a thin line between - part two
Master Post | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Fanmix
Spencer stays.
When everything falls apart, Spencer stays and Brendon doesn't ever forget that. There'd been no hesitation at all when Brendon had finally gotten his nerve up enough to tell Spencer he didn't think he could do it; he couldn't make another Pretty. Odd. When they are working, it's like he and Ryan are a raging fire, always at each other's throats, words vicious and cutting; outside of that, it's the opposite, an ice-cold war of silence. Brendon knows he'll shatter if he has to go through it again. Shatter into a million Ryan Ross-edged pieces, never to find himself whole again.
So Spencer stays and Brendon would have loved him for that alone, except Spencer actually wants to be in the band with Brendon. He wants to make the kind of music that Brendon wants to make-fun and fast, Old School Blue Eyes with jumped-up jazz beats, anything and everything-Spencer is totally, wholeheartedly *in* with Brendon.
Spencer hadn't paused when Brendon whispered those fateful words. He'd just tugged Brendon in, tucked him tight under one arm and said, "Okay, let's do this."
~*~
Shane's not really listening, intent on the screen in front of him. This one scene is being a complete bitch; he can't decide which cut he likes better. He presses save and reopens the file. Maybe if the tries holding that last panorama just a few seconds longer-
"Shane."
"Yeah, Regs?" He glares at the screen. That doesn't work at all.
There's a rising impatience in her voice when she asks, "What time does your flight leave?"
"Flight?"
"I thought you had that video shoot in New Mexico this weekend?"
"Oh," Shane waves a hand. "I rescheduled that."
"What? Why?"
"I can't leave right now, Regs, not with Spence-"
"Spencer."
"Yes, Spencer. You know he's still sick."
"Take him to the doctor!"
"Regan, what the hell? You know-"
"I know that you spend a hell of a lot of time over there. You haven't slept in our bed for more than three days in the last two weeks."
"I told you that Spencer's sick, that he's not sleeping well."
"So, what? You have to stand over him to make sure he does?"
Shane doesn't really say anything to that.
"What the hell is going on? I'm starting to think that there's something going on between you two!"
He knows that he hesitates to long before finally opening his mouth to tell her she's being ridiculous when she says softly, "Oh my god."
Shane finally looks over. Her eyes are wide, shocked. He doesn't know what to say. He thinks about how he's just as comfortable sleeping in Spencer's bed as he is their own, how they have their own routine in the morning like he and Regan usually do. He thinks about this and knows that she has a point. Still, he's unprepared for what comes out of her mouth next.
"And I thought Brendon was a test-" Wait. What? "But this-"
"Brendon? What-I don't. What's Brendon got to do with any of this?" He’s part of what’s happening with Spencer, Shane suspects, but that’s nothing really to do with Shane. Not that he knows anyway.
Regan just looks at him. The expression on her face makes something drop in his stomach. It just gets worse when she tells him quietly, "I used to watch the two of you together, you know, right after you guys met." With her head down, Shane still sees the way she bites her lip. "I was so scared for a while there. The two of you were just-I don't."
She looks up then, her eyes a little wet. Shane can't breathe.
"You were so good for him." A soft smile. "Something in him just, I don't know, calmed down?"
"Regan-"
"You didn't leave though," she interrupts. "You didn't leave and Brendon met Sarah and I thought that would be it, but this-"
Shane can tell she's trying so hard not to cry, twisting her fingers in the belt loops of her pants. It's a thing she does, he knows it exactly. He tries to say something, but she says softly, "I can't do this, not right now." Shaking her head, she steps back.
It's not until the front door closes that Shane realizes she's gone, that she left.
Nearly an hour passes before Shane makes himself get up, moves to find his phone. All his calls go straight to voicemail and he doesn't want to call her friends just yet, not until they can actually talk.
He's got Brendon's number typed in, his hand over the send, thinking maybe Brendon would know what Regan was talking about. It's ridiculous. They're close, yeah, but there are reasons for that. It’s not something that’s ever come between him and Regan.
Except apparently that's not as true as Shane thought.
He backspaces and sends a text to Spencer instead, ignoring the echo of Regan's words.
You good for tonight?
An answer comes back less than two minutes later. Yeah, B and I are on a roll (ha). Why?
Something came up, wanted to make sure you were covered
I'm golden don't think we're going to be doing much sleeping yet.
Shane drops his head into his hand, phone held loosely in the other. Tilting his head up, he checks the clock. Regan's been gone for four hours.
The phone vibrates in his hand.
Everything okay?
He barks out a laugh. Yes. A pause, then he adds: can't wait to hear what you guys come up with, tossing the phone on the coffee table. After a moment, he sighs, slumping back into the couch.
He'll just wait then, until she comes home.
*
There's a crick in his neck that twinges when he sits up, yawning. Rubbing his eyes, he's reaching for the phone when he sees Regan. She's leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him. There's a sad little smile on her face and Shane's up and moving towards her before he even registers it.
"Regan, I-"
That's when he notices the suitcase under her hand.
"What? What are you doing?"
"I think we should take a break."
"What? I told you, there's nothing going on between me and Spencer!"
"That-Maybe that's true." She ducks her head but Shane sees that she doesn't believe her own words. "But there's something going on with Spencer at least. I don't claim to understand it, but I think that it would be best if I take some time away from all of this." Shane hears the from you. "Get myself sorted out."
"Regs, this is stupid. Please." He reaches out for her, but she steps away.
"I'm sorry, Shane." She won't look at him as she moves around him, dragging the suitcase with her. It's the huge one they'd bought for when she'd get to come out on tour with them, for when they'd get to take a vacation overseas. It's half her size, but she doesn't struggle with it at all.
Shane can't believe this is happening.
"Regan, please don't."
Her voice is soft, tear-choked as she repeats, "I'm sorry."
She sets something on the table in the hallway and the door shuts quietly behind her. From where he's standing, Shane can see the gold glint of the apartment key.
He goes to bed and doesn't get up for two days.
*
Something jerks Shane out of sleep. Rolling over, he scrubs a hand over his face. There's pounding on the front door and Shane thinks maybe she came back. Stumbling through sleep-haze, he makes his way through the apartment and flings the door open.
"Regan-"
Brendon's hand is poised to knock again, the frown on his face deepening as he looks Shane over. Behind him, Shane sees the way the anger on Spencer's face shifts to concern.
"What the hell, Shane?"
Brendon shoves his way into the apartment. Spencer follows and Shane can't help automatically shifting back a step. He sighs, his eyes shutting briefly before he closes the door and turns around. Brendon's in the middle of the living room, his jaw tight.
"Is there something wrong with your phone? We've been calling forever. And Regan's not answering her phone either."
Shane swallows hard at Regan's name. "Guys-"
"Where is Regan?" Spencer interrupts, his voice quiet after Brendon's insistent questioning. Shane looks up.
There's a look on Spencer's face, like something is dawning on him, and he presses his lips together when Shane doesn't answer right away.
Brendon frowns again, confused. He looks over at Spencer, then back at Shane. "Shane?"
"Uh, yeah," Dropping his gaze, he tucks his hands in his back pockets. "She probably wouldn't be picking up from you. Maybe Sarah though."
He watches as Brendon's shoes appear in his field of vision. A hand lands softly on his shoulder. "Why would she pick up for Sarah and not for me, Shane?"
Spencer sighs loudly. "Because they obviously had a fight, Brendon. Jesus."
Over his shoulder, Brendon snaps, "I figured that, douche. Maybe Shane needed to say it out loud."
"Fuck." Shane can hear Spencer flop on the couch.
Turning his attention back to Shane, Brendon asks, "What'd you guys fight about? I mean, you've argued before, right?"
Shane deliberately doesn't look at the couch. "She's never actually taken her suitcase, B. I'm pretty sure she's serious this time."
"Fuck," Spencer repeats under his breath and this time Shane does look over Brendon's shoulder, watches as Spencer settles back into the couch, a hand running over his face.
Brendon follows his gaze, his frown deepening. He looks back to Shane and Shane panics a little; he doesn't want to talk about it. About what Regan said. He drags up a smile before Brendon can push the issue. It's not a very good one by the look on Brendon's face.
"I'm sorry I didn't answer the phone, and I appreciate you guys coming to check on me, but I think I'd like to be by myself."
Brendon hums at him. "Um, no? You should come stay with me, get out of here."
"That's no good, Brendon," Spencer says from the couch. Brendon twists around to look at him. "Sarah's there; it wouldn't be very fair to her." He doesn't offer his own place, Shane notes, catching Spencer's eye. Spencer looks away first.
"Seriously, guys. Thank you for coming to check on me, but I'm fine. I'm just gonna-I should be here just in case she comes back or calls." Brendon opens his mouth to protest, but Shane adds a quiet, "Please?" and his mouth closes.
Pushing off the couch, Spencer comes up behind Brendon. "You want us to stick around?" he asks. Brendon looks hopeful, but Shane shakes his head, giving them a small smile. "I'll be okay, I promise."
He still looks like he wants to argue, but Spencer puts a hand on Brendon's shoulder. They're standing in the open doorway when Brendon wraps him up in a tight hug, arms tight around Shane's shoulders. His nose settles in the hollow of Shane's neck like it always does, breathing deep. Hugging back, Shane gives him another quiet thanks.
Brendon pulls back, scowling. "Call, doucherocket, if you need anything." He moves out the door, standing at the top of the stairwell and waits.
Spencer pauses as he's leaving, not quite turning to face Shane. He looks up and Shane sees the mix of guilt and sympathy on his face. "Shane-"
Shane cuts him off, voice low. "It's not your fault, okay? Just, it's-It's not. So get whatever you're thinking out of your head right now."
It's obvious Spencer doesn't believe him, but he nods. A hand curves around Shane's shoulder in a sympathetic squeeze and then they're both gone. Shane closes the door, resting his forehead against the smooth laminate.
Fuck covers everything just about perfectly.
Regan doesn't come back except for once, to pick up the rest of her stuff.
