[fic] wait for you to show me
provetheworst: you know at work one day i wrote some brendon/spencer porn
provetheworst: i should type it up
provetheworst: but i'm kinda lazy
provetheworst: :/ :/ :/
disarm-d: YOU ARE LUCKY THAT WE DON'T LIVE IN THE SAME CITY, OR I'D TOTALLY BE HEADING TO YOUR HOUSE TO SLAP YOU SILLY RIGHT NOW!
disarm-d: TYPE IT. THE FUCK UP. CHEX.
disarm-d: NOW.
disarm-d: DO IT NOW.
wait for you to show me
brendon/spencer; nc17. 3,826 words.
here, guys, have some fluff! this one totally goes out to disarm-d. cheers to lafeelivresque for the quick beta job. (if you need a song to listen to, go listen to 'sweet avenue' by jets to brazil.)
Brent says he knows some guy. Ryan gets to talk to him on the phone, very briefly, during practice one day. He laughs and says, "Okay, we'll see you then."
So.
Spencer doesn't get to meet some guy until a week later, when he shows up at practice with a big warm smile and his hand out and the words, "Hey, I'm Brendon Urie. You guys needed someone on keyboard, right?"
Spencer stares at him, and Brendon's just starting to get nervous when he says, "Oh, yeah, right. Yeah, definitely. Hi. I'm Spencer." He's a little overeager, shaking Brendon's hand. He also forgets to let go.
"Uhm," Brendon says, looking down. He pulls his hand away, looks up again with an apologetic grin. "So I'll -- you know, just show you guys what I know?"
"Yeah," Ryan says, finally cutting in. "That'd be great. We can show you what we've got written later; just play whatever."
"Oh, I can sight-read," Brendon says. "If you've got proper notation down or whatever."
"About that," Brent says.
Brendon laughs. "Okay, whatever."
*
"We'll let you know," Ryan says, waving at Brendon as he heads out the door. They're all there to see him off.
Soon as he's gone, Spencer says, "Ryan, he's in."
"What? That's a decision for all of us to make."
Brent says, "What, like you haven't made enough arbitrary decisions? He's good. I say he's in too."
Ryan frowns. "Alright. Fine."
*
It takes a few weeks for them to find out Brendon can actually sing. Better than Ryan, even. He goes a little crazy vocally, sometimes, doesn't always stay on pitch, but.
But it's enough. (Ryan throws a bitchfit at first, but Spencer and Brent talk him down and convince him it'll be better for the band. He only takes twenty minutes to give in, practically a new record.)
It's also enough for Spencer to realize he maybe has a crush. That in itself is enough for Spencer to realize it's a terrible idea and pretty much destined to never happen.
Practice ended maybe an hour ago, but nobody's left yet. They're all playing Mario Kart Double Dash, but they've only got three controllers so they've been switching off (everyone has long since deemed the two-person cart mode to be way too stupid to bother with). Brendon keeps losing, so he keeps being the odd man out. Every other game, basically, he's the one out.
Eventually, he says, "Spencer, you can play for me. Be my champion."
"Okay," Spencer says. "You sure you don't want to play anymore?"
Brendon nods, mmhm, and snuggles up against Spencer's side. "So I can pretend I'm winning too."
Spencer looks down at him, and accidentally lets Toad and Bowser drive off a bridge.
Brent says, "Great plan, Brendon. Now you can make Spencer lose every round too."
"Hey, come on," Brendon says. "Spencer's totally awesome."
Somehow, even though he's way behind now, Spencer gets this flood of determination and manages to win. The fact that his reward is Brendon squeezing and arm around his shoulder, whispering, "hell yeah, that's my boy," to him, that makes up for Ryan and Brent bitching about how the game has to be rigged, how the fuck could he have won, it's not fair. And so on.
*
They get signed; they go on tour. Everything is awesome. Then Brent stops coming to shows.
*
"We should," Ryan says. "For this tour, we've got more money. Since we're headlining. I mean, seriously, we're going to be playing Schuba's. Headlining!"
"We should what?" Spencer asks. He's staring at himself in Ryan's bathroom mirror. Ryan's putting on makeup. He's already done Spencer's eyeliner, despite Spencer's protests. Spencer's just glad Ryan didn't do any of the curlicue designs he's putting on himself.
"I was thinking we could have backup dancers. And just sort of. Play it up even more, you know?" He says, "I already talked to Brendon, he's cool with it."
"With what?"
"Just, you know," Ryan says.
Spencer doesn't know. He says as much.
"You'll see," Ryan says. "It's cool, you don't have to worry, since you're going to be at the drum kit the whole time. It'll be a surprise."
*
Spencer decides that night that he does not like surprises.
Especially not when those surprises involve Ryan and Brendon basically -- flirting, or whatever the hell it is -- onstage. Not that he can really complain. After all, he's just the drummer, and he knows what happened to Brent (Brent, who said they were going too far too fast).
So.
"Good job, guys," Spencer finally has to say at the end of the fall tour. "As if the fans didn't have enough fodder already. I thought you didn't like the rumors, Ryan?"
Ryan says, "Well."
Brendon says, "Hey, calm down. It's just part of the show. It's not my fault Ryan here didn't move in time." He grins, ruffling Spencer's hair. "Why, you jealous?"
