Pull Your Tangles Out, Spencer/Brendon, NC-17
Title: Pull Your Tangles Out
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon
Word Count: 9,000
Summary: If this is like a thing you two do.
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Mild D/s content, orgasm denial
Author Notes: For sosodirty prompt: "Following Orders." Title and cut text from Tegan and Sara's "Not Tonight." Thanks to okubyo_kitsune for the constant hand holding, anoneknewmoose for the last minute comma pick, and to the amazing stephanometra and boy_wrangler for the betas, without you two this story would not be here and my head would have exploded several times over. About 900 people read over this for me at one point or another, so if you were ever in on this doc you can just assume that you have my constant hearteyes, okay?
In retrospect maybe it was a little weird, but in all fairness, Spencer really, really didn't notice anything until Jon pointed it out. It was just something he’d always done; hell, it was useful most of the time, being able to rein Brendon in with just a look, or a certain tone of voice, or if all else failed a, “Shut the fuck up, seriously.”
It wasn’t a big deal or anything. In fact, he can’t even think back on some big moment of realization; it had just always kind of been there. During the first few months after Brendon joined the band, when he was still nearly vibrating with excitement and Ryan was circling him warily like a caged animal, Brent had even referred to it as Spencer’s own personal superpower. He does remember rolling his eyes at Brent and saying that he’d hold out for flight, or invisibility or something, but he doesn’t remember making a conscious decision to be The Boss Of Brendon. Besides it wasn’t like Brendon had to listen to him or anything; he just kind of...did.
*
“Brendon, seriously, bed,” Spencer says, pushing at Brendon’s shoulder where it was resting against his leg.
“Dude, no, come on, I am about to kick Jon’s ass on such an epic scale. Seriously epic. Someone will write songs about the ass kicking I am about to deliver.”
Jon snorts, and on the screen Brendon’s character’s head explodes in a spray of gore. “Owned,” Jon says evenly. “So owned.”
Brendon gapes at Jon, then the screen, and twists around to gape at Spencer. “No. No. Rematch!”
“Bed,” Spencer says, firmly. “We have an interview tomorrow. I’m not asking you.” Brendon grumbles in a cursory manner before standing up and shuffling toward the bunks, and when Spencer rises to follow, he finds Jon staring at him in this even, measuring way.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Jon says, but Spencer can practically feel Jon's eyes boring into his back as he turns towards the bunks.
*
“Orange juice, not Red Bull,” Spencer says the next morning when he sees Brendon making eyes at the fresh 24-pack they’d picked up.
“Fine,” he says, huffing a little as he pours a glass.
Jon raises his eyes from his cereal, flicks them back and forth between Spencer and Brendon, and Spencer says, “What?”
*
They have a little bubble of free time between the interview and sound check, and for some unknown reason Jon and Ryan are set on finding fried chicken.
Ryan goes to OK it with Zack and Jon starts hunting for his shoes. “Coming?” Jon asks, and Brendon bounces to his feet with a, “Yes!” at the same time Spencer says, “No.”
Brendon sits back down.
Jon quirks an eyebrow.
Spencer says, “What?”
*
That night, Jon flops down beside him on the sofa in the lounge.
“So. Brendon.”
“No, Spencer,” he retorts before he can stop himself. “What?” He turns to face Jon, and Jon has his I Am Terribly Wise And Rife With Life Experience, Young Friend expression on.
“It’s a little weird,” is all Jon says.
“It? Like, Brendon in general? Because you kind of missed the memo on that one, man.”
“No. Just,” Jon sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t take this wrong way or freak out or anything, but just . . . he does whatever you say, dude. Even when I’m pretty sure he really, really doesn’t want to.”
“He-” Huh. Well. Spencer had never really thought of it that way, that he might be keeping Brendon from things he wanted to do, that he might be able to keep Brendon from things at all. It put a sharp, unfamiliar taste in his mouth.
“Look,” Jon says into the silence. “If that’s something that-if this is like a thing you two do, that’s fine, but just. Sometimes, it’s a little weird. That’s all.”
Jon stands up, ruffles Spencer’s hair, and heads off for the bunks.
*
Spencer only gets in about two hours of fitful sleep, Jon’s words echoing in head.
If this is like a thing you two do.
*
The problem is that Spencer’s aware of it now. He tries to just stop, stop saying anything to Brendon that could be taken as anything more than a personal opinion. He doesn’t even want to venture into light suggestions. He spends most of the day biting his tongue against things he wouldn't have given a second thought to before, but despite his best efforts, old habits die hard, and he only makes it until an hour or so before the show that night, when Brendon is buzzing with energy and flitting around Ryan while he’s trying to do his makeup. The third time Ryan swears and starts over, Spencer, unthinking, snaps, “Brendon.”
Brendon stills and crosses to sit beside Spencer on the couch, and Spencer is really greatful Jon’s not in the room. When he glances over, he notices that Brendon is sitting tall and taut, tension throughout his body, and, huh. Spencer sees Brendon’s foot twitch from the corner of his eye, and it dawns on him that Brendon’s trying to hold himself still.
Which is. Huh. He hadn’t said that. All he had said was, “Brendon.” He hadn’t even said it loudly, or angrily, just even. Just. Brendon.
Spencer reaches over and smooths his thumb over the back of Brendon’s hand. “It’s okay.” He doesn’t know what makes him say that, but Brendon relaxes back into the cushions and pushes as close to Spencer as he can get.
*
If this is like a thing you two do.
And. Maybe.
*
Spencer tries to rationalize that he’s only doing this so he can figure out how to make Brendon stop. That’s all; it has nothing to do with the tight knot at the base of his spine when he thinks about this, about pushing Brendon, seeing how far he’ll go, seeing what he’ll do simply because Spencer tells him to.
For whatever reason, Spencer spends the next day giving Brendon near constant orders. No coffee. No Red Bull. Only one donut. Stop tapping.
And Brendon listens.
Spencer feels himself growing antsy, like there’s something crawling under his skin, begging to get out and become bigger, more.
They all pile into the back lounge after lunch. Ryan hits the lights and Brendon follows Spencer to the couch on the right. It’s Jon’s pick, so they end up watching Almost Famous for, like, the tenth time. They’re barely fifteen minutes in before Brendon is fidgeting beside him. “What?” Spencer asks quietly.
“I have to pee.”
Spencer doesn’t even realize he’s said it until he hears it, hanging quiet but heavy in the air between them.
“No.”
Brendon’s eyes widen just a little but he nods, presses his legs together tightly and burrows into Spencer’s side.
Holy. Shit. Spencer has no concept of what exactly is going on, what he’s doing, but he’s really grateful that Jon singing along loudly to the soundtrack was apparently enough to drown them out.
He feels Brendon fidget as he squeezes his thighs tighter together. He's squirming against Spencer's side, skin practically vibrating with tiny, constant movement. The tension in Brendon's body feels like it's bleeding into Spencer's everywhere they touch.
And fuck. There is no reason Spencer should have told Brendon he couldn’t go pee.
There’s less of a reason that he should have listened.
Brendon, wriggling around slightly against him, feels too warm, too solid, too real. Spencer’s head is fuzzy and uncertain, full of possibility. He squeezes his eyes shut, grits out, “Brendon, go,” and breathes in relief when Brendon bounds off the couch and down the hall, drawing the tension with him and giving Spencer a chance to breathe.
Brendon, it would appear, is some kind of freaky speed demon when it comes to using the bathroom, because it feels like all of two seconds have passed before he’s back, pausing in the doorway. He slants a look at Spencer, then hesitantly moves to sit down on the opposite end of the couch, as far away from Spencer as he can get in the small space. Spencer’s gut clenches, because this isn't right either; he's pushed too far, he knows he has, and now Brendon is scared of him.
Maybe it’s force of habit, maybe it’s just stubborn stupidity, but Spencer has to do something to fix that, so he lets himself say the first thing that bubbles up. “No. Here.” Brendon’s back at his side in an instant, tucking in close. Spencer's head is swimming, relief and confusion circling around each other while across the room, Ryan and Jon scream about being Golden Gods.
*
Spencer escapes to his bunk while Jon and Ryan head out to find a Mexican restaurant with “Enchiladas, but, like, real enchiladas. You know.” Spencer doesn't know.
Spencer doesn’t actually know anything right now, and that’s the problem. He has no clue why Brendon chose to stay, yielding to Spencer without any explanation. It's possible Brendon was just being polite. It’s never happened before but it could have happened; maybe he had just thought it would be rude to get up and interrupt the movie. Spencer just wishes he knew what Brendon was looking for, that he didn't feel so out of his depth here. He doesn't know what Brendon is thinking, or what sort of boundaries there are, and most of all, Spencer doesn’t know why he keeps pushing.
Maybe Brendon’s, like, scared of him. Maybe that’s what Jon had meant, that Spencer was being an asshole, forcing Brendon to do things he didn’t want to do. But he can’t really reconcile that with the slow, comfortable grin that had spread across Brendon’s face when he slid back into Spencer’s space, the way his body settled against Spencer's, and that, maybe, is a little scarier. The idea that Brendon is doing this because he wants to. That thought sparks the antsy, alive feeling in Spencer’s chest again, and his bunk suddenly feels stifling, too hot and too dark.
He can hear the bus shower running, so he figures it's safe to hoist himself out of his bunk and move to the back lounge. He cranks the AC up as high as he can get it since Ryan isn’t around to complain and shiver like a Chihuahua if the temperature dips below 75. These are prime thinking conditions; the lounge is dark and cool and quiet, and his head is starting to clear, so of course that’s when Brendon comes in wearing only a towel, and throws on the lights. “Spence, you seen my sweatpants?” Spencer tries really, really hard to focus on anything but the way water drips from Brendon’s hair, the way his skin is already bumping over in the cold. “Why are you lurking in the dark and why is it so cold in here?” Brendon's rubbing his hands together exaggeratedly, shifting from foot to foot in the cold, and that is really not helping anything.
Spencer knows he’s looking at Brendon open and heated, and when Brendon’s eyes flick over and meet Spencer’s, he goes perfectly still, even though it’s cold and he’s wet and Spencer can see the tension in his body as he holds in his shivers. Spencer swallows, hard, and says, “Sit down.” Brendon moves to sit next to Spencer, but Spencer shakes his head. “Other couch.”
Brendon looks small and fragile when he settles in on the couch opposite Spencer, wedges in between the couch and the small table still pulled too close from where Jon and Brendon had been playing cards earlier. It’s freezing in the room, even Spencer is cold now, and he’s dry and fully clothed. Brendon’s still holding himself stiff and tall; he’s not shivering but Spencer can see that his skin is bumped over, his nipples peaked and his teeth chattering just a little. He doesn’t drop Spencer’s gaze, even as his resolve breaks and a small shiver makes its way up his spine, going from a slight twitch to violent shudders pretty quickly, rocking the table a little.
Spencer's head clears at that, the faint knocking noise of Brendon's leg against the table. Spencer shouldn't be doing this, it’s cold and Brendon is wet and half-naked but he’s not moving, just looking at Spencer, his eyes searching and his lips are wan looking and trembling but he’s not moving. “Kitchen.” Spencer has to say the word twice before it comes out right. He clears his throat. “Your pants are on one of the kitchen chairs.”