*
He's on the tail end of a three day binge of bad whiskey, a shit-ton of beer, and very little sleep when he answers a call from Brendon.
Dude, dude. How are you doing?
Taking in the mess of cans littering his living room, Shane goes with, "As well as can be expected I guess." There's a headache brewing in his temples and his stomach is unsettled. "What's up?"
I forgot the A/C guy was coming over tomorrow and I was wondering if you could go over and meet him for us?
"Why can't you do it? Or Spencer? He's closer." Shane isn't really up for actually being social just yet, especially after yesterday's phone call and another series of pleas and begging.
One, I am not currently available seeing as I'm currently in Vegas, and two, asshole, you seriously need to get out of that apartment so I chose you over Spencer. Also he didn't answer his phone earlier.
Shane's about to tell him to call Spencer again when it registers exactly what Brendon said.
"Wait. You're out of town? For how long?"
I should be back in a couple days-
"No," he cuts in impatiently. "How long have you been gone?"
Oh, uh, well. Brendon sounds a little embarrassed. We actually left the day after, um, you know.
Rolling his eyes, Shane grumbles, "Way to be there for me, Brendon."
Hey! I told you-
That means Spencer's been alone for three days.
"Fuck."
What? What's wrong?
"Nothing," he says quickly. "I'll do it, Jesus. What time?" Listening with half an ear, Shane starts looking for some shoes. By the time he's hung up, his keys are in his hands and he's nearly in the parking lot. In rush hour traffic it takes half an hour to get to Spencer's place.
He pushes on the doorbell and then, impatient, starts pounding on the door. Spencer answers in an old t-shirt that's seen better days and ratty sweatpants. He looks like shit.
"You-" Shane growls, pushing his way into the house, "are a fucking idiot."
Spencer glares after him, shutting the door. The effect is kind of ruined by the thin, darkened skin under his eyes. His voice is tired but biting when he responds, "And you smell like you've been bathing in Jameson's. Can we just go to sleep now?"
That sounds just fine to Shane.
>><<
So Shane comes over, doesn't leave for a month, and Spencer sleeps better than he has in the last few months. Okay, he doesn't always sleep peacefully, but for the most part it's restful. They both ignore the fact that Spencer's worst nights are those when it's been more than a four days since Brendon's been around.
The first week, Shane doesn’t sleep much, wandering the house like a ghost. When he does fall asleep, it’s always on the couch or in Brendon's old room. Finally, after about a week, Spencer stumbles out of his bedroom around three in the morning, shaking, and Shane, slumped on the couch in the dark with the television reflecting a prism of colors over his face, says, "Fuck. This is ridiculous."
He pulls them both back into Spencer's bedroom and they sleep for nearly ten hours.
Shane has a few rough periods, spaces of time where he's working and Spencer will come around the corner to find him staring off, eyes sad and far away, lost in memories. There’s a lot of beer and silence the weekend that Regan comes to get the rest of her stuff. Spencer does the best he can, tries to be a comforting presence. He knows from experience that it's mostly about waiting shit out, letting time make everything less sharp, less painful.
Watching this whole thing go down, though, loads Spencer with guilt. As much as Shane reassures him, he knows that whatever the hell's going on with him is a big, if not all, part of what happened between Shane and Regan. He'd picked up his phone half a dozen times those first few days with Shane in the house, ready to tell Regan that there was nothing going on. There's no reason for her to break Shane's heart. None of the calls were completed, something always holding him back from pushing the green call button.
Spencer comes to terms with the fact that he's a selfish son of a bitch and carries that guilt without word.
*
Brendon doesn't say much about the situation. Spencer watches from the other side of the glass as they have low, earnest conversations in the backyard. Bogie starts spending a lot more time at the house which, while Brendon moans and pouts about how his dog loves Spencer more, he always seem to 'accidentally' forget to take said dog home.
Life goes on.
Spencer and Brendon are in the studio constantly; Shane continues doing his thing. Little by little, his stuff starts to accumulate in the house-another toothbrush in the cup, extra wet towels on the floor of the bathroom-and Spencer finds himself buying those weird flaxseed chips that Shane likes that are totally gross. They both drink ridiculous amounts of milk and the boxes of cereal on the counter go from two to five by the end of the month.
Spencer's got a third bedroom that houses his spare drum kit, along with various other instruments that Brendon keeps around in case an idea strikes. Two weeks in and Shane has the small table that's tucked into the corner of the room covered in two laptops, half a dozen notepads, and four cameras. Spencer's got a mental note to pick up a pair of the noise-canceling headphones that Shane uses. They've got to be amazing since Shane always acts like nothing's going on when he's working and Spencer's practicing.
When he's in town and they're not recording or he's not busy with Sarah, Brendon comes over. They spend most of the time trying to best each other at video games, drinking beer and eating pizza. Spencer likes to watch Shane and Brendon together. Brendon's always had this buzz of energy that surrounds him. It used to drive Ryan crazy in the beginning, he remembers. When they met Shane, something in Brendon settled down and that still happens now.
It's kind of funny, Spencer notes. Brendon's very touchy-feely, something else that nearly drove Ryan nuts at the start. Until he discovered pot and the way everything felt so much more when you were high.
Brendon likes to touch, to hug, to drape himself across your back, anything to be close. But with Shane, he just stands close like just being in the same vicinity as Shane is enough for Brendon. It's kind of weird. Spencer always shakes it off. Brendon is weird; the rules always bend themselves for him.
*
So things settle into a pattern. Spencer is a big fan of patterns. He's also a big fan of ignoring the fact that he really likes Shane sleeping in his bed, and that some of that is not just because he likes sleep.
He's been pretty good at ignoring the weird feelings that keep popping up in his stomach when he can feel Shane's body heat, when Shane forgets that he's not Brendon and runs his hands in a slow, soothing movement over the back of his head when they fall asleep on the couch. But it's really, really nice having Shane nearby so he doesn't do anything when Shane hems and haws about going back to his place. Regan's gotten her stuff and Spencer pretends that he's being a good friend when he says that it will make Shane feel weird to go back to a half-empty apartment, so he should just stay a couple more days.
*
Since he can't see over the two bags of groceries that he's holding, Spencer nearly does a nosedive when he trips over what he's fairly sure are a pair of Shane's tennis shoes.
"Goddammit, Shane, I told you-"
Shane's sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. Spencer just sighs and goes to put the groceries up. He has to clear the counter, currently scattered with-Spencer glances over them as he stacks them up-another video treatment.
When he's done, Spencer moves back into the living room. There's a laptop on the coffee table, screensaver on, a new picture rolling over every few seconds. He grins at the stupid ballgame photos, Brendon and Pete being idiots. A shot of Regan comes up and Spencer frowns, looking over at the still figure on the couch.
It's been a little over a month since the break-up; the dark circles are finally gone and Shane looks peaceful in sleep. Spencer sighs and reaches over to kill the screensaver, quietly shutting the laptop after making sure there's nothing important pulled up. Sitting on the coffee table, he looks around. There's another pair of shoes shoved in the space between the bookshelf and the TV stand, a jacket flung over the loveseat, and a slew of games stacked up in front of the gaming consoles.
Spencer sighs. He's about to do something stupid.
*
He doesn't say anything for another week, not until Shane's bitching because the camera he wants is at his apartment. Finally, Spencer just huffs out, "This is ridiculous."
Startled, Shane looks up. "What?"
"You're over here all the time anyway, half your shit is here already. I keep tripping over your damned shoes. Which, by the way, if you move in, we are going to have a serious discussion on shoe etiquette, okay?”
Spencer frowns. “Why are you looking at me like that?"
>><<
Almost as if he knows Shane's thinking about him, his phone pings with a new text message.
Pete wants pics of bx, get ur ass over here
Shane grins at the net speak.
IDK dude, like, maybe I'm busy?
A minute later: Ass
I have been working out, thanks
Ashlee's making lasagna
Shane sighs, looking up at his computer screen. Ashlee’s lasagna is stupidly awesome. His phone beeps again.
And key lime pie
He hits save and grabs a camera off the table, checking for an extra SD card.
*
They stumble out of the cab, laughing all the way to the door. Spencer's digging in his pockets. "Shit."
"You left them at Pete's, dumbass." Shane pulls out his own keys, unlocking the door.
"Fuck you, dude." He shoves at Shane's back and they both nearly stumble to the floor as the alcohol in his system slows his reaction time.
Laughing, Spencer does his best to right them, sliding an arm around Shane. They both land heavily against the wall in the hallway.
"Oh my god, man. You're a menace." Shane slurs, patting the arm around his stomach. Spencer laughs again, breath dancing across the back of Shane's neck. Shane stills. Half a second later, Spencer's arm tightens minutely and then drops away. He moves around Shane and Shane has a tiny moment where he nearly pulls Spencer back. Shaking his head, he follows Spencer into the living room.
Spencer fumbles into the bedroom, landing face first on the bed. There's mumbling from the pillow and Shane stands in the doorway. "Okay dude, without the pillow?"
Turning his head, Spencer says, "Thanks for coming out. Hanging with us."
"Whatever." Shane leans against the door frame. The room is starting to spin a little. "You know I love Pete and Ashlee. Bronx is like icing on the cake."
"Still. I know you were busy." Spencer’s voice is sleep-slurred in addition to the alcohol in his system. Shane sighs.
"Shut up. And take off your shoes."
"No. Too tired." Spencer kicks them off anyway.
Shane continues to stand in the doorway, watching. Spencer cracks an eye open and asks, "You coming to bed?"
Shane startles then mumbles, "Yeah. Just gonna go brush my teeth."
Spencer's already asleep by the time Shane slips into bed. The alcohol in his system makes the thoughts in his head fuzzy and it's not very long before he slips into sleep himself.
*
It takes a moment for Shane to figure out what wakes him up. Spencer makes this noise, pained and low, and Shane rolls over. The sun is thinking about rising, a grey dusting of light lending little illumination to the room. Shane can see Spencer's back, the way his shoulders are raising and falling in a pace that's a little too rapid.