"No," Spencer says. "I'm just saying that's not the way to make people stop gossiping about you guys."
Ryan just scowls at Brendon. Spencer feels a little vindicated, maybe.
*
"So you and Keltie?" Spencer asks.
Ryan says, "Yeah. I think I -- I really like her." He folds his hands in his lap and looks down. "She's, you know, the nicest girl I've ever gone out with."
"That's good," Spencer says. "That's awesome. What about, though." He stops.
"What about what?"
"Brendon?" Spencer says.
"What? Come on, we've talked about this so many times. How many interviews have we done, Spencer? It's just a stage thing. Did you seriously think --"
Spencer says, "No, no, I didn't. Sorry, I don't know. Never mind."
Ryan laughs. "Dude, no, only guy I'd ever sleep with would be, like. Mark Hoppus or Pete Wentz." He lowers his voice. "And I mean, I've got one out of the two, so whatever. Brendon's way too much of a dork. Anyway, I like girls, you know?"
"Right," Spencer says. "Of course. Thanks for telling me. I do not want to know when that was, damn."
*
It's a slow, quiet morning. There's a misty haze in the air, not quite rain but not quite fog either.
Spencer's tapping out the drum line to one of their new songs. again. He's been doing this on every available surface -- with a spoon against the edge of his bowl of cereal in the mornings, on tables at fast food restaurants, with his feet against the floor, and, like right now, with just his fingers against his legs.
"Don't worry," Brendon tells him conspiratorially. "Sometimes I sing in the shower. Just in case."
"Yeah," Spencer says. "I know. We all know." The soundproofing in the cabin is good, but not that good.
Brendon says, "I'm the one everyone pays attention to anyway. Leave the worrying to me." He's been talking quiet right in Spencer's ear the whole time, but now he hops over the back of the sofa to sit next to him. "You need me to help you relax, Spencer Smith?"
Spencer's kind of still idly tapping his fingers. Brendon puts his hand over his, stilling the movement.
"You want me to relax while you use my full name?"
"Don't be so picky. Spence?" Brendon grins. "You gonna put up with Spence? Okay. Thanks."
"You realize you're practically groping me right in the living room," Spencer says, looking down at their hands on his lap. He doesn't sound too annoyed, at least. Still.
"I could sing you a lullaby instead," Brendon says. "If that would help you calm down. You are my sunshiiiiiine, my only sunshine," he sings, pitching his voice extra-low. Then he stops. "You know, that's actually kind of a creepy stalker song, I don't get why moms always sing it to their kids."
"Because they don't know the words?" Spencer guesses. "You don't have to sing. I was fine with the groping. Just, when Ryan comes in and freaks out, you started it."
"Passing the blame, that's a pretty cheap move," Brendon says.
"I don't know, I'd say it's pretty practical," Spencer says, moving his hand. Just a little.
Brendon looks down, then up at Spencer again. Spencer shrugs. Brendon says, "Should my morals be affronted?"
"You're a rockstar," Spencer says.
"Oh, well in that case," Brendon says, and ignores the way his heart is pounding and fists both hands (giving up the contact) in the soft fabric of Spencer's hoodie.
Spencer isn't surprised when Brendon kisses him. Maybe the slightest bit startled, maybe caught of guard, but they've been dancing around it for months now so he's really not surprised.
The only thing that really surprises Spencer is that Brendon is actually not that bad at kissing. He'd been thinking maybe he'd have to teach Brendon a thing or two, but. Maybe not.
Brendon shifts so he's straddling Spencer's lap, enthusiastic and eager and fucking smiling into it, and they're in the middle of the living room but all Spencer can think about is how this is a really, really good idea. Later, maybe, he'll think about how he's been missing out, but for now -- for now he tries and fails to keep from making a little noise, and has to keep his eyes from fluttering shut because he wants to watch.
The thing is, even though Brendon had a girlfriend for a while, Spencer's never actually seen Brendon make out with anyone. He kind of wishes there were a camera or something, so he could watch this later, see how Brendon looks for real (because he's thinking, up this close, Brendon's too amazing to be real. That's what he tells himself afterwards, when he has time to think about it; in the moment he's just thinking the two of them are probably really hot together. He is nineteen years old.)
Spencer lets one hand come to rest on Brendon's hip, a place that's a little more natural with a girl but still not bad, and with the other at the back of Brendon's neck he tries to pull him closer, which is -- not particularly possible.
Brendon laughs, exhales quick and sharp through his nose after the uncomfortable click of teeth. Spencer can't help but smile back.
"Come on," Spencer says, and Brendon laughs again, nuzzling his face against Spencer's neck. The nuzzling turns into the gentle tug of teeth on delicate skin, and Spencer's got his head back again, staring at the inside of his eyelids and letting his fingers rub up against the grain of the hair at the nape of Brendon's neck.
Brendon does this thing with his tongue and, as Spencer's hips sort of twitch up into it, that's the first time Spencer realizes that he's already half-hard. He moves his hand to Brendon's chin, tilts his head up to kiss him again. "Sorry, sorry."
"For what?" Brendon says. "What? Dude, I don't mind."
"Oh," Spencer says. Then, again, "oh, right."
