PatD fic: Brendon/Spencer, PG-13
Title: yes, and only if my own true love was waiting
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Brendon is taking a swim, and Spencer finds him. 2400 words.
Note: Title taken from Bob Dylan's "Tomorrow Is A Long Time"
yes, and only if my own true love was waiting
The water in the motel pool is so cold it takes his breath, but Brendon's stubborn. It's not so cold he can't adjust, he thinks. He's still thinking it ten minutes later when goose bumps make his skin look kind of alien here where the only light is from the fluorescents in the parking lot, filtered through trees so that it reflects off the water silver, in slivers and patches. But he stays anyway, because the stillness out here is so utter it makes him feel like each ripple he makes on the surface of the pool really counts. Each movement of his body is an artful miracle dividing the water from itself and him from his long, long day on tour.
Brendon watches strange underwater shadows creeping along behind him as he sets the world right again with a hand slowly skimmed along the surface, one then the other, in outward-swinging arcs. He steps slowly, watching as he does, but it's too dark to see his feet very well, so he concentrates on the tops of his thighs. The way the water moves in his wake isn't a splash, a break, but instead a closing over, a tinkling shudder that sounds like silence to him. Of course, maybe he's being ridiculous. He knows he probably is. Maybe it's just that his ears are still ringing from the stage. But all that matters is he likes it out here, how everything's muffled-except that it's not. He feels everything.
He even feels Spencer watching him, long before the gate creaks open, breaking up the quiet night, if only for a second.
Brendon continues his arabesques, smiling at Spencer each time he turns his way. If Spencer smiles back fondly, and he probably does, Brendon doesn't see it, just the familiar solid shape of him, moving toward him, and it occurs to Brendon that Spencer's pushing through the humid air the same way he's pushing through the water.
Spencer sits down at the five foot marker and lets his legs down into the water, grimacing.
"You're a moron," he says, but he keeps his legs in, lets them kick out, left right left.
"I guess the pool doesn't get much sun during the day."
Spencer snorts, softly. "And I guess it's an unheated pool in Tennessee in September."
Spencer's looking at him like he's not that bright, but he hasn't gone anywhere, and that makes Brendon feel especially good. Except for how he'd kind of been ready to get out of the pool, and now he can't. Won't-not with an audience, a Spencer. So Brendon goes back to making arcs with his body and reminds himself how much he likes the shiver, the way he feels every movement so clearly with such cold water pressing in on him, no matter what he does, where he moves. Because he's pressing back.
"Get in," Brendon says.
"No fucking way."
"C'mon. You get used to it."
"I get used to your inability to dump the coffee filter when you finish a pot, too, but that doesn't mean I should."
"Then why are you down here?"
He shrugs, and Brendon raises an eyebrow.
"Bored," Spencer says. Then he turns his head so all Brendon can see is his profile, soft scratch of beard over pointed chin, hair falling over his eyes.
Then Spencer kicks his feet again (left right left) and looks back at him, asking, "So, are you actually a moron or are you actively trying to get pneumonia?"
"Is that why you're down here? Couldn't you have sent Ryan down to bitch at me?"
"His bitching is way less effective than mine. And in the event that it doesn't work, I can outmuscle you."
"You'd have to get in to do that."
Spencer rolls his eyes and watches warily as Brendon begins taking slow, sweeping steps toward him from the shallow end.
Spencer says, "And you and I both know if I wanted you out, it would be smarter to send Jon down to hover worried over you with his puppy dog face until you were guilty enough to come back inside."
"Hrmph," Brendon says. "You know, I'm getting the impression that you don't actually care if I get pneumonia."
Brendon's almost reached him when Spencer suddenly draws his legs out of the water and pulls himself to his feet. Brendon's a little puzzled, and disappointed, too, until he sees that Spencer's not moving toward the gate but to the handrail at the corner of the shallow end.
"You will not dunk me," Spencer says. "I'm coming in, but you're not getting my hair wet."
"Yes, sir."
"I'm serious."