Brendon blinks, and he holds Spencer's gaze for a second before gets up, his eyes dark. When he walks past Spencer’s couch on his way out of the lounge, Spencer has to stop himself from reaching out to let his hand brush against Brendon’s back just to see how cold the skin feels.
He knows that Brendon would let him.
*
Spencer is apparently never going to sleep again. He’s been lying awake in the dark for approximately 809 hours, and Jon’s loud snores and Ryan’s random mumblings aren’t helping matters any. He usually finds it a little soothing, living on top of each other for so long having made the noises familiar instead of distracting, and it takes him a second to place what's wrong. He can’t actually hear Brendon, none of the quiet humming he can't quite help but let out when listening to his iPod before bed mingling in with the other noises. There’s no noise at all coming from Brendon’s bunk, and Spencer is about to see if he’s sitting sleepless in the lounge like he sometimes does when he hears the little whimper float across from Brendon’s bunk.
His mind worries, “Nightmare!” at the same time his dick screams, “Brendon is whimpering!” and he listens closer, hard, until he can hear the little rhythmic rustles over the noise of the road and the other guys. He feels like he’s breathing too loudly, too obvious, but he’s suddenly so hard he feels like his dick is going to explode, and all he wants is to see, wants to pull the curtain back and watch. He could ask. Brendon would probably say yes. A low, cut off gasp comes from Brendon's bunk, and when Spencer focuses on something beyond his own erection, he can just hear wet, steady noises. He presses one wrist against his cock through his sleep pants and reaches for his Sidekick with his free hand, thumbs on the keypad before he's even sure of what he wants to say. He ends up with, “Brendon. Stop.”
He hears the bzz of Brendon’s phone, and then a choked off groan. He listens intently, but there's no more noise coming from Brendon's bunk. And. Holy fucking shit. Spencer’s brain is kind of blank and cloudy with lust until a low, pained sounding groan from Brendon snaps him out of it, and he types, “Do you want to finish?”
It takes all of five seconds before he gets Brendon’s response, “y.”
Spencer waits, not quite sure what he's waiting for until his phone vibrates against his chest with the text he didn't know he wanted. “plz can i?”
Spencer’s cock actually twitches against the pressure of his wrist, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, swallows the lump in his throat, sends back, “Loud enough for me to hear.” His head is swimming with all kinds of things he’s not used to feeling so sharply, an insistent jab instead of a dull ache, and as an afterthought, he adds, “No coming.”
The noises start back almost immediately and the rustle is the same, but now there are little groans and pants escaping and Spencer’s got his hand down his pants before he can even think, trying to find some approximation of the rhythm he thinks Brendon has going. He lets his hand twist up to the head every time Brendon makes a noise, and the sharp little pants coming from Brendon’s bunk get increasingly loud and rough, enough that Spencer is a little paranoid that this'll wake someone up.
He listens for Jon’s snores, Ryan’s sleepy grumbles, and he almost misses the low, steady whine coming from Brendon’s bunk. Brendon abruptly chokes a little, and he hears, broken but still whispered, “Spencer,” and it sounds so raw and strung out that Spencer comes hard all over his fist, just at the sound. His own breath is harsh in his ears, but he can still hear Brendon, breathing hard and desperate, and when he hears a broken sob, just loud enough to carry, he wipes his hand off and quickly texts, “Now.”
Brendon’s moan is muffled but still loud, and his breathing is still so hard that Spencer can hear it easily. His own heart is beating so wildly it feels like it’s about to rip through his chest. Brendon’s breath evens out a bit, and he says, just loud enough to be heard, “Spencer?”
Spencer pinches himself, hard, right in the fleshy part of his upper arm. Right. He scrubs a hand over his face and texts Brendon, “Go to sleep.” He hears a little rustling from Brendon’s bunk, and then, softly, “Night, Spence.”
*
Spencer’s the only one up when Brendon comes shuffling into the kitchen the next morning, yawning and rubbing at his eyes distractedly. Spencer feels an overwhelming rush of fondness before the vague nausea of awkwardness sets in. Brendon walks over to the cabinet, shuffles the contents around. “Pop-tart?” he asks over his shoulder, and Spencer grumbles his assent. He can do this. He can pretend like nothing happened. Brendon stretches up to reach into the back of the cabinet, though, and who is Spencer kidding? He gets up quietly, crowds Brendon against the counter from behind, and he can hear the hitch in Brendon’s breath, see the way his knuckles go white where he’s gripping the counter.
“We should talk,” he says, and he reaches over Brendon to grab the box. Brendon huffs out a little noise and just kind of melts into Spencer, fitting back against Spencer’s chest easily, naturally. They've been this close before, probably even been in this very position before, but Spencer doesn't remember it feeling like this, like he's going to jump out of his skin any second now. This is not good, and he is going to pull away, he is, but Brendon’s still a little sleep warm and hazy, and when Brendon tries to turn around Spencer finds himself using his hips to pin Brendon against the counter. He’s half hard, nestled firmly against Brendon’s ass, thin flannel separating the two, and Brendon lets out a little noise and works his hips back as close as he can.
“Shh,” he says, and his own voice sounds strained, and fuck, fuck, they’re supposed to be talking, but Brendon’s nodding, still trying to press back more tightly against Spencer, even though there’s no room left. Spencer rests his face in the crook of Brendon’s neck, nuzzles in. He can feel the throb of Brendon’s pulse against his lips, a little frantic, and he bites down, thin, soft skin that tastes like sweat and sleep in his mouth. Spencer can feel the moan that Brendon bites back, and he lets go, whispers, quiet and strained into Brendon's ear, “Why are you, what-”
That, of course, is when Jon clears his throat behind them, reaches gingerly around Spencer, and takes the now crumpled Pop-tart box of Spencer’s hand. Brendon lets out a rush of breath and goes rigid against Spencer, and fuck. Fuck. Spencer makes a vaguely soothing noise at Brendon, brushes his hand over his back when he pulls his body away. “Go sit down,” he says, “Jon is making us Pop-tarts, apparently.”
“I’m very serious about the preservation of my breakfast pastries, Smith,” Jon quips, but when he looks at Spencer, his eyes are questioning.
*
If this is like a thing you two do.
Then he’s going to eventually have to actually talk to Brendon.
*
They mostly manage to avoid each other for the rest of the day, but Brendon keeps giving him these long, searching looks that leave Spencer keyed up and restless. By the time they make it back to the bus after the show he's downright twitchy, the leftover adrenaline is not helping matters at all. Brendon seems to be in the weird headspace he gets into after a particularly good performance: the rush of manic energy evening out into quiet burn, his body tense and fingers flexing mindlessly on the nearest available surface, which is usually Spencer but currently Ryan. Ryan makes it about five minutes before he snaps at Brendon, jerking away and looking at Spencer accusingly.
"Spence, do that thing you do."
Jon snorts. Brendon keeps his head down but sucks his bottom lip in. Spencer can see his teeth working it over, sinking in, and without thinking even a little bit about what he's doing, he's circling his fingers around Brendon's wrist, pulling him back toward the bunks.
"Spence, what-" Brendon says. There's tension singing down his arm, muscles taut under Spencer's fingers, but he doesn't resist, just follows Spencer back into the bunks and makes a breathless, surprised sound when Spencer stops short. Spencer whirls on him, pushes him up against the wall. His hands settle on Brendon's hips, digging in a little, and he tries to ignore Brendon's hitched breath, tries to focus on what he needs to say.
"Why," he starts, staring down at Brendon, who's staring back, wide-eyed, bottom lip still clutched between his teeth. They're close but not touching, Spencer's hands on Brendon's hips their only point of contact. He tightens his grip, trying to steady himself, and very resolutely doesn't react to the way Brendon's hips stutter. "Stop it," he says, and it comes out low, frustrated, hissing from between his teeth. Brendon goes lax under his hands, just like that, and before he can help himself, Spencer blurts out, "Why do you do that? Why do you just listen to me like that all the time?"
Brendon tenses again a little but he doesn't move away, doesn't look away from Spencer, even though Spencer can see the struggle on his face, the blush that's creeping over his cheeks. "Do you not-do you want me to stop? If you don't want me to, I'll stop." He does look away at that, ducking his head down, hiding his eyes.
Spencer gives into the frustration that's twisting up in his chest. "That's not what I asked you," he says.
Brendon makes a low, frustrated noise in his throat, but he doesn't answer, doesn't meet Spencer's eyes. Spencer digs his fingers into the flesh of Brendon's hips, harder this time, hard enough that Brendon's head snaps up, his eyes hot and mouth open, a vaguely word-shaped noise slipping out from between his lips. Spencer's so distracted staring at Brendon's bottom lip, swollen and shiny from where his teeth had been working over it, that he just barely hears Brendon's, "Because I want to."
His face is flushed and he won't meet Spencer's eyes, and if they're going to do this - whatever this is - Spencer needs to know. "That's not good enough," he says, his voice sounding gruff and foreign to his ears. "Tell me."
Brendon goes absolutely still, and Spencer feels a sudden surge of worry that he's gone too far; he tries to unclench his hands from around Brendon's hips but freezes when he hears it-quiet at first, almost whispered. "I trust you," Brendon says, and Spencer's eyes widen. Brendon's staring at him, breathing heavy and deep, but his eyes are still now, focused on Spencer. He says it again, louder, "I trust you."
It hits Spencer like a punch; and he draws in a deep, shuddering breath, letting it back out slowly. He feels like he should be scared, overwhelmed, maybe, but instead the hot, tight feeling that's taken up residence in his chest lately is uncurling, spreading through the rest of his body as he stares down at Brendon. Brendon, who's looking back up at him with wide, clear eyes, worrying his lip again but staying still, so still, like he's waiting for Spencer.
Spencer doesn't much want to speak. What he'd like to do is lean down, replace the teeth moving over Brendon's mouth with his own, bite down until he makes his own marks to replace the ones Brendon has left. He can't drag his eyes away from Brendon's lips, but he forces his voice to stay even as he says, "If I ever-if you really didn't want to do something I asked you to do, you'd tell me no, right?"
Brendon shivers under his hands, just a little, just enough that Spencer manages to pull his gaze up, meet Brendon's eyes. "Depends on the something," Brendon says, quiet but clear, and it hangs heavy in the air between them. Spencer's trying to get his brain to work, to formulate a response when he feels a gentle tug at his belt loops as Brendon's fingers thread through them, pulling Spencer closer.
Brendon tilts his face up, his eyes pleading, asking without having to say it out loud, and Spencer kind of breaks, he can't help it. He crushes his mouth and his body against Brendon, presses him tight against the wall. He licks over Brendon's lips, swollen and tender, then into his mouth. Brendon's mouth is frantic on his, tiny, desperate little sounds getting trapped between their lips as his hips buck against Spencer's, and Brendon's fingers tighten in Spencer's belt loops then pull away, scrabbling at the button on his pants.