Nightmare.
Shane shifts a little closer, running a hand over Spencer's back. Somewhere in the sleep-softness of his mind, Shane remembers that Brendon has been gone for nearly ten days. It's the longest he's been away in the time that Shane's been staying with Spencer. The entire day at Pete’s makes more sense now.
Abruptly, Spencer rolls over. He tucks in next to Shane, snug along his side. Shane runs naturally warm anyway but the added line of heat lulls him back to sleep as Spencer finally settles.
It's more than a little uncomfortably warm the next time Shane wakes, mostly because Spencer’s no long lying beside him but halfway on top of Shane. An arm is snaked low across his hips and Spencer's face is tucked into the curve of Shane's neck. Warm breath, steady against his skin, lets him know that Spencer's still asleep.
Shane's relief is short-lived. Spencer shifts, his nose brushing along the line of Shane's neck. He mumbles something, the scratch of his beard making Shane shiver at the sensation. His neck is pretty sensitive. Spencer makes another noise and now, from this angle, his breath curves across Shane's collarbone.
Shane can feel his body start to react. Embarrassment and awkwardness should start to settle in and Shane waits for it, willing his erection to stop before things get worse. Only, the embarrassment never hits which is, well, unexpected.
The thing, Shane thinks, is that he's comfortable. The last few months have made him feel at home. It's a lot like being with Regan. There’s a warm body to sleep next to, dinners waiting occasionally, and evenings spent in front of the television. Arguments and dirty laundry as an overall theme for life in their household. It's like a relationship without sex.
And, Shane adds in his head, without love.
But that’s not necessarily true either. He's proven that he'll do whatever Spencer needs, so the emotion is there. However, he's not in love with Spencer, but he’s starting to think that maybe Regan wasn't as far off the mark as he'd supposed.
That's probably the most surprising thing of all. Because it's not like Shane hasn't kissed boys before. College was for experimenting after all and he did hang with the Fine Arts crew.
Spencer's hand tightens on Shane's hip and thoughts pretty much fly right out of Shane’s head. Without consulting his brain, his body jerks in reaction, hips lifting, seeking.
So there's also that thing where it's been a really, really long time since Shane's seen any other action besides his hand.
Spencer shifts even closer, his own hips pressing into Shane. He's hard and Shane’s breath gets a little jagged as Spencer starts these tiny, minute little presses against his body. There's more mumbling against his neck and Shane can swear he hears his own name in there somewhere. It makes his heartbeat speed up a little.
He's about two seconds away from rolling them both over and doing-what, he's not really sure-when Spencer stills. His whole body stiffens and that's when Shane knows for sure that Spencer's finally awake.
Spencer's embarrassment is almost a physical thing and Shane’s trying to come up with a way to diffuse the whole situation when Spencer says eloquently, "Um."
His voice is gravelly, low from sleep, and right in Shane's ear. It takes everything he's got to keep his hips down on the bed. Shane makes a mental note: Spencer's just woken up voice is kind of hot. This may cause some problems from now on seeing as how Shane wakes up next to Spencer a good portion of the week.
"So."
Shane clears his throat, trying to diffuse the situation and his erection, and says, "Spencer Smith, Drummer of Panic! at the Disco and Secret Stealth Cuddler. I do believe the fans will go crazy when they find out."
Spencer is quietly still for another moment and then relaxes, pulling away from Shane and rolling onto his back. Shane determinedly doesn't take note of the fact that Spencer slides a foot up, knee in the air, so that the sheet tents up. It's a pretty slick move, so Shane does the same. Hopefully in a subtle manner.
Something’s off in Spencer voice when he responds. "Our fans are already kind of crazy, and that's why that fact will never see the light of day, Valdes. I'd hate to have to have Zack kill you. Disposing of bodies is so Ted Bundy."
"Wow. You've been watching the Biography channel again, haven't you. You're obsession with serial killers is just a little more than worrisome."
Spencer snorts. "What, you afraid I'm going to eat your liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti?"
"That, Spencer Smith, is incredibly creepy and this is the part where I get out of bed and far away. " In control of his body again, Shane slides out of bed and heads toward the bathroom. Over his shoulder, "You really should look into therapy, Smith. Just sayin'."
"Yeah," he hears Spencer mutter, "Especially after living with you for six months."
>><<
Spencer is fairly positive that Shane is up to something.
He's been doing great, boxing up that little twisty thing that keeps happening in his stomach when Shane is near. When he'd invited Shane to move in, he knew that something was going to have to change. There's no way to maintain a regular life with that stupid flippy feeling, especially not with Shane there pretty much 24/7. So he'd done what he'd always been good at, he compartmentalized. Shoved that feeling to the back of his head and got on with life.
And then ten days ago, he'd woken up practically humping Shane's leg. And God knows what he might have said that night, drunk off his ass. He vaguely recalls laughter, the feeling of being pressed along Shane, but not much else. Nothing, that is, until he’d woken up with a raging hard-on and Shane’s scent surrounding him. Spencer forces himself to stop thinking about it, feeling the way his body reacts to the memory.
Back to Shane and the whole 'trying to kill him' thing.
So it's been ten days since The Incident. Spencer figures he's been hanging around both Brendon and Shane too long if he's starting giving things capital letters in his head, but unfortunately now that it's there like that, it's stuck.
Spencer remembers the exact moment he realized what was happening that morning and he was waiting for Shane’s reaction. But Shane was Shane and he'd laughed it off, giving Spencer the time to recover. Things weren't even awkward because it was like it never happened, like Spencer hadn't been practically molesting Shane in his sleep.
It’s not awkward, not really, except for the fact that Shane keeps doing things. Things like moving through the living room and removing his shirt when he comes in from a run. Things like wandering around the house in nothing but his towel after he takes a shower. It's like The Skin Show all hours, every day now. Shane just laughs it off-oops, my clothes are in the laundry; oh, hey, Spence, didn't see you there; it's fucking hot outside today, Spence-and on and on. He's starting sleeping in only his pajama bottoms, no matter how low Spencer turns the thermostat.
It's driving Spencer crazy.
Shane's apparently given up all rules of personal space as well. Spencer closes the fridge door, Shane's right there. Spencer’s getting something out of the pantry, Shane's there. He’s putting towels in the hall closet, Shane's there. Spencer's sleep is starting to suffer, but this time it has nothing to do with nightmares and everything to do with the fact that in the last ten days, he's woken up either wrapped around Shane or with Shane wrapped around him. That's a lot of morning wood, okay? For Christ's sake, he's 22 years old. And all Shane does is smile that sleepy-stupid smile, mumble good morning, and head off to the bathroom.
Spencer tries to suffocate himself on his pillow every morning, but so far it hasn't really worked.
*
Spencer's pounding away on his drum set, sweat sliding down the side of his face. His hands are slipping on the sticks and he tightens his grip, drumming harder. Three beats later, one of the sticks shatters and Spencer throws it viciously against the wall with a loud, "Fuck!"
"Everything okay?"
Shane's standing in the doorway. He's wearing that stupid beanie hat, most likely because he hadn't wanted to try to do anything with his hair, Spencer knows. There's a look on his face. Concern, yeah, but his eyes are sharp on Spencer. From where Spencer's sitting he can see the line of tension in the arm Shane's using to lean against the door frame. The question is casual, concerned, but there's something else in his voice that Spencer can't quite place. He drops his head, the other drumstick falls to the floor and Spencer runs a hand through his hair. He's dripping in sweat.
"Yeah, fine," he mutters. Stepping around his kit, he goes to leave the room. Shane barely moves and Spencer brushing up against him. He swears Shane sniffs him and he mumbles, "Sorry."
"Spencer."
There's a hand on his arm, stopping him. He doesn't look up. "What, Shane."
"Spencer," Shane repeats. His voice is low, lower than Spencer's ever heard it and he finally looks up.
Shane's breath is fast and Spencer can see the way his heartbeat rabbits at the hollow of his throat, but it's Shane's eyes that really catch his attention. They're dark, the pupil nearly drowning out all the color. Shane's hand tightens on his arm. It almost hurts.
"What the fuck?" Spencer blurts out, trying to pull his arm away. Shane doesn't let go. "What's going on with you? Why are you doing this shit to me?"
Something his voice causes Shane to pause, loosen his hand. A second later it drops away and Shane leans back against the door frame. Spencer watches Shane run his hands over his face, breathing deep. He mumbles between his fingers, "Shit, Spence."
"Shit," he repeats. Finally looking up, he tells Spencer, "I've been kind of a dick and I know it. It's just." Sighing, Shane shakes his head.
Before Spencer can stop himself, he blurts out, "I didn't really think you were into dudes."
"I didn't either. I mean," the corner of Shane's mouth tips up, "I kissed a few boys in college, but that was all games and shit." The smile drops away again. "That's what shocked me the most, I guess, when Regan accused me of basically cheating on her right in front of her face."
"Wait," Spencer holds up a hand. "Regan thought we were, um," he grimaces, "that you were cheating on her? With me? Christ, I thought that she was just tired of you being here all the time. What the hell, Shane?"
"I thought she was crazy, okay? It was ridiculous to think that we'd-" He breaks off. Spencer can see a flush spread across the tops of Shane's cheeks. It's cute and oh god, Spencer's got it pretty bad. Shit. He stays still, when Shane looks up at Spencer. There's not that much height difference between the two of them, an inch, maybe a little more.
"It was ridiculous to think that way about us, or so I thought-"
He bites his lip and Spencer automatically looks down. Shane's tongue flashes out, leaving his bottom lip wet and shiny. Spencer’s left eye twitches.
"Until the other morning when-"
"Yeah," Spencer interrupts, his own face getting hot. "I remember."
