Fic: What Went Down From His Fooling Around (Brendon/Spencer)
Title: What Went Down From His Fooling Around
Pairing:Brendon/Spencer, Pete/Patrick, Brendon/William, Spencer/William
Rating: R
Disclaimer Incredibly enough, not true.
Summary: Brendon’s wish backfires and he turns into Spencer’s drum kit. As you do.
A/N: Wonderfully betaed by mintyfiend. Apparently I like writing fic where Brendon turns into things. Who knew? Title belongs to the Ting Tings, because when I tried to think about songs that mentioned drums so I could steal a lyric, this one got stuck in my head >:(
Patrick is drunk when he leans heavily against Brendon's side, hot, beer tainted breath misting against Brendon's neck as he leans in and giggles.
"It's a secret," Patrick enunciates carefully. "You can't tell anyone. Ever. Or bad things happen. Your dick'll drop off."
Brendon doesn't want that to happen. He likes his dick. It's very useful and fun to play with and completely normal sized, thank you very much. So, since he's terrible at keeping secrets, he thinks maybe he should get up and leave now. But he wants to know, desperately wants to know, because he didn't think a random question that Ryan would kill him for voicing, something as intrusive and simple as "I wonder who really leaked Pete's peen pics" would actually result in an answer from Patrick of all people.
"Bill," Patrick says, his lips brushing against Brendon's earlobe. It tickles and makes Brendon feel all tingly in places he's not allowed to feel tingly, not in Patrick's presence, as Pete had informed them very firmly, way back in the beginning of this crazy roller coaster of awesome they're all riding.
"Bill?" Brendon asks in disbelief, and Patrick hushes him, leaning even closer. Patrick's hand is gripping Brendon's thigh to steady himself and Brendon swallows hard as Patrick's fingernails catch at the inner seam of his jeans.
"I asked him to," Patrick breathes, tone of voice scandalous, and Brendon snaps his head around, eyes wide. It means their lips are only about an inch or so apart and Brendon will get actually brutally tortured and murdered if Patrick falls forwards and their lips brush (by Pete, by Ryan, by just about everyone, except Spencer, who's the only one Brendon would actually welcome punishment for kissing Patrick from).
"It was my wish," Patrick adds, following as Brendon leans back, trying to put some distance between them. Patrick's fingers scrabble at Brendon's sleeve, eyes earnest as he shakes his head.
"No no," Patrick says, "you don't understand. I didn't mean it to happen. I just...I just wanted to see, to have a chance...it's not fair...and Bill is fucking wiley and- and- and- I rubbed him and he had to grant me my wish and you have to be so precise about what you wish for because that's not how I wanted it to be."
Patrick looks scared now. "Don't tell," he pleads, and Brendon nods, wordlessly, placing his hand over Patrick's, where it's still resting on his thigh and squeezes.
"Bill," Brendon says. "Is...?"
"A genie," Patrick finishes. "Dangerous. Gives you what you want, but it's not right."
"It worked out okay though," Brendon carefully removes Patrick's hand from his thigh, catching a flash of purple hoodie and dark hair heading towards them, and Patrick grins, a brilliant bright smile as he nods.
"Yes!" he says, then his eyes slide past Brendon. "Pete!"
Pete frowns down at Brendon, who places Patrick's hand in Pete's. "I think someone needs to go home," he tells Pete, who quirks a smile that's half amusement, half warning and pulls Patrick to his feet.
Patrick stumbles into Pete's side, wraps his arms around Pete's waist. "I'm so sorry," he mumbles against Pete's shoulder, and Pete laughs, shares a look with Brendon that's supposed to be put upon and is just clearly love instead and pushes Patrick away enough to look down at him.
"Chill, dude," he says. "It's nothing major. We all get drunk and hit on Urie," which is, unfortunately, completely true of everyone except Brendon's favourite drummer.
Pete pulls Patrick away, heading for the door, and Brendon watches them go, sees Patrick glance back, eyes still worried. Brendon tries to send him a reassuring smile, to say that he won't tell, won't ever tell, because the information he's gained is maybe something he can use.
He finishes his drink, glances over to where Spencer is laughing at something Ryan is saying, and goes to find Jon, who he's sure has to have William's number.
~~~
William is playing hard ball.
"Are you high?" William laughs, then stops himself and grins. "Of course you are. You share a bus with Jon Walker. Must be some good shit you guys are smoking lately," he adds hopefully, as if Brendon should offer him some. Brendon frowns.
"I know," he says. "I'm not high. And you're a terrible liar." And Jon's stash is rubbish, actually. They need to get some new stuff, because sober Ryan means long pretentious lectures about stuff Brendon doesn't care about but has to listen to because Ryan gets all intense and that's pretty terrifying.
William laughs again, but he's eying Brendon thoughtfully. "I'm a brilliant liar, thanks very much," William insists, not meeting Brendon's eyes.
"Look," Brendon says, impatiently. He knows there's an edge to his voice, one he rarely uses. It's enough of a change from his usual playful tones that people will generally stop at listen. He doesn't use it very often, for fear it'll lose it's potency. But he needs it now. And it works on William.
He sighs. "I'm not giving you any wishes."
"Patrick," Brendon says, and William's eyes widen. "I could go and tell, I don't know, Pete? Maybe? I'm sure he'd be interested. And you know he wouldn't blame Patrick at all. And I'm sure Gabe wouldn't want me spreading stuff around, either," Brendon holds his breath- it's a long shot, but if any of the others have secrets to hide, Gabe's are probably top of the list of most scandalous.
"You wouldn't," William narrows his eyes, and Brendon shrugs. He doesn't have much of a poker face, always loses all his chips when Jon makes them play blackjack on the bus, but he's not kidding, not about this.
"Fine," William says after a moment or two of searching Brendon's face. "But if you don't like what you get, don't blame me."
Brendon smiles, baring his teeth at William. "Oh, I won't. What do I have to do?"
"You have to rub me," William says, cocking his hips and raising an eyebrow at Brendon in challenge.
Brendon snorts. "I thought I had to rub your lamp or something. Isn't that how it goes?"
"If that's what you want to call it," William smirks. "Doesn't change the fact that I need precisely one orgasm for every wish I grant. It's up to you how you do it."
Brendon stuffs his hands into his pockets and shifts from one foot to the other, eyeing William contemplatively. When he doesn't move towards him, William smiles, baring his teeth a little.
"That's what I thought," he says, laughing at Brendon for a few seconds before he's cut off with an 'oomph' as Brendon steps into his space quickly and pushes him against the wall, before dropping to his knees.
"You are serious about this then," William comments as Brendon unzips William's jeans and pushes them down, letting his erection spring free.
"Deadly," Brendon says, licking his lips and leaning in, keeping his eyes on William's face as he moves closer.
William's eyes widen. "Oh, hey, you don't have to- I mean simple jerking off- Okay, yeah, no, you do whatever you like..."
Brendon licks along the underside of William's dick, enjoying the gasp that escapes from William's lips. It makes Brendon smile and fit his lips around the head, sucking him into his mouth.
When William comes, Brendon rubs the back of his hand over his mouth and looks up at William, who seems a little dazed.
