Self-Proclaimed Queen of Brendon Porn Tumblr

"Baby, put your phone away. We're on vacation," Brendon whines, shielding his face with his hands and angling himself away. You’re trying in vain to get a good picture of the two of you lazing together, but Brendon refuses to cooperate. He can't quite get out of frame without falling onto the hot sand though, so he gives up and repositions himself comfortably. You're sprawled across each other in a lounger definitely not designed for more than one person. Brendon was pissed when the resort staff set up two loungers in your reserved patch of sand instead of the full-size daybed that he requested, but you hardly mind the excuse to press close against his warm, firm body.

You grin and kiss his cheek. He's cute when he pouts. "C'mon, just one picture to remember our trip. Look how hot I am in this bikini." You bite your lip and wiggle your eyebrows.

Brendon crosses his arms, but a subtle smile plays across his lips anyway. You know he isn't actually too annoyed. He scratches his jaw. "Honey, let’s live in the moment, as cheesy as it sounds. I've been looking forward to disconnecting and relaxing. I'm tired of being photographed all the time. Plus..." He scans your body slowly, drinking you in. "I don't think I'll ever forget how fucking sexy you look right now." He chuckles. "Probably to my own detriment. I'll probably zone out during a meeting and imagine you looking like this and have to hide how fucking hard I am until I can sneak off somewhere to call you." He says the words casually, but they send sparks through your core. His mind does have the unfortunate habit of drifting to sex when he's bored. You once had to blow him in the dark theater of a documentary about marine grasses. You were fascinated, but Brendon had long checked out. The credits were about to roll, and he was painfully hard, so you made the snap decision to get on your knees and get him off before the lights came up. And thankfully you did because he ran into a few fans in the hallway. You know for a fact the light grey sweatpants he was wearing do him no favors to contain his erections, and you didn't want your husband's cock plastered across social media. "I swear you only bought a Tesla so you can use autopilot to jerk off on the phone while you drive," you joke.

He shrugs sheepishly. The memories of your surreptitious trysts give you an idea. You walk your fingers down his chest languidly, nipping at his earlobe. "I have a proposal," you breathe seductively.

Brendon makes an intrigued noise.

"You let me take one picture of us looking gorgeous and tan and relaxed before I put my phone away for the rest of the day, and I-" Brendon cuts you off with a sharp gasp as your fingers ghost over the soft trail of hair leading into his swim briefs. "And I will give you even more memories to distract you from budget meetings." You finally let your hand linger on the newly swelling bulge in his shorts. Brendon's cock is by no means small when soft, but you still marvel at how much he grows when he gets turned on. He's quickly straining hard against his swimsuit. The smell of lust and musk quickly blends with the earthy citronella candle burning next to you. He shifts uncomfortably and swallows. You lean forward to kiss the delicate skin of his neck. He tastes like salt, and you don't know if it's sweat or seawater. "There are people right over there," he protests weakly, nodding towards a couple frolicking in the water a couple hundred yards from your semi-secluded corner of the beach.

You start to stroke him through his pants lightly, weakening his defenses. "They aren't paying attention, and they're too far away to really see anything," you reason. "They may be able to tell there's a guy fucking his wife on the beach, but they won't be able to tell it's Brendon Urie fucking his wife on the beach." The idea is making your pussy pulse needily. Slickness gathers between your legs, threatening to soak through your swimsuit onto your thighs. 

Brendon hesitates, so you withdraw your hand, not wanting to push him. He groans at the loss. "Fuck it," he growls, grabbing your thigh. You have to bite back a scream at the thrill of having him so close to the sensitive skin of your clit. "Deal. But you can't post any pictures on Instagram," he compromises.

You scoff. "I wouldn't. These pictures are for me." You slot your knee between his legs, angling your body to accentuate your tits in your bathing suit. You regularly like to send Brendon pictures ranging from seductive to downright filthy just to keep things interesting, and you'd like to keep this one in your repertoire for the next time you're feeling racy.

Brendon continues pouting, but he looks like a damn model in his wayfarers, so you don't even mind.

You snap the photo before Brendon practically knocks your phone out of your hand. It lands safely on your beach blanket, shaded by an umbrella, and then it immediately exits your mind. Brendon makes a deep animalistic noise, pulling you on top of him into a desperate kiss. You laugh giddily, kneeling between his thighs and grasping his face in both hands. 