"But the thing is, Spence, is that it didn't bother me. Like, at all. So I started thinking-"
Spencer zones out as Shane keeps talking. Instead, he focuses on the fact that Shane's hand is back on his arm, like he's forgotten that he put it there. During this excruciatingly embarrassing conversation, it's been flexing. One moment tightening, the next, it loosens. It wouldn't be that big a deal if for the fact that every time Shane tightens his grip, he kind of pulls Spencer towards him. It's a tiny movement, but it keeps Spencer close to Shane. And that is just distracting. Like Shane's mouth and the blush on his cheeks. And the way Shane's stupid curls are trying to escape out that damn beanie hat Spencer kind of despises.
"Fuck it," Spencer mumbles and Shane stops, startled.
"What?"
"I said," he leans in, sliding a hand around Shane's neck. He thumbs Shane's chin up. "Fuck it."
Shane's mouth opens almost immediately. It's a little strange, the scrape of his beard against Shane's scruff, but he responds easily and Spencer quits thinking when a hand settles on his hip. The fingers dig into the skin right above his jeans and Spencer tilts his head, deepening the kiss. He crowds in closer.
Shane’s laughing when Spencer pulls away.
"What?" he asks, frowning.
"I'll take that as a yes then?" Spencer really digs the way Shane's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
"Yes to what?" More making out, definitely.
Shane rolls his eyes. "Way to actually listen when your friends are trying to negotiate you getting laid, Spencer Smith."
"Oh. Oh." Spencer moves back in. "Definitely a yes to that then. Now, less talking, more kissing."
Shane laughs again, but complies readily. They spend most of the remainder of the day making out lazily on the couch and Spencer is just fine with that.
>><<
They agree to try it out, to take things slowly. Spencer admits that it's not the first time he's messed around with a guy. Ryan could be really persuasive when he was younger, Spencer tells him that evening, and Shane laughs until he falls off the couch. Spencer kicks him and refuses to bring him a beer when he heads off to the kitchen.
So yes, they agree to try this whole thing out, but almost instantly it's like they can't keep their hands off each other. Making out doesn't get old, not really, it's just that they both want more almost immediately. Also, come in your underwear is an uncomfortable mess they discover.
So kissing progresses to handjobs. If there's one thing that Shane knows now is that if he's going to date (or enter into mutually beneficial sexual relations) with a musician, it's definitely going to be drummers because Jesus Christ, Spencer's hands.
Within a week or so, they move into blowjob territory. The first time is a failure of massive, hysterical proportions and it's only by sheer force of a lot of begging that Shane gets a second chance. Shane's not overly impressed with the taste of dick, but he loves the way Spencer can barely keep still, the way the tendons in his neck become taut and how Spencer's hands tighten in his hair when he comes.
So he likes that. That, and the fact that Spencer reciprocates.
And if there's one thing that's better than Spencer's hands, it's Spencer's mouth. Spencer pulls back, mouth shiny and swollen, and Shane comes without warning. Strips of white streak across Spencer's bottom lip, a little across his cheek, and he gets a glare. Before Spencer can bitch him out, Shane drops to his knees and licks into Spencer's mouth. Apparently Shane's okay with come as long as it's on Spencer.
After that, Spencer doesn't seem to mind either.
*
Shane's reaching up for a glass when he feels a warm, solid body slide behind him. Spencer's always been respectful of people's personal space, so it's a little surprising that he's got a huge crowding kink. When hips press him further into the counter, Shane just laughs.
"Smith, you've got issues, dude."
"I'll show you issues," he mumbles into the back of Shane's neck. Laughing, he tries to turn around but an arm comes around his stomach, keeping him in place. Spencer's hips press in again and Shane can feel him getting hard through the thin material of his boxers.
Leaning forward a little, Shane says, "I've got a meeting in an hour."
"Yeah, yeah." Spencer’s teeth scrape the skin under Shane's ear. His hips are doing those tiny little pulses, cock getting harder, and Shane breathes out a quiet fuck. Spencer hums an agreement.
Shane really wants to touch himself now but when he moves his hand, Spencer grabs his wrist, pressing it down on the counter top. His hips push harder. It's a little painful, the counter digging into sensitive flesh, but there's enough of an edge of pleasure to it that Shane doesn't object.
Spencer's breath is hot and fast against his throat. Shane presses back and he feels it falter. Spencer moans a second later, low and a little wild, and Shane can't help pushing back again. He can feel every inch of Spencer's cock pressed against his ass, he's so hard now.
The hand falls away from his wrist, not before pushing it down firmly, a stay-put warning. Shane doesn't care as long as it means someone's going to touch his dick. Except that Spencer doesn't move to help him out, instead he starts tugging Shane's boxers down. He doesn't take them all the way off though, and it's Shane's breath that catches this time when Spencer moves away and comes back a second later, skin to skin. Pre-come smears against the small of his back. They've jacked each other off before, hands wrapped around each other, but this is the closest anyone's dick has come to someone's ass.
"Spencer-"
"Fuck. Fuck, Shane, just." Spencer's hands are back on his hips, fingers digging in. He's sliding easily in the cleft of Shane's ass. "Please."
He slips, pulling back too far, and he slides down instead of up. His cock drags over Shane's hole and Shane comes messily against the counter, unexpectedly. Spencer mutters a ragged, "Did you-?" before he jerks and Shane can feel wetness against his ass and across his back.
They both stand there, breathing hard and trying to settle back down. Shane's legs feel like wet spaghetti noodles and by the faint tremble of the body behind him, he's pretty sure Spencer's not much better off. A few minutes pass in silence and Shane can feel a different kind of tension coming over Spencer.
"M'gonna be so late," he mutters. There's a pause and then Spencer starts shaking behind him, soundless laughter. "Dick," Shane throws over his shoulder.
Spencer pushes forward again, lightly. Shane grimaces at the slip-slide of the mess across his back, but can’t help laughing out loud when Spencer says proudly, "You know it."
*
It's not like they're trying to hide it from Brendon. Shane tells him they couldn't anyway, not really, but doesn't ever explain to Spencer why. So no, they're not hiding, but they are trying to be discreet. Given who Spencer is and the fact that Pete would never, ever shut up about it, they've done their best to keep whatever it is they’re doing to themselves.
Spencer's got his tongue in Shane's mouth and a hand creeping up the back of Shane's shirt when the door to the music room flies open.
"Hey guys, I've got-Oh."
Brendon looks absolutely floored, mouth hanging open. It snaps shut a second later, and from where Spencer's standing he can see how tight Brendon's jaw is before he turns on his heel and walks right back out.
"Brendon-" Spencer moves to go after him, but Shane stops him.
"Let me talk to him first, okay?" He's about to protest when Shane pleads softly, "Please?"
He nods and Shane leans up to kiss him, the barest press of lips to his. He heads out of the room calling for Brendon down the hallway. At first there's nothing, then the low murmur of voices. Occasionally, Brendon's voice will rise and Spencer flinches each time it does. He's being a total coward and he knows it, but he's not quite sure what to say to Brendon.
There's a half-shout and Spencer thinks fuck it and goes out to the living room. He pauses at the end of the hallway, watching the two of them.
Brendon won't look Shane in the eye, no matter what Shane says. Their voices are low again, furious whispers and from where Spencer's standing he can see Brendon's profile, the line of tension that's strings Brendon's body taut as a bow. He moves forward without thinking.
Spencer’s seen Brendon angry before. The last few months before Jon and Ryan decided to go one way and Brendon and Spencer the other, there were a few moments between Brendon and Ryan that he was afraid one of them was going to throw a punch and that would be it. That was it, of course, but the end came without any blows.
So yeah, Spencer's seen Brendon angry before, but this is-Spencer isn't sure exactly how to explain it.
A split second after he lays his hand on Brendon's shoulder, there's a look on his face, some kind of hurt, that makes Spencer pause. However, whatever it is that he’s seeing is lost the moment his hand touches Brendon.
All hell breaks loose.
Brendon snarls-that's the only thing Spencer can really think to call it later-and snaps his head around so fast that it takes a moment to register the fact that Brendon's just bitten him. Not only did he bite Spencer, but blood immediately starts welling up. It stains Brendon's mouth a brilliant red and Spencer shouts, jerking his hand away.
In retrospect, it's not the smartest move, but Jesus Christ, Brendon just bit him. Case in point, Brendon's teeth are still deep in the flesh of Spencer’s hand so that when he pulls his hand back, it tears deeper.
"Fuck!!"
Spencer cradles his bleeding hand with his uninjured one. Both Brendon and Shane are staring at his hand, barely moving. Brendon's chest is heaving as he takes in big gulps of air. His eyes have this flat, distant look in them. His mouth is stained bright red. Nobody moves.
Spencer swears he can hear the first drop of blood when it hits the carpet.
The other two seem to do the same because Brendon jerks, eyes blinking back into focus and a hand reaching up to his mouth. His fingertips come away wet, the blood smeared across his chin. His gaze snaps from Spencer to Shane. There's no anger left in Brendon now, only shock, and as he stares at Shane, Spencer bets that the wildness at the corners of Brendon's eyes is laced with terror.
"What?" He darts a look between the two. "You got something I should be worried about, Brendon?"
He doesn't get an answer, and he snaps, "Brendon!"
"No! Jesus, Spencer-"
"Brendon."
"Fuck you, I'm clean!" He yells even though he can't stop staring at the blood pooling in Spencer's cupped palm.
The torn flesh is starting to throb and it hurts and Brendon fucking bit him. Spencer snaps back, "Fuck you, you fucking bit me! I think I'm entitled to ask."
Anger sparks in Brendon's eyes again and he starts tensing up, moving into Spencer's space when Shane puts a hand on Brendon's shoulder. It's higher, nearly cupping the curve of Brendon's neck in his hand and Brendon just. Stops. All the tension disappears, melting away like water.
This shit is really, really starting to hurt. Also, his hand is starting to look like a bad horror movie, the blood accumulating rather rapidly. Spencer clears his throat.
"Unless someone actually likes cleaning blood out of hardwood floors, I suggest we visit the ER." He can feel the warm slide of blood off his elbow. "Also, a towel would probably be really good about now."
Things go back to being extremely frantic after that.
