Quiet
Quiet
Spencer/Brendon
750 words
PG
Fake as vegan bacon.
Shaving fic, because the comment left in airgiodslv's Five Times Spencer Refused To Shave wouldn't leave me alone.
Brendon forgets to pack the adapter for his electric razor when they go to Australia. They don't realize until the day after they arrive in Sydney. Fourteen hours of flying, then running around doing the few tourist things they'll have time for, trying to exhaust themselves out of having jet-lag, means none of them really care about the state of their stubble, so razors aren't really required until they're getting cleaned up for the show the next afternoon.
He whines about his scruff not living up to Jon or Spencer's mountain man image until Ryan offers him his spare razor. Brendon doesn't want to take it, but he also doesn't want to inconvenience Zack or Dan by adding a side-trip to a store to buy a new adapter. Especially when he already bought a set of adapters, even if they're doing him no good sitting on the kitchen counter in his condo. So he takes the disposable, and it's only when he's standing in the hotel bathroom, half-naked, razor in hand, that he admits to himself that he really has no idea what he's doing - he's only ever used an electric shaver. He supposes he's lucky it's not a straight-edge.
Spencer laughs at Brendon when he sneaks out of the bathroom to request his help (I need someone with a steady hand, Spencer Smith.) Spencer's got a check list for packing so that he doesn't leave anything behind, and beyond that, he doesn't understand why Brendon can't figure it out. Seriously: lather, swipe, rinse, repeat. It's not that hard.
Brendon's wide-eyed, "But I might cut myself," seems a bit disingenuous, because Brendon's coordinated enough to play any instrument he gets his hands on, but they're short on time, so Spencer doesn't put up too much of a fuss.
They get some of Ryan's gel-foam (Melon-scented? What the fuck, Ross?) spread on Brendon's cheeks, and Spencer tries to demonstrate standing with his front to Brendon's back, so they both can see what he's doing in the mirror. This has the added advantage of allowing Spencer to feel the heat Brendon radiates through the thin layer of his shirt. Total bonus.
It's hard to shave Brendon that way, though. Partly it's because Brendon doesn't know when to shift and lift, but it's also because he's busy making faces in the mirror. Too, he's moving far more than Spencer thinks is necessary or desirable for a person with a sharp object is near their skin. Which is fine for Spencer, but could end in bloody mutilation for Brendon, and it's making this take that much longer.
When Spencer finally loses patience, he sets the razor down and holds Brendon still, growling, "Stop. That."
Just like that, Brendon settles. His head falls forward, leaving his nape exposed and unprotected, right there, and Spencer can't stop himself from dropping a soft kiss onto it before he turns Brendon and shuffles him up onto the edge of the sink.
"It'll be faster like this."
Brendon watches, his eyes dark and intent, when Spencer leans closer; his knees widen obligingly, and that's enough to have Spencer half-hard, thinking about Brendon spreading for him last night, tonight, whenever. They've got things to do before he can have that, though, so he focuses on the task at hand.
For the next few minutes, the muted scrape of razor over whiskers and skin, the drip of water in the basin, and quiet breathing are the only sounds. When Brendon's cheeks are clear, Spencer says, "I need to get above your lips. Make a face." He demonstrates. Brendon huffs a laugh and then imitates it.
Finally, Spencer lifts Brendon's chin so he can get at the point where jawline meets neck. Brendon's eyes fall closed, and he moves without thought, following Spencer's hand obediently. When he's done, he wets a washcloth and removes any streaks of shaving cream that remain. There's no reason to stand there, they've got things to do. But Spencer can't quite force himself to step back, to let Brendon down, to get dressed and be on their way.
Brendon makes no effort to move, either. He's still, his eyes closed, calm and pliant under Spencer's hands, until Spencer whispers, "Brendon..."
His eyelids flutter up, and there's no filter to hide everything he's thinking and feeling, things Spencer didn't even know wanted to see, and it's the most natural thing in the world for Spencer to kiss him again.
Everything else can wait. There's time for this.