Brendon's hands travel eagerly over your back as his lips and tongue attack your mouth. “Need you,” he breathes. You lean forward into him, gasping as his erection grazes your stomach. “Can you feel what you fucking do to me? I need you. I’m so hard for you.”

“You have me,” you promise. “What do you need, baby? How can I take care of you?” 

Brendon moans gutturally without answering. You know that noise. He's so needy and aching that he can't even think straight. He just needs to come, and he doesn't care how. You're sure his cock is an insistent shade of pink and his balls are drawn up tight to his body. You normally don't get to this point until you've teased or edged him for a solid hour, but you know how much public sex drives him wild. The man’s a performer. He loves flaunting you- flaunting your incredible sex. 

You glance around quickly. The ocean is to your back, and no one would be able to see you from the water. Thick vegetation grows in front of you and to the right. But your left side is completely exposed to the entirety of the beach. The resort is small and prides itself on its discretion, but there's still a handful of people milling about. Fortunately, no one is facing you, but that could change in a second. 

You consider telling Brendon that it's safer to just slip back to your room, but he cuts off your train of thought with a desperate groan. He bucks against you insistently, letting you feel his throbbing cock once more. “Fuck,” he bites. You don't know if it's an exclamation or a command, but you do know you're not getting him back to the hotel- not without come streaking the inside of his swimsuit. 

You pant. Your cunt is throbbing insistently, clouding your judgment. You're faring better than Brendon with his flushed chest and bulging neck vein, but only barely. You need him as badly as he needs you. Fuck the consequences. You sit back on your heels and pinch each leg of Brendon’s trunks. “Can I take these off?” you ask, trying to hide the pleading in your voice. 

Brendon doesn't even bother to glance around before he agrees, scrambling to help you shove down the fabric. Your mouth goes dry as soon as you see his dick exposed. He's so fucking ready for you. Your pussy contracts painfully. You pull the strings on either side of your bikini bottom, undoing the knots and allowing you to expose your sensitive skin. 

Brendon hardly manages to shake his shorts fully off his legs before you pounce on him, lining yourself up over the tip of his erection. “Can I ride you, baby? Need you to fill me up. I feel so empty without you.” Your muscles tremble, a mix of anticipation and exertion. 

Brendon swallows hard and nods wordlessly. You know he's awed and desperate and overwhelmed. 

You sink down onto him, crying out at full volume. 

“Is that good for you, baby?” Brendon gasps. “Because it’s fucking incredible for me. Love burying myself in your cunt.”

You tighten around his dick as he strikes your g-spot. You have to stop yourself from bouncing on his cock with reckless abandon because your knees are very close to slipping off the edge of the lounger, but your body aches for release. 

Brendon must be on the same page because he growls, bucking up into you. His core strength is incredible. “Faster, baby. Wanna see your tits bounce.” He loves when you ride him, but you know he wishes he was on top of you, setting the pace. He’s a control freak in the studio and a control freak in bed. At the very beginning of your relationship, it pissed you off, but you quickly learned to acquiesce to his demands. He makes incredible music and incredible love. He knows all the right moves to make you both come hard.

“I don’t want to fall,” you say apologetically. 

Brendon grabs your thighs, protectively curling his fingers around you to stabilize you. “I’ve got you, honey,” he promises.

You lean forward to kiss him, sliding up his cock teasingly as you do. You let your lips linger on him just long enough to taste him before you withdraw to slam back down on him. He doesn’t expect the sudden motion, and clearly gets to him. His cock pulses inside you, and he unconsciously tightens his grip around your thighs. You throw your head back to moan as you bounce enthusiastically on him. He loves getting a show while you fuck him. You don’t care who can see you, and you especially don’t care who can hear you. This is your man; you want everyone to fucking know. 

You take your hand off his shoulder and slide it easily under your skimpy bikini top to massage your nipple. You’re sure Brendon is struggling to watch your breasts move right by his face without touching them, so you hope watching you touch them is a passable consolation prize. You use your other hand to grope his sensitive stomach. Brendon moans rhythmically, occasionally punctuating his cries of pleasure with an “oh god” or “don’t stop” or “fuck me, that’s good.” 