"God, you're such a girl."
Spencer flips him off as he turns to the nearest lounge chair. Brendon watches as he shucks his shirt and discards it, and he has the fleeting thought of wanting to wear that warm cotton against his own skin, or maybe just wrap himself around Spencer, but it's gone in the space of time it takes Spencer to step down into the water.
He's grimacing again, like he didn't just have his legs in the water. That's the trouble, actually, that it's cold enough you can never entirely get used to it. Brendon watches the water catch his knees, then his waist, and that's when Spencer sucks in a loud breath-or tries, too, laughing a little hysterically when he can't quite.
"Jesus Christ," he murmurs. Then he jerks, the start of a full-body shiver he's trying to fight. "Fuck. Fucking hell, you really are an idiot."
"And you're a bigger one for getting in anyway."
"Mmm hmm."
"Seriously, it's not cold enough to give a person hypothermia, just colder than the air."
Spencer is clearly dubious, but he's also clearly advancing out toward him near the five foot mark, so he's not complaining, even if Spencer really is just getting in to force him to come out.
Brendon makes lazy circles in the water, spinning as many times as he can without letting his feet drop down again to touch the smooth bottom. He feels like the pool's somehow claiming Spencer, too, the two of them floating together in this dark quiet place. It doesn't matter that Spencer doesn't respect the sanctity of the process, doesn't try to make every movement count. He's coming, shattering light across the rippling surface of the water as he steals out toward him.
"You know," Spencer says, "if we both die of hypothermia, I'm going to find you in the afterlife and make sure you suffer."
Brendon just smiles serenely and nods and watches Spencer as he stops somewhere near four feet, his shoulders still out of the water, and plasters his back against the wall, cement cooling but not cold. Brendon pushes off from the five foot marker and sends himself floating back toward the middle of the pool, mindful of Spencer's eyes still on him. Mindful of Spencer.
Because Spencer seems so tired, and it's not exactly something physical, or at least not just that. He's been like this all day, but for some reason it looks more stark out here. Brendon can't really ignore it. Spencer gets like this sometimes, and sometimes they only know because he turns aloof, walks like a ghost through their busy days and keeps to himself when he can. Brendon's not sure what this is, then-if Spencer looks like this but he's decidedly hovering.
Brendon says, "You want me to leave you alone?"
Spencer wrinkles his nose. "What? Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"You know I like being with people. But you look like you wanna be by yourself…"
"Brendon," he says in that tone so close to being patronizing, except it's just Spencer's frustrated tone. "I knew you were out here when I came down. So, no, I don't want you to leave."
Spencer's trying to look stern, but a smile begins to take over his face, and he closes his eyes against it.
"Good," Brendon says, faking annoyance. "Because that would be kinda shitty, since I got here first and all."
Spencer nods, smiling wider, his eyes still closed. But when he opens them again, he looks straight at Brendon and doesn't take his eyes off him, like he can't help it.
And Brendon? He can't help it either, so he starts drifting toward him.
"Seriously," Brendon says. "What's up?"
"What?"
"You seem…tense? I don't know. Something."
Spencer shrugs. "Probably because I feel like I'm in training to do what those crazy fucks we saw on the Discovery Channel that one time were doing. You know, in Ontario or something."
"Ice swimming."
"Yeah, that."
Spencer's eyes are so blue, and the pool makes them look even deeper blue, and he still hasn't taken his eyes off Brendon, the way he's calmly but steadily gliding toward him, in long steps, arms pulling him through the water.
Spencer says, "Anyway, you seem the opposite of tense."
"It's nice out here," Brendon says, bringing himself to a stop an arm's length from him. "Quiet."
"Mmm hmm."
"I'm quiet sometimes."
"I know you are," Spencer says, like he really does know, and the way his forehead wrinkles with a hidden frown and the way he looks soft and blue and the way he looks out over Brendon's shoulder like he's suddenly a little afraid to look at him-that's what makes Brendon step up, right into his personal space.