"We're really," Brendon starts, and he sounds practically giddy. He sits back long enough to say, "You really don't mind? We're doing this?"
"I would've said if I minded," Spencer says. "So yes. We're really." He can't finish the sentence. He's taking too much time to think here and it's making his throat tighten, giving him this cold heavy feeling curled up somewhere near his intestines. So he squeezes his eyes shut and kisses Brendon again, and that makes it okay.
Spencer's not looking, so he can't see quite why Brendon shifts just a little bit away, why he lets his hands drop from his hoodie, but he's trying not to think about it because at least Brendon's still kissing him.
Then he realizes Brendon's unzipping his hoodie.
He thinks, they really are doing this. The fact that Jon or Ryan could wander in at any minute,that doesn't matter, because Brendon is pulling that zipper down so infuriatingly slowly. And. Spencer had been lazy this morning, not like there was any reason not to be, so he's not actually wearing anything under the hoodie. He can feel Brendon smiling again, so he cracks one eye open just a little bit.
Brendon's watching him, eyes clear and bright. "Hi," Brendon whispers, ducking his head to Spencer's shoulder, mouthing words right against newly-exposed skin. "Nice to see you again." He says, "You seriously okay with this?" and Spencer's left wondering where the hell Brendon gets off, acting all nice and polite and like he has any clue what he's doing.
Spencer shrugs his hoodie the rest of the way off, then tugs at Brendon's shirt. Brendon raises his arms obediently, and, okay, the smile is infectious. Spencer can't help it.
"You know those t-shirts," Brendon says, conversationally, still talking mostly to Spencer's clavicle. "That are all, 'you looked better on Myspace'?"
Spencer would frown, if it weren't for the fact that he's distracted by Brendon's thumb brushing against one of his nipples. He hadn't thought he liked that, but. Apparently he does now. Brendon's tongue, as it turns out, is nicer.
"I'm just saying," Brendon says. "Does not apply, in this case. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."
"Dude, shut up," Spencer says. He tilts his head back, biting at his lip, because Brendon Urie and his stupid mouth and stupid hands and stupid tongue are making it hard to breathe right. He lets his fingers dig into the bare skin of Brendon's back, lets himself be stupid and awkward as he tries to rub himself against Brendon. (Brendon's skin is warm and smooth and just the very least bit damp with sweat. He smells like -- like he hasn't showered in a day or two, actually, but that doesn't stop Spencer from wanting to taste him. Maybe, he thinks, maybe later.) He maybe kind of whimpers.
"Jesus, Spencer Smith," Brendon says. "I can't wait to see you get off."
Spencer keeps his eyes shut, just barely, and lets out a long, slow breath. He tries to keep his breathing even. He tries to keep from being as ridiculous and happy about this as Brendon seems to be, though he's not sure why.
Brendon wriggles down, gets to his feet for just a second before dropping to his knees on the floor. Spencer's got his legs spread hanging off the edge of the couch already; Brendon just rests his arms on Spencer's knees and peers up at him. "Hey, you don't mind if I --?"
"No," Spencer says. He looks down, and blinks rapidly, like he's trying to make sure Brendon is really, seriously there. He can't convince himself this isn't real. "No, feel free, go ahead."
"Thanks," Brendon says, which is the most -- Spencer's not sure what it is, because Brendon's taking almost as long to unzip his pants as he did on his hoodie, and the fly of his jeans has got to be like two inches long, max.
Part of the trouble may stem from the part where Brendon is using his teeth. Spencer lifts his hips so he can push his jeans down once Brendon's finally got them undone. Brendon is kind of fidgeting, impatient, and even still he doesn't go down instantly. He looks first, gawking like a little girl who's just been told she can have a pony. He's got his elbows braced against Spencer's legs, and with one hand he's tracing loose fingertip figure eights on Spencer's inner thigh.
He wraps one hand around the base of Spencer's dick and looks up again "Okay?" Brendon asks, but, thank god, doesn't wait for any answer more coherent than a glare before ducking his head down.
Spencer draws in a sharp breath, this time, from the diaphragm so both stomach and chest rise with the intake of air and his muscles tense. After sort of a frozen moment, Brendon licks all the way up his shaft, and Spencer starts breathing again, in sharp stuttering little gasps.
Brendon's stupid fucking lips and his stupid fucking tongue and his mouth, his mouth! on Spencer's dick; he takes him in a ways then pulls off again. Spencer doesn't know what to do with his hands. He ends up with pressed down into the sofa cushion, the other resting gently on Brendon's head, fingers so so very lightly running through his hair.
He has to fight the urge to jerk up into Brendon's mouth, to push Brendon's head down, any of that, because this is good and he doesn't want to risk that. Brendon's just in so much awe, and Spencer doesn't want to ruin that. He keeps still. He does say, "That's good, shit, shit, that's," though, trying to be reassuring but unable to think far enough to make sentences. Brendon looks up at him right as Spencer looks down, and somehow, as he's squeezing with his hand, as he's licking along under the head of Spencer's cock, he's also got this coy little grin.
Spencer says, "Jesus, Bren," and the last syllable is choked off as he comes. Brendon's not quite prepared and doesn't swallow all of it, exactly. Some of it lands on his chin.