Part Three
Spencer stays.
When everything falls apart, Spencer stays and Brendon doesn't ever forget that. There'd been no hesitation at all when Brendon had finally gotten his nerve up enough to tell Spencer he didn't think he could do it; he couldn't make another Pretty. Odd. When they are working, it's like he and Ryan are a raging fire, always at each other's throats, words vicious and cutting; outside of that, it's the opposite, an ice-cold war of silence. Brendon knows he'll shatter if he has to go through it again. Shatter into a million Ryan Ross-edged pieces, never to find himself whole again.
So Spencer stays and Brendon would have loved him for that alone, except Spencer actually wants to be in the band with Brendon. He wants to make the kind of music that Brendon wants to make-fun and fast, Old School Blue Eyes with jumped-up jazz beats, anything and everything-Spencer is totally, wholeheartedly *in* with Brendon.
Spencer hadn't paused when Brendon whispered those fateful words. He'd just tugged Brendon in, tucked him tight under one arm and said, "Okay, let's do this."
~*~
Shane's not really listening, intent on the screen in front of him. This one scene is being a complete bitch; he can't decide which cut he likes better. He presses save and reopens the file. Maybe if the tries holding that last panorama just a few seconds longer-
"Shane."
"Yeah, Regs?" He glares at the screen. That doesn't work at all.
There's a rising impatience in her voice when she asks, "What time does your flight leave?"
"Flight?"
"I thought you had that video shoot in New Mexico this weekend?"
"Oh," Shane waves a hand. "I rescheduled that."
"What? Why?"
"I can't leave right now, Regs, not with Spence-"
"Spencer."
"Yes, Spencer. You know he's still sick."
"Take him to the doctor!"
"Regan, what the hell? You know-"
"I know that you spend a hell of a lot of time over there. You haven't slept in our bed for more than three days in the last two weeks."
"I told you that Spencer's sick, that he's not sleeping well."
"So, what? You have to stand over him to make sure he does?"
Shane doesn't really say anything to that.
"What the hell is going on? I'm starting to think that there's something going on between you two!"
He knows that he hesitates to long before finally opening his mouth to tell her she's being ridiculous when she says softly, "Oh my god."
Shane finally looks over. Her eyes are wide, shocked. He doesn't know what to say. He thinks about how he's just as comfortable sleeping in Spencer's bed as he is their own, how they have their own routine in the morning like he and Regan usually do. He thinks about this and knows that she has a point. Still, he's unprepared for what comes out of her mouth next.
"And I thought Brendon was a test-" Wait. What? "But this-"
"Brendon? What-I don't. What's Brendon got to do with any of this?" He’s part of what’s happening with Spencer, Shane suspects, but that’s nothing really to do with Shane. Not that he knows anyway.
Regan just looks at him. The expression on her face makes something drop in his stomach. It just gets worse when she tells him quietly, "I used to watch the two of you together, you know, right after you guys met." With her head down, Shane still sees the way she bites her lip. "I was so scared for a while there. The two of you were just-I don't."
She looks up then, her eyes a little wet. Shane can't breathe.
"You were so good for him." A soft smile. "Something in him just, I don't know, calmed down?"
"Regan-"
"You didn't leave though," she interrupts. "You didn't leave and Brendon met Sarah and I thought that would be it, but this-"
Shane can tell she's trying so hard not to cry, twisting her fingers in the belt loops of her pants. It's a thing she does, he knows it exactly. He tries to say something, but she says softly, "I can't do this, not right now." Shaking her head, she steps back.
It's not until the front door closes that Shane realizes she's gone, that she left.
Nearly an hour passes before Shane makes himself get up, moves to find his phone. All his calls go straight to voicemail and he doesn't want to call her friends just yet, not until they can actually talk.
He's got Brendon's number typed in, his hand over the send, thinking maybe Brendon would know what Regan was talking about. It's ridiculous. They're close, yeah, but there are reasons for that. It’s not something that’s ever come between him and Regan.
Except apparently that's not as true as Shane thought.
He backspaces and sends a text to Spencer instead, ignoring the echo of Regan's words.
You good for tonight?
An answer comes back less than two minutes later. Yeah, B and I are on a roll (ha). Why?
Something came up, wanted to make sure you were covered
I'm golden don't think we're going to be doing much sleeping yet.
Shane drops his head into his hand, phone held loosely in the other. Tilting his head up, he checks the clock. Regan's been gone for four hours.
The phone vibrates in his hand.
Everything okay?
He barks out a laugh. Yes. A pause, then he adds: can't wait to hear what you guys come up with, tossing the phone on the coffee table. After a moment, he sighs, slumping back into the couch.
He'll just wait then, until she comes home.
*
There's a crick in his neck that twinges when he sits up, yawning. Rubbing his eyes, he's reaching for the phone when he sees Regan. She's leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him. There's a sad little smile on her face and Shane's up and moving towards her before he even registers it.
"Regan, I-"
That's when he notices the suitcase under her hand.
"What? What are you doing?"
"I think we should take a break."
"What? I told you, there's nothing going on between me and Spencer!"
"That-Maybe that's true." She ducks her head but Shane sees that she doesn't believe her own words. "But there's something going on with Spencer at least. I don't claim to understand it, but I think that it would be best if I take some time away from all of this." Shane hears the from you. "Get myself sorted out."
"Regs, this is stupid. Please." He reaches out for her, but she steps away.
"I'm sorry, Shane." She won't look at him as she moves around him, dragging the suitcase with her. It's the huge one they'd bought for when she'd get to come out on tour with them, for when they'd get to take a vacation overseas. It's half her size, but she doesn't struggle with it at all.
Shane can't believe this is happening.
"Regan, please don't."
Her voice is soft, tear-choked as she repeats, "I'm sorry."
She sets something on the table in the hallway and the door shuts quietly behind her. From where he's standing, Shane can see the gold glint of the apartment key.
He goes to bed and doesn't get up for two days.
*
Something jerks Shane out of sleep. Rolling over, he scrubs a hand over his face. There's pounding on the front door and Shane thinks maybe she came back. Stumbling through sleep-haze, he makes his way through the apartment and flings the door open.
"Regan-"
Brendon's hand is poised to knock again, the frown on his face deepening as he looks Shane over. Behind him, Shane sees the way the anger on Spencer's face shifts to concern.
"What the hell, Shane?"
Brendon shoves his way into the apartment. Spencer follows and Shane can't help automatically shifting back a step. He sighs, his eyes shutting briefly before he closes the door and turns around. Brendon's in the middle of the living room, his jaw tight.
"Is there something wrong with your phone? We've been calling forever. And Regan's not answering her phone either."
Shane swallows hard at Regan's name. "Guys-"
"Where is Regan?" Spencer interrupts, his voice quiet after Brendon's insistent questioning. Shane looks up.
There's a look on Spencer's face, like something is dawning on him, and he presses his lips together when Shane doesn't answer right away.
Brendon frowns again, confused. He looks over at Spencer, then back at Shane. "Shane?"
"Uh, yeah," Dropping his gaze, he tucks his hands in his back pockets. "She probably wouldn't be picking up from you. Maybe Sarah though."
He watches as Brendon's shoes appear in his field of vision. A hand lands softly on his shoulder. "Why would she pick up for Sarah and not for me, Shane?"
Spencer sighs loudly. "Because they obviously had a fight, Brendon. Jesus."
Over his shoulder, Brendon snaps, "I figured that, douche. Maybe Shane needed to say it out loud."
"Fuck." Shane can hear Spencer flop on the couch.
Turning his attention back to Shane, Brendon asks, "What'd you guys fight about? I mean, you've argued before, right?"
Shane deliberately doesn't look at the couch. "She's never actually taken her suitcase, B. I'm pretty sure she's serious this time."
"Fuck," Spencer repeats under his breath and this time Shane does look over Brendon's shoulder, watches as Spencer settles back into the couch, a hand running over his face.
Brendon follows his gaze, his frown deepening. He looks back to Shane and Shane panics a little; he doesn't want to talk about it. About what Regan said. He drags up a smile before Brendon can push the issue. It's not a very good one by the look on Brendon's face.
"I'm sorry I didn't answer the phone, and I appreciate you guys coming to check on me, but I think I'd like to be by myself."
Brendon hums at him. "Um, no? You should come stay with me, get out of here."
"That's no good, Brendon," Spencer says from the couch. Brendon twists around to look at him. "Sarah's there; it wouldn't be very fair to her." He doesn't offer his own place, Shane notes, catching Spencer's eye. Spencer looks away first.
"Seriously, guys. Thank you for coming to check on me, but I'm fine. I'm just gonna-I should be here just in case she comes back or calls." Brendon opens his mouth to protest, but Shane adds a quiet, "Please?" and his mouth closes.
Pushing off the couch, Spencer comes up behind Brendon. "You want us to stick around?" he asks. Brendon looks hopeful, but Shane shakes his head, giving them a small smile. "I'll be okay, I promise."
He still looks like he wants to argue, but Spencer puts a hand on Brendon's shoulder. They're standing in the open doorway when Brendon wraps him up in a tight hug, arms tight around Shane's shoulders. His nose settles in the hollow of Shane's neck like it always does, breathing deep. Hugging back, Shane gives him another quiet thanks.
Brendon pulls back, scowling. "Call, doucherocket, if you need anything." He moves out the door, standing at the top of the stairwell and waits.
Spencer pauses as he's leaving, not quite turning to face Shane. He looks up and Shane sees the mix of guilt and sympathy on his face. "Shane-"
Shane cuts him off, voice low. "It's not your fault, okay? Just, it's-It's not. So get whatever you're thinking out of your head right now."
It's obvious Spencer doesn't believe him, but he nods. A hand curves around Shane's shoulder in a sympathetic squeeze and then they're both gone. Shane closes the door, resting his forehead against the smooth laminate.
Fuck covers everything just about perfectly.
Regan doesn't come back except for once, to pick up the rest of her stuff.