A loud thump and Jon's muffled but still entirely too close cry of, "Asshole!" cuts through the haze in Spencer's mind. He groans and wraps his fingers around Brendon's wrist, pulling his hand away. "No," he says, going for stern, but sounding rough and broken.
Brendon's panting, eyes wide as stares up at Spencer, and it's the hardest thing Spencer's ever had to do, saying, "Not here, not now." There's the sound of more scuffling from the lounge, proving his point, and he makes himself pull back, smoothing down Brendon's clothes, his hair, only letting his hands linger a fraction longer than they should. Brendon's hard in his jeans, and he arches up silently when Spencer lets his hand trail just low enough to brush his knuckles over the line of Brendon's erection.
"Go on," Spencer says, pulling his hand back and nodding toward the front of the bus. He can tell Brendon wants to object, his eyes holding Spencer's gaze for a moment before he turns and heads back to the lounge.
Spencer lets himself grin for just a moment before he presses his hand to his own dick, knocks his head back against the wall, and breathes in deep.
*
Spencer makes it through two rounds of Halo, half an episode of Top Chef, and three sneaky, stealth attempts at cuddling from Brendon before he announces, "Bed."
Brendon gets up to follow him without comment, tucks himself into Spencer's space as soon as the door closes behind them. He looks up at Spencer with big, hopeful eyes, and Spencer's pretty sure he should get a medal or something for self control, here, jesus. "Go to sleep," he says, giving in just a little and dropping his head to nuzzle at Brendon's neck, breathing him in. Brendon nods but waits a moment before climbing into his bunk and drawing the curtain. Spencer waits until he's most definitely behind his own closed bunk curtain to let out a shaky breath. He doesn't think he'll fall asleep anytime soon.
It isn't long before he hears Ryan and Jon coming in to the bunks, a habit born of long years of sleepovers and sharing small spaces. Ryan hates to keep Spencer up, and he knows Spencer won't be able to sleep until Ryan has settled in. Ryan, true to form, is out only a few minutes after his head hits the pillow, and Spencer only rolls his eyes a little bit when he hears Jon mutter a few select profanities while shedding his shirt, knuckles hitting his bunk ceiling the same way they do every damn night. Jon's light, soft snore starts up soon enough, and Spencer shifts his attention across the aisle, listening for Brendon's even breathing and sleepy snuffles.
He can hear Brendon shuffling around just a bit, his breathing too loud and fast to be asleep yet, and it occurs to Spencer that maybe Brendon's waiting for him, waiting up for him the way he waits up for Ryan. Waiting in case Spencer wants something from him. The thought apparently cuts straight to his dick, and the soft, low thrum of arousal of the last few hours flares sharp and biting. He presses a hand to the front of his boxers with a quiet gasp, hears an answering breath come from Brendon's bunk, and scrabbles for his phone with his free hand, sends off a quick, "Quiet."
Spencer squeezes his dick through the thin material of his boxers, making himself wait, wait for Brendon to go silent and still. He keeps his phone close, in case Brendon gets any ideas, but he seems to understand what Spencer wants, just like always. There's almost absolute silence from Brendon's bunk, save for his breathing, still too heavy but muffled, now. Spencer can picture it, Brendon's face buried in his arm or maybe a pillow, cock hard but untouched, listening for a signal. Spencer indulges a little, lets himself be a touch louder than he normally would as he wrestles his boxers down just far enough to free his cock. He's hard, he's been hard for hours, and the hiss he lets out when he wraps a hand around himself is totally involuntary. He thinks he hears Brendon make a choked off noise, but his own breathing is loud in his ears, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight as he works himself.
His cock is already a little wet with pre-come, and his fist slides down easily, tight and perfect, just a little rough. He knows what Brendon sounds like - the soft noises and tiny whines - and he closes his eyes, focuses on how Brendon must look. Pictures Brendon's body stretched out in a long, tight line while he fists his cock, his legs spread wide. Spencer wonders if Brendon bites his lip too while he does this, if he's fast and frantic or slow and steady. Spencer's hand speeds up as he imagines it, tries to piece it together in his head. He wonders if Brendon bucks up into his hand when he comes, or if he curls in around his fist. He can hear Brendon now, his harsh breathing, but Brendon's not moving, he's being so perfect, so still, and Spencer almost bites through the inside of his cheek as he gives one final, long pull and spills over his hand with a grunt. When the blood stops pounding in his ears, he hears Brendon's whispered, questioning, "Spencer?"
Spencer fumbles for his phone, texts, "I remember telling you to go sleep." His phone pings a second later, the message simple but still sending a little pang through Spencer's spent cock, "want."
Something unfurls in Spencer's chest, an easy, warm feeling, and he puts his phone down, says just loud enough for Brendon to hear, "Soon."
*
It's another three days before they get a hotel night. Brendon doesn't even wait for the door to close fully, just drops his bag and launches himself at Spencer, twisting his limbs around until he's as close to Spencer's body as he can get. Spencer catches him around the waist, stumbling with the effort to keep them upright, and he can already feel Brendon hard against his thigh. Spencer shuffles them back a little, letting his weight press the door closed as he slumps back against it, crouching a bit to reach Brendon's mouth. Brendon's kissing him deep and frantic, tongue licking at every part of Spencer's mouth he can reach, making soft little moaning noises that gust over Spencer's lips.
Spencer tries to take stock, tries not to lose himself in the kiss, but Brendon's hands are tangled tight in his hair and their chests are pushing together with each exhale, battling for space where there's none to be found. He comes back to himself a little when he realizes that Brendon's managed to wiggle his way onto Spencer's thigh, using Spencer's stance to his advantage. Brendon's hips immediately start to grind down, rubbing fast and desperate, and Spencer tightens his arms around Brendon involuntarily. Brendon must take it as encouragement because his hands race for the button of Spencer's jeans, fingers clumsy. Spencer takes a deep, calming breath and pushes Brendon back a little, gently, gradually, so Brendon doesn't get the wrong idea.
Spencer's kind of flying blind here, and it's not like he expected them to sit down and work out formal terms or anything, but this, Brendon shivering against him, it's an almost unfair distraction. He has to bite back a gasp when he focuses on Brendon, standing in front of him with dark, wide eyes. His mouth is red and raw-looking, and Spencer's floored by a surge of want so strong it makes makes his head spin. It's been days, days of watching Brendon grow more and more desperate for touch. Days of denying himself the same thing, fingers almost itching with the need to touch Brendon beyond the small, steadying seconds he's allowed himself. Days of jerking off to thoughts of this very moment every night, coming even harder knowing he was denying Brendon the same relief. He doesn't really know how long he spends there just staring at Brendon, caught up in hot, frenzied thoughts, but he snaps to attention when Brendon lets out a sharp, keening noise.
"Spencer," he gasps out, "please," and he's shaking a little, body held taut and rigid. He's not moving. He won't, not until Spencer tells him to. Spencer wants- Spencer wants, and he's struck dumb with it. Part of him wants to go slow, draw it out even further, see how far he can push Brendon, how far Brendon will go just because Spencer tells him to.
His cock is pushing painfully against his jeans, though, and Brendon looks close to tears from his own want. That, at least, he can take care of. He can get Brendon off, reward those long days of waiting. Spencer groans, cups himself roughly through his jeans, squeezes a little. "What do you want?" he asks, low and gruff. Brendon's eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and he shakes his head. Spencer barks out a laugh, harsh and loud and only a little hysterical, but thankfully Brendon's gaze clears just a bit as he blinks up at Spencer.
"Bren." He cups Brendon's jaw, fingers as insistent as his tone. "C'mon, what do you want?" He's honestly not expecting it when Brendon groans and falls to his knees to drag his mouth across the rough denim over Spencer's cock.
Brendon's voice is scratchy and a little slurred as he groans out, "Spencer, please, want to-I've wanted to." As bad as the past few days have been for Spencer, he knows they've been worse for Brendon, but here he is, on his knees, begging for Spencer. He wants to pull Brendon up, get him off first, but Brendon's still nosing at his cock through his jeans, and Spencer's so hard it hurts.
Brendon's panting against his hip; Spencer can feel the hot puffs of air even through the denim, and he almost jumps when Brendon brings a shaking hand up to cup him through his jeans. Brendon's hand stills, waiting, and Spencer has to bite back a groan so he can say, "It's okay, come on."
A small broken sound bubbles from Brendon's throat when he finally manages to open Spencer's fly with shaking hands, shoving denim and cotton down so quickly they catch briefly on his cock. Spencer hisses in discomfort, but the sound stumbles into a moan when Brendon licks a path up the underside before sucking the head into his mouth. Brendon's sloppy and eager and constantly moving; it feels like he's everywhere at once, warm mouth sucking him in, tongue curling over and around the head of Spencer's cock. It's fucking overwhelming like this, eyes screwed tight and just feeling. And god. The sounds. Brendon's low, satisfied hum each time he pulls off to lick over the head. The deep, rumbling moan before he takes Spencer in deep again. The filthy, wet sound of his hand slicking over the base. Spencer forces his eyes open because Jesus, he wants to see this, too, wants to burn the image into his mind. The sight of Brendon's swollen lips stretched tight around his cock, his lust-blown stare rips a helpess, low groan from Spencer's mouth.
Spencer's hips twitch forward roughly before he can stop them, but Brendon just closes his eyes and makes a low, rough noise as Spencer's cock drags across the roof of his mouth. He can't really help wanting to just let go, thrust deeper into Brendon's mouth, and his hands are itching to touch, to guide Brendon's mouth down around his cock. He can't, but he wants to, and Brendon's hands digging in tight to the flesh of his thighs, pulling him forward, pulling him deeper isn't really helping matters. Spencer needs to touch, but doesn't trust himself not to thread his hands into Brendon's hair and just yank. He settles them on Brendon's shoulders instead and Brendon sinks under the touch, letting his mouth slip lower on Spencer's cock. Spencer gives in and lets his hand slip up an inch or two, far enough to splay fingers behind Brendon's ears, thumbs rubbing over the hollows of Brendon's cheeks. Brendon whimpers a little and pulls off, and Spencer's so fascinated by the little string of saliva stretching between his cock and Brendon's swollen bottom lip that he almost misses Brendon's low, desperate, "Spence, come on, you can touch."
Spencer's brain is fuzzy and he's close, and Brendon's pulling, urging him forward, making little pleased sounds as Spencer's cock slips back in, deeper this time. Before Spencer can even process it, he's saying, "What if you couldn't touch? What if I told you no hands?"
Brendon shudders visibly and his eyes slide shut for a second before he looks up at Spencer and slowly, deliberately, grabs Spencer's hands and places them on his head before clasping his own behind his back.
It is going to be really embarassing if he comes before he gets Brendon's mouth back, and Brendon just makes it worse, holding Spencer's gaze for as long as he can before his lips are back around Spencer's cock. He goes slow, so slow, sliding his mouth down until Spencer can feel himself nudge the back of Brendon's throat. His fingers twitch in Brendon's hair and he wants to, he can, but he doesn't push. Brendon's eyes are watering a bit but he doesn't choke, just exhales hard through his nose and swallows around Spencer's cock, letting his eyes flutter shut as he works his jaw. Spencer tries to pull back, tries not to come down Brendon's throat without warning, but Brendon follows, swallowing around Spencer as he comes.