And he has the balls to say, "That was okay, right?"
Spencer says, "C'mere," and tugs Brendon back onto his lap. Brendon seems willing enough. "Yes. Yeah," he says, and licks his come off Brendon's face before kissing him again, ignoring the taste of it. "It was. So, so okay."
Brendon's kind of dry humping him, but it's just as Spencer's undoing his pants with one hand (still making out with him, though, because he's found he kind of really likes making out with Brendon) -- it's just then that Ryan comes in and says, "Hey, are you guys awake? I was thinking," and stops. "Oh, god damn it," he says, and walks off.
Brendon says, "Uhm. We should. Do you want to explain, or should I?"
"No," Spencer says. "You're not going anywhere."
Spencer jerks Brendon off, but it's sort of a perfunctory performance. He doesn't pay any attention to what he's doing, just moves on automatic and watches Brendon.
Brendon's throat works, and his fingernails dig hard into Spencer's shoulders. He's looking down between them, sort of sitting back a little. Every now and then he'll look up, their eyes will meet and Brendon will get this look with his eyes open just a little wider, biting down on his lip like he's still just amazed this is happening at all.
Spencer kisses him again and doesn't want to have to stop, ever. A scrape of teeth against lower lip and Brendon jerks in his hand, comes with a repeated noise like a scratched record skipping in the middle of a word.
Spencer tries to find somewhere to wipe his hand off, just surreptitiously. Brendon says, "Sorry. Sorry about that. I shouldn't have --"
"Shut up," Spencer says, and at Brendon's look, adds, more hastily than he might have otherwise, "It's fine." He wipes his hand clean in between the back of the couch and one of the cushions, and figures he'll just pay to have it cleaned later.
He rests his head against the join of Brendon's neck and shoulder, and breathes in the smell of him. He thinks, maybe later but still, just in case, he presses his mouth against Brendon's neck and lets his tongue taste skin and warmth.
Brendon says, "I hope," and Spencer cuts him off with, "We can do this again. If you want."
"Yeah."
"Okay. Good."
*
At lunch, Ryan talks a lot louder than usual. Brendon won't look at him and is pretending like nothing happened, so Spencer sits right next to him, even scoots his chair a little closer.
Brendon looks at him, then goes back to resolutely staring at his bowl of macaroni and cheese as he shovels it into his mouth. Jon's telling some story about life back in Chicago, something involving Tom Conrad, a camera phone, and a lot of jokes about Pete Wentz. Ryan is alternating between throwing in stupid comments and sort of frowning at Brendon.
Brendon ducks down a little further in his seat every time Ryan looks his way, like maybe he's done something wrong. Like Ryan's going to try to kick him out of the band or something, for corrupting his best friend or whatever. (Ryan's always had this sort of attitude, like he's gatekeeper to Spencer's pants, and Brendon's made jokes about it before but now he's just kind of scared.)
Spencer's not saying much, just sitting there and eating his lunch, but after a while, right in the middle of Jon's overly-cheerful story (Jon's pretty obviously trying to ignore the tension) -- he says, "Ryan, fucking stop, okay."
"What?" Ryan says.
"It's fine," he says. "Chill out. We know what we're doing."
Ryan frowns, looking at Jon out of the corners of his eyes.
Jon just leans back in his chair and watches the rest of them.
Brendon's got his hands on the table (elbows off, though, he's occasionally got these weird hints of manners). Spencer puts a hand on top of his and tangles their fingers together. Brendon sort of stretches his fingers apart, pulls their hands apart, and Spencer thinks he's done the wrong thing for a second, but Brendon's just readjusting, so they can clasp hands more tightly.
Jon looks thoughtful, maybe. He's not saying anything, like he's waiting for Ryan to pass judgment before he says anything. He stops trying to tell whatever story he was in the middle of mangling, and just takes a few more bites of lunch.
Ryan is quiet for a long while. Finally he says, "Okay. Just don't fuck it up."
*
They don't have sex again for a few days, but at night Brendon tiptoes in Spencer's bedroom and curls up behind him and they nestle together like two spoons from a matching set. Even though he tries to sneak in after Jon and Ryan are asleep, Brendon doesn't bother trying to leave before anyone's up in the morning.
Spencer asks him, sort of. "So you've been kind of sneaking in at night, huh."
"I can not, if you want. I can just." He says, "But I really like sleeping next to you, so I mean, I think I'm going to keep doing that."
Spencer just smiles and rolls over so that, when he goes back to sleep, he can sleep facing Brendon.
Not only does Spencer wake up with a hard-on, he wakes up with Brendon already working to alleviate it. Spencer almost considers feigning sleep, just so he won't distract Brendon or whatever, but Brendon catches his eyes first and winks at him.
Spencer's already kind of worked up. He comes quick and hard and completely ignores the fact that he's going to have to clean his sheets now. They were due for a wash anyway.
"Mmh," Spencer says, sleepy and still only half awake. "So can you just be my alarm clock for forever, or what?"
Brendon smiles at him, his eyes still a little sleep-cloudy. "I don't know, I can probably manage for at least a little while."