"Uh," William says, then shakes his head as if trying to clear it. "That was. Um. One wish coming up."
Brendon springs to his feet, waiting expectantly until William finishes putting himself away.
"What do you want?" William asks. "Choose your words carefully."
"I want," Brendon says, and pauses. "I wish...I wish Spencer would, uh..." he makes an obscene hand gesture, and William laughs.
"You want, what, Spencer to bang you?"
"Ye--" Brendon catches himself and points a finger at William. "Aha," he exclaims, "no, no, cos that would be wrong. I don't want to force Spencer to do anything. I wish Spencer would want to bang me."
William's smile spreads slowly across his face. It's oddly predatory and there's a glint in his eyes. He leans in close and brushes his lips against Brendon's.
"As you wish," he says.
Everything goes black.
~~~
"...I don't know," Jon says at the edge of Brendon's consciousness. He thinks himself towards the sound, and the darkness disappears. Someone is carrying him towards the stage. He feels oddly disjointed, and when he tries to move his arms he can't.
In fact they sort of feel like they're not there at all, which makes him try and open his mouth to ask someone to check for him, but he can't do that either. The person carrying him sets him down, and there's a couple more tiny thumps beside him, then one of the techs is bending over him, fussing with things Brendon can't see.
"He'd better turn up soon," Ryan is saying, and he sounds pissed off. Brendon pities whichever fool made Ryan use his annoyed voice, maybe hopes it's Spencer, because it seems like Brendon's slept the whole day away and Spencer has yet to fulfill Brendon's wish, but then he hears Spencer's laugh.
"He'll turn up," Spencer says breezily. "He always does. You know Brendon, he's probably off trying to commune with the local squirrels or something."
Which Brendon thinks is blatantly unfair, since that was just one time and it was completely the fault of Mr Jack Daniels and not his at all. Also, he's sitting right here on the stage, only a few feet from the band. In fact, he's pretty much where Spencer's drum kit usually is, so he'd expect Spencer to notice at least. Especially since he should be wanting to do dirty things to Brendon right about now.
Ryan sighs audibly, and then mutters something when Jon laughs. "I guess we can start without him," he says, and there's a pause, then the sound of strings being strummed as Ryan tunes his guitar. He can hear Jon humming, and then Spencer is bending over him.
"Hi," Brendon tries to say, but the words get caught in his throat as Spencer runs his hand across Brendon, grinning down at him before sitting back. Brendon watches as Spencer twirls his drumsticks for a moment, then starts to lower them.
And realisation hits about a split second before Spencer pounds out a beat on him.
Brendon was never the murderous type, but suddenly he wants to attack William Beckett with a chainsaw.
It's torture. Not only does Brendon have to just sit there for the whole set, trying to force the song out from between his currently non-existent lips, and listening to Ryan and Jon sing his parts for him, but Spencer banging him (and ha ha, yeah, he's going to get William back one day) actually feels good. Really good.
Every inch of Brendon is buzzing, is shaken by Spencer's movements. The bass pounds in time with his heart, faster and faster. The toms are the rhythm of fingertips against his skin, touching, feeling, exploring, and each cymbal crash is electricity running down his spine and making his hair stand on end.
Even worse, is how Spencer looks when he's playing. Brendon has always found that hot, has had to avoid watching him too much on stage, tried not to fixate on the lip licking, on the hair flicks, on the movement of his throat when he downs half a bottle of water mid-set.
And Spencer sweats. He sweats like it's going out of fashion, and watching the way Spencer's shirt clings damply to his body, watching the beads of sweat run down his face, down his neck, is almost unbearable from this close. It makes Brendon want to reach out, to grab him and to lick every drop of sweat from Spencer's body, then do things to him to make him sweat like that all over again. But he can't.
Seriously, Brendon thinks. William is dead as soon as he regains his limbs. If he ever does.
It really doesn't help that, during Brendon's first ever panic attack of his life, he's unable to move or even breathe and the three people in the world capable of calming him down are mere feet away but are mistaking him for a set of drums.
~~~
Brendon calms down in time to hear, several hours after he'd first realised he was a drum kit, Ryan throwing the world's biggest tantrum. It's maybe epic, and even though all Brendon can see is the lighting above the stage, he can pretty much picture the entire scene in his head as it happens.
"I'm going to fucking kill him," Ryan yells, and Brendon would tease him about how high his voice gets, later, except that he'll probably be dead by then. Or still a drum kit. Neither is particularly appealing. There's a clatter of metal as Ryan kicks something (mic stand, maybe, or guitar case, or something else that's noisy but not particularly heavy).
"Ry-" Spencer probably has his arms folded across his chest, frowning at Ryan, at the situation, head ducking down a little to hide his eyes since he's probably been weeping at the lack of Brendon for the past four hours. That last part might, Brendon concedes to himself, be wishful thinking, but the rest still stands.
"He'll turn up," Jon says airily, but Brendon can tell he's worried, can hear it in his voice.
"We're going to have to cancel the show," Ryan says, and Brendon knows his hands are probably balled into tight fists. Ryan hits like a girl, except when he's really angry. Like now. Brendon almost feels sorry for Jon and Spencer, who're probably going to bear the brunt of his rage, except they're both still human, so Brendon's sympathy only runs so far.
Jon sighs. "Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah, we probably should. Tell the kids to go home. Try and find Brendon. He's never been late like this before. Something’s up."
Brendon has always loved Jon Walker the most.
"Or," Spencer says slowly, and Brendon can picture his face, the way his eyes dart towards Ryan, hesitant to suggest, but brave enough to do it anyway because he's Spencer, the person Ryan will always listen to, in the end, "we could find a replacement."
There's a long moment of silence. Brendon spends it silently shouting at Spencer and rethinking the whole 'in love with one of his best friends' thing.
"A replacement," Ryan scoffs. "And where are we going to find one of those? We're on in...less than three hours. Doors open in an hour. Who're we going to get that knows all of the songs? Unless you're volunteering to sing, Spence?"
"No," Spencer answers quickly, which is a shame because Brendon thinks Spencer has a lovely voice when he's not using it to stab Brendon in his currently non-existent back. "But we're in Chicago."
"Huh," Jon says, and Brendon can practically hear the grin spread across his face. "We are. And you know who lives in Chicago? Boys. Boys who sing. Boys who sing on our label and owe us. Boys like-"
"That is the best plan ever," Ryan perks up, all traces of annoyance vanishing in his excitement.
Spencer is already dialling the phone. "Pete?" he says. "We need a favour."
~~~
It's a good show, Brendon has to grudgingly admit. He'd been touched by the crowd's reaction when Ryan had announced that Brendon was 'ill' and unable to perform tonight. The screaming had been almost deafening, until Patrick had walked out on stage, followed by Brendon's soon to be first murder victim, William. Then the entire place had gone incredibly silent, before the applause had rung out loud enough to shake the stage beneath Brendon.
And then they'd played. And they'd played well, although there was something amiss. Brendon could tell, by the way Ryan's voice caught a little as he sung, by the way Jon kept missing notes, by the way Spencer came in late on some of the songs. They were worried, worried about the fact that it was 10pm and Brendon still hadn't turned up.