Spencer relaxes his hold on Brendon's hair, spreads his hands out to cup Brendon's skull, and Brendon hums a little and leans back into Spencer's hands. Brendon lets out a harsh breath and Spencer slips out of his mouth, looks down to see Brendon panting and flushed below him. There's the faint remainder of wetness at the corners of his eyes, still squeezed shut. Spencer clears it away with the pads of his thumbs, and Brendon makes a sound that's almost a mewl as he jerks beneath Spencer's hands. Spencer looks down at Brendon on his knees, head tipped back, eyes closed, shaking from want, and the rush of affection that sweeps over Spencer is equal parts familiar and terrifying.
It hits him in a very real way, then, how much Brendon is giving, how much he's letting Spencer take. It's not just an abstract idea anymore, and all the doubt and confusion of the past few days come rushing back at once. This is Brendon on his knees, desperate but waiting, waiting for Spencer to tell him it's okay, waiting for Spencer to give this to him. It's almost a little embarrassing, how badly Spencer wants to see, wants to see Brendon taking what he's been denied for the past three days. He swallows down around the lump in his throat, tries to steady himself. He wants Brendon to know, wants Brendon to see.
"Brendon," he says, and Brendon looks up at him with glassy, dark eyes, his face open and hopeful. "Go get on the bed."
Brendon scrambles up, and even now Spencer has to resist the urge to follow, press him down into the mattress and take what he wants. "You know these last couple of nights?" he asks conversationally, pulling his pants and boxers back up before crossing the room to drag a chair closer to the bed. When Spencer turns back to the bed, Brendon is nodding from the edge of the bed, sitting a little less straight than he usually does, curled in a little around his erection. He's sitting on his own hands. Spencer can't help the grin that stretches his lips, only growing wider when Brendon answers it without thought.
Spencer settles into the chair, close enough that there's barely an inch between his knees and Brendon's, hanging off the edge of the bed. Brendon sways toward him just a bit, but pulls back again at Spencer's quirked brow, like hadn't realized he was doing it. "Do you have any idea how hard it was," Spencer asks, keeping his eyes locked with Brendon's, "Not just climbing out of my bunk and pulling your curtain back? Do you know how much I wanted to see you, Brendon?" Brendon lets his eyes slip shut, hips jerking forward the tiniest bit, and Spencer says sudden, sharp, "Brendon."
Brendon's eyes snap open, and his voice is raw and painful sounding when he says, "Sorry."
Spencer ghosts his hand over Brendon's knee, and when Brendon doesn't shift into it he smiles, says, "It's okay. I just wanted you to know, how hard it was. How much I wanted to see you. You've been so good." Brendon's eyes soften a little at the praise, and Spencer has to remind himself what he's trying to do here. "Stand up," he says, and he nearly catches an elbow in the eye as Brendon scrambles off the bed, caged between Spencer's legs and the edge of the mattress.
He's a little unsteady on his feet so Spencer reaches up, grabs him by the hips and anchors him to the spot. "I want to watch," he says, sliding his hands from Brendon's hips to the fly of his jeans, lips just barely brushing Brendon's bellybutton as he slowly tugs the zipper down. "I want to see you get yourself off." He almost gives into the last traces of doubt hovering around the back of his mind, almost asks if it's okay, but he's currently face-level with Brendon's crotch and he's pretty sure there's no way Brendon's saying no to anything that gets him off at this point. Spencer tries his best to be business-like in his removal of Brendon's clothes, not to let his hands linger too long on all the pale, smooth skin he's revealing. He wants to lay Brendon out, touch him everywhere, but Brendon's waited so long, been so patient. Spencer pushes lightly against Brendon's hips, gets Brendon settled back down on the bed before he sinks back down into the chair. Brendon keeps his eyes trained on Spencer the entire time and yes, this, this is what he wants, what he's been wanting. "Keep your eyes on me," Spencer says, and Brendon nods slowly.
Brendon lets out a high noise when he wraps a hand around himself, his eyes are seeking on Spencer's face and it takes him a second to realize Brendon's waiting for him, for more instruction. "This is yours," Spencer says, tries to keep his voice even. He lets himself cup Brendon's cheek, and Brendon leans into the touch gratefully, his hips straining up between them. "However you want, just keep your eyes on me, I wanna see." The last part is whispered gruffly over Brendon's lips, and Spencer hadn't even realized he'd let himself get that close. He sits back in his chair and nods briefly at Brendon before dropping his eyes down to Brendon's lap.
Brendon's cock is flushed and straining, already shiny with precome from the few strokes Brendon's gotten in. He's working himself hard and fast, letting out breathless little grunts when he strokes over the head. Spencer studies him for a minute or so, taking in the way Brendon squeezes at the bottom, how he lets his thumb drag under the head on his upstrokes. When he looks up Brendon is still focused on Spencer's face, mouth open. Spencer smiles at him, and Brendon thrusts up into his hand, lets his eyes flutter shut. They snap back open immediately, Brendon's body going tense all over and the hand working his cock going still. Spencer has to swallow his grin of approval.
"I said eyes open," Spencer says, his voice thick. Brendon nods. He opens his mouth as if to say something, squeezes tight at the base of his cock. "Hands off," Spencer says, and Brendon lets out a noise that's more sob than not. The muscles in his abs and thighs are trembling, trying to hold back. After a long, heavy moment, "Go on. You can touch, but you can't come until I say." Spencer's head is cloudy with desire, with Brendon right in front of him desperate for release and helpless to achieve it without Spencer's permission. He's half hard again, it's soon enough that it feels a little uncomfortable but he can't mind, not with Brendon strung out and panting in front of him.
Brendon's shaking now, his hand squeezing tight at the base on every down stroke, hips rutting up helplessly into his fist, and he gasps out, "Spencer, please, just . . . tell me, please, I need to come or I need to stop, just please."
Spencer bites down on the inside of his cheek, hard. His mind is reeling, buzzing, and he takes in a deep steadying breath before he says, "Stop." He can see Brendon's eyes go wide with shock, not expecting it. His entire body is pulled up tight and he lets out a desperate moan when he pulls his hand off his dick, tucks it firmly under his thigh. His left hand is fisted in the covers, clenching unconsciously, and it's clearly a struggle to keep his eyes open, keep his gaze locked on Spencer. He's panting out harsh, frantic breaths, almost choking on them as he tries to regain control of his breathing. It takes Spencer a second to place what he's feeling. It's pride, he's proud of Brendon, and he smiles softly, says, "Brendon, it's okay, come."
Spencer's expecting Brendon to bring his hand back up, but before the words are all the way out of his mouth, Brendon's body is bucking off the bed as he comes, and holy shit. Spencer is out of his chair and on the bed before Brendon's even finished, running a trembling hand through Brendon's sweaty hair, pressing a reassuring kiss to his temple. "Jesus, Bren," he says, "fucking amazing," and Brendon just slumps forward into Spencer's embrace, spent and exhausted. Spencer strokes down his stomach lightly, pressing in where the muscles are still trembling slightly, dragging the tips of his fingers through the come cooling on Brendon's skin.
He pulls away after a moment and Brendon arches towards him, his body trying to follow the touch. Spencer's still mostly dressed and Brendon's going to get come everywhere, but he's still trembling a little, so Spencer crawls into the bed, manuevers Brendon's body until he can fit behind him, wrap an arm tight around Brendon's chest. Brendon's heart is pounding fast under Spencer's palm, his skin slick with sweat that's soaking into Spencer's shirt, and he can feel Brendon's ribs expanding with the harsh, shallow breaths he's drawing in. His throat is long and white and exposed where his head tips back against Spencer's shoulder, and Spencer leans in, drops light kisses over the salty skin, licks over the pulse he can feel fluttering against his lips. He settles in, waits until his neck is aching a little and Brendon's breathing has gone back to normal before he pulls away to shuck out of his clothes, go find something to clean Brendon with.
He's in the process of getting his shirt off when he hears Brendon's voice, small and kind of strained, asking, "Spence? Where-- Are you going?" He sounds weird, off, and it takes Spencer a second to realize that it's worry. Brendon's actually worried that Spencer's going to leave him.
"Hey, hey," he says, stripping hurriedly out of his shirt and kneeling back on the bed, hovering over Brendon's body. "I wasn't going anywhere, Bren, I'm not going anywhere, okay?" He swipes at Brendon's belly with his shirt, and Brendon doesn't answer, just watches him with half-lidded eyes, teeth digging into his lower lip. It makes Spencer want to kiss him, it always does, and he tosses his shirt over his shoulder before he stretches out alongside Brendon. He tilts Brendon's head up a little to get at his mouth, and Brendon goes easily, opens for Spencer, clutches at his arm when Spencer deepens the kiss.
Spencer breaks it off eventually, reluctantly, but he's still in his jeans, and the edge of the zipper diging sharply into his skin where he's bent at the waist. He flops down onto his back and shakes out the arm that had gone a bit numb where it was sandwiched beneath them, then opens it up to Brendon, wraps it around his shoulders once Brendon is settled into Spencer's side. They lay in silence for a while, Spencer's fingers idly playing with the ends of Brendon's hair.
Brendon breaks the silence just as Spencer's getting drowsy, says, "This is okay?"
"What's okay?" Spencer asks. He looks down, but Brendon's face is turned into Spencer's chest, avoiding his gaze.
Brendon rubs his cheek against Spencer's skin, and he's quiet when he says, "You don't mind? Staying with me, I mean?"
Spencer's a little baffled, here. "Brendon, we're sharing a room, of course I'm staying."
"No, I mean-" he trails off, his fingers moving restlessly over Spencer's stomach before settling on the waistband of his jeans. "Sleep here? With me?"
Brendon's lucky that Spencer is a gentleman, because he doesn't make a habit of calling people he's just slept with idiots, even when they're being pretty big idiots. Like he could deny Brendon anything he asked, even if what he's asking shouldn't be a question in the first place. "Yeah, Bren," he says, touching lightly at Brendon's cheek until he finally, finally, lifts his face and meets Spencer's gaze. "Yeah, of course." Brendon relaxes against him with an audible sigh, and Spencer grins kind of stupidly and then brushes his smile against Brendon's lips, quick and dry.
He pulls away and wiggles a little, trying to shuck his pants off without letting go of Brendon, but only succeeds in very nearly falling off the bed and elbowing Brendon in the face. Brendon's laughing at him, a bright, clear sound, and Spencer shrugs his shoulders and stands up, quickly dropping his boxers and jeans before yanking the covers out from under Brendon, earning an indignant, "Hey!"
Brendon hums happily once Spencer's back in the bed, wiggling against Spencer's body even as he's still trying to spread the covers over them. Spencer switches off the lamp before sinking fully into the bed, and holds on tight when Brendon settles against him, making sleepy noises into Spencer's shoulder. Brendon's loose and pliant, his body finally relaxed after days of tension, and Spencer trails his hands lightly up and down Brendon's back, his arms, the bits of hip and leg he can reach, and drifts off with Brendon breathing deep and easy in his ear.
