongue. He was ever so graceful it took Brendon by suprise, he expected it to be short, hard and rough. It was the exact opposite.

Brendon's horny inner teenager sprung into life as he pushed Brandon's jacket down off his shoulders and proceeded to undo the buttons on his shirt. Brandon smiled against the kiss and swiftly got Brendon's belt undone and off. He obviously was experienced. Brendon didn't know if he should of been worried or glad.

With both boys missing some kind of clothing, it was time for business. Brandon took Brendon's lips in for another kiss, both boys breathing heavily through the nose. Brendon was hoisted up onto Brandon's hips and slammed into the wall. He groaned in pain and leaned forward, breaking the kiss.

Brandon looked at him, a small smile on his face. Maybe his fucked up way of saying sorry. Brendon reached up and gripped the top of the wall, trying to keep steady as Brandon undid his own belt one-handed. His pants fell to his knees with a soft thud.

Brendon looked Brandon square in the eyes, his lips slightly open and breathing heavily. They kissed again, this time more heavily, more hungry. Brendon felt a sharp pain in his lower region and threw his head back, smacking it on the wall. "FUCK!"

Lips left soothing kisses on his neck as Brendon stared at the roof, gripping the top of the
cubicle. Friction started to build up fast and soon enough Brendon's moans echoed off of every object in the room.

Brandon forced a kiss on his young partner, pushing him right into the wall. Brendon grunted in response, climax growing. They broke away, lips barely touching. Brendon's moans gathering a rhythm. "Uh, uh, uh, uh fuck!"

Brandon's hands settled around Brendon's feminine hips, leaving bruises. This was by fair the best fuck he'd had in a while.

A beautiful twinge filled Brendon's groin and he lurched forward, sending Brandon slamming into the opposite wall. Hips grinding hips harder and faster until Brendon felt a wave of heat and stars in his eyes. Hands on the sides of Brandon's face and lips on his, Brendon came moaning into the others mouth.

Brandon pulled the euphoric male closer to him, going harder and cumming only moments later. They both slumped against the wall in a hot, wet mess of limbs.

"Fuck me, what was that?" Brendon's eyes fluttered open and he tried to catch his breath. Brandon laughed and pushed the boys hair back from his eyes. "That, my friend, was ace."

***

Brendon walked out of the service station toiletwith his hair a mess and the cocky-est grin on his face his band mates had ever seen. The sick smell of sex was un doubtly noticeable on his still hot skin. No one bothered asking what had happened, I don't think they even wanted to know. Except of course, Ryan.

He fought with himself as they drove closer to their next destination, a motel. Ask him, don't ask him. You need to know, no you don't. You need to protect him, Ryan. Look at him. Smelling of sex and looking like a wreck. He needs you Ryan. He needs you to cleanse his sinful body.

Clean him off.

"Bren?" Ryan said his name ever so quietly, Brendon almost didn't hear it. "Yes Ryan?"

Ryan scooted across the seat, sitting close enough to whisper their conversation. "What did you do?"

Brendon looked at Ryan with his big brown eyes, faking confusion in the most innocent way. "What do you mean?"

"Don't be thick with me, Brendon Boyd Urie!" Ryan hissed, gripping the boy's shoulder. "Why would you even consider having sex in a gas station bathroom, hm?"

"Fuck you, Ryan Ross! I don't need a mother, I have one!" Brendon's tone changed and he harshly replied. For a split second, Ryan thought he was going to cry. 'Thats not true, Ryan! He's just angry! He doesn't mean it!'

***

That night Ryan & Brendon were paired to share a room. They both sat on opposite beds, backs to each other, staring at the walls. Tension was thick in the air and it was suffocating Ryan. He didn't want this. He turned his head ever so slightly to look over at his bunk buddy. Their eyes met and both boys shot their heads forward.

Ryan sighed loudly and bowed his head. "I'm sorry Brendon, I shouldn't pry. It's not my place." He spoke softly, eyes stinging with tears. Don't let them fall, it's weakness.

Brendon turned his whole body around, facing Ryan's back. He didn't speak a word. Tongue in between teeth, the Guitarist turned around to face the quiet behind him. "It's just that... I-I need to protect you from shit like that. It's not right, you're so dirty and I..." He doubled over, head in between his knees.

"I want to be the one who makes you so dirty." His words were muffled through his legs, "But now your not mine, you're not clean and-and-and..."

The bed springs sunk as an extra weight was added to the mattress. Nimble fingers lifted Ryan's chin from his knees and pulled his lips to Brendon's. They kissed. Right there on that motel bed for the first time. Ryan with tears and Brendon with a distant mind. They broke away and Ryan wouldn't open his eyes.

Brendon leaned forward and kissed both his eyelids, they opened slowly and Brendon spoke for the first time since they set foot in the room.

"Clean Me."