There’d been no encore. Brendon had been left alone on stage for what seemed like forever, listening to the crowd shuffle out. He was suddenly lonely, and dreading the moment when the techs came and packed him up in pieces and loaded him into the van. It would be cold and dark in the van, and there was always the possibility of becoming lost or damaged, a thought that fills him with dread.
He hears voices approaching, and is surprised when he recognises one of them as Patrick.
"I need to talk to you," Patrick says. "What did you do to Brendon?"
"Nothing," William replies after a brief pause.
Brendon has only heard Patrick get mad twice in the entire time he's known them- once when he thought Pete and Ryan had a thing going on (they didn't, although not for want of trying on Ryan's part), and once when a group of fans had pushed Joe aside in their rush to get to Pete, so violently that he'd hit the side of the tour bus and ended up bruised all down his left side. But on neither occasion has Brendon heard Patrick's voice get this low and dangerous, the hint of malice plain in his tone.
"Bill," Patrick warns, and Brendon would shiver if he could. He hopes he never has to see this side of Patrick aimed at him, and is oddly touched to think Patrick is this concerned for him.
"Patrick," William laughs, and Brendon can almost picture him spreading his arms wide, shaking his head with that attempt at an innocent look. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
There's half a dozen quick footsteps, and then an 'oof' as William's back hits the wall at the back of the stage. Brendon wishes he could see, because his imagination cannot do justice to how wonderfully overpowering Patrick must look with William towering over him.
"Tell me."
The threat of pain is clear, and Brendon can practically hear William swallow.
"Oh!" he says. "Brendon? Yeah, um, he's over there."
There's a long, drawn out pause, and Patrick makes a flustered noise before drawing in his breath sharply.
"William," he says, slowly. "If you tell me-"
"That I turned Brendon into Spencer's drum kit?" William finishes, voice sounding strained.
Suddenly Patrick is standing above Brendon, frowning down at him. It's a good angle for him- Brendon can't help but be a little jealous of Pete getting this view whenever he wants- and then he glances back at William, who moves into view.
"You've got to be fucking with me," Patrick says, and then William walks into view, shaking his head.
"Hey, it's not my fault," William says defensively, folding his arms across his chest. "Brendon wished that Spencer would want to bang him and-"
"Brendon wished what?"
Brendon wonders if it's possible to have a heart attack when you don't have a heart.
"Spencer," Patrick says flatly. "Uh. Hi."
"What did Brendon wish?" Spencer asks again, sounding pissy. "And speaking of Brendon, where the fuck is he? And don't tell me you don't know- I can see on your faces you're hiding something."
Patrick glances down at Brendon, frowns, then opens his mouth.
"Brendon is..."
William sighs. "Look, okay, fine, I'm a genie and Brendon wished that you would want to bang him and, well, it was stupid wording on his part, because I turned him into a drum kit- your drum kit, to be precise- and I'm sorry, but it's not my fault. You can yell at Brendon about it in 5-7 days."
Spencer doesn't say anything for a long, long moment.
Then Patrick says "It's true. I know it sounds insane, but it's true."
And Spencer apparently believes him, because he steps into William's space, close enough that Brendon can see him, and pokes him sharply in the chest.
"Turn him back," Spencer says. "Now."
William shakes his head. He actually does look sorry when he apologises, shrugging a little as he says "I'm sorry, it doesn't work like that."
Patrick huffs. "There must be some way," he says. "It can't just be a case of waiting for this to wear off."
William looks apologetic.
"No," Spencer says. "I want Brendon back now. What if I made a wish?"
A slow smile spreads over William's face. "That could work," he says slowly, and Patrick holds up a hand.
"Wait a minute, Spencer, you don't understand- there are consequences and to get Bill to grant your wish you have to-" Brendon can't see Patrick's gesture but he sees the face Spencer makes in answer.
"I don't make the rules, I'm afraid," William says, popping open the button of his flies and raising a suggestive eyebrow at Spencer.
"This is the only way?" Spencer asks, but he's looking at Patrick, who nods grimly. "Fine," Spencer continues, "fine. If it'll get Brendon back in one piece, then I'll do it. But if I find you guys are shitting me-”
"We're not," Patrick says, sounding miserable. "This is all my fault," he adds as Spencer licks his hand and sticks it down the front of William's pants. "I'm so sorry, Spence. Uh, want me to leave?"
"Don't you dare," Spencer says, jerking William off quickly and methodically. It's not hot, completely clinical, but William appears to be enjoying himself, judging by the noises. He moans low when he comes, a sound Brendon wishes he wasn't familiar with. He hears Spencer make an 'ew' sort of noise as he wipes his hand off.
"Well?" Spencer asks, and William gives him a lazy smile.
"What is it you wish?" William asks, and Spencer frowns for a moment, before saying "I wish Brendon to be returned to normal- normal for him, at least- the way he was before you turned him into my drum kit."
William pouts. "Dammit," he says. “I was so sure you were going to fuck this up," Brendon hears him say before everything goes black again.
~~~
Brendon opens his eyes slowly, blinking against the light. It takes him a moment or two to realise his head (he has a head! again! a head with eyes and a mouth and ears and a nose) is resting in someone's lap. He tests his limbs carefully, places his palm across his chest and feels his heartbeat, and then turns to look up into Spencer's face, which is staring down at him.
"Fuck," Brendon says.
"Thank you is probably the more appropriate response," Spencer says and Brendon opens his mouth and closes it again.
"I'm sorry," he says, instead and Spencer rolls his eyes (Brendon looks forward to rolling his own in the near future, just because he can, but now is neither the time or place) and leans in.
Spencer kisses him.
"Idiot," Spencer says, and then he's gone, letting Brendon’s head clunk down against the floor. Brendon welcomes the brief spark of pain.
Brendon stays lying on his back for a long time until he feels someone tugging at his hand, dragging him to his feet.
"You okay?" Patrick asks and Brendon wobbles for a moment, steadying himself with a hand on Patrick's shoulder. He wriggles his toes and bounces on the spot.
"I really love being human," he says, and Patrick grins at him.
"I'm sorry about this," Patrick says. "I shouldn't have...I feel like it's my fault."
"I agree," William pipes up from behind him. "It's totally Patrick's fault. Blame him."
Brendon narrows his eyes. "You," he starts and then stops and shakes his head. "No, you know what? It's my fault. I should have just said something to Spencer instead of chickening out and trying to cheat."
William smirks. "I think my work here is done," he says. "No harm, no foul, right? Although, hey, if you want me to make Ryan's voice disappear for a few days so he won't yell at you for not showing up tonight, I wouldn't say no to another blow job."
Brendon stops glaring at him to stare at Patrick in horror. "Oh god," he says. "Ryan is going to kill me dead."
"Want me to come with you?" Patrick asks, and Brendon wants to say yes, but he's suddenly sick of wimping out of standing up to things.
“No,” he says, squaring his shoulders. “No, I’ll be okay. Except…if I’m not? Tell my family I love them, okay?”
Patrick laughs, but Brendon’s only partly joking.
He runs into Zack first, who grabs him into a tight hug and says, “If you ever disappear on me like that again, I will kill you,” and then lets him go.