(Spencer keeps thinking he really should get up, strip his bed and wash the sheets. He just doesn't want his bed to stop smelling like him and Brendon.)
provetheworst: i should type it up
provetheworst: but i'm kinda lazy
provetheworst: :/ :/ :/
disarm-d: YOU ARE LUCKY THAT WE DON'T LIVE IN THE SAME CITY, OR I'D TOTALLY BE HEADING TO YOUR HOUSE TO SLAP YOU SILLY RIGHT NOW!
disarm-d: TYPE IT. THE FUCK UP. CHEX.
disarm-d: NOW.
disarm-d: DO IT NOW.
wait for you to show me
brendon/spencer; nc17. 3,826 words.
here, guys, have some fluff! this one totally goes out to disarm-d. cheers to lafeelivresque for the quick beta job. (if you need a song to listen to, go listen to 'sweet avenue' by jets to brazil.)
Brent says he knows some guy. Ryan gets to talk to him on the phone, very briefly, during practice one day. He laughs and says, "Okay, we'll see you then."
So.
Spencer doesn't get to meet some guy until a week later, when he shows up at practice with a big warm smile and his hand out and the words, "Hey, I'm Brendon Urie. You guys needed someone on keyboard, right?"
Spencer stares at him, and Brendon's just starting to get nervous when he says, "Oh, yeah, right. Yeah, definitely. Hi. I'm Spencer." He's a little overeager, shaking Brendon's hand. He also forgets to let go.
"Uhm," Brendon says, looking down. He pulls his hand away, looks up again with an apologetic grin. "So I'll -- you know, just show you guys what I know?"
"Yeah," Ryan says, finally cutting in. "That'd be great. We can show you what we've got written later; just play whatever."
"Oh, I can sight-read," Brendon says. "If you've got proper notation down or whatever."
"About that," Brent says.
Brendon laughs. "Okay, whatever."
*
"We'll let you know," Ryan says, waving at Brendon as he heads out the door. They're all there to see him off.
Soon as he's gone, Spencer says, "Ryan, he's in."
"What? That's a decision for all of us to make."
Brent says, "What, like you haven't made enough arbitrary decisions? He's good. I say he's in too."
Ryan frowns. "Alright. Fine."
*
It takes a few weeks for them to find out Brendon can actually sing. Better than Ryan, even. He goes a little crazy vocally, sometimes, doesn't always stay on pitch, but.
But it's enough. (Ryan throws a bitchfit at first, but Spencer and Brent talk him down and convince him it'll be better for the band. He only takes twenty minutes to give in, practically a new record.)
It's also enough for Spencer to realize he maybe has a crush. That in itself is enough for Spencer to realize it's a terrible idea and pretty much destined to never happen.
Practice ended maybe an hour ago, but nobody's left yet. They're all playing Mario Kart Double Dash, but they've only got three controllers so they've been switching off (everyone has long since deemed the two-person cart mode to be way too stupid to bother with). Brendon keeps losing, so he keeps being the odd man out. Every other game, basically, he's the one out.
Eventually, he says, "Spencer, you can play for me. Be my champion."
"Okay," Spencer says. "You sure you don't want to play anymore?"
Brendon nods, mmhm, and snuggles up against Spencer's side. "So I can pretend I'm winning too."
Spencer looks down at him, and accidentally lets Toad and Bowser drive off a bridge.
Brent says, "Great plan, Brendon. Now you can make Spencer lose every round too."
"Hey, come on," Brendon says. "Spencer's totally awesome."
Somehow, even though he's way behind now, Spencer gets this flood of determination and manages to win. The fact that his reward is Brendon squeezing and arm around his shoulder, whispering, "hell yeah, that's my boy," to him, that makes up for Ryan and Brent bitching about how the game has to be rigged, how the fuck could he have won, it's not fair. And so on.
*
They get signed; they go on tour. Everything is awesome. Then Brent stops coming to shows.
*
"We should," Ryan says. "For this tour, we've got more money. Since we're headlining. I mean, seriously, we're going to be playing Schuba's. Headlining!"
"We should what?" Spencer asks. He's staring at himself in Ryan's bathroom mirror. Ryan's putting on makeup. He's already done Spencer's eyeliner, despite Spencer's protests. Spencer's just glad Ryan didn't do any of the curlicue designs he's putting on himself.
"I was thinking we could have backup dancers. And just sort of. Play it up even more, you know?" He says, "I already talked to Brendon, he's cool with it."
"With what?"
"Just, you know," Ryan says.
Spencer doesn't know. He says as much.
"You'll see," Ryan says. "It's cool, you don't have to worry, since you're going to be at the drum kit the whole time. It'll be a surprise."
*
Spencer decides that night that he does not like surprises.
Especially not when those surprises involve Ryan and Brendon basically -- flirting, or whatever the hell it is -- onstage. Not that he can really complain. After all, he's just the drummer, and he knows what happened to Brent (Brent, who said they were going too far too fast).
So.
"Good job, guys," Spencer finally has to say at the end of the fall tour. "As if the fans didn't have enough fodder already. I thought you didn't like the rumors, Ryan?"
Ryan says, "Well."
Brendon says, "Hey, calm down. It's just part of the show. It's not my fault Ryan here didn't move in time." He grins, ruffling Spencer's hair. "Why, you jealous?"