*
He's on the tail end of a three day binge of bad whiskey, a shit-ton of beer, and very little sleep when he answers a call from Brendon.
Dude, dude. How are you doing?
Taking in the mess of cans littering his living room, Shane goes with, "As well as can be expected I guess." There's a headache brewing in his temples and his stomach is unsettled. "What's up?"
I forgot the A/C guy was coming over tomorrow and I was wondering if you could go over and meet him for us?
"Why can't you do it? Or Spencer? He's closer." Shane isn't really up for actually being social just yet, especially after yesterday's phone call and another series of pleas and begging.
One, I am not currently available seeing as I'm currently in Vegas, and two, asshole, you seriously need to get out of that apartment so I chose you over Spencer. Also he didn't answer his phone earlier.
Shane's about to tell him to call Spencer again when it registers exactly what Brendon said.
"Wait. You're out of town? For how long?"
I should be back in a couple days-
"No," he cuts in impatiently. "How long have you been gone?"
Oh, uh, well. Brendon sounds a little embarrassed. We actually left the day after, um, you know.
Rolling his eyes, Shane grumbles, "Way to be there for me, Brendon."
Hey! I told you-
That means Spencer's been alone for three days.
"Fuck."
What? What's wrong?
"Nothing," he says quickly. "I'll do it, Jesus. What time?" Listening with half an ear, Shane starts looking for some shoes. By the time he's hung up, his keys are in his hands and he's nearly in the parking lot. In rush hour traffic it takes half an hour to get to Spencer's place.
He pushes on the doorbell and then, impatient, starts pounding on the door. Spencer answers in an old t-shirt that's seen better days and ratty sweatpants. He looks like shit.
"You-" Shane growls, pushing his way into the house, "are a fucking idiot."
Spencer glares after him, shutting the door. The effect is kind of ruined by the thin, darkened skin under his eyes. His voice is tired but biting when he responds, "And you smell like you've been bathing in Jameson's. Can we just go to sleep now?"
That sounds just fine to Shane.
>><<
So Shane comes over, doesn't leave for a month, and Spencer sleeps better than he has in the last few months. Okay, he doesn't always sleep peacefully, but for the most part it's restful. They both ignore the fact that Spencer's worst nights are those when it's been more than a four days since Brendon's been around.
The first week, Shane doesn’t sleep much, wandering the house like a ghost. When he does fall asleep, it’s always on the couch or in Brendon's old room. Finally, after about a week, Spencer stumbles out of his bedroom around three in the morning, shaking, and Shane, slumped on the couch in the dark with the television reflecting a prism of colors over his face, says, "Fuck. This is ridiculous."
He pulls them both back into Spencer's bedroom and they sleep for nearly ten hours.
Shane has a few rough periods, spaces of time where he's working and Spencer will come around the corner to find him staring off, eyes sad and far away, lost in memories. There’s a lot of beer and silence the weekend that Regan comes to get the rest of her stuff. Spencer does the best he can, tries to be a comforting presence. He knows from experience that it's mostly about waiting shit out, letting time make everything less sharp, less painful.
Watching this whole thing go down, though, loads Spencer with guilt. As much as Shane reassures him, he knows that whatever the hell's going on with him is a big, if not all, part of what happened between Shane and Regan. He'd picked up his phone half a dozen times those first few days with Shane in the house, ready to tell Regan that there was nothing going on. There's no reason for her to break Shane's heart. None of the calls were completed, something always holding him back from pushing the green call button.
Spencer comes to terms with the fact that he's a selfish son of a bitch and carries that guilt without word.
*
Brendon doesn't say much about the situation. Spencer watches from the other side of the glass as they have low, earnest conversations in the backyard. Bogie starts spending a lot more time at the house which, while Brendon moans and pouts about how his dog loves Spencer more, he always seem to 'accidentally' forget to take said dog home.
Life goes on.
Spencer and Brendon are in the studio constantly; Shane continues doing his thing. Little by little, his stuff starts to accumulate in the house-another toothbrush in the cup, extra wet towels on the floor of the bathroom-and Spencer finds himself buying those weird flaxseed chips that Shane likes that are totally gross. They both drink ridiculous amounts of milk and the boxes of cereal on the counter go from two to five by the end of the month.
Spencer's got a third bedroom that houses his spare drum kit, along with various other instruments that Brendon keeps around in case an idea strikes. Two weeks in and Shane has the small table that's tucked into the corner of the room covered in two laptops, half a dozen notepads, and four cameras. Spencer's got a mental note to pick up a pair of the noise-canceling headphones that Shane uses. They've got to be amazing since Shane always acts like nothing's going on when he's working and Spencer's practicing.
When he's in town and they're not recording or he's not busy with Sarah, Brendon comes over. They spend most of the time trying to best each other at video games, drinking beer and eating pizza. Spencer likes to watch Shane and Brendon together. Brendon's always had this buzz of energy that surrounds him. It used to drive Ryan crazy in the beginning, he remembers. When they met Shane, something in Brendon settled down and that still happens now.
It's kind of funny, Spencer notes. Brendon's very touchy-feely, something else that nearly drove Ryan nuts at the start. Until he discovered pot and the way everything felt so much more when you were high.
Brendon likes to touch, to hug, to drape himself across your back, anything to be close. But with Shane, he just stands close like just being in the same vicinity as Shane is enough for Brendon. It's kind of weird. Spencer always shakes it off. Brendon is weird; the rules always bend themselves for him.
*
So things settle into a pattern. Spencer is a big fan of patterns. He's also a big fan of ignoring the fact that he really likes Shane sleeping in his bed, and that some of that is not just because he likes sleep.
He's been pretty good at ignoring the weird feelings that keep popping up in his stomach when he can feel Shane's body heat, when Shane forgets that he's not Brendon and runs his hands in a slow, soothing movement over the back of his head when they fall asleep on the couch. But it's really, really nice having Shane nearby so he doesn't do anything when Shane hems and haws about going back to his place. Regan's gotten her stuff and Spencer pretends that he's being a good friend when he says that it will make Shane feel weird to go back to a half-empty apartment, so he should just stay a couple more days.
*
Since he can't see over the two bags of groceries that he's holding, Spencer nearly does a nosedive when he trips over what he's fairly sure are a pair of Shane's tennis shoes.
"Goddammit, Shane, I told you-"
Shane's sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. Spencer just sighs and goes to put the groceries up. He has to clear the counter, currently scattered with-Spencer glances over them as he stacks them up-another video treatment.
When he's done, Spencer moves back into the living room. There's a laptop on the coffee table, screensaver on, a new picture rolling over every few seconds. He grins at the stupid ballgame photos, Brendon and Pete being idiots. A shot of Regan comes up and Spencer frowns, looking over at the still figure on the couch.
It's been a little over a month since the break-up; the dark circles are finally gone and Shane looks peaceful in sleep. Spencer sighs and reaches over to kill the screensaver, quietly shutting the laptop after making sure there's nothing important pulled up. Sitting on the coffee table, he looks around. There's another pair of shoes shoved in the space between the bookshelf and the TV stand, a jacket flung over the loveseat, and a slew of games stacked up in front of the gaming consoles.
Spencer sighs. He's about to do something stupid.
*
He doesn't say anything for another week, not until Shane's bitching because the camera he wants is at his apartment. Finally, Spencer just huffs out, "This is ridiculous."
Startled, Shane looks up. "What?"
"You're over here all the time anyway, half your shit is here already. I keep tripping over your damned shoes. Which, by the way, if you move in, we are going to have a serious discussion on shoe etiquette, okay?”
Spencer frowns. “Why are you looking at me like that?"
>><<
Almost as if he knows Shane's thinking about him, his phone pings with a new text message.
Pete wants pics of bx, get ur ass over here
Shane grins at the net speak.
IDK dude, like, maybe I'm busy?
A minute later: Ass
I have been working out, thanks
Ashlee's making lasagna
Shane sighs, looking up at his computer screen. Ashlee’s lasagna is stupidly awesome. His phone beeps again.
And key lime pie
He hits save and grabs a camera off the table, checking for an extra SD card.
*
They stumble out of the cab, laughing all the way to the door. Spencer's digging in his pockets. "Shit."
"You left them at Pete's, dumbass." Shane pulls out his own keys, unlocking the door.
"Fuck you, dude." He shoves at Shane's back and they both nearly stumble to the floor as the alcohol in his system slows his reaction time.
Laughing, Spencer does his best to right them, sliding an arm around Shane. They both land heavily against the wall in the hallway.
"Oh my god, man. You're a menace." Shane slurs, patting the arm around his stomach. Spencer laughs again, breath dancing across the back of Shane's neck. Shane stills. Half a second later, Spencer's arm tightens minutely and then drops away. He moves around Shane and Shane has a tiny moment where he nearly pulls Spencer back. Shaking his head, he follows Spencer into the living room.
Spencer fumbles into the bedroom, landing face first on the bed. There's mumbling from the pillow and Shane stands in the doorway. "Okay dude, without the pillow?"
Turning his head, Spencer says, "Thanks for coming out. Hanging with us."
"Whatever." Shane leans against the door frame. The room is starting to spin a little. "You know I love Pete and Ashlee. Bronx is like icing on the cake."
"Still. I know you were busy." Spencer’s voice is sleep-slurred in addition to the alcohol in his system. Shane sighs.
"Shut up. And take off your shoes."
"No. Too tired." Spencer kicks them off anyway.
Shane continues to stand in the doorway, watching. Spencer cracks an eye open and asks, "You coming to bed?"
Shane startles then mumbles, "Yeah. Just gonna go brush my teeth."
Spencer's already asleep by the time Shane slips into bed. The alcohol in his system makes the thoughts in his head fuzzy and it's not very long before he slips into sleep himself.
*
It takes a moment for Shane to figure out what wakes him up. Spencer makes this noise, pained and low, and Shane rolls over. The sun is thinking about rising, a grey dusting of light lending little illumination to the room. Shane can see Spencer's back, the way his shoulders are raising and falling in a pace that's a little too rapid.