Brendon climbs the steps of the bus nervously. It’s quiet, and only Jon and Spencer seem to be around. That’s unusual- what with techs and touring bands and friends, the bus is normally a buzz of noise, especially right after a show when everyone’s buzzing from adrenaline. Brendon guesses Spencer must’ve cleared them all out for tonight though, told them all what happened- or a good enough cover story at least- because Jon gets up and wraps Brendon in a hug.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Jon says. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you about Bill.”
Brendon pulls back. “You knew?” he asks and Jon makes a face and looks away. There’s an expression on his face that suggests that he learned the hard way, and Brendon wants to ask, wants to find out what Jon’s wish had been, but he sees Spencer looking at them, a small crease between his brows.
“Where’s Ryan?” Brendon asks instead. “Did you lock up everything sharp? And, actually, anything not bolted down? And his scarves, because those could be used to strangle me in my sleep.”
“He’s in his bunk,” Spencer says lightly. “He. Well…”
“He’s mad,” Jon explains, and Brendon opens his mouth to say “Well, duh!” but Jon cuts him off before he can speak. “He’s mad because he can’t really be mad at you. Well, not as much as he likes. It’s not like you missed the show on purpose, you know?”
Brendon frowns and glances down the bus in the direction of the bunks.
“Don’t worry,” Spencer reassures him. “He’ll kick your ass at some point. I think he’s just disappointed he can’t do the whole kicking and screaming thing.”
Brendon relaxes a little. A Ryan who wasn’t mad at him for something like this would freak Brendon out even more than being turned into a drum kit.
He lets his eyes stray back to Spencer, and Jon clears his throat.
“Um, I’m gonna go and make sure Ryan is…well, I’ll see if he’s ready to shout at you yet.” He rests his hand on Brendon’s arm for a moment as he passes and Brendon smiles at him.
“I owe you an explanation,” he says, and Spencer quirks an eyebrow.
“You owe me nothing,” he says lightly. “But since I spent the last half hour covering for you and making sure you weren’t burnt to a crisp by Ryan’s death glare, it’d be nice.”
“Not to mention the fact that you had to give William Beckett a handjob,” Brendon adds, helpfully, and Spencer gives him a long suffering look.
“It’s not the worst thing I’d do to get you back,” he says, and Brendon’s heart thumps loudly in his chest.
“I. I’m sorry,” he says. “For everything.”
“I can’t believe you made that wish in the first place,” Spencer says. Of course he doesn’t, Brendon thinks, because Spencer is the sensible one. Spencer would never have wished for what Brendon had wished for. Mainly because he doesn’t want to do those things to Brendon.
“Did you not think,” Spencer continues before Brendon can say anything, “that instead of jerking Beckett off-“
“Um, blowjob, actually,” Brendon interrupts, and Spencer tips his head to the side and gives Brendon a considering look.
“Instead of blowing Beckett,” Spencer continues with emphasis that makes Brendon want to glance away for a moment, his face flushed and hot, “to get into my pants, that maybe blowing me instead was a much better idea?”
“You wouldn’t have- wait,” Brendon says. “Would it really have been that simple?”
Spencer shrugs. “I might have bought you dinner first,” he says, and Brendon feels his mouth drop open a little. “But I would have reciprocated. I’m guessing Beckett didn’t?” There’s a hint of something in his voice that Brendon is willing to bet a lot of money on it being jealousy.
“No,” Brendon says, unable to hide his grin. “No, he didn’t. I wouldn’t want him to anyways.”
“So,” Spencer says slowly. “Tonight, both of us have gotten someone else off, without getting off ourselves. You expressed a desire to have sex with me, and I spent an hour and a half beating you with wooden sticks. Since neither of us are in one of Gabe’s ‘home movies’ I’m thinking there’s probably a mutually satisfying way to end the night on a good note.”
Brendon inhales sharply, his breath catching. “There is?” he asks, and Spencer nods, unfolding his legs and standing up, moving into Brendon’s space.
Brendon looks up at Spencer, and thinks about earlier, being stretched out below him while Spencer tossed sweaty hair out of his eyes and pounded out a rhythm, and wonders if something similar, but much more satisfying for both of them, is what Spencer has in mind.
“I think,” Brendon says, as Spencer fits their bodies together in a way that’s almost too perfect to be true, “that next time I want to have sex with you I’ll just tell you.”
Spencer hums his approval. “Or you could, you know, roll over in bed and nudge me. That’d probably work too.”
Brendon has a brief moment of wondering if he’s going to have to thank William for the fact that his real wish is about to come true, but Spencer and his clever, clever hands and tongue chase all thoughts of wishes and genies out of his mind.
~~~
William is in the front lounge the next afternoon when Brendon surfaces from Spencer’s bunk, apparently being lectured by Ryan, if the look on his face is anything to go by.
“Brendon!” William exclaims when he sees him. “And Spencer!” he adds, as Spencer appears behind Brendon, looking worn out and rumpled. “Everything worked out then?”
Spencer makes a face at him. “Yeah. No thanks to you. I’m guessing Ryan’s listed all of the ways he can kill a man and make it look like an accident?”
William pales a little and Ryan smirks. Brendon tries to share a look with him, but Ryan narrows his eyes at him, alerting Brendon to the fact that he’s still pissed and that a lengthy lecture is coming in his near future.
William gives a shaky laugh. “So, Spencer, how about another wish? Because, I mean, that was one of the best handjobs I’ve ever had. Or Brendon, how about you?”
“Your punishment is knowing you’ll never have these lips on you again,” Brendon tells him, trying not to feel snubbed when William shrugs as if that wasn’t the most devastating news he could ever receive.
“What about you, Ross?” William asks and Ryan gives him a level look.
“Sure,” he says, and William grins. “Know what I’m going to wish for? I’m gonna make sure you can’t grant any more wishes.”
William’s smile dims a watt or two. “You’d have to get the wording just right,” he says, and a wicked smile spreads over Ryan’s face.
“Well,” Ryan says slowly. “I’m guessing that wishing that you never, ever orgasm again should work, don’t you?”
William’s smile disappears. “Oh hey,” he says, glancing at his bare wrist. “Look at the time. I think I’ll just…” and he disappears in a puff of smoke.
“Cool!” Brendon exclaims, staring at the spot where William had been. “I never got to ask him if he had a lamp or-“
“I’m throwing your Aladdin DVD away,” Ryan breaks in and Brendon pouts.
“That’s not fair,” he says, and Ryan shrugs.
“Can I lecture you now?” he asks, and Brendon sighs.
“Howsabout you don’t throw the DVD away, and I let you shout at me for a whole hour? Without Jon or Spencer interfering.”
Ryan gives Brendon a considering look. “Deal,” he says, and Brendon sinks down into the seat opposite him.
“Good luck,” Spencer says, putting a bowl of cereal in front of him and pressing his lips to Brendon’s.
Brendon watches as Spencer walks away, stuffing his earphones in his ears, and grabbing Jon, who appears suddenly in the doorway to the bunks, by the arm and leading him away.
“Let’s start with how completely irresponsible you were, making a wish like that on a day we had a show,” Ryan begins and Brendon stops listening, takes a huge bite of his cereal, thinks about having sex with Spencer again later, and watches the vein in Ryan’s forehead throb.