"No," Spencer says. "I'm just saying that's not the way to make people stop gossiping about you guys."
Ryan just scowls at Brendon. Spencer feels a little vindicated, maybe.
*
"So you and Keltie?" Spencer asks.
Ryan says, "Yeah. I think I -- I really like her." He folds his hands in his lap and looks down. "She's, you know, the nicest girl I've ever gone out with."
"That's good," Spencer says. "That's awesome. What about, though." He stops.
"What about what?"
"Brendon?" Spencer says.
"What? Come on, we've talked about this so many times. How many interviews have we done, Spencer? It's just a stage thing. Did you seriously think --"
Spencer says, "No, no, I didn't. Sorry, I don't know. Never mind."
Ryan laughs. "Dude, no, only guy I'd ever sleep with would be, like. Mark Hoppus or Pete Wentz." He lowers his voice. "And I mean, I've got one out of the two, so whatever. Brendon's way too much of a dork. Anyway, I like girls, you know?"
"Right," Spencer says. "Of course. Thanks for telling me. I do not want to know when that was, damn."
*
It's a slow, quiet morning. There's a misty haze in the air, not quite rain but not quite fog either.
Spencer's tapping out the drum line to one of their new songs. again. He's been doing this on every available surface -- with a spoon against the edge of his bowl of cereal in the mornings, on tables at fast food restaurants, with his feet against the floor, and, like right now, with just his fingers against his legs.
"Don't worry," Brendon tells him conspiratorially. "Sometimes I sing in the shower. Just in case."
"Yeah," Spencer says. "I know. We all know." The soundproofing in the cabin is good, but not that good.
Brendon says, "I'm the one everyone pays attention to anyway. Leave the worrying to me." He's been talking quiet right in Spencer's ear the whole time, but now he hops over the back of the sofa to sit next to him. "You need me to help you relax, Spencer Smith?"
Spencer's kind of still idly tapping his fingers. Brendon puts his hand over his, stilling the movement.
"You want me to relax while you use my full name?"
"Don't be so picky. Spence?" Brendon grins. "You gonna put up with Spence? Okay. Thanks."
"You realize you're practically groping me right in the living room," Spencer says, looking down at their hands on his lap. He doesn't sound too annoyed, at least. Still.
"I could sing you a lullaby instead," Brendon says. "If that would help you calm down. You are my sunshiiiiiine, my only sunshine," he sings, pitching his voice extra-low. Then he stops. "You know, that's actually kind of a creepy stalker song, I don't get why moms always sing it to their kids."
"Because they don't know the words?" Spencer guesses. "You don't have to sing. I was fine with the groping. Just, when Ryan comes in and freaks out, you started it."
"Passing the blame, that's a pretty cheap move," Brendon says.
"I don't know, I'd say it's pretty practical," Spencer says, moving his hand. Just a little.
Brendon looks down, then up at Spencer again. Spencer shrugs. Brendon says, "Should my morals be affronted?"
"You're a rockstar," Spencer says.
"Oh, well in that case," Brendon says, and ignores the way his heart is pounding and fists both hands (giving up the contact) in the soft fabric of Spencer's hoodie.
Spencer isn't surprised when Brendon kisses him. Maybe the slightest bit startled, maybe caught of guard, but they've been dancing around it for months now so he's really not surprised.
The only thing that really surprises Spencer is that Brendon is actually not that bad at kissing. He'd been thinking maybe he'd have to teach Brendon a thing or two, but. Maybe not.
Brendon shifts so he's straddling Spencer's lap, enthusiastic and eager and fucking smiling into it, and they're in the middle of the living room but all Spencer can think about is how this is a really, really good idea. Later, maybe, he'll think about how he's been missing out, but for now -- for now he tries and fails to keep from making a little noise, and has to keep his eyes from fluttering shut because he wants to watch.
The thing is, even though Brendon had a girlfriend for a while, Spencer's never actually seen Brendon make out with anyone. He kind of wishes there were a camera or something, so he could watch this later, see how Brendon looks for real (because he's thinking, up this close, Brendon's too amazing to be real. That's what he tells himself afterwards, when he has time to think about it; in the moment he's just thinking the two of them are probably really hot together. He is nineteen years old.)
Spencer lets one hand come to rest on Brendon's hip, a place that's a little more natural with a girl but still not bad, and with the other at the back of Brendon's neck he tries to pull him closer, which is -- not particularly possible.
Brendon laughs, exhales quick and sharp through his nose after the uncomfortable click of teeth. Spencer can't help but smile back.
"Come on," Spencer says, and Brendon laughs again, nuzzling his face against Spencer's neck. The nuzzling turns into the gentle tug of teeth on delicate skin, and Spencer's got his head back again, staring at the inside of his eyelids and letting his fingers rub up against the grain of the hair at the nape of Brendon's neck.
Brendon does this thing with his tongue and, as Spencer's hips sort of twitch up into it, that's the first time Spencer realizes that he's already half-hard. He moves his hand to Brendon's chin, tilts his head up to kiss him again. "Sorry, sorry."
"For what?" Brendon says. "What? Dude, I don't mind."
"Oh," Spencer says. Then, again, "oh, right."