Nightmare.
Shane shifts a little closer, running a hand over Spencer's back. Somewhere in the sleep-softness of his mind, Shane remembers that Brendon has been gone for nearly ten days. It's the longest he's been away in the time that Shane's been staying with Spencer. The entire day at Pete’s makes more sense now.
Abruptly, Spencer rolls over. He tucks in next to Shane, snug along his side. Shane runs naturally warm anyway but the added line of heat lulls him back to sleep as Spencer finally settles.
It's more than a little uncomfortably warm the next time Shane wakes, mostly because Spencer’s no long lying beside him but halfway on top of Shane. An arm is snaked low across his hips and Spencer's face is tucked into the curve of Shane's neck. Warm breath, steady against his skin, lets him know that Spencer's still asleep.
Shane's relief is short-lived. Spencer shifts, his nose brushing along the line of Shane's neck. He mumbles something, the scratch of his beard making Shane shiver at the sensation. His neck is pretty sensitive. Spencer makes another noise and now, from this angle, his breath curves across Shane's collarbone.
Shane can feel his body start to react. Embarrassment and awkwardness should start to settle in and Shane waits for it, willing his erection to stop before things get worse. Only, the embarrassment never hits which is, well, unexpected.
The thing, Shane thinks, is that he's comfortable. The last few months have made him feel at home. It's a lot like being with Regan. There’s a warm body to sleep next to, dinners waiting occasionally, and evenings spent in front of the television. Arguments and dirty laundry as an overall theme for life in their household. It's like a relationship without sex.
And, Shane adds in his head, without love.
But that’s not necessarily true either. He's proven that he'll do whatever Spencer needs, so the emotion is there. However, he's not in love with Spencer, but he’s starting to think that maybe Regan wasn't as far off the mark as he'd supposed.
That's probably the most surprising thing of all. Because it's not like Shane hasn't kissed boys before. College was for experimenting after all and he did hang with the Fine Arts crew.
Spencer's hand tightens on Shane's hip and thoughts pretty much fly right out of Shane’s head. Without consulting his brain, his body jerks in reaction, hips lifting, seeking.
So there's also that thing where it's been a really, really long time since Shane's seen any other action besides his hand.
Spencer shifts even closer, his own hips pressing into Shane. He's hard and Shane’s breath gets a little jagged as Spencer starts these tiny, minute little presses against his body. There's more mumbling against his neck and Shane can swear he hears his own name in there somewhere. It makes his heartbeat speed up a little.
He's about two seconds away from rolling them both over and doing-what, he's not really sure-when Spencer stills. His whole body stiffens and that's when Shane knows for sure that Spencer's finally awake.
Spencer's embarrassment is almost a physical thing and Shane’s trying to come up with a way to diffuse the whole situation when Spencer says eloquently, "Um."
His voice is gravelly, low from sleep, and right in Shane's ear. It takes everything he's got to keep his hips down on the bed. Shane makes a mental note: Spencer's just woken up voice is kind of hot. This may cause some problems from now on seeing as how Shane wakes up next to Spencer a good portion of the week.
"So."
Shane clears his throat, trying to diffuse the situation and his erection, and says, "Spencer Smith, Drummer of Panic! at the Disco and Secret Stealth Cuddler. I do believe the fans will go crazy when they find out."
Spencer is quietly still for another moment and then relaxes, pulling away from Shane and rolling onto his back. Shane determinedly doesn't take note of the fact that Spencer slides a foot up, knee in the air, so that the sheet tents up. It's a pretty slick move, so Shane does the same. Hopefully in a subtle manner.
Something’s off in Spencer voice when he responds. "Our fans are already kind of crazy, and that's why that fact will never see the light of day, Valdes. I'd hate to have to have Zack kill you. Disposing of bodies is so Ted Bundy."
"Wow. You've been watching the Biography channel again, haven't you. You're obsession with serial killers is just a little more than worrisome."
Spencer snorts. "What, you afraid I'm going to eat your liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti?"
"That, Spencer Smith, is incredibly creepy and this is the part where I get out of bed and far away. " In control of his body again, Shane slides out of bed and heads toward the bathroom. Over his shoulder, "You really should look into therapy, Smith. Just sayin'."
"Yeah," he hears Spencer mutter, "Especially after living with you for six months."
>><<
Spencer is fairly positive that Shane is up to something.
He's been doing great, boxing up that little twisty thing that keeps happening in his stomach when Shane is near. When he'd invited Shane to move in, he knew that something was going to have to change. There's no way to maintain a regular life with that stupid flippy feeling, especially not with Shane there pretty much 24/7. So he'd done what he'd always been good at, he compartmentalized. Shoved that feeling to the back of his head and got on with life.
And then ten days ago, he'd woken up practically humping Shane's leg. And God knows what he might have said that night, drunk off his ass. He vaguely recalls laughter, the feeling of being pressed along Shane, but not much else. Nothing, that is, until he’d woken up with a raging hard-on and Shane’s scent surrounding him. Spencer forces himself to stop thinking about it, feeling the way his body reacts to the memory.
Back to Shane and the whole 'trying to kill him' thing.
So it's been ten days since The Incident. Spencer figures he's been hanging around both Brendon and Shane too long if he's starting giving things capital letters in his head, but unfortunately now that it's there like that, it's stuck.
Spencer remembers the exact moment he realized what was happening that morning and he was waiting for Shane’s reaction. But Shane was Shane and he'd laughed it off, giving Spencer the time to recover. Things weren't even awkward because it was like it never happened, like Spencer hadn't been practically molesting Shane in his sleep.
It’s not awkward, not really, except for the fact that Shane keeps doing things. Things like moving through the living room and removing his shirt when he comes in from a run. Things like wandering around the house in nothing but his towel after he takes a shower. It's like The Skin Show all hours, every day now. Shane just laughs it off-oops, my clothes are in the laundry; oh, hey, Spence, didn't see you there; it's fucking hot outside today, Spence-and on and on. He's starting sleeping in only his pajama bottoms, no matter how low Spencer turns the thermostat.
It's driving Spencer crazy.
Shane's apparently given up all rules of personal space as well. Spencer closes the fridge door, Shane's right there. Spencer’s getting something out of the pantry, Shane's there. He’s putting towels in the hall closet, Shane's there. Spencer's sleep is starting to suffer, but this time it has nothing to do with nightmares and everything to do with the fact that in the last ten days, he's woken up either wrapped around Shane or with Shane wrapped around him. That's a lot of morning wood, okay? For Christ's sake, he's 22 years old. And all Shane does is smile that sleepy-stupid smile, mumble good morning, and head off to the bathroom.
Spencer tries to suffocate himself on his pillow every morning, but so far it hasn't really worked.
*
Spencer's pounding away on his drum set, sweat sliding down the side of his face. His hands are slipping on the sticks and he tightens his grip, drumming harder. Three beats later, one of the sticks shatters and Spencer throws it viciously against the wall with a loud, "Fuck!"
"Everything okay?"
Shane's standing in the doorway. He's wearing that stupid beanie hat, most likely because he hadn't wanted to try to do anything with his hair, Spencer knows. There's a look on his face. Concern, yeah, but his eyes are sharp on Spencer. From where Spencer's sitting he can see the line of tension in the arm Shane's using to lean against the door frame. The question is casual, concerned, but there's something else in his voice that Spencer can't quite place. He drops his head, the other drumstick falls to the floor and Spencer runs a hand through his hair. He's dripping in sweat.
"Yeah, fine," he mutters. Stepping around his kit, he goes to leave the room. Shane barely moves and Spencer brushing up against him. He swears Shane sniffs him and he mumbles, "Sorry."
"Spencer."
There's a hand on his arm, stopping him. He doesn't look up. "What, Shane."
"Spencer," Shane repeats. His voice is low, lower than Spencer's ever heard it and he finally looks up.
Shane's breath is fast and Spencer can see the way his heartbeat rabbits at the hollow of his throat, but it's Shane's eyes that really catch his attention. They're dark, the pupil nearly drowning out all the color. Shane's hand tightens on his arm. It almost hurts.
"What the fuck?" Spencer blurts out, trying to pull his arm away. Shane doesn't let go. "What's going on with you? Why are you doing this shit to me?"
Something his voice causes Shane to pause, loosen his hand. A second later it drops away and Shane leans back against the door frame. Spencer watches Shane run his hands over his face, breathing deep. He mumbles between his fingers, "Shit, Spence."
"Shit," he repeats. Finally looking up, he tells Spencer, "I've been kind of a dick and I know it. It's just." Sighing, Shane shakes his head.
Before Spencer can stop himself, he blurts out, "I didn't really think you were into dudes."
"I didn't either. I mean," the corner of Shane's mouth tips up, "I kissed a few boys in college, but that was all games and shit." The smile drops away again. "That's what shocked me the most, I guess, when Regan accused me of basically cheating on her right in front of her face."
"Wait," Spencer holds up a hand. "Regan thought we were, um," he grimaces, "that you were cheating on her? With me? Christ, I thought that she was just tired of you being here all the time. What the hell, Shane?"
"I thought she was crazy, okay? It was ridiculous to think that we'd-" He breaks off. Spencer can see a flush spread across the tops of Shane's cheeks. It's cute and oh god, Spencer's got it pretty bad. Shit. He stays still, when Shane looks up at Spencer. There's not that much height difference between the two of them, an inch, maybe a little more.
"It was ridiculous to think that way about us, or so I thought-"
He bites his lip and Spencer automatically looks down. Shane's tongue flashes out, leaving his bottom lip wet and shiny. Spencer’s left eye twitches.
"Until the other morning when-"
"Yeah," Spencer interrupts, his own face getting hot. "I remember."