It's only once he's there that he realizes how this isn't like crowding up against Spencer while they're waiting in line somewhere or sitting in his lap for a movie. Here, being this close is something weirdly intimate. Weird, though, only because it's him and Spencer, and they've been not-doing this kind of thing long enough he'd forgotten that it was because it was always a possibility.
His hands had been making waves under the water as he moved, and now they drop to Spencer's waist, and he lets himself slip forward a little until they're skin to skin and Spencer's leaning his head down and resting his forehead against Brendon's neck, arms still floating out at his sides like he doesn't quite know where they should be.
"Brendon," he says, but his voice is too quiet, and Brendon suddenly knows exactly why Spencer's out here, even if Spencer doesn't. Didn't. He surely does now.
When Brendon pulls back enough that Spencer has to raise his head and look at him, Spencer's smiling but blushing a little, despite the chill and the way their stomachs feel cold resting there against each other. Slowly, Brendon takes his hands off Spencer's waist and lifts them up out of the water so he can take Spencer's face in his hands and kiss him.
His mouth is so warm it's almost startling. But then again, it's just as startling that it's Spencer's mouth. It doesn't take long before Spencer's grabbing his face, too, and angling him deeper into the kiss, and Brendon feels everything, from the way the water rocks against them to the way their bodies press even more tightly together, still slippery and cold until there's a thigh warm and firm shifting into place between his legs. Despite the way the water's so cold it's made his balls draw up a little, his cock's maybe half hard, but he doesn't grind, just lets their hips fall together and press hard and steady, Brendon's thinner thighs threaded through Spencer's thicker, Spencer's hipbone pressing against his stomach. He wants to roll his hips against Spencer's, but he doesn't, just waits, like he's always been waiting, maybe, for Spencer to have what he wants.
Spencer's hands slip back over his neck and his fingers work up into his hair, and Brendon lets him pull his head back a little so he can suck at his lips and then thrust his tongue inside. Their lips are so warm and wet, and Brendon almost can't breathe again. Maybe Spencer can't either, because he suddenly draws back from the kiss, not with a gasp, but his breath is shallow and deliberate. And he's looking at Brendon so hard Brendon has to duck his head.
"Mmm," Brendon says, nuzzling along Spencer's neck, tasting chlorine as his lips graze Spencer's collarbone. "Warm now."
"Does that mean you don't want to go in?"
Brendon lets his hand trail down Spencer's chest until it's hovering at his waistband. When Spencer sucks in a breath and then makes this frustrated, half-annoyed groaning noise, Brendon giggles.
"Fuck," Brendon says, "Of course I want to go in and get warm."
"Our room has a shower."
"Showers are warm. And they don't cause the same shrinkage problem."
Spencer throws back his head and laughs, loud and clear, and Brendon doesn't even care that it echoes off all the buildings around them. He's done with the solemn, perfect quiet. This is perfect enough on its own.
"That doesn't seem to be a problem right now," Spencer says with a grin that kind of takes Brendon's breath away. Spencer grinds against him a little for good measure, and it's almost enough to make Brendon want to stay and just keep fucking touching him.
But then Spencer's pushing him away-effortlessly, with the weight of the water-and nudging him back and back until he has to take his feet off the ground, and soon they're treading water to the nearest ladder, there in the colder, darker deep end.
Brendon stops as he takes hold of the metal ladder and says, "So, um, why now?"
"Because it's fucking cold in here, you moron," Spencer grouses, nudging him so he'll start climbing. "I thought we covered that already."
"No," Brendon says. "Why…this, now?"
Spencer looks startled by the question, but then it turns to sheepishness. They're cute, his occasional moments of embarrassment and hesitation, but it's even more attractive when he marshals them so he can give him his most honest sort of face.
Still, his voice is soft when he says, "I don't know. I didn't plan on…" He smiles. "I don't know. I saw you down here, and I guess I just wanted to be where you were."
With a beaming grin which he turns away to hide, Brendon climbs the ladder carefully, like he's climbing out into a different world than he left. But it's okay: Spencer's right behind him.