Pairing:Brendon/Spencer, Pete/Patrick, Brendon/William, Spencer/William
Rating: R
Disclaimer Incredibly enough, not true.
Summary: Brendon’s wish backfires and he turns into Spencer’s drum kit. As you do.
A/N: Wonderfully betaed by mintyfiend. Apparently I like writing fic where Brendon turns into things. Who knew? Title belongs to the Ting Tings, because when I tried to think about songs that mentioned drums so I could steal a lyric, this one got stuck in my head >:(
Patrick is drunk when he leans heavily against Brendon's side, hot, beer tainted breath misting against Brendon's neck as he leans in and giggles.
"It's a secret," Patrick enunciates carefully. "You can't tell anyone. Ever. Or bad things happen. Your dick'll drop off."
Brendon doesn't want that to happen. He likes his dick. It's very useful and fun to play with and completely normal sized, thank you very much. So, since he's terrible at keeping secrets, he thinks maybe he should get up and leave now. But he wants to know, desperately wants to know, because he didn't think a random question that Ryan would kill him for voicing, something as intrusive and simple as "I wonder who really leaked Pete's peen pics" would actually result in an answer from Patrick of all people.
"Bill," Patrick says, his lips brushing against Brendon's earlobe. It tickles and makes Brendon feel all tingly in places he's not allowed to feel tingly, not in Patrick's presence, as Pete had informed them very firmly, way back in the beginning of this crazy roller coaster of awesome they're all riding.
"Bill?" Brendon asks in disbelief, and Patrick hushes him, leaning even closer. Patrick's hand is gripping Brendon's thigh to steady himself and Brendon swallows hard as Patrick's fingernails catch at the inner seam of his jeans.
"I asked him to," Patrick breathes, tone of voice scandalous, and Brendon snaps his head around, eyes wide. It means their lips are only about an inch or so apart and Brendon will get actually brutally tortured and murdered if Patrick falls forwards and their lips brush (by Pete, by Ryan, by just about everyone, except Spencer, who's the only one Brendon would actually welcome punishment for kissing Patrick from).
"It was my wish," Patrick adds, following as Brendon leans back, trying to put some distance between them. Patrick's fingers scrabble at Brendon's sleeve, eyes earnest as he shakes his head.
"No no," Patrick says, "you don't understand. I didn't mean it to happen. I just...I just wanted to see, to have a chance...it's not fair...and Bill is fucking wiley and- and- and- I rubbed him and he had to grant me my wish and you have to be so precise about what you wish for because that's not how I wanted it to be."
Patrick looks scared now. "Don't tell," he pleads, and Brendon nods, wordlessly, placing his hand over Patrick's, where it's still resting on his thigh and squeezes.
"Bill," Brendon says. "Is...?"
"A genie," Patrick finishes. "Dangerous. Gives you what you want, but it's not right."
"It worked out okay though," Brendon carefully removes Patrick's hand from his thigh, catching a flash of purple hoodie and dark hair heading towards them, and Patrick grins, a brilliant bright smile as he nods.
"Yes!" he says, then his eyes slide past Brendon. "Pete!"
Pete frowns down at Brendon, who places Patrick's hand in Pete's. "I think someone needs to go home," he tells Pete, who quirks a smile that's half amusement, half warning and pulls Patrick to his feet.
Patrick stumbles into Pete's side, wraps his arms around Pete's waist. "I'm so sorry," he mumbles against Pete's shoulder, and Pete laughs, shares a look with Brendon that's supposed to be put upon and is just clearly love instead and pushes Patrick away enough to look down at him.
"Chill, dude," he says. "It's nothing major. We all get drunk and hit on Urie," which is, unfortunately, completely true of everyone except Brendon's favourite drummer.
Pete pulls Patrick away, heading for the door, and Brendon watches them go, sees Patrick glance back, eyes still worried. Brendon tries to send him a reassuring smile, to say that he won't tell, won't ever tell, because the information he's gained is maybe something he can use.
He finishes his drink, glances over to where Spencer is laughing at something Ryan is saying, and goes to find Jon, who he's sure has to have William's number.
~~~
William is playing hard ball.
"Are you high?" William laughs, then stops himself and grins. "Of course you are. You share a bus with Jon Walker. Must be some good shit you guys are smoking lately," he adds hopefully, as if Brendon should offer him some. Brendon frowns.
"I know," he says. "I'm not high. And you're a terrible liar." And Jon's stash is rubbish, actually. They need to get some new stuff, because sober Ryan means long pretentious lectures about stuff Brendon doesn't care about but has to listen to because Ryan gets all intense and that's pretty terrifying.
William laughs again, but he's eying Brendon thoughtfully. "I'm a brilliant liar, thanks very much," William insists, not meeting Brendon's eyes.
"Look," Brendon says, impatiently. He knows there's an edge to his voice, one he rarely uses. It's enough of a change from his usual playful tones that people will generally stop at listen. He doesn't use it very often, for fear it'll lose it's potency. But he needs it now. And it works on William.
He sighs. "I'm not giving you any wishes."
"Patrick," Brendon says, and William's eyes widen. "I could go and tell, I don't know, Pete? Maybe? I'm sure he'd be interested. And you know he wouldn't blame Patrick at all. And I'm sure Gabe wouldn't want me spreading stuff around, either," Brendon holds his breath- it's a long shot, but if any of the others have secrets to hide, Gabe's are probably top of the list of most scandalous.
"You wouldn't," William narrows his eyes, and Brendon shrugs. He doesn't have much of a poker face, always loses all his chips when Jon makes them play blackjack on the bus, but he's not kidding, not about this.
"Fine," William says after a moment or two of searching Brendon's face. "But if you don't like what you get, don't blame me."
Brendon smiles, baring his teeth at William. "Oh, I won't. What do I have to do?"
"You have to rub me," William says, cocking his hips and raising an eyebrow at Brendon in challenge.
Brendon snorts. "I thought I had to rub your lamp or something. Isn't that how it goes?"
"If that's what you want to call it," William smirks. "Doesn't change the fact that I need precisely one orgasm for every wish I grant. It's up to you how you do it."
Brendon stuffs his hands into his pockets and shifts from one foot to the other, eyeing William contemplatively. When he doesn't move towards him, William smiles, baring his teeth a little.
"That's what I thought," he says, laughing at Brendon for a few seconds before he's cut off with an 'oomph' as Brendon steps into his space quickly and pushes him against the wall, before dropping to his knees.
"You are serious about this then," William comments as Brendon unzips William's jeans and pushes them down, letting his erection spring free.
"Deadly," Brendon says, licking his lips and leaning in, keeping his eyes on William's face as he moves closer.
William's eyes widen. "Oh, hey, you don't have to- I mean simple jerking off- Okay, yeah, no, you do whatever you like..."
Brendon licks along the underside of William's dick, enjoying the gasp that escapes from William's lips. It makes Brendon smile and fit his lips around the head, sucking him into his mouth.
When William comes, Brendon rubs the back of his hand over his mouth and looks up at William, who seems a little dazed.
"Uh," William says, then shakes his head as if trying to clear it. "That was. Um. One wish coming up."