"But the thing is, Spence, is that it didn't bother me. Like, at all. So I started thinking-"
Spencer zones out as Shane keeps talking. Instead, he focuses on the fact that Shane's hand is back on his arm, like he's forgotten that he put it there. During this excruciatingly embarrassing conversation, it's been flexing. One moment tightening, the next, it loosens. It wouldn't be that big a deal if for the fact that every time Shane tightens his grip, he kind of pulls Spencer towards him. It's a tiny movement, but it keeps Spencer close to Shane. And that is just distracting. Like Shane's mouth and the blush on his cheeks. And the way Shane's stupid curls are trying to escape out that damn beanie hat Spencer kind of despises.
"Fuck it," Spencer mumbles and Shane stops, startled.
"What?"
"I said," he leans in, sliding a hand around Shane's neck. He thumbs Shane's chin up. "Fuck it."
Shane's mouth opens almost immediately. It's a little strange, the scrape of his beard against Shane's scruff, but he responds easily and Spencer quits thinking when a hand settles on his hip. The fingers dig into the skin right above his jeans and Spencer tilts his head, deepening the kiss. He crowds in closer.
Shane’s laughing when Spencer pulls away.
"What?" he asks, frowning.
"I'll take that as a yes then?" Spencer really digs the way Shane's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
"Yes to what?" More making out, definitely.
Shane rolls his eyes. "Way to actually listen when your friends are trying to negotiate you getting laid, Spencer Smith."
"Oh. Oh." Spencer moves back in. "Definitely a yes to that then. Now, less talking, more kissing."
Shane laughs again, but complies readily. They spend most of the remainder of the day making out lazily on the couch and Spencer is just fine with that.
>><<
They agree to try it out, to take things slowly. Spencer admits that it's not the first time he's messed around with a guy. Ryan could be really persuasive when he was younger, Spencer tells him that evening, and Shane laughs until he falls off the couch. Spencer kicks him and refuses to bring him a beer when he heads off to the kitchen.
So yes, they agree to try this whole thing out, but almost instantly it's like they can't keep their hands off each other. Making out doesn't get old, not really, it's just that they both want more almost immediately. Also, come in your underwear is an uncomfortable mess they discover.
So kissing progresses to handjobs. If there's one thing that Shane knows now is that if he's going to date (or enter into mutually beneficial sexual relations) with a musician, it's definitely going to be drummers because Jesus Christ, Spencer's hands.
Within a week or so, they move into blowjob territory. The first time is a failure of massive, hysterical proportions and it's only by sheer force of a lot of begging that Shane gets a second chance. Shane's not overly impressed with the taste of dick, but he loves the way Spencer can barely keep still, the way the tendons in his neck become taut and how Spencer's hands tighten in his hair when he comes.
So he likes that. That, and the fact that Spencer reciprocates.
And if there's one thing that's better than Spencer's hands, it's Spencer's mouth. Spencer pulls back, mouth shiny and swollen, and Shane comes without warning. Strips of white streak across Spencer's bottom lip, a little across his cheek, and he gets a glare. Before Spencer can bitch him out, Shane drops to his knees and licks into Spencer's mouth. Apparently Shane's okay with come as long as it's on Spencer.
After that, Spencer doesn't seem to mind either.
*
Shane's reaching up for a glass when he feels a warm, solid body slide behind him. Spencer's always been respectful of people's personal space, so it's a little surprising that he's got a huge crowding kink. When hips press him further into the counter, Shane just laughs.
"Smith, you've got issues, dude."
"I'll show you issues," he mumbles into the back of Shane's neck. Laughing, he tries to turn around but an arm comes around his stomach, keeping him in place. Spencer's hips press in again and Shane can feel him getting hard through the thin material of his boxers.
Leaning forward a little, Shane says, "I've got a meeting in an hour."
"Yeah, yeah." Spencer’s teeth scrape the skin under Shane's ear. His hips are doing those tiny little pulses, cock getting harder, and Shane breathes out a quiet fuck. Spencer hums an agreement.
Shane really wants to touch himself now but when he moves his hand, Spencer grabs his wrist, pressing it down on the counter top. His hips push harder. It's a little painful, the counter digging into sensitive flesh, but there's enough of an edge of pleasure to it that Shane doesn't object.
Spencer's breath is hot and fast against his throat. Shane presses back and he feels it falter. Spencer moans a second later, low and a little wild, and Shane can't help pushing back again. He can feel every inch of Spencer's cock pressed against his ass, he's so hard now.
The hand falls away from his wrist, not before pushing it down firmly, a stay-put warning. Shane doesn't care as long as it means someone's going to touch his dick. Except that Spencer doesn't move to help him out, instead he starts tugging Shane's boxers down. He doesn't take them all the way off though, and it's Shane's breath that catches this time when Spencer moves away and comes back a second later, skin to skin. Pre-come smears against the small of his back. They've jacked each other off before, hands wrapped around each other, but this is the closest anyone's dick has come to someone's ass.
"Spencer-"
"Fuck. Fuck, Shane, just." Spencer's hands are back on his hips, fingers digging in. He's sliding easily in the cleft of Shane's ass. "Please."
He slips, pulling back too far, and he slides down instead of up. His cock drags over Shane's hole and Shane comes messily against the counter, unexpectedly. Spencer mutters a ragged, "Did you-?" before he jerks and Shane can feel wetness against his ass and across his back.
They both stand there, breathing hard and trying to settle back down. Shane's legs feel like wet spaghetti noodles and by the faint tremble of the body behind him, he's pretty sure Spencer's not much better off. A few minutes pass in silence and Shane can feel a different kind of tension coming over Spencer.
"M'gonna be so late," he mutters. There's a pause and then Spencer starts shaking behind him, soundless laughter. "Dick," Shane throws over his shoulder.
Spencer pushes forward again, lightly. Shane grimaces at the slip-slide of the mess across his back, but can’t help laughing out loud when Spencer says proudly, "You know it."
*
It's not like they're trying to hide it from Brendon. Shane tells him they couldn't anyway, not really, but doesn't ever explain to Spencer why. So no, they're not hiding, but they are trying to be discreet. Given who Spencer is and the fact that Pete would never, ever shut up about it, they've done their best to keep whatever it is they’re doing to themselves.
Spencer's got his tongue in Shane's mouth and a hand creeping up the back of Shane's shirt when the door to the music room flies open.
"Hey guys, I've got-Oh."
Brendon looks absolutely floored, mouth hanging open. It snaps shut a second later, and from where Spencer's standing he can see how tight Brendon's jaw is before he turns on his heel and walks right back out.
"Brendon-" Spencer moves to go after him, but Shane stops him.
"Let me talk to him first, okay?" He's about to protest when Shane pleads softly, "Please?"
He nods and Shane leans up to kiss him, the barest press of lips to his. He heads out of the room calling for Brendon down the hallway. At first there's nothing, then the low murmur of voices. Occasionally, Brendon's voice will rise and Spencer flinches each time it does. He's being a total coward and he knows it, but he's not quite sure what to say to Brendon.
There's a half-shout and Spencer thinks fuck it and goes out to the living room. He pauses at the end of the hallway, watching the two of them.
Brendon won't look Shane in the eye, no matter what Shane says. Their voices are low again, furious whispers and from where Spencer's standing he can see Brendon's profile, the line of tension that's strings Brendon's body taut as a bow. He moves forward without thinking.
Spencer’s seen Brendon angry before. The last few months before Jon and Ryan decided to go one way and Brendon and Spencer the other, there were a few moments between Brendon and Ryan that he was afraid one of them was going to throw a punch and that would be it. That was it, of course, but the end came without any blows.
So yeah, Spencer's seen Brendon angry before, but this is-Spencer isn't sure exactly how to explain it.
A split second after he lays his hand on Brendon's shoulder, there's a look on his face, some kind of hurt, that makes Spencer pause. However, whatever it is that he’s seeing is lost the moment his hand touches Brendon.
All hell breaks loose.
Brendon snarls-that's the only thing Spencer can really think to call it later-and snaps his head around so fast that it takes a moment to register the fact that Brendon's just bitten him. Not only did he bite Spencer, but blood immediately starts welling up. It stains Brendon's mouth a brilliant red and Spencer shouts, jerking his hand away.
In retrospect, it's not the smartest move, but Jesus Christ, Brendon just bit him. Case in point, Brendon's teeth are still deep in the flesh of Spencer’s hand so that when he pulls his hand back, it tears deeper.
"Fuck!!"
Spencer cradles his bleeding hand with his uninjured one. Both Brendon and Shane are staring at his hand, barely moving. Brendon's chest is heaving as he takes in big gulps of air. His eyes have this flat, distant look in them. His mouth is stained bright red. Nobody moves.
Spencer swears he can hear the first drop of blood when it hits the carpet.
The other two seem to do the same because Brendon jerks, eyes blinking back into focus and a hand reaching up to his mouth. His fingertips come away wet, the blood smeared across his chin. His gaze snaps from Spencer to Shane. There's no anger left in Brendon now, only shock, and as he stares at Shane, Spencer bets that the wildness at the corners of Brendon's eyes is laced with terror.
"What?" He darts a look between the two. "You got something I should be worried about, Brendon?"
He doesn't get an answer, and he snaps, "Brendon!"
"No! Jesus, Spencer-"
"Brendon."
"Fuck you, I'm clean!" He yells even though he can't stop staring at the blood pooling in Spencer's cupped palm.
The torn flesh is starting to throb and it hurts and Brendon fucking bit him. Spencer snaps back, "Fuck you, you fucking bit me! I think I'm entitled to ask."
Anger sparks in Brendon's eyes again and he starts tensing up, moving into Spencer's space when Shane puts a hand on Brendon's shoulder. It's higher, nearly cupping the curve of Brendon's neck in his hand and Brendon just. Stops. All the tension disappears, melting away like water.
This shit is really, really starting to hurt. Also, his hand is starting to look like a bad horror movie, the blood accumulating rather rapidly. Spencer clears his throat.
"Unless someone actually likes cleaning blood out of hardwood floors, I suggest we visit the ER." He can feel the warm slide of blood off his elbow. "Also, a towel would probably be really good about now."
Things go back to being extremely frantic after that.
Part Three