Spencer/Brendon
750 words
PG
Fake as vegan bacon.
Shaving fic, because the comment left in airgiodslv's Five Times Spencer Refused To Shave wouldn't leave me alone.
Brendon forgets to pack the adapter for his electric razor when they go to Australia. They don't realize until the day after they arrive in Sydney. Fourteen hours of flying, then running around doing the few tourist things they'll have time for, trying to exhaust themselves out of having jet-lag, means none of them really care about the state of their stubble, so razors aren't really required until they're getting cleaned up for the show the next afternoon.
He whines about his scruff not living up to Jon or Spencer's mountain man image until Ryan offers him his spare razor. Brendon doesn't want to take it, but he also doesn't want to inconvenience Zack or Dan by adding a side-trip to a store to buy a new adapter. Especially when he already bought a set of adapters, even if they're doing him no good sitting on the kitchen counter in his condo. So he takes the disposable, and it's only when he's standing in the hotel bathroom, half-naked, razor in hand, that he admits to himself that he really has no idea what he's doing - he's only ever used an electric shaver. He supposes he's lucky it's not a straight-edge.
Spencer laughs at Brendon when he sneaks out of the bathroom to request his help (I need someone with a steady hand, Spencer Smith.) Spencer's got a check list for packing so that he doesn't leave anything behind, and beyond that, he doesn't understand why Brendon can't figure it out. Seriously: lather, swipe, rinse, repeat. It's not that hard.
Brendon's wide-eyed, "But I might cut myself," seems a bit disingenuous, because Brendon's coordinated enough to play any instrument he gets his hands on, but they're short on time, so Spencer doesn't put up too much of a fuss.
They get some of Ryan's gel-foam (Melon-scented? What the fuck, Ross?) spread on Brendon's cheeks, and Spencer tries to demonstrate standing with his front to Brendon's back, so they both can see what he's doing in the mirror. This has the added advantage of allowing Spencer to feel the heat Brendon radiates through the thin layer of his shirt. Total bonus.
It's hard to shave Brendon that way, though. Partly it's because Brendon doesn't know when to shift and lift, but it's also because he's busy making faces in the mirror. Too, he's moving far more than Spencer thinks is necessary or desirable for a person with a sharp object is near their skin. Which is fine for Spencer, but could end in bloody mutilation for Brendon, and it's making this take that much longer.
When Spencer finally loses patience, he sets the razor down and holds Brendon still, growling, "Stop. That."
Just like that, Brendon settles. His head falls forward, leaving his nape exposed and unprotected, right there, and Spencer can't stop himself from dropping a soft kiss onto it before he turns Brendon and shuffles him up onto the edge of the sink.
"It'll be faster like this."
Brendon watches, his eyes dark and intent, when Spencer leans closer; his knees widen obligingly, and that's enough to have Spencer half-hard, thinking about Brendon spreading for him last night, tonight, whenever. They've got things to do before he can have that, though, so he focuses on the task at hand.
For the next few minutes, the muted scrape of razor over whiskers and skin, the drip of water in the basin, and quiet breathing are the only sounds. When Brendon's cheeks are clear, Spencer says, "I need to get above your lips. Make a face." He demonstrates. Brendon huffs a laugh and then imitates it.
Finally, Spencer lifts Brendon's chin so he can get at the point where jawline meets neck. Brendon's eyes fall closed, and he moves without thought, following Spencer's hand obediently. When he's done, he wets a washcloth and removes any streaks of shaving cream that remain. There's no reason to stand there, they've got things to do. But Spencer can't quite force himself to step back, to let Brendon down, to get dressed and be on their way.
Brendon makes no effort to move, either. He's still, his eyes closed, calm and pliant under Spencer's hands, until Spencer whispers, "Brendon..."
His eyelids flutter up, and there's no filter to hide everything he's thinking and feeling, things Spencer didn't even know wanted to see, and it's the most natural thing in the world for Spencer to kiss him again.
Everything else can wait. There's time for this.