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon
Word Count: 9,000
Summary: If this is like a thing you two do.
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Mild D/s content, orgasm denial
Author Notes: For sosodirty prompt: "Following Orders." Title and cut text from Tegan and Sara's "Not Tonight." Thanks to okubyo_kitsune for the constant hand holding, anoneknewmoose for the last minute comma pick, and to the amazing stephanometra and boy_wrangler for the betas, without you two this story would not be here and my head would have exploded several times over. About 900 people read over this for me at one point or another, so if you were ever in on this doc you can just assume that you have my constant hearteyes, okay?
In retrospect maybe it was a little weird, but in all fairness, Spencer really, really didn't notice anything until Jon pointed it out. It was just something he’d always done; hell, it was useful most of the time, being able to rein Brendon in with just a look, or a certain tone of voice, or if all else failed a, “Shut the fuck up, seriously.”
It wasn’t a big deal or anything. In fact, he can’t even think back on some big moment of realization; it had just always kind of been there. During the first few months after Brendon joined the band, when he was still nearly vibrating with excitement and Ryan was circling him warily like a caged animal, Brent had even referred to it as Spencer’s own personal superpower. He does remember rolling his eyes at Brent and saying that he’d hold out for flight, or invisibility or something, but he doesn’t remember making a conscious decision to be The Boss Of Brendon. Besides it wasn’t like Brendon had to listen to him or anything; he just kind of...did.
*
“Brendon, seriously, bed,” Spencer says, pushing at Brendon’s shoulder where it was resting against his leg.
“Dude, no, come on, I am about to kick Jon’s ass on such an epic scale. Seriously epic. Someone will write songs about the ass kicking I am about to deliver.”
Jon snorts, and on the screen Brendon’s character’s head explodes in a spray of gore. “Owned,” Jon says evenly. “So owned.”
Brendon gapes at Jon, then the screen, and twists around to gape at Spencer. “No. No. Rematch!”
“Bed,” Spencer says, firmly. “We have an interview tomorrow. I’m not asking you.” Brendon grumbles in a cursory manner before standing up and shuffling toward the bunks, and when Spencer rises to follow, he finds Jon staring at him in this even, measuring way.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Jon says, but Spencer can practically feel Jon's eyes boring into his back as he turns towards the bunks.
*
“Orange juice, not Red Bull,” Spencer says the next morning when he sees Brendon making eyes at the fresh 24-pack they’d picked up.
“Fine,” he says, huffing a little as he pours a glass.
Jon raises his eyes from his cereal, flicks them back and forth between Spencer and Brendon, and Spencer says, “What?”
*
They have a little bubble of free time between the interview and sound check, and for some unknown reason Jon and Ryan are set on finding fried chicken.
Ryan goes to OK it with Zack and Jon starts hunting for his shoes. “Coming?” Jon asks, and Brendon bounces to his feet with a, “Yes!” at the same time Spencer says, “No.”
Brendon sits back down.
Jon quirks an eyebrow.
Spencer says, “What?”
*
That night, Jon flops down beside him on the sofa in the lounge.
“So. Brendon.”
“No, Spencer,” he retorts before he can stop himself. “What?” He turns to face Jon, and Jon has his I Am Terribly Wise And Rife With Life Experience, Young Friend expression on.
“It’s a little weird,” is all Jon says.
“It? Like, Brendon in general? Because you kind of missed the memo on that one, man.”
“No. Just,” Jon sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t take this wrong way or freak out or anything, but just . . . he does whatever you say, dude. Even when I’m pretty sure he really, really doesn’t want to.”
“He-” Huh. Well. Spencer had never really thought of it that way, that he might be keeping Brendon from things he wanted to do, that he might be able to keep Brendon from things at all. It put a sharp, unfamiliar taste in his mouth.
“Look,” Jon says into the silence. “If that’s something that-if this is like a thing you two do, that’s fine, but just. Sometimes, it’s a little weird. That’s all.”
Jon stands up, ruffles Spencer’s hair, and heads off for the bunks.
*
Spencer only gets in about two hours of fitful sleep, Jon’s words echoing in head.
If this is like a thing you two do.
*
The problem is that Spencer’s aware of it now. He tries to just stop, stop saying anything to Brendon that could be taken as anything more than a personal opinion. He doesn’t even want to venture into light suggestions. He spends most of the day biting his tongue against things he wouldn't have given a second thought to before, but despite his best efforts, old habits die hard, and he only makes it until an hour or so before the show that night, when Brendon is buzzing with energy and flitting around Ryan while he’s trying to do his makeup. The third time Ryan swears and starts over, Spencer, unthinking, snaps, “Brendon.”
Brendon stills and crosses to sit beside Spencer on the couch, and Spencer is really greatful Jon’s not in the room. When he glances over, he notices that Brendon is sitting tall and taut, tension throughout his body, and, huh. Spencer sees Brendon’s foot twitch from the corner of his eye, and it dawns on him that Brendon’s trying to hold himself still.
Which is. Huh. He hadn’t said that. All he had said was, “Brendon.” He hadn’t even said it loudly, or angrily, just even. Just. Brendon.
Spencer reaches over and smooths his thumb over the back of Brendon’s hand. “It’s okay.” He doesn’t know what makes him say that, but Brendon relaxes back into the cushions and pushes as close to Spencer as he can get.
*
If this is like a thing you two do.
And. Maybe.
*
Spencer tries to rationalize that he’s only doing this so he can figure out how to make Brendon stop. That’s all; it has nothing to do with the tight knot at the base of his spine when he thinks about this, about pushing Brendon, seeing how far he’ll go, seeing what he’ll do simply because Spencer tells him to.
For whatever reason, Spencer spends the next day giving Brendon near constant orders. No coffee. No Red Bull. Only one donut. Stop tapping.
And Brendon listens.
Spencer feels himself growing antsy, like there’s something crawling under his skin, begging to get out and become bigger, more.
They all pile into the back lounge after lunch. Ryan hits the lights and Brendon follows Spencer to the couch on the right. It’s Jon’s pick, so they end up watching Almost Famous for, like, the tenth time. They’re barely fifteen minutes in before Brendon is fidgeting beside him. “What?” Spencer asks quietly.
“I have to pee.”
Spencer doesn’t even realize he’s said it until he hears it, hanging quiet but heavy in the air between them.
“No.”
Brendon’s eyes widen just a little but he nods, presses his legs together tightly and burrows into Spencer’s side.
Holy. Shit. Spencer has no concept of what exactly is going on, what he’s doing, but he’s really grateful that Jon singing along loudly to the soundtrack was apparently enough to drown them out.
He feels Brendon fidget as he squeezes his thighs tighter together. He's squirming against Spencer's side, skin practically vibrating with tiny, constant movement. The tension in Brendon's body feels like it's bleeding into Spencer's everywhere they touch.
And fuck. There is no reason Spencer should have told Brendon he couldn’t go pee.
There’s less of a reason that he should have listened.
Brendon, wriggling around slightly against him, feels too warm, too solid, too real. Spencer’s head is fuzzy and uncertain, full of possibility. He squeezes his eyes shut, grits out, “Brendon, go,” and breathes in relief when Brendon bounds off the couch and down the hall, drawing the tension with him and giving Spencer a chance to breathe.
Brendon, it would appear, is some kind of freaky speed demon when it comes to using the bathroom, because it feels like all of two seconds have passed before he’s back, pausing in the doorway. He slants a look at Spencer, then hesitantly moves to sit down on the opposite end of the couch, as far away from Spencer as he can get in the small space. Spencer’s gut clenches, because this isn't right either; he's pushed too far, he knows he has, and now Brendon is scared of him.
Maybe it’s force of habit, maybe it’s just stubborn stupidity, but Spencer has to do something to fix that, so he lets himself say the first thing that bubbles up. “No. Here.” Brendon’s back at his side in an instant, tucking in close. Spencer's head is swimming, relief and confusion circling around each other while across the room, Ryan and Jon scream about being Golden Gods.
*
Spencer escapes to his bunk while Jon and Ryan head out to find a Mexican restaurant with “Enchiladas, but, like, real enchiladas. You know.” Spencer doesn't know.
Spencer doesn’t actually know anything right now, and that’s the problem. He has no clue why Brendon chose to stay, yielding to Spencer without any explanation. It's possible Brendon was just being polite. It’s never happened before but it could have happened; maybe he had just thought it would be rude to get up and interrupt the movie. Spencer just wishes he knew what Brendon was looking for, that he didn't feel so out of his depth here. He doesn't know what Brendon is thinking, or what sort of boundaries there are, and most of all, Spencer doesn’t know why he keeps pushing.
Maybe Brendon’s, like, scared of him. Maybe that’s what Jon had meant, that Spencer was being an asshole, forcing Brendon to do things he didn’t want to do. But he can’t really reconcile that with the slow, comfortable grin that had spread across Brendon’s face when he slid back into Spencer’s space, the way his body settled against Spencer's, and that, maybe, is a little scarier. The idea that Brendon is doing this because he wants to. That thought sparks the antsy, alive feeling in Spencer’s chest again, and his bunk suddenly feels stifling, too hot and too dark.
He can hear the bus shower running, so he figures it's safe to hoist himself out of his bunk and move to the back lounge. He cranks the AC up as high as he can get it since Ryan isn’t around to complain and shiver like a Chihuahua if the temperature dips below 75. These are prime thinking conditions; the lounge is dark and cool and quiet, and his head is starting to clear, so of course that’s when Brendon comes in wearing only a towel, and throws on the lights. “Spence, you seen my sweatpants?” Spencer tries really, really hard to focus on anything but the way water drips from Brendon’s hair, the way his skin is already bumping over in the cold. “Why are you lurking in the dark and why is it so cold in here?” Brendon's rubbing his hands together exaggeratedly, shifting from foot to foot in the cold, and that is really not helping anything.
Spencer knows he’s looking at Brendon open and heated, and when Brendon’s eyes flick over and meet Spencer’s, he goes perfectly still, even though it’s cold and he’s wet and Spencer can see the tension in his body as he holds in his shivers. Spencer swallows, hard, and says, “Sit down.” Brendon moves to sit next to Spencer, but Spencer shakes his head. “Other couch.”
Brendon looks small and fragile when he settles in on the couch opposite Spencer, wedges in between the couch and the small table still pulled too close from where Jon and Brendon had been playing cards earlier. It’s freezing in the room, even Spencer is cold now, and he’s dry and fully clothed. Brendon’s still holding himself stiff and tall; he’s not shivering but Spencer can see that his skin is bumped over, his nipples peaked and his teeth chattering just a little. He doesn’t drop Spencer’s gaze, even as his resolve breaks and a small shiver makes its way up his spine, going from a slight twitch to violent shudders pretty quickly, rocking the table a little.
Spencer's head clears at that, the faint knocking noise of Brendon's leg against the table. Spencer shouldn't be doing this, it’s cold and Brendon is wet and half-naked but he’s not moving, just looking at Spencer, his eyes searching and his lips are wan looking and trembling but he’s not moving. “Kitchen.” Spencer has to say the word twice before it comes out right. He clears his throat. “Your pants are on one of the kitchen chairs.”