"We're really," Brendon starts, and he sounds practically giddy. He sits back long enough to say, "You really don't mind? We're doing this?"
"I would've said if I minded," Spencer says. "So yes. We're really." He can't finish the sentence. He's taking too much time to think here and it's making his throat tighten, giving him this cold heavy feeling curled up somewhere near his intestines. So he squeezes his eyes shut and kisses Brendon again, and that makes it okay.
Spencer's not looking, so he can't see quite why Brendon shifts just a little bit away, why he lets his hands drop from his hoodie, but he's trying not to think about it because at least Brendon's still kissing him.
Then he realizes Brendon's unzipping his hoodie.
He thinks, they really are doing this. The fact that Jon or Ryan could wander in at any minute,that doesn't matter, because Brendon is pulling that zipper down so infuriatingly slowly. And. Spencer had been lazy this morning, not like there was any reason not to be, so he's not actually wearing anything under the hoodie. He can feel Brendon smiling again, so he cracks one eye open just a little bit.
Brendon's watching him, eyes clear and bright. "Hi," Brendon whispers, ducking his head to Spencer's shoulder, mouthing words right against newly-exposed skin. "Nice to see you again." He says, "You seriously okay with this?" and Spencer's left wondering where the hell Brendon gets off, acting all nice and polite and like he has any clue what he's doing.
Spencer shrugs his hoodie the rest of the way off, then tugs at Brendon's shirt. Brendon raises his arms obediently, and, okay, the smile is infectious. Spencer can't help it.
"You know those t-shirts," Brendon says, conversationally, still talking mostly to Spencer's clavicle. "That are all, 'you looked better on Myspace'?"
Spencer would frown, if it weren't for the fact that he's distracted by Brendon's thumb brushing against one of his nipples. He hadn't thought he liked that, but. Apparently he does now. Brendon's tongue, as it turns out, is nicer.
"I'm just saying," Brendon says. "Does not apply, in this case. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."
"Dude, shut up," Spencer says. He tilts his head back, biting at his lip, because Brendon Urie and his stupid mouth and stupid hands and stupid tongue are making it hard to breathe right. He lets his fingers dig into the bare skin of Brendon's back, lets himself be stupid and awkward as he tries to rub himself against Brendon. (Brendon's skin is warm and smooth and just the very least bit damp with sweat. He smells like -- like he hasn't showered in a day or two, actually, but that doesn't stop Spencer from wanting to taste him. Maybe, he thinks, maybe later.) He maybe kind of whimpers.
"Jesus, Spencer Smith," Brendon says. "I can't wait to see you get off."
Spencer keeps his eyes shut, just barely, and lets out a long, slow breath. He tries to keep his breathing even. He tries to keep from being as ridiculous and happy about this as Brendon seems to be, though he's not sure why.
Brendon wriggles down, gets to his feet for just a second before dropping to his knees on the floor. Spencer's got his legs spread hanging off the edge of the couch already; Brendon just rests his arms on Spencer's knees and peers up at him. "Hey, you don't mind if I --?"
"No," Spencer says. He looks down, and blinks rapidly, like he's trying to make sure Brendon is really, seriously there. He can't convince himself this isn't real. "No, feel free, go ahead."
"Thanks," Brendon says, which is the most -- Spencer's not sure what it is, because Brendon's taking almost as long to unzip his pants as he did on his hoodie, and the fly of his jeans has got to be like two inches long, max.
Part of the trouble may stem from the part where Brendon is using his teeth. Spencer lifts his hips so he can push his jeans down once Brendon's finally got them undone. Brendon is kind of fidgeting, impatient, and even still he doesn't go down instantly. He looks first, gawking like a little girl who's just been told she can have a pony. He's got his elbows braced against Spencer's legs, and with one hand he's tracing loose fingertip figure eights on Spencer's inner thigh.
He wraps one hand around the base of Spencer's dick and looks up again "Okay?" Brendon asks, but, thank god, doesn't wait for any answer more coherent than a glare before ducking his head down.
Spencer draws in a sharp breath, this time, from the diaphragm so both stomach and chest rise with the intake of air and his muscles tense. After sort of a frozen moment, Brendon licks all the way up his shaft, and Spencer starts breathing again, in sharp stuttering little gasps.
Brendon's stupid fucking lips and his stupid fucking tongue and his mouth, his mouth! on Spencer's dick; he takes him in a ways then pulls off again. Spencer doesn't know what to do with his hands. He ends up with pressed down into the sofa cushion, the other resting gently on Brendon's head, fingers so so very lightly running through his hair.
He has to fight the urge to jerk up into Brendon's mouth, to push Brendon's head down, any of that, because this is good and he doesn't want to risk that. Brendon's just in so much awe, and Spencer doesn't want to ruin that. He keeps still. He does say, "That's good, shit, shit, that's," though, trying to be reassuring but unable to think far enough to make sentences. Brendon looks up at him right as Spencer looks down, and somehow, as he's squeezing with his hand, as he's licking along under the head of Spencer's cock, he's also got this coy little grin.
Spencer says, "Jesus, Bren," and the last syllable is choked off as he comes. Brendon's not quite prepared and doesn't swallow all of it, exactly. Some of it lands on his chin.
