Amity
Spencer looks so strung out it apparently invites laughter when he throws himself down on the couch with a sigh.
“How do you do it, man?” he huffs after about thirty seconds of focusing on some barely clothed chick in a car commercial on TV, glaring at Shane as though any of this is his fault.
“I mean, you know. The zen shit.” Shane laughs again and shakes his head. “Dude, we’re not. Not all the time.” Spencer’s still in full bitch-face mode. “Yeah right. You whistle and Brendon drops to his knees with a fucking grin!”
Shane stops mid-laughter, looking suddenly thoughtful. “I suppose he does”, he concedes slowly, with a small, brilliant smile of pure domestic bliss. The bastard.
“Zen, dude. You’re basically Buddha or something.”
Jon giggles in the kitchen. “Yeah, except for a pretty crap track record on celibacy, you’d totally rock the monk thing”, he supplies before taking off somewhere with his refilled mug of coffee. Shane kicks his feet up on the couch table and grins.
“Okay, The Spencer Smith, ask away. I’ll share my enlightenment, such as it is.”
Spencer might smile a little at that, but yeah, now he’s got a chance for a Q&A, he has no idea how to start, so he stares at his hands and bites his lips instead.
Shane sighs. “Dude. You’ve known me how long? You’ve had my boyfriend’s lips wrapped around your dick while I had my tongue down your throat. Bad time to discover you’re really shy now.”
So Spencer does laugh. Cause Valdez is a fucker.
“Just… how did you get to this? How do you make him… do shit?”
He’s trying here, damn it. It might not be Shakespeare, but it’s a starting point.
“He always wanted to”, Shane replies quietly. “I never… he never told me no. Not once. He gets more pissed then I do when he fucks up or forgets something. He’s Brendon.”
He sounds awed and in love and Spencer gets it so much. Because yeah, it’s Brendon.
Shane’s laughing quietly as he catches Spencer’s expression, which is probably jealous or wistful or some embarrassing shit.
“Yeah, Ryan,” he comments wryly and Spencer would shout at him, he really would. Jump to Ryan’s defence as he always does.
“What do I do?” is what comes out instead.
Shane’s silence is long and he looks serious.
“You try it.”
If there weren’t the weird hive-mind thing, Spencer might have to ask. As it is, he knows exactly what Shane means, even if he wishes he didn’t.
“Did you?” he asks, not looking at Shane.
Shane’s really got the monk shit going, he doesn’t even blush or flinch or anything.
“Long time ago. It wasn’t for me, man. Never thought it would be, but I wanted to know what it felt like. What Brendon got out of it.”
He pauses for a moment and waits for Spencer to look at him.
“Brendon doesn’t know. I’d like to keep it that way.”
Spencer nods and briefly wonders what they’re gonna do if they ever stop being friends. The amount of black-mail material all round is a little scary to contemplate, especially seeing he’s about to ask Shane to help him out with this.
He doesn’t have to, Shane offers before he can get the question out and Spencer nods again, blushing, his throat suddenly too dry to respond.
“If you really want this, six o’clock on Saturday, our place.”
Shane smiles at him as he gets up and for whatever reason, it feels different. It feels like the kind of smile Shane usually saves for Brendon.
“One more thing, Spence?” Shane’s standing in the doorway and doesn’t bother turning around to look at him.
“Tell Ryan about this. I won’t make you and I won’t ever mention it, but… tell him.”
Spencer’s left behind wondering who that person a long time ago was. Also, there’s a lot of random shit in his head right now if he’s gonna be honest about it, just swirling, blurry thoughts and images and yeah, fear. He’s fucking terrified. Not that he’s ever gonna admit that.
He’s still working on ignoring the fear when he walks up the path to Shane’s and Brendon’s place at five to six on Saturday evening and if the uncomfortable gnawing feeling in his gut is anything to go by doing a pretty crap job of it.
He squares his shoulders and wishes he could at least laugh at himself, but yeah. Terrified.
He’s not surprised when Brendon opens the door, except that it nearly gives him a heart attack while his mind is running through a list of useless excuses about what he’s doing here. He voices none of them, just stares at Brendon blankly, probably looking like he’s never seen the guy.
Brendon smiles, not the usual full-on, high wattage way he usually does, but a little quiet, a little worried and maybe also a little reassuring. Spencer kinda wishes Brendon would fuck off and die right this second.