Brendon blinks, and he holds Spencer's gaze for a second before gets up, his eyes dark. When he walks past Spencer’s couch on his way out of the lounge, Spencer has to stop himself from reaching out to let his hand brush against Brendon’s back just to see how cold the skin feels.
He knows that Brendon would let him.
*
Spencer is apparently never going to sleep again. He’s been lying awake in the dark for approximately 809 hours, and Jon’s loud snores and Ryan’s random mumblings aren’t helping matters any. He usually finds it a little soothing, living on top of each other for so long having made the noises familiar instead of distracting, and it takes him a second to place what's wrong. He can’t actually hear Brendon, none of the quiet humming he can't quite help but let out when listening to his iPod before bed mingling in with the other noises. There’s no noise at all coming from Brendon’s bunk, and Spencer is about to see if he’s sitting sleepless in the lounge like he sometimes does when he hears the little whimper float across from Brendon’s bunk.
His mind worries, “Nightmare!” at the same time his dick screams, “Brendon is whimpering!” and he listens closer, hard, until he can hear the little rhythmic rustles over the noise of the road and the other guys. He feels like he’s breathing too loudly, too obvious, but he’s suddenly so hard he feels like his dick is going to explode, and all he wants is to see, wants to pull the curtain back and watch. He could ask. Brendon would probably say yes. A low, cut off gasp comes from Brendon's bunk, and when Spencer focuses on something beyond his own erection, he can just hear wet, steady noises. He presses one wrist against his cock through his sleep pants and reaches for his Sidekick with his free hand, thumbs on the keypad before he's even sure of what he wants to say. He ends up with, “Brendon. Stop.”
He hears the bzz of Brendon’s phone, and then a choked off groan. He listens intently, but there's no more noise coming from Brendon's bunk. And. Holy fucking shit. Spencer’s brain is kind of blank and cloudy with lust until a low, pained sounding groan from Brendon snaps him out of it, and he types, “Do you want to finish?”
It takes all of five seconds before he gets Brendon’s response, “y.”
Spencer waits, not quite sure what he's waiting for until his phone vibrates against his chest with the text he didn't know he wanted. “plz can i?”
Spencer’s cock actually twitches against the pressure of his wrist, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, swallows the lump in his throat, sends back, “Loud enough for me to hear.” His head is swimming with all kinds of things he’s not used to feeling so sharply, an insistent jab instead of a dull ache, and as an afterthought, he adds, “No coming.”
The noises start back almost immediately and the rustle is the same, but now there are little groans and pants escaping and Spencer’s got his hand down his pants before he can even think, trying to find some approximation of the rhythm he thinks Brendon has going. He lets his hand twist up to the head every time Brendon makes a noise, and the sharp little pants coming from Brendon’s bunk get increasingly loud and rough, enough that Spencer is a little paranoid that this'll wake someone up.
He listens for Jon’s snores, Ryan’s sleepy grumbles, and he almost misses the low, steady whine coming from Brendon’s bunk. Brendon abruptly chokes a little, and he hears, broken but still whispered, “Spencer,” and it sounds so raw and strung out that Spencer comes hard all over his fist, just at the sound. His own breath is harsh in his ears, but he can still hear Brendon, breathing hard and desperate, and when he hears a broken sob, just loud enough to carry, he wipes his hand off and quickly texts, “Now.”
Brendon’s moan is muffled but still loud, and his breathing is still so hard that Spencer can hear it easily. His own heart is beating so wildly it feels like it’s about to rip through his chest. Brendon’s breath evens out a bit, and he says, just loud enough to be heard, “Spencer?”
Spencer pinches himself, hard, right in the fleshy part of his upper arm. Right. He scrubs a hand over his face and texts Brendon, “Go to sleep.” He hears a little rustling from Brendon’s bunk, and then, softly, “Night, Spence.”
*
Spencer’s the only one up when Brendon comes shuffling into the kitchen the next morning, yawning and rubbing at his eyes distractedly. Spencer feels an overwhelming rush of fondness before the vague nausea of awkwardness sets in. Brendon walks over to the cabinet, shuffles the contents around. “Pop-tart?” he asks over his shoulder, and Spencer grumbles his assent. He can do this. He can pretend like nothing happened. Brendon stretches up to reach into the back of the cabinet, though, and who is Spencer kidding? He gets up quietly, crowds Brendon against the counter from behind, and he can hear the hitch in Brendon’s breath, see the way his knuckles go white where he’s gripping the counter.
“We should talk,” he says, and he reaches over Brendon to grab the box. Brendon huffs out a little noise and just kind of melts into Spencer, fitting back against Spencer’s chest easily, naturally. They've been this close before, probably even been in this very position before, but Spencer doesn't remember it feeling like this, like he's going to jump out of his skin any second now. This is not good, and he is going to pull away, he is, but Brendon’s still a little sleep warm and hazy, and when Brendon tries to turn around Spencer finds himself using his hips to pin Brendon against the counter. He’s half hard, nestled firmly against Brendon’s ass, thin flannel separating the two, and Brendon lets out a little noise and works his hips back as close as he can.
“Shh,” he says, and his own voice sounds strained, and fuck, fuck, they’re supposed to be talking, but Brendon’s nodding, still trying to press back more tightly against Spencer, even though there’s no room left. Spencer rests his face in the crook of Brendon’s neck, nuzzles in. He can feel the throb of Brendon’s pulse against his lips, a little frantic, and he bites down, thin, soft skin that tastes like sweat and sleep in his mouth. Spencer can feel the moan that Brendon bites back, and he lets go, whispers, quiet and strained into Brendon's ear, “Why are you, what-”
That, of course, is when Jon clears his throat behind them, reaches gingerly around Spencer, and takes the now crumpled Pop-tart box of Spencer’s hand. Brendon lets out a rush of breath and goes rigid against Spencer, and fuck. Fuck. Spencer makes a vaguely soothing noise at Brendon, brushes his hand over his back when he pulls his body away. “Go sit down,” he says, “Jon is making us Pop-tarts, apparently.”
“I’m very serious about the preservation of my breakfast pastries, Smith,” Jon quips, but when he looks at Spencer, his eyes are questioning.
*
If this is like a thing you two do.
Then he’s going to eventually have to actually talk to Brendon.
*
They mostly manage to avoid each other for the rest of the day, but Brendon keeps giving him these long, searching looks that leave Spencer keyed up and restless. By the time they make it back to the bus after the show he's downright twitchy, the leftover adrenaline is not helping matters at all. Brendon seems to be in the weird headspace he gets into after a particularly good performance: the rush of manic energy evening out into quiet burn, his body tense and fingers flexing mindlessly on the nearest available surface, which is usually Spencer but currently Ryan. Ryan makes it about five minutes before he snaps at Brendon, jerking away and looking at Spencer accusingly.
"Spence, do that thing you do."
Jon snorts. Brendon keeps his head down but sucks his bottom lip in. Spencer can see his teeth working it over, sinking in, and without thinking even a little bit about what he's doing, he's circling his fingers around Brendon's wrist, pulling him back toward the bunks.
"Spence, what-" Brendon says. There's tension singing down his arm, muscles taut under Spencer's fingers, but he doesn't resist, just follows Spencer back into the bunks and makes a breathless, surprised sound when Spencer stops short. Spencer whirls on him, pushes him up against the wall. His hands settle on Brendon's hips, digging in a little, and he tries to ignore Brendon's hitched breath, tries to focus on what he needs to say.
"Why," he starts, staring down at Brendon, who's staring back, wide-eyed, bottom lip still clutched between his teeth. They're close but not touching, Spencer's hands on Brendon's hips their only point of contact. He tightens his grip, trying to steady himself, and very resolutely doesn't react to the way Brendon's hips stutter. "Stop it," he says, and it comes out low, frustrated, hissing from between his teeth. Brendon goes lax under his hands, just like that, and before he can help himself, Spencer blurts out, "Why do you do that? Why do you just listen to me like that all the time?"
Brendon tenses again a little but he doesn't move away, doesn't look away from Spencer, even though Spencer can see the struggle on his face, the blush that's creeping over his cheeks. "Do you not-do you want me to stop? If you don't want me to, I'll stop." He does look away at that, ducking his head down, hiding his eyes.
Spencer gives into the frustration that's twisting up in his chest. "That's not what I asked you," he says.
Brendon makes a low, frustrated noise in his throat, but he doesn't answer, doesn't meet Spencer's eyes. Spencer digs his fingers into the flesh of Brendon's hips, harder this time, hard enough that Brendon's head snaps up, his eyes hot and mouth open, a vaguely word-shaped noise slipping out from between his lips. Spencer's so distracted staring at Brendon's bottom lip, swollen and shiny from where his teeth had been working over it, that he just barely hears Brendon's, "Because I want to."
His face is flushed and he won't meet Spencer's eyes, and if they're going to do this - whatever this is - Spencer needs to know. "That's not good enough," he says, his voice sounding gruff and foreign to his ears. "Tell me."
Brendon goes absolutely still, and Spencer feels a sudden surge of worry that he's gone too far; he tries to unclench his hands from around Brendon's hips but freezes when he hears it-quiet at first, almost whispered. "I trust you," Brendon says, and Spencer's eyes widen. Brendon's staring at him, breathing heavy and deep, but his eyes are still now, focused on Spencer. He says it again, louder, "I trust you."
It hits Spencer like a punch; and he draws in a deep, shuddering breath, letting it back out slowly. He feels like he should be scared, overwhelmed, maybe, but instead the hot, tight feeling that's taken up residence in his chest lately is uncurling, spreading through the rest of his body as he stares down at Brendon. Brendon, who's looking back up at him with wide, clear eyes, worrying his lip again but staying still, so still, like he's waiting for Spencer.
Spencer doesn't much want to speak. What he'd like to do is lean down, replace the teeth moving over Brendon's mouth with his own, bite down until he makes his own marks to replace the ones Brendon has left. He can't drag his eyes away from Brendon's lips, but he forces his voice to stay even as he says, "If I ever-if you really didn't want to do something I asked you to do, you'd tell me no, right?"
Brendon shivers under his hands, just a little, just enough that Spencer manages to pull his gaze up, meet Brendon's eyes. "Depends on the something," Brendon says, quiet but clear, and it hangs heavy in the air between them. Spencer's trying to get his brain to work, to formulate a response when he feels a gentle tug at his belt loops as Brendon's fingers thread through them, pulling Spencer closer.
Brendon tilts his face up, his eyes pleading, asking without having to say it out loud, and Spencer kind of breaks, he can't help it. He crushes his mouth and his body against Brendon, presses him tight against the wall. He licks over Brendon's lips, swollen and tender, then into his mouth. Brendon's mouth is frantic on his, tiny, desperate little sounds getting trapped between their lips as his hips buck against Spencer's, and Brendon's fingers tighten in Spencer's belt loops then pull away, scrabbling at the button on his pants.