~
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Brendon is taking a swim, and Spencer finds him. 2400 words.
Note: Title taken from Bob Dylan's "Tomorrow Is A Long Time"
yes, and only if my own true love was waiting
The water in the motel pool is so cold it takes his breath, but Brendon's stubborn. It's not so cold he can't adjust, he thinks. He's still thinking it ten minutes later when goose bumps make his skin look kind of alien here where the only light is from the fluorescents in the parking lot, filtered through trees so that it reflects off the water silver, in slivers and patches. But he stays anyway, because the stillness out here is so utter it makes him feel like each ripple he makes on the surface of the pool really counts. Each movement of his body is an artful miracle dividing the water from itself and him from his long, long day on tour.
Brendon watches strange underwater shadows creeping along behind him as he sets the world right again with a hand slowly skimmed along the surface, one then the other, in outward-swinging arcs. He steps slowly, watching as he does, but it's too dark to see his feet very well, so he concentrates on the tops of his thighs. The way the water moves in his wake isn't a splash, a break, but instead a closing over, a tinkling shudder that sounds like silence to him. Of course, maybe he's being ridiculous. He knows he probably is. Maybe it's just that his ears are still ringing from the stage. But all that matters is he likes it out here, how everything's muffled-except that it's not. He feels everything.
He even feels Spencer watching him, long before the gate creaks open, breaking up the quiet night, if only for a second.
Brendon continues his arabesques, smiling at Spencer each time he turns his way. If Spencer smiles back fondly, and he probably does, Brendon doesn't see it, just the familiar solid shape of him, moving toward him, and it occurs to Brendon that Spencer's pushing through the humid air the same way he's pushing through the water.
Spencer sits down at the five foot marker and lets his legs down into the water, grimacing.
"You're a moron," he says, but he keeps his legs in, lets them kick out, left right left.
"I guess the pool doesn't get much sun during the day."
Spencer snorts, softly. "And I guess it's an unheated pool in Tennessee in September."
Spencer's looking at him like he's not that bright, but he hasn't gone anywhere, and that makes Brendon feel especially good. Except for how he'd kind of been ready to get out of the pool, and now he can't. Won't-not with an audience, a Spencer. So Brendon goes back to making arcs with his body and reminds himself how much he likes the shiver, the way he feels every movement so clearly with such cold water pressing in on him, no matter what he does, where he moves. Because he's pressing back.
"Get in," Brendon says.
"No fucking way."
"C'mon. You get used to it."
"I get used to your inability to dump the coffee filter when you finish a pot, too, but that doesn't mean I should."
"Then why are you down here?"
He shrugs, and Brendon raises an eyebrow.
"Bored," Spencer says. Then he turns his head so all Brendon can see is his profile, soft scratch of beard over pointed chin, hair falling over his eyes.
Then Spencer kicks his feet again (left right left) and looks back at him, asking, "So, are you actually a moron or are you actively trying to get pneumonia?"
"Is that why you're down here? Couldn't you have sent Ryan down to bitch at me?"
"His bitching is way less effective than mine. And in the event that it doesn't work, I can outmuscle you."
"You'd have to get in to do that."
Spencer rolls his eyes and watches warily as Brendon begins taking slow, sweeping steps toward him from the shallow end.
Spencer says, "And you and I both know if I wanted you out, it would be smarter to send Jon down to hover worried over you with his puppy dog face until you were guilty enough to come back inside."
"Hrmph," Brendon says. "You know, I'm getting the impression that you don't actually care if I get pneumonia."
Brendon's almost reached him when Spencer suddenly draws his legs out of the water and pulls himself to his feet. Brendon's a little puzzled, and disappointed, too, until he sees that Spencer's not moving toward the gate but to the handrail at the corner of the shallow end.
"You will not dunk me," Spencer says. "I'm coming in, but you're not getting my hair wet."
"Yes, sir."
"I'm serious."
"God, you're such a girl."