“I. Um. Hey.” He’s staring at his shoes, failing so miserably at casual and nonchalant that it’d be hilarious if it wasn’t him doing all the squirming. Before he really knows what’s happening, Brendon’s clinging to him in a bone-crushing hug.
Then, he’s in the hallway and Brendon’s gone, just like that, without saying a word. Shane appears instead and Spencer wants out. Now. This was a shit idea to start with. He’s a top, for fuck’s sake. Being here is wrong on so many levels. Shane, Brendon. Band. Fuck this. He’s so out of here.
“What’s your safe-word?” Shane inquires with an expression that tries very hard for unreadable, but the fucker’s amused, Spencer can tell.
“Survivor”, he chokes out before he remembers that he was just about to leave. Shane grins. “Keeping with the Palahniuk family tradition, I take it?” He takes a step forward, right into Spencer’s personal space, something he’s never done without giving Spencer a chance to back away. He brushes Spencer’s hair back with his hand and looks at him, biting his lip and nodding briefly, like he’s found exactly what he expected.
“Spence, trust me. I’ll keep you safe.”
Whateverthefucking… Spencer nods. He can’t believe himself, can’t believe he’s this fucking easy, caving like that, at a few words and a hand in his hair. Shane presses a very soft kiss to his temple, just a brush of lips. Spencer kinda hates himself for leaning into it.
“Come on, there’s coffee.” And that’s where things get embarrassing. Like, seriously. They sit down and talk. Over coffee. Like civilised people. Except it’s Shane asking and Spencer answering. And dying. Cause he really doesn’t need this. He really, really does not need to be interviewed about sexual fantasies, thank you. If Shane was a reporter, this would be the point where Spencer glares and sulks and makes it quite clear that he considers the questions both tedious and inappropriate.
Shane’s not a journalist and Spencer clearly isn’t himself, cause he doesn’t really manage to get the bitch-mode going, he just keeps blushing and stumbling over his words like he’s a stupid teenager who has to explain to an inquisitive parent just where all the tissues under the bed come from.
About half an hour in, Shane actually giggles.
“Spence. Spencer.” Spencer stops mid-ramble and tries another glare, but the way it feels on his face is much more intimidated then intimidating. Shane reaches over and takes his hand.
“Spencer. It’s okay. Just… whatever, it’s okay. I can pretty much promise you that whatever kink you can come up with, it’s been tried in this house. I’m never, ever gonna make fun of you for anything you tell me right now.”
And Spencer falls for it. Cause he really is that stupid and gullible.
“I’m so fucking scared, Shane.” Yeah, he says that. Spencer doesn’t think of himself as an emotional kind of guy. It’s not like he hasn’t got feelings, but he doesn’t talk about them, okay? It’s not his thing. The way he sees it, he’s maybe the Sam to Ryan’s Frodo or whatever. He’s the guy who holds it together, cause Ryan can’t. Spencer doesn’t do out of control. To admit to something being less then awesome is admitting defeat. To admit he’s scared is not a possibility, not ever. He’s so fucked right now.
Shane’s next to him and all around him a split-second after the words have left his mouth, pulling him close.
“It’s okay.” Shane sounds like a fucking support group person, all warmth and understanding and like Spencer needs help. It’s a lot like Spencer sounds when he’s trying to talk Ryan down. It also feels incredibly good for someone to hold him like that.
“Fuck,” he grumbles into Shane’s shoulder and he feels Shane shaking his head softly.
“It’s okay, Spence. I’m right here. You’re safe.”
It starts to dawn on Spencer that he isn’t getting out of this. Shane’s gonna give him time, reassure him, whatever it takes, but Shane’s not gonna let him off the hook with some bullshit excuse. He draws a shaky breath.
“Let’s do it.”
Shane lets go of him, hesitant and careful, like he might try and run. Which. Yeah. If his legs were actually taking orders from his brain, he would be.
“I want you to go upstairs, Spence. Get naked and lie down on the bed. Don’t freak out.”
The part about freaking out is the one he fails at, but he does end up sprawled out on the blankets, cold air brushing over his skin and the fading sunlight falling through the blinds. Naked. In broad daylight. It’s not like it’s a first, but somehow, it is. He feels exposed. More naked then he’s ever felt in his life, even if that doesn’t make any sense.
He feels himself going tense when the door opens, his face hot and flushed and buried in the pillow just so he doesn’t have to see Shane looking. Shane moves over and sits down on the bed, rubbing soothing circles over Spencer’s back.