A loud thump and Jon's muffled but still entirely too close cry of, "Asshole!" cuts through the haze in Spencer's mind. He groans and wraps his fingers around Brendon's wrist, pulling his hand away. "No," he says, going for stern, but sounding rough and broken.
Brendon's panting, eyes wide as stares up at Spencer, and it's the hardest thing Spencer's ever had to do, saying, "Not here, not now." There's the sound of more scuffling from the lounge, proving his point, and he makes himself pull back, smoothing down Brendon's clothes, his hair, only letting his hands linger a fraction longer than they should. Brendon's hard in his jeans, and he arches up silently when Spencer lets his hand trail just low enough to brush his knuckles over the line of Brendon's erection.
"Go on," Spencer says, pulling his hand back and nodding toward the front of the bus. He can tell Brendon wants to object, his eyes holding Spencer's gaze for a moment before he turns and heads back to the lounge.
Spencer lets himself grin for just a moment before he presses his hand to his own dick, knocks his head back against the wall, and breathes in deep.
*
Spencer makes it through two rounds of Halo, half an episode of Top Chef, and three sneaky, stealth attempts at cuddling from Brendon before he announces, "Bed."
Brendon gets up to follow him without comment, tucks himself into Spencer's space as soon as the door closes behind them. He looks up at Spencer with big, hopeful eyes, and Spencer's pretty sure he should get a medal or something for self control, here, jesus. "Go to sleep," he says, giving in just a little and dropping his head to nuzzle at Brendon's neck, breathing him in. Brendon nods but waits a moment before climbing into his bunk and drawing the curtain. Spencer waits until he's most definitely behind his own closed bunk curtain to let out a shaky breath. He doesn't think he'll fall asleep anytime soon.
It isn't long before he hears Ryan and Jon coming in to the bunks, a habit born of long years of sleepovers and sharing small spaces. Ryan hates to keep Spencer up, and he knows Spencer won't be able to sleep until Ryan has settled in. Ryan, true to form, is out only a few minutes after his head hits the pillow, and Spencer only rolls his eyes a little bit when he hears Jon mutter a few select profanities while shedding his shirt, knuckles hitting his bunk ceiling the same way they do every damn night. Jon's light, soft snore starts up soon enough, and Spencer shifts his attention across the aisle, listening for Brendon's even breathing and sleepy snuffles.
He can hear Brendon shuffling around just a bit, his breathing too loud and fast to be asleep yet, and it occurs to Spencer that maybe Brendon's waiting for him, waiting up for him the way he waits up for Ryan. Waiting in case Spencer wants something from him. The thought apparently cuts straight to his dick, and the soft, low thrum of arousal of the last few hours flares sharp and biting. He presses a hand to the front of his boxers with a quiet gasp, hears an answering breath come from Brendon's bunk, and scrabbles for his phone with his free hand, sends off a quick, "Quiet."
Spencer squeezes his dick through the thin material of his boxers, making himself wait, wait for Brendon to go silent and still. He keeps his phone close, in case Brendon gets any ideas, but he seems to understand what Spencer wants, just like always. There's almost absolute silence from Brendon's bunk, save for his breathing, still too heavy but muffled, now. Spencer can picture it, Brendon's face buried in his arm or maybe a pillow, cock hard but untouched, listening for a signal. Spencer indulges a little, lets himself be a touch louder than he normally would as he wrestles his boxers down just far enough to free his cock. He's hard, he's been hard for hours, and the hiss he lets out when he wraps a hand around himself is totally involuntary. He thinks he hears Brendon make a choked off noise, but his own breathing is loud in his ears, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight as he works himself.
His cock is already a little wet with pre-come, and his fist slides down easily, tight and perfect, just a little rough. He knows what Brendon sounds like - the soft noises and tiny whines - and he closes his eyes, focuses on how Brendon must look. Pictures Brendon's body stretched out in a long, tight line while he fists his cock, his legs spread wide. Spencer wonders if Brendon bites his lip too while he does this, if he's fast and frantic or slow and steady. Spencer's hand speeds up as he imagines it, tries to piece it together in his head. He wonders if Brendon bucks up into his hand when he comes, or if he curls in around his fist. He can hear Brendon now, his harsh breathing, but Brendon's not moving, he's being so perfect, so still, and Spencer almost bites through the inside of his cheek as he gives one final, long pull and spills over his hand with a grunt. When the blood stops pounding in his ears, he hears Brendon's whispered, questioning, "Spencer?"
Spencer fumbles for his phone, texts, "I remember telling you to go sleep." His phone pings a second later, the message simple but still sending a little pang through Spencer's spent cock, "want."
Something unfurls in Spencer's chest, an easy, warm feeling, and he puts his phone down, says just loud enough for Brendon to hear, "Soon."
*
It's another three days before they get a hotel night. Brendon doesn't even wait for the door to close fully, just drops his bag and launches himself at Spencer, twisting his limbs around until he's as close to Spencer's body as he can get. Spencer catches him around the waist, stumbling with the effort to keep them upright, and he can already feel Brendon hard against his thigh. Spencer shuffles them back a little, letting his weight press the door closed as he slumps back against it, crouching a bit to reach Brendon's mouth. Brendon's kissing him deep and frantic, tongue licking at every part of Spencer's mouth he can reach, making soft little moaning noises that gust over Spencer's lips.
Spencer tries to take stock, tries not to lose himself in the kiss, but Brendon's hands are tangled tight in his hair and their chests are pushing together with each exhale, battling for space where there's none to be found. He comes back to himself a little when he realizes that Brendon's managed to wiggle his way onto Spencer's thigh, using Spencer's stance to his advantage. Brendon's hips immediately start to grind down, rubbing fast and desperate, and Spencer tightens his arms around Brendon involuntarily. Brendon must take it as encouragement because his hands race for the button of Spencer's jeans, fingers clumsy. Spencer takes a deep, calming breath and pushes Brendon back a little, gently, gradually, so Brendon doesn't get the wrong idea.
Spencer's kind of flying blind here, and it's not like he expected them to sit down and work out formal terms or anything, but this, Brendon shivering against him, it's an almost unfair distraction. He has to bite back a gasp when he focuses on Brendon, standing in front of him with dark, wide eyes. His mouth is red and raw-looking, and Spencer's floored by a surge of want so strong it makes makes his head spin. It's been days, days of watching Brendon grow more and more desperate for touch. Days of denying himself the same thing, fingers almost itching with the need to touch Brendon beyond the small, steadying seconds he's allowed himself. Days of jerking off to thoughts of this very moment every night, coming even harder knowing he was denying Brendon the same relief. He doesn't really know how long he spends there just staring at Brendon, caught up in hot, frenzied thoughts, but he snaps to attention when Brendon lets out a sharp, keening noise.
"Spencer," he gasps out, "please," and he's shaking a little, body held taut and rigid. He's not moving. He won't, not until Spencer tells him to. Spencer wants- Spencer wants, and he's struck dumb with it. Part of him wants to go slow, draw it out even further, see how far he can push Brendon, how far Brendon will go just because Spencer tells him to.
His cock is pushing painfully against his jeans, though, and Brendon looks close to tears from his own want. That, at least, he can take care of. He can get Brendon off, reward those long days of waiting. Spencer groans, cups himself roughly through his jeans, squeezes a little. "What do you want?" he asks, low and gruff. Brendon's eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and he shakes his head. Spencer barks out a laugh, harsh and loud and only a little hysterical, but thankfully Brendon's gaze clears just a bit as he blinks up at Spencer.
"Bren." He cups Brendon's jaw, fingers as insistent as his tone. "C'mon, what do you want?" He's honestly not expecting it when Brendon groans and falls to his knees to drag his mouth across the rough denim over Spencer's cock.
Brendon's voice is scratchy and a little slurred as he groans out, "Spencer, please, want to-I've wanted to." As bad as the past few days have been for Spencer, he knows they've been worse for Brendon, but here he is, on his knees, begging for Spencer. He wants to pull Brendon up, get him off first, but Brendon's still nosing at his cock through his jeans, and Spencer's so hard it hurts.
Brendon's panting against his hip; Spencer can feel the hot puffs of air even through the denim, and he almost jumps when Brendon brings a shaking hand up to cup him through his jeans. Brendon's hand stills, waiting, and Spencer has to bite back a groan so he can say, "It's okay, come on."
A small broken sound bubbles from Brendon's throat when he finally manages to open Spencer's fly with shaking hands, shoving denim and cotton down so quickly they catch briefly on his cock. Spencer hisses in discomfort, but the sound stumbles into a moan when Brendon licks a path up the underside before sucking the head into his mouth. Brendon's sloppy and eager and constantly moving; it feels like he's everywhere at once, warm mouth sucking him in, tongue curling over and around the head of Spencer's cock. It's fucking overwhelming like this, eyes screwed tight and just feeling. And god. The sounds. Brendon's low, satisfied hum each time he pulls off to lick over the head. The deep, rumbling moan before he takes Spencer in deep again. The filthy, wet sound of his hand slicking over the base. Spencer forces his eyes open because Jesus, he wants to see this, too, wants to burn the image into his mind. The sight of Brendon's swollen lips stretched tight around his cock, his lust-blown stare rips a helpess, low groan from Spencer's mouth.
Spencer's hips twitch forward roughly before he can stop them, but Brendon just closes his eyes and makes a low, rough noise as Spencer's cock drags across the roof of his mouth. He can't really help wanting to just let go, thrust deeper into Brendon's mouth, and his hands are itching to touch, to guide Brendon's mouth down around his cock. He can't, but he wants to, and Brendon's hands digging in tight to the flesh of his thighs, pulling him forward, pulling him deeper isn't really helping matters. Spencer needs to touch, but doesn't trust himself not to thread his hands into Brendon's hair and just yank. He settles them on Brendon's shoulders instead and Brendon sinks under the touch, letting his mouth slip lower on Spencer's cock. Spencer gives in and lets his hand slip up an inch or two, far enough to splay fingers behind Brendon's ears, thumbs rubbing over the hollows of Brendon's cheeks. Brendon whimpers a little and pulls off, and Spencer's so fascinated by the little string of saliva stretching between his cock and Brendon's swollen bottom lip that he almost misses Brendon's low, desperate, "Spence, come on, you can touch."
Spencer's brain is fuzzy and he's close, and Brendon's pulling, urging him forward, making little pleased sounds as Spencer's cock slips back in, deeper this time. Before Spencer can even process it, he's saying, "What if you couldn't touch? What if I told you no hands?"
Brendon shudders visibly and his eyes slide shut for a second before he looks up at Spencer and slowly, deliberately, grabs Spencer's hands and places them on his head before clasping his own behind his back.
It is going to be really embarassing if he comes before he gets Brendon's mouth back, and Brendon just makes it worse, holding Spencer's gaze for as long as he can before his lips are back around Spencer's cock. He goes slow, so slow, sliding his mouth down until Spencer can feel himself nudge the back of Brendon's throat. His fingers twitch in Brendon's hair and he wants to, he can, but he doesn't push. Brendon's eyes are watering a bit but he doesn't choke, just exhales hard through his nose and swallows around Spencer's cock, letting his eyes flutter shut as he works his jaw. Spencer tries to pull back, tries not to come down Brendon's throat without warning, but Brendon follows, swallowing around Spencer as he comes.