Spencer flips him off as he turns to the nearest lounge chair. Brendon watches as he shucks his shirt and discards it, and he has the fleeting thought of wanting to wear that warm cotton against his own skin, or maybe just wrap himself around Spencer, but it's gone in the space of time it takes Spencer to step down into the water.
He's grimacing again, like he didn't just have his legs in the water. That's the trouble, actually, that it's cold enough you can never entirely get used to it. Brendon watches the water catch his knees, then his waist, and that's when Spencer sucks in a loud breath-or tries, too, laughing a little hysterically when he can't quite.
"Jesus Christ," he murmurs. Then he jerks, the start of a full-body shiver he's trying to fight. "Fuck. Fucking hell, you really are an idiot."
"And you're a bigger one for getting in anyway."
"Mmm hmm."
"Seriously, it's not cold enough to give a person hypothermia, just colder than the air."
Spencer is clearly dubious, but he's also clearly advancing out toward him near the five foot mark, so he's not complaining, even if Spencer really is just getting in to force him to come out.
Brendon makes lazy circles in the water, spinning as many times as he can without letting his feet drop down again to touch the smooth bottom. He feels like the pool's somehow claiming Spencer, too, the two of them floating together in this dark quiet place. It doesn't matter that Spencer doesn't respect the sanctity of the process, doesn't try to make every movement count. He's coming, shattering light across the rippling surface of the water as he steals out toward him.
"You know," Spencer says, "if we both die of hypothermia, I'm going to find you in the afterlife and make sure you suffer."
Brendon just smiles serenely and nods and watches Spencer as he stops somewhere near four feet, his shoulders still out of the water, and plasters his back against the wall, cement cooling but not cold. Brendon pushes off from the five foot marker and sends himself floating back toward the middle of the pool, mindful of Spencer's eyes still on him. Mindful of Spencer.
Because Spencer seems so tired, and it's not exactly something physical, or at least not just that. He's been like this all day, but for some reason it looks more stark out here. Brendon can't really ignore it. Spencer gets like this sometimes, and sometimes they only know because he turns aloof, walks like a ghost through their busy days and keeps to himself when he can. Brendon's not sure what this is, then-if Spencer looks like this but he's decidedly hovering.
Brendon says, "You want me to leave you alone?"
Spencer wrinkles his nose. "What? Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"You know I like being with people. But you look like you wanna be by yourself…"
"Brendon," he says in that tone so close to being patronizing, except it's just Spencer's frustrated tone. "I knew you were out here when I came down. So, no, I don't want you to leave."
Spencer's trying to look stern, but a smile begins to take over his face, and he closes his eyes against it.
"Good," Brendon says, faking annoyance. "Because that would be kinda shitty, since I got here first and all."
Spencer nods, smiling wider, his eyes still closed. But when he opens them again, he looks straight at Brendon and doesn't take his eyes off him, like he can't help it.
And Brendon? He can't help it either, so he starts drifting toward him.
"Seriously," Brendon says. "What's up?"
"What?"
"You seem…tense? I don't know. Something."
Spencer shrugs. "Probably because I feel like I'm in training to do what those crazy fucks we saw on the Discovery Channel that one time were doing. You know, in Ontario or something."
"Ice swimming."
"Yeah, that."
Spencer's eyes are so blue, and the pool makes them look even deeper blue, and he still hasn't taken his eyes off Brendon, the way he's calmly but steadily gliding toward him, in long steps, arms pulling him through the water.
Spencer says, "Anyway, you seem the opposite of tense."
"It's nice out here," Brendon says, bringing himself to a stop an arm's length from him. "Quiet."
"Mmm hmm."
"I'm quiet sometimes."
"I know you are," Spencer says, like he really does know, and the way his forehead wrinkles with a hidden frown and the way he looks soft and blue and the way he looks out over Brendon's shoulder like he's suddenly a little afraid to look at him-that's what makes Brendon step up, right into his personal space.