And he has the balls to say, "That was okay, right?"
Spencer says, "C'mere," and tugs Brendon back onto his lap. Brendon seems willing enough. "Yes. Yeah," he says, and licks his come off Brendon's face before kissing him again, ignoring the taste of it. "It was. So, so okay."
Brendon's kind of dry humping him, but it's just as Spencer's undoing his pants with one hand (still making out with him, though, because he's found he kind of really likes making out with Brendon) -- it's just then that Ryan comes in and says, "Hey, are you guys awake? I was thinking," and stops. "Oh, god damn it," he says, and walks off.
Brendon says, "Uhm. We should. Do you want to explain, or should I?"
"No," Spencer says. "You're not going anywhere."
Spencer jerks Brendon off, but it's sort of a perfunctory performance. He doesn't pay any attention to what he's doing, just moves on automatic and watches Brendon.
Brendon's throat works, and his fingernails dig hard into Spencer's shoulders. He's looking down between them, sort of sitting back a little. Every now and then he'll look up, their eyes will meet and Brendon will get this look with his eyes open just a little wider, biting down on his lip like he's still just amazed this is happening at all.
Spencer kisses him again and doesn't want to have to stop, ever. A scrape of teeth against lower lip and Brendon jerks in his hand, comes with a repeated noise like a scratched record skipping in the middle of a word.
Spencer tries to find somewhere to wipe his hand off, just surreptitiously. Brendon says, "Sorry. Sorry about that. I shouldn't have --"
"Shut up," Spencer says, and at Brendon's look, adds, more hastily than he might have otherwise, "It's fine." He wipes his hand clean in between the back of the couch and one of the cushions, and figures he'll just pay to have it cleaned later.
He rests his head against the join of Brendon's neck and shoulder, and breathes in the smell of him. He thinks, maybe later but still, just in case, he presses his mouth against Brendon's neck and lets his tongue taste skin and warmth.
Brendon says, "I hope," and Spencer cuts him off with, "We can do this again. If you want."
"Yeah."
"Okay. Good."
*
At lunch, Ryan talks a lot louder than usual. Brendon won't look at him and is pretending like nothing happened, so Spencer sits right next to him, even scoots his chair a little closer.
Brendon looks at him, then goes back to resolutely staring at his bowl of macaroni and cheese as he shovels it into his mouth. Jon's telling some story about life back in Chicago, something involving Tom Conrad, a camera phone, and a lot of jokes about Pete Wentz. Ryan is alternating between throwing in stupid comments and sort of frowning at Brendon.
Brendon ducks down a little further in his seat every time Ryan looks his way, like maybe he's done something wrong. Like Ryan's going to try to kick him out of the band or something, for corrupting his best friend or whatever. (Ryan's always had this sort of attitude, like he's gatekeeper to Spencer's pants, and Brendon's made jokes about it before but now he's just kind of scared.)
Spencer's not saying much, just sitting there and eating his lunch, but after a while, right in the middle of Jon's overly-cheerful story (Jon's pretty obviously trying to ignore the tension) -- he says, "Ryan, fucking stop, okay."
"What?" Ryan says.
"It's fine," he says. "Chill out. We know what we're doing."
Ryan frowns, looking at Jon out of the corners of his eyes.
Jon just leans back in his chair and watches the rest of them.
Brendon's got his hands on the table (elbows off, though, he's occasionally got these weird hints of manners). Spencer puts a hand on top of his and tangles their fingers together. Brendon sort of stretches his fingers apart, pulls their hands apart, and Spencer thinks he's done the wrong thing for a second, but Brendon's just readjusting, so they can clasp hands more tightly.
Jon looks thoughtful, maybe. He's not saying anything, like he's waiting for Ryan to pass judgment before he says anything. He stops trying to tell whatever story he was in the middle of mangling, and just takes a few more bites of lunch.
Ryan is quiet for a long while. Finally he says, "Okay. Just don't fuck it up."
*
They don't have sex again for a few days, but at night Brendon tiptoes in Spencer's bedroom and curls up behind him and they nestle together like two spoons from a matching set. Even though he tries to sneak in after Jon and Ryan are asleep, Brendon doesn't bother trying to leave before anyone's up in the morning.
Spencer asks him, sort of. "So you've been kind of sneaking in at night, huh."
"I can not, if you want. I can just." He says, "But I really like sleeping next to you, so I mean, I think I'm going to keep doing that."
Spencer just smiles and rolls over so that, when he goes back to sleep, he can sleep facing Brendon.
Not only does Spencer wake up with a hard-on, he wakes up with Brendon already working to alleviate it. Spencer almost considers feigning sleep, just so he won't distract Brendon or whatever, but Brendon catches his eyes first and winks at him.
Spencer's already kind of worked up. He comes quick and hard and completely ignores the fact that he's going to have to clean his sheets now. They were due for a wash anyway.
"Mmh," Spencer says, sleepy and still only half awake. "So can you just be my alarm clock for forever, or what?"
Brendon smiles at him, his eyes still a little sleep-cloudy. "I don't know, I can probably manage for at least a little while."
(Spencer keeps thinking he really should get up, strip his bed and wash the sheets. He just doesn't want his bed to stop smelling like him and Brendon.)