Heat coils deliciously in your stomach, a mix of white hot pleasure from him filling you and mounting lust from watching him react under your touch. His muscles ripple sensitively with each stroke. Shiny sweat beads at his temple. His bottom lip is tucked under his teeth. 

His voice is husky when he speaks. “I want to fill you with my come.”

You squeal when he says it. You want to be claimed and filled by him. You move your hand from his stomach to your clit. You can barely keep your finger from sliding off the delicate skin. Intense bolts of pleasure shoot from your clit to your stomach, mingling with the pulses from your g-spot. Even though you have an implant, you’re normally both super careful about using condoms. And even with a condom, he normally pulls out before he comes. But you told him that he deserved his own treat in exchange for treating you to this trip. At first he was reticent, hating the idea of you “paying” him in sexual favors, but he quickly caught on that your request was more selfish than anything. You want him buried in you, pulsing hotly as he claims you with his come. It’s an instinctive, animalistic urge, and you’ve both been taking advantage of relaxing the rules for your vacation. 

You’re about to let him- no, beg him- to come inside you (you’re right on the cusp yourself) when someone nearby enthusiastically yells, “Look dolphins!.” You turn your head and groan internally, this time out of frustration. People come running down the beach toward you to get a better view of the animals. Fortunately, they keep their eyes glued to the horizon, but there are soon people less than ten feet away. If they glance over for any reason, they would clearly be able to see you and Brendon in an extremely compromising position. But your real concern is the sound. You and Brendon might be able to muffle your moans if you’re very careful, but you wouldn’t be able to hide the distinctive sound of your wet pussy sliding up and down his cock. Or the rhythmic creaking of the chair. You personally don’t mind people having a bit of a show, but they didn’t consent to you fucking right next to them. From a distance, they can just look away, but it’d be rude to keep going now. 

Brendon’s chest heaves as he breathes heavily. He swears angrily under his breath. He must have been closer than you thought because his expression looks pained like his balls are starting to hurt.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him quietly. “I’m not gonna leave you hanging. We’re just going to have to be more discrete is all,” you whisper. You carefully slide off his cock, moving slowly enough that you don’t draw attention. Brendon fights off a whimper at the loss. You slide back on the chair, still on your knees, and wrap your hand around him, stroking him firmly to try to work him back up to coming. Brendon tilts his head back again. You can barely make out his eyes through his sunglasses. They’re squeezed shut in bliss. 

“Look at me, baby,” you request before you lean forward to lick your way from just above his navel to the base of his cock. His cock brushes against your chin while you’re low to his stomach, smearing precome on you promisingly. This won’t take long. You stroke him one more time with your hand before you lick your way up his length. You take the sensitive head of his cock in your mouth, aggressively licking the tip. Brendon runs his fingers through your hair, grasping your roots the way you like. You have to cut off a whine when Brendon glances pointedly at the group still nearby. You’re glad you have Brendon’s dick to keep your mouth occupied. You reach your free hand between your legs to work towards your own orgasm as you push Brendon toward his. 

Brendon’s pelvis juts up uncontrollably. You take the hint. You yawn, your mouth and throat opening up to accommodate him. You suck him hard, causing your throat to contract around his erection. You bury your fingers deep inside yourself, remembering the way he touched you the night before. You don’t have the same coordination and finesse as Brendon, but the memory alone is enough to light a fire deep in your belly. You squeal around Brendon, triggering a chain reaction. “Shit, baby, feels so good when you moan on my cock,” he groans as quietly as possible. “You’re so good to me.”

His praise causes you to come hard, your orgasm exploding through your body. You forget you have to be quiet, so you moan. Loudly. The vibrations rumbling from your vocal cords spur Brendon’s orgasm, and he shoots salty ropes of come down your throat. He has to bite down on his own hand to prevent any audible noises. 

You coax as much come as you can from Brendon before his spent cock slips from your lips, still pulsing weakly in vain. You use your remaining strength to crawl back into Brendon’s arms. You collapse contentedly in his embrace. He kisses the top of your head and covers your still-naked bodies in a beach towel. “So good,” he murmurs. 

You massage his abs and pelvis gently. “Mmm you too, B. I came so hard.” You stroke two fingers gingerly over his soft cock before moving down to rub his thighs. 