“Shit, you’re pretty”, he mumbles, sounding surprised and just this side of turned on. The quick surge of pride Spencer feels gets banned somewhere deeply subconscious immediately and just the second Spencer maybe regains a tiny bit of control of himself, there’s a sharp, stinging slap to his thigh.
“Don’t.” Shane tells him and Spencer knows exactly what he means. No holding back. Fuck. It’s not like that slap actually hurt, but. There’s something. Embarrassing isn’t the right word, more like… humbling? The way Shane just lets his hand rest there, the slight warmth of the skin of Shane’s palm on Spencer’s thigh, it’s just.
Something inside Spencer clenches, the muscles corresponding with the strange emotion welling up and he squirms slightly. It’s not like he’s arching his back and sticking his ass out and begging for more, but fuck, that’s what just that small movement feels like.
He’s pretty positive Shane’s got that devious grin going, but he sure as hell isn’t gonna turn round to check right now.
Besides, Shane’s hand has started to wander, tracing the crack of his ass and… he draws a sharp breath at the sensation and Shane brings his hand down again, in the exact same place.
“Don’t move.”
This is the first moment of understanding. He really would like to point out that it’s pretty fucking ridiculous to expect he can hold still while someone’s hand is roaming all over his ass. Which would be damn close to some of Ryan’s reactions.
He does hold still, as well as he can manage, at least for a while. He feels himself getting hard and some unknown force of nature makes him spread his legs a little wider, which results in Shane slapping him again.
“You like this”, Shane states quietly and Spencer can’t argue with that, not right now. He doesn’t answer, either.
“Spencer,” Shane mumbles after another slap. “You like this, don’t you?”
Not one little bit, he doesn’t. So not into this. So not bothered. At all.
Shane keeps bringing his hand down on his thigh methodically, like that’s gonna get him anywhere. Spencer grits his teeth and thinks about quantum physics and buying new sneakers.
“Spence? Tell me you like this.”
“Your mom likes this,” he snaps and Shane goes suddenly, terrifyingly still. Fuck. Shane grabs his hair and pulls his head up, staring right into Spencer’s face. He’s having way too much fun with this, Spencer can tell. His eyes are dark and hungry and inquisitive, but there is a mean little sparkling thing he’s got going along with the pissed off.
“You’re so fucked, Spencer.” Shane’s voice is a low growl and it shoots straight into the part of Spencer’s brain that he’d happily keep hidden forever. Swallowing is fairly hard, what with Shane pulling his head back like this.
He keeps a hold of Spencer’s hair while his free hand’s fumbling with his belt and Spencer… shit. He’s staring, following Shane’s every move and he really wants to apologize now, but the words won’t come.
“Scared, Spencer?” He still doesn’t answer and Shane laughs, low-pitched and secret. He’s made short work of the belt, holding it in his hand, doubled up.
“Stop me anytime when you’ve decided you’re gonna behave yourself”, Shane tells him with a quirked eyebrow before bringing the belt down.
“What the… FUCK!” Cause damn, try it sometime if you believe it doesn’t hurt. It’s not that, though. Well, it’s part of it, cause the skin of your ass suddenly feeling on fire isn’t all that easy to ignore. The main thing that really fucks with Spencer here is the sound though, the crack of leather on skin, the force of impact, the way his breath comes out in a hiss (no, not a whimper, thank you).
He doesn’t cry, not until Shane stops, cause apparently Spencer’s brain is betraying him, putting words into his mouth and making them tumble off his tongue without the usual careful filtering. It’s the whole routine of I’m sorrys and never agains and fuck, he wishes it didn’t sound as heart-felt as it does. When he crosses the line to the part where he promises to be good, just please, I’m sorry, Shane stops and he bursts into hot, pathetic, hopeless tears.
He keeps his head buried in the pillow until Shane forces him to look up and he really wants to curl up and die right now rather then meet Shane’s eyes, but he’s not given a choice.
“Hey”, Shane mumbles quietly, running a hand through his hair, wiping the tears off Spencer’s face. “Hey. I’ve got you, Spence. I’ve got you.” He keeps with the petting and reassuring until the crying stops, until Spencer curls into him, making himself impossibly small in Shane’s arms.
“So cute, Spence,” Shane smiles at him and Spencer can’t help snuggling closer, even though he’d usually be offended by shit like this, he really would.
He doesn’t argue when Shane trails a hand over his sore ass, the sensation is a weird combination of pain and comfort and he melts into the touch, letting go of all pretence in spite of himself, opening his legs further and yeah, probably sort of purring when Shane starts toying with his hole, cause fuck. So good.