Spencer relaxes his hold on Brendon's hair, spreads his hands out to cup Brendon's skull, and Brendon hums a little and leans back into Spencer's hands. Brendon lets out a harsh breath and Spencer slips out of his mouth, looks down to see Brendon panting and flushed below him. There's the faint remainder of wetness at the corners of his eyes, still squeezed shut. Spencer clears it away with the pads of his thumbs, and Brendon makes a sound that's almost a mewl as he jerks beneath Spencer's hands. Spencer looks down at Brendon on his knees, head tipped back, eyes closed, shaking from want, and the rush of affection that sweeps over Spencer is equal parts familiar and terrifying.
It hits him in a very real way, then, how much Brendon is giving, how much he's letting Spencer take. It's not just an abstract idea anymore, and all the doubt and confusion of the past few days come rushing back at once. This is Brendon on his knees, desperate but waiting, waiting for Spencer to tell him it's okay, waiting for Spencer to give this to him. It's almost a little embarrassing, how badly Spencer wants to see, wants to see Brendon taking what he's been denied for the past three days. He swallows down around the lump in his throat, tries to steady himself. He wants Brendon to know, wants Brendon to see.
"Brendon," he says, and Brendon looks up at him with glassy, dark eyes, his face open and hopeful. "Go get on the bed."
Brendon scrambles up, and even now Spencer has to resist the urge to follow, press him down into the mattress and take what he wants. "You know these last couple of nights?" he asks conversationally, pulling his pants and boxers back up before crossing the room to drag a chair closer to the bed. When Spencer turns back to the bed, Brendon is nodding from the edge of the bed, sitting a little less straight than he usually does, curled in a little around his erection. He's sitting on his own hands. Spencer can't help the grin that stretches his lips, only growing wider when Brendon answers it without thought.
Spencer settles into the chair, close enough that there's barely an inch between his knees and Brendon's, hanging off the edge of the bed. Brendon sways toward him just a bit, but pulls back again at Spencer's quirked brow, like hadn't realized he was doing it. "Do you have any idea how hard it was," Spencer asks, keeping his eyes locked with Brendon's, "Not just climbing out of my bunk and pulling your curtain back? Do you know how much I wanted to see you, Brendon?" Brendon lets his eyes slip shut, hips jerking forward the tiniest bit, and Spencer says sudden, sharp, "Brendon."
Brendon's eyes snap open, and his voice is raw and painful sounding when he says, "Sorry."
Spencer ghosts his hand over Brendon's knee, and when Brendon doesn't shift into it he smiles, says, "It's okay. I just wanted you to know, how hard it was. How much I wanted to see you. You've been so good." Brendon's eyes soften a little at the praise, and Spencer has to remind himself what he's trying to do here. "Stand up," he says, and he nearly catches an elbow in the eye as Brendon scrambles off the bed, caged between Spencer's legs and the edge of the mattress.
He's a little unsteady on his feet so Spencer reaches up, grabs him by the hips and anchors him to the spot. "I want to watch," he says, sliding his hands from Brendon's hips to the fly of his jeans, lips just barely brushing Brendon's bellybutton as he slowly tugs the zipper down. "I want to see you get yourself off." He almost gives into the last traces of doubt hovering around the back of his mind, almost asks if it's okay, but he's currently face-level with Brendon's crotch and he's pretty sure there's no way Brendon's saying no to anything that gets him off at this point. Spencer tries his best to be business-like in his removal of Brendon's clothes, not to let his hands linger too long on all the pale, smooth skin he's revealing. He wants to lay Brendon out, touch him everywhere, but Brendon's waited so long, been so patient. Spencer pushes lightly against Brendon's hips, gets Brendon settled back down on the bed before he sinks back down into the chair. Brendon keeps his eyes trained on Spencer the entire time and yes, this, this is what he wants, what he's been wanting. "Keep your eyes on me," Spencer says, and Brendon nods slowly.
Brendon lets out a high noise when he wraps a hand around himself, his eyes are seeking on Spencer's face and it takes him a second to realize Brendon's waiting for him, for more instruction. "This is yours," Spencer says, tries to keep his voice even. He lets himself cup Brendon's cheek, and Brendon leans into the touch gratefully, his hips straining up between them. "However you want, just keep your eyes on me, I wanna see." The last part is whispered gruffly over Brendon's lips, and Spencer hadn't even realized he'd let himself get that close. He sits back in his chair and nods briefly at Brendon before dropping his eyes down to Brendon's lap.
Brendon's cock is flushed and straining, already shiny with precome from the few strokes Brendon's gotten in. He's working himself hard and fast, letting out breathless little grunts when he strokes over the head. Spencer studies him for a minute or so, taking in the way Brendon squeezes at the bottom, how he lets his thumb drag under the head on his upstrokes. When he looks up Brendon is still focused on Spencer's face, mouth open. Spencer smiles at him, and Brendon thrusts up into his hand, lets his eyes flutter shut. They snap back open immediately, Brendon's body going tense all over and the hand working his cock going still. Spencer has to swallow his grin of approval.
"I said eyes open," Spencer says, his voice thick. Brendon nods. He opens his mouth as if to say something, squeezes tight at the base of his cock. "Hands off," Spencer says, and Brendon lets out a noise that's more sob than not. The muscles in his abs and thighs are trembling, trying to hold back. After a long, heavy moment, "Go on. You can touch, but you can't come until I say." Spencer's head is cloudy with desire, with Brendon right in front of him desperate for release and helpless to achieve it without Spencer's permission. He's half hard again, it's soon enough that it feels a little uncomfortable but he can't mind, not with Brendon strung out and panting in front of him.
Brendon's shaking now, his hand squeezing tight at the base on every down stroke, hips rutting up helplessly into his fist, and he gasps out, "Spencer, please, just . . . tell me, please, I need to come or I need to stop, just please."
Spencer bites down on the inside of his cheek, hard. His mind is reeling, buzzing, and he takes in a deep steadying breath before he says, "Stop." He can see Brendon's eyes go wide with shock, not expecting it. His entire body is pulled up tight and he lets out a desperate moan when he pulls his hand off his dick, tucks it firmly under his thigh. His left hand is fisted in the covers, clenching unconsciously, and it's clearly a struggle to keep his eyes open, keep his gaze locked on Spencer. He's panting out harsh, frantic breaths, almost choking on them as he tries to regain control of his breathing. It takes Spencer a second to place what he's feeling. It's pride, he's proud of Brendon, and he smiles softly, says, "Brendon, it's okay, come."
Spencer's expecting Brendon to bring his hand back up, but before the words are all the way out of his mouth, Brendon's body is bucking off the bed as he comes, and holy shit. Spencer is out of his chair and on the bed before Brendon's even finished, running a trembling hand through Brendon's sweaty hair, pressing a reassuring kiss to his temple. "Jesus, Bren," he says, "fucking amazing," and Brendon just slumps forward into Spencer's embrace, spent and exhausted. Spencer strokes down his stomach lightly, pressing in where the muscles are still trembling slightly, dragging the tips of his fingers through the come cooling on Brendon's skin.
He pulls away after a moment and Brendon arches towards him, his body trying to follow the touch. Spencer's still mostly dressed and Brendon's going to get come everywhere, but he's still trembling a little, so Spencer crawls into the bed, manuevers Brendon's body until he can fit behind him, wrap an arm tight around Brendon's chest. Brendon's heart is pounding fast under Spencer's palm, his skin slick with sweat that's soaking into Spencer's shirt, and he can feel Brendon's ribs expanding with the harsh, shallow breaths he's drawing in. His throat is long and white and exposed where his head tips back against Spencer's shoulder, and Spencer leans in, drops light kisses over the salty skin, licks over the pulse he can feel fluttering against his lips. He settles in, waits until his neck is aching a little and Brendon's breathing has gone back to normal before he pulls away to shuck out of his clothes, go find something to clean Brendon with.
He's in the process of getting his shirt off when he hears Brendon's voice, small and kind of strained, asking, "Spence? Where-- Are you going?" He sounds weird, off, and it takes Spencer a second to realize that it's worry. Brendon's actually worried that Spencer's going to leave him.
"Hey, hey," he says, stripping hurriedly out of his shirt and kneeling back on the bed, hovering over Brendon's body. "I wasn't going anywhere, Bren, I'm not going anywhere, okay?" He swipes at Brendon's belly with his shirt, and Brendon doesn't answer, just watches him with half-lidded eyes, teeth digging into his lower lip. It makes Spencer want to kiss him, it always does, and he tosses his shirt over his shoulder before he stretches out alongside Brendon. He tilts Brendon's head up a little to get at his mouth, and Brendon goes easily, opens for Spencer, clutches at his arm when Spencer deepens the kiss.
Spencer breaks it off eventually, reluctantly, but he's still in his jeans, and the edge of the zipper diging sharply into his skin where he's bent at the waist. He flops down onto his back and shakes out the arm that had gone a bit numb where it was sandwiched beneath them, then opens it up to Brendon, wraps it around his shoulders once Brendon is settled into Spencer's side. They lay in silence for a while, Spencer's fingers idly playing with the ends of Brendon's hair.
Brendon breaks the silence just as Spencer's getting drowsy, says, "This is okay?"
"What's okay?" Spencer asks. He looks down, but Brendon's face is turned into Spencer's chest, avoiding his gaze.
Brendon rubs his cheek against Spencer's skin, and he's quiet when he says, "You don't mind? Staying with me, I mean?"
Spencer's a little baffled, here. "Brendon, we're sharing a room, of course I'm staying."
"No, I mean-" he trails off, his fingers moving restlessly over Spencer's stomach before settling on the waistband of his jeans. "Sleep here? With me?"
Brendon's lucky that Spencer is a gentleman, because he doesn't make a habit of calling people he's just slept with idiots, even when they're being pretty big idiots. Like he could deny Brendon anything he asked, even if what he's asking shouldn't be a question in the first place. "Yeah, Bren," he says, touching lightly at Brendon's cheek until he finally, finally, lifts his face and meets Spencer's gaze. "Yeah, of course." Brendon relaxes against him with an audible sigh, and Spencer grins kind of stupidly and then brushes his smile against Brendon's lips, quick and dry.
He pulls away and wiggles a little, trying to shuck his pants off without letting go of Brendon, but only succeeds in very nearly falling off the bed and elbowing Brendon in the face. Brendon's laughing at him, a bright, clear sound, and Spencer shrugs his shoulders and stands up, quickly dropping his boxers and jeans before yanking the covers out from under Brendon, earning an indignant, "Hey!"
Brendon hums happily once Spencer's back in the bed, wiggling against Spencer's body even as he's still trying to spread the covers over them. Spencer switches off the lamp before sinking fully into the bed, and holds on tight when Brendon settles against him, making sleepy noises into Spencer's shoulder. Brendon's loose and pliant, his body finally relaxed after days of tension, and Spencer trails his hands lightly up and down Brendon's back, his arms, the bits of hip and leg he can reach, and drifts off with Brendon breathing deep and easy in his ear.