Brendon raises his eyebrows. “Watch it, baby girl, I’m still crazy sensitive,” he warns. 

“Shh, relax,” you soothe. “Not trying to get you hard again, just trying to help your muscles recover. My man worked hard. Want you ready to go again after we’re done with dinner. Want you to come inside me this time. Need to feel that connection.”

Brendon hums softly in agreement, stroking your arm soothingly. You tuck yourself snugly against him, just starting to drift off when you’re interrupted by a resort staff member running up to your reserved section of beach. You do need someone to top off your cocktail, so you don’t mind. But you notice he’s wearing the dark blue polo of the customer service concierges and not the light blue polo of the servers. He doubles over, placing his hands on his knees while he catches his breath. 

Brendon slides his sunglasses down his nose. “Is everything okay…” he reads the name tag “Bradley?”

Bradley straightens up, resuming his customer service demeanor between gulps of air. “Great news, Mr. and Mrs. Urie!” He pants. “I’ve managed to track down the daybed you requested after all. You two will have much more personal space. This one even has its own canopy! I’ll have my team set it up this evening, and it will be available for the remainder of your stay.”

You and Brendon exchange a knowing glance, trying not to laugh. 

“Thank you,” Brendon says politely. Bradley doesn’t leave like you hope though. “Is there anything else?” Brendon prompts.

The concierge fidgets nervously. “Well, er, the thing is…” The poor guy turns noticeably red, which is quite the feat considering his dark tan. “Uh, the loungers are only built to support one person. So I am going to have to ask you two to separate until your bed is ready.” You know he’s bullshitting. You’ve seen whole families with kids sitting on the chairs together without them so much as buckling, and the resort staff didn't say anything to them. But you don’t call Bradley out; he’s clearly uncomfortable enough as it is. “I am so sorry for the inconvenience. Uh, we’ve comped your drink package as a thank you for your cooperation.”

“Hell yeah. I’ll drink to that.” Brendon smiles graciously  “But it’s no inconvenience at all. My wife and I were just about to head upstairs anyway to rest before dinner, right, honey?”

You had no intention to leave the beach, but you nod anyway because a shower and a nap sound absolutely incredible right now. Maybe Brendon will be ready for round two in the massive soaker tub in your bathroom.

“Perfect,” Bradley says, clearly relieved to have this over with. “I’ll have your belongings on the beach sent upstairs as soon as you two leave then. Just make sure to take anything you’ll need in the next few hours.”

“Of course. Can you have a pitcher of the house sangria sent up to our room as well please?” Brendon asks, winking at you. Bradley obliges easily, thanking you both again before he scurries back to the resort lobby. 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, you and Brendon erupt into laughter. “I guess we weren’t as sneaky as we thought,” Brendon mutters. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Urie, you were fucking so obnoxiously that we’ve moved heaven and earth to give you your own privacy curtain,” You say, translating Bradley’s tactful message. 

“I guess that’s one strategy to get things our way,” Brendon says thoughtfully. “Do you think if we fuck obnoxiously on the tour bus, they’ll give us more hotel nights?”

You shake your head, giggling. “Nah, you’re a paying customer here. They have to accommodate us.” 

He kisses the top of your head, sighing. “Eh, worth a shot anyway. Now, let’s go get wine drunk in our room before dinner.”

“It’s fruit, so it’s healthy,” you agree. “We need to drink the whole pitcher to prevent scurvy.”

“Mrs. Urie, you are so fucking smart,” Brendon says, trying to grab his swimsuit without flashing anyone. Anyone else anyway. He hands you your cover-up, and you both get decent. Well, you get decent. Brendon just wraps the beach towel around his waist. It exposes his v-lines and barely covers his dick. 

He reaches out his hand and hoists you up from the low lounger before he wraps an arm around your waist to walk back with you. 

You get halfway off the beach before Brendon freezes. “Oh!”

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He turns to you, panicked. “We forgot to grab your phone.”

“Oh that.” You shrug. “The resort staff will bring it back eventually. I’ve decided I’m much more into this ‘staying in the moment’ thing.”

Brendon chuckles softly, grinning and pulling you back against his hip. “I love you, baby.” You relax against him again.