Brendon springs to his feet, waiting expectantly until William finishes putting himself away.
"What do you want?" William asks. "Choose your words carefully."
"I want," Brendon says, and pauses. "I wish...I wish Spencer would, uh..." he makes an obscene hand gesture, and William laughs.
"You want, what, Spencer to bang you?"
"Ye--" Brendon catches himself and points a finger at William. "Aha," he exclaims, "no, no, cos that would be wrong. I don't want to force Spencer to do anything. I wish Spencer would want to bang me."
William's smile spreads slowly across his face. It's oddly predatory and there's a glint in his eyes. He leans in close and brushes his lips against Brendon's.
"As you wish," he says.
Everything goes black.
~~~
"...I don't know," Jon says at the edge of Brendon's consciousness. He thinks himself towards the sound, and the darkness disappears. Someone is carrying him towards the stage. He feels oddly disjointed, and when he tries to move his arms he can't.
In fact they sort of feel like they're not there at all, which makes him try and open his mouth to ask someone to check for him, but he can't do that either. The person carrying him sets him down, and there's a couple more tiny thumps beside him, then one of the techs is bending over him, fussing with things Brendon can't see.
"He'd better turn up soon," Ryan is saying, and he sounds pissed off. Brendon pities whichever fool made Ryan use his annoyed voice, maybe hopes it's Spencer, because it seems like Brendon's slept the whole day away and Spencer has yet to fulfill Brendon's wish, but then he hears Spencer's laugh.
"He'll turn up," Spencer says breezily. "He always does. You know Brendon, he's probably off trying to commune with the local squirrels or something."
Which Brendon thinks is blatantly unfair, since that was just one time and it was completely the fault of Mr Jack Daniels and not his at all. Also, he's sitting right here on the stage, only a few feet from the band. In fact, he's pretty much where Spencer's drum kit usually is, so he'd expect Spencer to notice at least. Especially since he should be wanting to do dirty things to Brendon right about now.
Ryan sighs audibly, and then mutters something when Jon laughs. "I guess we can start without him," he says, and there's a pause, then the sound of strings being strummed as Ryan tunes his guitar. He can hear Jon humming, and then Spencer is bending over him.
"Hi," Brendon tries to say, but the words get caught in his throat as Spencer runs his hand across Brendon, grinning down at him before sitting back. Brendon watches as Spencer twirls his drumsticks for a moment, then starts to lower them.
And realisation hits about a split second before Spencer pounds out a beat on him.
Brendon was never the murderous type, but suddenly he wants to attack William Beckett with a chainsaw.
It's torture. Not only does Brendon have to just sit there for the whole set, trying to force the song out from between his currently non-existent lips, and listening to Ryan and Jon sing his parts for him, but Spencer banging him (and ha ha, yeah, he's going to get William back one day) actually feels good. Really good.
Every inch of Brendon is buzzing, is shaken by Spencer's movements. The bass pounds in time with his heart, faster and faster. The toms are the rhythm of fingertips against his skin, touching, feeling, exploring, and each cymbal crash is electricity running down his spine and making his hair stand on end.
Even worse, is how Spencer looks when he's playing. Brendon has always found that hot, has had to avoid watching him too much on stage, tried not to fixate on the lip licking, on the hair flicks, on the movement of his throat when he downs half a bottle of water mid-set.
And Spencer sweats. He sweats like it's going out of fashion, and watching the way Spencer's shirt clings damply to his body, watching the beads of sweat run down his face, down his neck, is almost unbearable from this close. It makes Brendon want to reach out, to grab him and to lick every drop of sweat from Spencer's body, then do things to him to make him sweat like that all over again. But he can't.
Seriously, Brendon thinks. William is dead as soon as he regains his limbs. If he ever does.
It really doesn't help that, during Brendon's first ever panic attack of his life, he's unable to move or even breathe and the three people in the world capable of calming him down are mere feet away but are mistaking him for a set of drums.
~~~
Brendon calms down in time to hear, several hours after he'd first realised he was a drum kit, Ryan throwing the world's biggest tantrum. It's maybe epic, and even though all Brendon can see is the lighting above the stage, he can pretty much picture the entire scene in his head as it happens.
"I'm going to fucking kill him," Ryan yells, and Brendon would tease him about how high his voice gets, later, except that he'll probably be dead by then. Or still a drum kit. Neither is particularly appealing. There's a clatter of metal as Ryan kicks something (mic stand, maybe, or guitar case, or something else that's noisy but not particularly heavy).
"Ry-" Spencer probably has his arms folded across his chest, frowning at Ryan, at the situation, head ducking down a little to hide his eyes since he's probably been weeping at the lack of Brendon for the past four hours. That last part might, Brendon concedes to himself, be wishful thinking, but the rest still stands.
"He'll turn up," Jon says airily, but Brendon can tell he's worried, can hear it in his voice.
"We're going to have to cancel the show," Ryan says, and Brendon knows his hands are probably balled into tight fists. Ryan hits like a girl, except when he's really angry. Like now. Brendon almost feels sorry for Jon and Spencer, who're probably going to bear the brunt of his rage, except they're both still human, so Brendon's sympathy only runs so far.
Jon sighs. "Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah, we probably should. Tell the kids to go home. Try and find Brendon. He's never been late like this before. Something’s up."
Brendon has always loved Jon Walker the most.
"Or," Spencer says slowly, and Brendon can picture his face, the way his eyes dart towards Ryan, hesitant to suggest, but brave enough to do it anyway because he's Spencer, the person Ryan will always listen to, in the end, "we could find a replacement."
There's a long moment of silence. Brendon spends it silently shouting at Spencer and rethinking the whole 'in love with one of his best friends' thing.
"A replacement," Ryan scoffs. "And where are we going to find one of those? We're on in...less than three hours. Doors open in an hour. Who're we going to get that knows all of the songs? Unless you're volunteering to sing, Spence?"
"No," Spencer answers quickly, which is a shame because Brendon thinks Spencer has a lovely voice when he's not using it to stab Brendon in his currently non-existent back. "But we're in Chicago."
"Huh," Jon says, and Brendon can practically hear the grin spread across his face. "We are. And you know who lives in Chicago? Boys. Boys who sing. Boys who sing on our label and owe us. Boys like-"
"That is the best plan ever," Ryan perks up, all traces of annoyance vanishing in his excitement.
Spencer is already dialling the phone. "Pete?" he says. "We need a favour."
~~~
It's a good show, Brendon has to grudgingly admit. He'd been touched by the crowd's reaction when Ryan had announced that Brendon was 'ill' and unable to perform tonight. The screaming had been almost deafening, until Patrick had walked out on stage, followed by Brendon's soon to be first murder victim, William. Then the entire place had gone incredibly silent, before the applause had rung out loud enough to shake the stage beneath Brendon.
And then they'd played. And they'd played well, although there was something amiss. Brendon could tell, by the way Ryan's voice caught a little as he sung, by the way Jon kept missing notes, by the way Spencer came in late on some of the songs. They were worried, worried about the fact that it was 10pm and Brendon still hadn't turned up.