He hears Shane laughing softly, but he can’t even care.
“Please,” he chokes out and yeah, if Shane isn’t smiling hard enough to sustain repetitive strain injury right now, he doesn’t know the guy at all.
“Please what, Spence?” He shouldn’t, probably. Truth is, he’s gone.
“Please. Fuck me.”
Another truth right there is that Spencer doesn’t bottom. He’s tried it, of course, couple of times, but Ryan definitely prefers taking, so. While he’s not a virgin, he’s maybe a little worried about this, just because it’s been a long time, and it’s never been like this, him begging and out of control and just feeling so fucking needy.
Shane apparently is well aware of what’s going on, cause he really takes his time to work Spencer open. The guy’s good with his hands. In fact, Spencer could probably lie here for the rest of his natural life with Shane’s fingers slowly teasing him, slipping in just far enough and never too far, just playing and probing like he’d be happy to do just that for hours on end. There’s no stretch, no pain, not even a burning sensation, that’s how slow he’s going. While it’s good, it’s nothing compared to his tongue. Jesus Christ.
Spencer feels himself falling apart as soon as Shane leans down and carefully laps at his hole and he cries out, yes, he does. Anyone would. It’s totally justified to loose all composure when Shane Valdez has his tongue in your ass, okay?
By the time Shane pulls back, Spencer is a trembling, writhing, incoherent mess, no point in pretending otherwise.
“Turn over. I want you to see me.”
Spencer doesn’t argue. He doesn’t argue when Shane unzips his pants, doesn’t argue when Shane tells him he wants Spencer to keep his eyes open, doesn’t argue when Shane hands him a condom.
“Put it on me.”
He does, hands shaking, but he manages. He’s also getting off on the sight of Shane’s cock, slicked up and hard and twitching under his touch, it’s sad but true.
And then, Shane’s pushing into him, slowly, Spencer’s legs hooked over Shane’s shoulders and the uncomfortable stretch of his muscles at being folded up like that vanishes at the sensation of being filled.
Shane’s looking at him and he’s staring back, at the way the black hair falls into Shane’s face messily, at Shane’s dark eyes and red lips and that smile.
I did that, Spencer thinks, drinking in the blissful expression, the small rasping breath once Shane’s all the way inside him. He feels his face stretching into a grin and Shane gives it right back, accompanied by a low chuckle in his throat.
“Spencer”, he whispers, and it sounds so fucking much like that awe in his voice when he talks about Brendon.
“Fuck me.” It’s so not an order, Spencer’s well aware of that. He’s pleading. Shane’s apparently happy to oblige, fucking him slow and deep and with their gaze still holding, gradually picking up the pace and all Spencer can do is not try to jerk his hips up. Mostly, at least. The rhythm gets sloppier as Shane fucks him, quick fierce snaps of his hips that make Spencer’s head roll back and just. Fuck, he wants to get off so badly by now he’s trying to work his hand between their bodies, but yeah. Like that was gonna happen. Shane smacks his hand away and grins.
“Not a chance, Spencer. You’re gonna ask, and you’d better ask nicely.”
How Shane Valdez manages to get a full sentence out right now defies logic, seriously.
“Please?” Shane just shakes his head no. Spencer has seen this a million times, seen it with Ryan, seen it with Brendon. He can’t believe how fucking cruel it actually is. It’s so, so hard to hold on, but there simply isn’t another option, so he hangs in there, sure that any minute now, he’ll just lose all control, but he doesn’t.
Well, control, such as it is. He’s begging something ridiculous if truth be told. Shane’s taken to pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into him, hitting his prostate dead on every single time. His eyes are still open, but glazed over, his breathing ragged and harsh.
“Now,” he hisses and slams into Spencer one last time, coming with a low moan and Spencer doesn’t need the invitation, doesn’t need any friction on his dick like he usually would, he just comes. And comes. And comes. Shane pulls out of him, slow and careful, tossing the condom aside and collapsing on the bed next to Spencer, who has lost all ability of coherent speech.
This should be the part where it’s suddenly all wrong and embarrassing, Spencer was sure of that. He’s surprised at just how much it’s not. The silence isn’t awkward, just content and sated. Shane looks at him sideways with a small smile and Spencer grins back.
“Holy shit, Valdez.” Cause that about covers it. “You’re so welcome, Spencer.” And that’s all that needs saying right now.