It's only once he's there that he realizes how this isn't like crowding up against Spencer while they're waiting in line somewhere or sitting in his lap for a movie. Here, being this close is something weirdly intimate. Weird, though, only because it's him and Spencer, and they've been not-doing this kind of thing long enough he'd forgotten that it was because it was always a possibility.
His hands had been making waves under the water as he moved, and now they drop to Spencer's waist, and he lets himself slip forward a little until they're skin to skin and Spencer's leaning his head down and resting his forehead against Brendon's neck, arms still floating out at his sides like he doesn't quite know where they should be.
"Brendon," he says, but his voice is too quiet, and Brendon suddenly knows exactly why Spencer's out here, even if Spencer doesn't. Didn't. He surely does now.
When Brendon pulls back enough that Spencer has to raise his head and look at him, Spencer's smiling but blushing a little, despite the chill and the way their stomachs feel cold resting there against each other. Slowly, Brendon takes his hands off Spencer's waist and lifts them up out of the water so he can take Spencer's face in his hands and kiss him.
His mouth is so warm it's almost startling. But then again, it's just as startling that it's Spencer's mouth. It doesn't take long before Spencer's grabbing his face, too, and angling him deeper into the kiss, and Brendon feels everything, from the way the water rocks against them to the way their bodies press even more tightly together, still slippery and cold until there's a thigh warm and firm shifting into place between his legs. Despite the way the water's so cold it's made his balls draw up a little, his cock's maybe half hard, but he doesn't grind, just lets their hips fall together and press hard and steady, Brendon's thinner thighs threaded through Spencer's thicker, Spencer's hipbone pressing against his stomach. He wants to roll his hips against Spencer's, but he doesn't, just waits, like he's always been waiting, maybe, for Spencer to have what he wants.
Spencer's hands slip back over his neck and his fingers work up into his hair, and Brendon lets him pull his head back a little so he can suck at his lips and then thrust his tongue inside. Their lips are so warm and wet, and Brendon almost can't breathe again. Maybe Spencer can't either, because he suddenly draws back from the kiss, not with a gasp, but his breath is shallow and deliberate. And he's looking at Brendon so hard Brendon has to duck his head.
"Mmm," Brendon says, nuzzling along Spencer's neck, tasting chlorine as his lips graze Spencer's collarbone. "Warm now."
"Does that mean you don't want to go in?"
Brendon lets his hand trail down Spencer's chest until it's hovering at his waistband. When Spencer sucks in a breath and then makes this frustrated, half-annoyed groaning noise, Brendon giggles.
"Fuck," Brendon says, "Of course I want to go in and get warm."
"Our room has a shower."
"Showers are warm. And they don't cause the same shrinkage problem."
Spencer throws back his head and laughs, loud and clear, and Brendon doesn't even care that it echoes off all the buildings around them. He's done with the solemn, perfect quiet. This is perfect enough on its own.
"That doesn't seem to be a problem right now," Spencer says with a grin that kind of takes Brendon's breath away. Spencer grinds against him a little for good measure, and it's almost enough to make Brendon want to stay and just keep fucking touching him.
But then Spencer's pushing him away-effortlessly, with the weight of the water-and nudging him back and back until he has to take his feet off the ground, and soon they're treading water to the nearest ladder, there in the colder, darker deep end.
Brendon stops as he takes hold of the metal ladder and says, "So, um, why now?"
"Because it's fucking cold in here, you moron," Spencer grouses, nudging him so he'll start climbing. "I thought we covered that already."
"No," Brendon says. "Why…this, now?"
Spencer looks startled by the question, but then it turns to sheepishness. They're cute, his occasional moments of embarrassment and hesitation, but it's even more attractive when he marshals them so he can give him his most honest sort of face.
Still, his voice is soft when he says, "I don't know. I didn't plan on…" He smiles. "I don't know. I saw you down here, and I guess I just wanted to be where you were."
With a beaming grin which he turns away to hide, Brendon climbs the ladder carefully, like he's climbing out into a different world than he left. But it's okay: Spencer's right behind him.
~