There’d been no encore. Brendon had been left alone on stage for what seemed like forever, listening to the crowd shuffle out. He was suddenly lonely, and dreading the moment when the techs came and packed him up in pieces and loaded him into the van. It would be cold and dark in the van, and there was always the possibility of becoming lost or damaged, a thought that fills him with dread.
He hears voices approaching, and is surprised when he recognises one of them as Patrick.
"I need to talk to you," Patrick says. "What did you do to Brendon?"
"Nothing," William replies after a brief pause.
Brendon has only heard Patrick get mad twice in the entire time he's known them- once when he thought Pete and Ryan had a thing going on (they didn't, although not for want of trying on Ryan's part), and once when a group of fans had pushed Joe aside in their rush to get to Pete, so violently that he'd hit the side of the tour bus and ended up bruised all down his left side. But on neither occasion has Brendon heard Patrick's voice get this low and dangerous, the hint of malice plain in his tone.
"Bill," Patrick warns, and Brendon would shiver if he could. He hopes he never has to see this side of Patrick aimed at him, and is oddly touched to think Patrick is this concerned for him.
"Patrick," William laughs, and Brendon can almost picture him spreading his arms wide, shaking his head with that attempt at an innocent look. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
There's half a dozen quick footsteps, and then an 'oof' as William's back hits the wall at the back of the stage. Brendon wishes he could see, because his imagination cannot do justice to how wonderfully overpowering Patrick must look with William towering over him.
"Tell me."
The threat of pain is clear, and Brendon can practically hear William swallow.
"Oh!" he says. "Brendon? Yeah, um, he's over there."
There's a long, drawn out pause, and Patrick makes a flustered noise before drawing in his breath sharply.
"William," he says, slowly. "If you tell me-"
"That I turned Brendon into Spencer's drum kit?" William finishes, voice sounding strained.
Suddenly Patrick is standing above Brendon, frowning down at him. It's a good angle for him- Brendon can't help but be a little jealous of Pete getting this view whenever he wants- and then he glances back at William, who moves into view.
"You've got to be fucking with me," Patrick says, and then William walks into view, shaking his head.
"Hey, it's not my fault," William says defensively, folding his arms across his chest. "Brendon wished that Spencer would want to bang him and-"
"Brendon wished what?"
Brendon wonders if it's possible to have a heart attack when you don't have a heart.
"Spencer," Patrick says flatly. "Uh. Hi."
"What did Brendon wish?" Spencer asks again, sounding pissy. "And speaking of Brendon, where the fuck is he? And don't tell me you don't know- I can see on your faces you're hiding something."
Patrick glances down at Brendon, frowns, then opens his mouth.
"Brendon is..."
William sighs. "Look, okay, fine, I'm a genie and Brendon wished that you would want to bang him and, well, it was stupid wording on his part, because I turned him into a drum kit- your drum kit, to be precise- and I'm sorry, but it's not my fault. You can yell at Brendon about it in 5-7 days."
Spencer doesn't say anything for a long, long moment.
Then Patrick says "It's true. I know it sounds insane, but it's true."
And Spencer apparently believes him, because he steps into William's space, close enough that Brendon can see him, and pokes him sharply in the chest.
"Turn him back," Spencer says. "Now."
William shakes his head. He actually does look sorry when he apologises, shrugging a little as he says "I'm sorry, it doesn't work like that."
Patrick huffs. "There must be some way," he says. "It can't just be a case of waiting for this to wear off."
William looks apologetic.
"No," Spencer says. "I want Brendon back now. What if I made a wish?"
A slow smile spreads over William's face. "That could work," he says slowly, and Patrick holds up a hand.
"Wait a minute, Spencer, you don't understand- there are consequences and to get Bill to grant your wish you have to-" Brendon can't see Patrick's gesture but he sees the face Spencer makes in answer.
"I don't make the rules, I'm afraid," William says, popping open the button of his flies and raising a suggestive eyebrow at Spencer.
"This is the only way?" Spencer asks, but he's looking at Patrick, who nods grimly. "Fine," Spencer continues, "fine. If it'll get Brendon back in one piece, then I'll do it. But if I find you guys are shitting me-”
"We're not," Patrick says, sounding miserable. "This is all my fault," he adds as Spencer licks his hand and sticks it down the front of William's pants. "I'm so sorry, Spence. Uh, want me to leave?"
"Don't you dare," Spencer says, jerking William off quickly and methodically. It's not hot, completely clinical, but William appears to be enjoying himself, judging by the noises. He moans low when he comes, a sound Brendon wishes he wasn't familiar with. He hears Spencer make an 'ew' sort of noise as he wipes his hand off.
"Well?" Spencer asks, and William gives him a lazy smile.
"What is it you wish?" William asks, and Spencer frowns for a moment, before saying "I wish Brendon to be returned to normal- normal for him, at least- the way he was before you turned him into my drum kit."
William pouts. "Dammit," he says. “I was so sure you were going to fuck this up," Brendon hears him say before everything goes black again.
~~~
Brendon opens his eyes slowly, blinking against the light. It takes him a moment or two to realise his head (he has a head! again! a head with eyes and a mouth and ears and a nose) is resting in someone's lap. He tests his limbs carefully, places his palm across his chest and feels his heartbeat, and then turns to look up into Spencer's face, which is staring down at him.
"Fuck," Brendon says.
"Thank you is probably the more appropriate response," Spencer says and Brendon opens his mouth and closes it again.
"I'm sorry," he says, instead and Spencer rolls his eyes (Brendon looks forward to rolling his own in the near future, just because he can, but now is neither the time or place) and leans in.
Spencer kisses him.
"Idiot," Spencer says, and then he's gone, letting Brendon’s head clunk down against the floor. Brendon welcomes the brief spark of pain.
Brendon stays lying on his back for a long time until he feels someone tugging at his hand, dragging him to his feet.
"You okay?" Patrick asks and Brendon wobbles for a moment, steadying himself with a hand on Patrick's shoulder. He wriggles his toes and bounces on the spot.
"I really love being human," he says, and Patrick grins at him.
"I'm sorry about this," Patrick says. "I shouldn't have...I feel like it's my fault."
"I agree," William pipes up from behind him. "It's totally Patrick's fault. Blame him."
Brendon narrows his eyes. "You," he starts and then stops and shakes his head. "No, you know what? It's my fault. I should have just said something to Spencer instead of chickening out and trying to cheat."
William smirks. "I think my work here is done," he says. "No harm, no foul, right? Although, hey, if you want me to make Ryan's voice disappear for a few days so he won't yell at you for not showing up tonight, I wouldn't say no to another blow job."
Brendon stops glaring at him to stare at Patrick in horror. "Oh god," he says. "Ryan is going to kill me dead."
"Want me to come with you?" Patrick asks, and Brendon wants to say yes, but he's suddenly sick of wimping out of standing up to things.
“No,” he says, squaring his shoulders. “No, I’ll be okay. Except…if I’m not? Tell my family I love them, okay?”
Patrick laughs, but Brendon’s only partly joking.
He runs into Zack first, who grabs him into a tight hug and says, “If you ever disappear on me like that again, I will kill you,” and then lets him go.
Brendon climbs the steps of the bus nervously. It’s quiet, and only Jon and Spencer seem to be around. That’s unusual- what with techs and touring bands and friends, the bus is normally a buzz of noise, especially right after a show when everyone’s buzzing from adrenaline. Brendon guesses Spencer must’ve cleared them all out for tonight though, told them all what happened- or a good enough cover story at least- because Jon gets up and wraps Brendon in a hug.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Jon says. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you about Bill.”
Brendon pulls back. “You knew?” he asks and Jon makes a face and looks away. There’s an expression on his face that suggests that he learned the hard way, and Brendon wants to ask, wants to find out what Jon’s wish had been, but he sees Spencer looking at them, a small crease between his brows.
“Where’s Ryan?” Brendon asks instead. “Did you lock up everything sharp? And, actually, anything not bolted down? And his scarves, because those could be used to strangle me in my sleep.”
“He’s in his bunk,” Spencer says lightly. “He. Well…”
“He’s mad,” Jon explains, and Brendon opens his mouth to say “Well, duh!” but Jon cuts him off before he can speak. “He’s mad because he can’t really be mad at you. Well, not as much as he likes. It’s not like you missed the show on purpose, you know?”
Brendon frowns and glances down the bus in the direction of the bunks.
“Don’t worry,” Spencer reassures him. “He’ll kick your ass at some point. I think he’s just disappointed he can’t do the whole kicking and screaming thing.”
Brendon relaxes a little. A Ryan who wasn’t mad at him for something like this would freak Brendon out even more than being turned into a drum kit.
He lets his eyes stray back to Spencer, and Jon clears his throat.
“Um, I’m gonna go and make sure Ryan is…well, I’ll see if he’s ready to shout at you yet.” He rests his hand on Brendon’s arm for a moment as he passes and Brendon smiles at him.
“I owe you an explanation,” he says, and Spencer quirks an eyebrow.
“You owe me nothing,” he says lightly. “But since I spent the last half hour covering for you and making sure you weren’t burnt to a crisp by Ryan’s death glare, it’d be nice.”
“Not to mention the fact that you had to give William Beckett a handjob,” Brendon adds, helpfully, and Spencer gives him a long suffering look.
“It’s not the worst thing I’d do to get you back,” he says, and Brendon’s heart thumps loudly in his chest.
“I. I’m sorry,” he says. “For everything.”
“I can’t believe you made that wish in the first place,” Spencer says. Of course he doesn’t, Brendon thinks, because Spencer is the sensible one. Spencer would never have wished for what Brendon had wished for. Mainly because he doesn’t want to do those things to Brendon.
“Did you not think,” Spencer continues before Brendon can say anything, “that instead of jerking Beckett off-“
“Um, blowjob, actually,” Brendon interrupts, and Spencer tips his head to the side and gives Brendon a considering look.
“Instead of blowing Beckett,” Spencer continues with emphasis that makes Brendon want to glance away for a moment, his face flushed and hot, “to get into my pants, that maybe blowing me instead was a much better idea?”
“You wouldn’t have- wait,” Brendon says. “Would it really have been that simple?”
Spencer shrugs. “I might have bought you dinner first,” he says, and Brendon feels his mouth drop open a little. “But I would have reciprocated. I’m guessing Beckett didn’t?” There’s a hint of something in his voice that Brendon is willing to bet a lot of money on it being jealousy.
“No,” Brendon says, unable to hide his grin. “No, he didn’t. I wouldn’t want him to anyways.”
“So,” Spencer says slowly. “Tonight, both of us have gotten someone else off, without getting off ourselves. You expressed a desire to have sex with me, and I spent an hour and a half beating you with wooden sticks. Since neither of us are in one of Gabe’s ‘home movies’ I’m thinking there’s probably a mutually satisfying way to end the night on a good note.”
Brendon inhales sharply, his breath catching. “There is?” he asks, and Spencer nods, unfolding his legs and standing up, moving into Brendon’s space.
Brendon looks up at Spencer, and thinks about earlier, being stretched out below him while Spencer tossed sweaty hair out of his eyes and pounded out a rhythm, and wonders if something similar, but much more satisfying for both of them, is what Spencer has in mind.
“I think,” Brendon says, as Spencer fits their bodies together in a way that’s almost too perfect to be true, “that next time I want to have sex with you I’ll just tell you.”
Spencer hums his approval. “Or you could, you know, roll over in bed and nudge me. That’d probably work too.”
Brendon has a brief moment of wondering if he’s going to have to thank William for the fact that his real wish is about to come true, but Spencer and his clever, clever hands and tongue chase all thoughts of wishes and genies out of his mind.
~~~
William is in the front lounge the next afternoon when Brendon surfaces from Spencer’s bunk, apparently being lectured by Ryan, if the look on his face is anything to go by.
“Brendon!” William exclaims when he sees him. “And Spencer!” he adds, as Spencer appears behind Brendon, looking worn out and rumpled. “Everything worked out then?”
Spencer makes a face at him. “Yeah. No thanks to you. I’m guessing Ryan’s listed all of the ways he can kill a man and make it look like an accident?”
William pales a little and Ryan smirks. Brendon tries to share a look with him, but Ryan narrows his eyes at him, alerting Brendon to the fact that he’s still pissed and that a lengthy lecture is coming in his near future.
William gives a shaky laugh. “So, Spencer, how about another wish? Because, I mean, that was one of the best handjobs I’ve ever had. Or Brendon, how about you?”
“Your punishment is knowing you’ll never have these lips on you again,” Brendon tells him, trying not to feel snubbed when William shrugs as if that wasn’t the most devastating news he could ever receive.
“What about you, Ross?” William asks and Ryan gives him a level look.
“Sure,” he says, and William grins. “Know what I’m going to wish for? I’m gonna make sure you can’t grant any more wishes.”
William’s smile dims a watt or two. “You’d have to get the wording just right,” he says, and a wicked smile spreads over Ryan’s face.
“Well,” Ryan says slowly. “I’m guessing that wishing that you never, ever orgasm again should work, don’t you?”
William’s smile disappears. “Oh hey,” he says, glancing at his bare wrist. “Look at the time. I think I’ll just…” and he disappears in a puff of smoke.
“Cool!” Brendon exclaims, staring at the spot where William had been. “I never got to ask him if he had a lamp or-“
“I’m throwing your Aladdin DVD away,” Ryan breaks in and Brendon pouts.
“That’s not fair,” he says, and Ryan shrugs.
“Can I lecture you now?” he asks, and Brendon sighs.
“Howsabout you don’t throw the DVD away, and I let you shout at me for a whole hour? Without Jon or Spencer interfering.”
Ryan gives Brendon a considering look. “Deal,” he says, and Brendon sinks down into the seat opposite him.
“Good luck,” Spencer says, putting a bowl of cereal in front of him and pressing his lips to Brendon’s.
Brendon watches as Spencer walks away, stuffing his earphones in his ears, and grabbing Jon, who appears suddenly in the doorway to the bunks, by the arm and leading him away.
“Let’s start with how completely irresponsible you were, making a wish like that on a day we had a show,” Ryan begins and Brendon stops listening, takes a huge bite of his cereal, thinks about having sex with Spencer again later, and watches the vein in Ryan’s forehead throb.