PatD fic -- Wonderful Eyes and a Risque Mouth -- Spencer/Brendon -- R
Title: Wonderful Eyes and a Risque Mouth
Author: sneaky_sena
Rating: R
Pairing: Spencer/OMC, Spencer/Brendon
POV: 3rd person
Summary: Brendon doesn't always notice things until they're right in front of his face.
Disclaimer: No they did not.
Author Notes: as always, beta by the fantastic battie_hattie
He didn't really get it, at first, what the conversation was about. That was partly because he was half asleep and partly because it wasn't the sort of conversation he was expecting. Brendon found sometimes that he could be really dense and not see things that were right in front of his face just because he didn't expect to see them.
He was half asleep, curled warm in his bunk, just enjoying the swaying of the bus and his belly full of actual food from somebody's kitchen instead of a fryer. He wouldn't have paid any attention, really, except for how the tone of Spencer's voice was like nothing he'd ever heard before.
He was half asleep, dozing, vaguely aware of the fact that Spencer was climbing into Ryan's bunk above him.
"Hey," was all Ryan said. He said it gently, and that was weird, too, because for some reason Brendon expected him to be annoyed at Spencer. He always seemed annoyed when Brendon crawled into his bunk.
Spencer laughed softly and said, "Ryan," and that's what got Brendon's attention. He sounded sort of...frayed. He sounded not at all like the no-nonsense Spencer that Brendon had always known.
Brendon knew he should maybe feel guilty for eavesdropping, but he never did. It wasn't like he was trying to overhear, it was just that it was impossible not to. Brendon refused to feel guilty for things that he had no control over.
"Wanna talk about it?" Ryan asked, and then there was some shifting above Brendon, the sheets rustling, Spencer saying, "Your elbow," and Ryan saying, "Your mom's elbow," and Spencer saying, "Please don't talk about my mom right now. Please."
"Hey," said Ryan. "Hey. Fuck. Don't do that. Don't, OK? Jesus. Was it...? Fuck, Spence, it was like that?"
"No," Spencer whispered. There was a soft sound and Brendon was a little terrified to realize that Spencer was crying. He hadn't even known that it was physically possible for Spencer to cry.
Brendon pushed himself up on his elbows and held his breath and listened to Spencer's soft sobs and Ryan's tender, muffled words of comfort. His eyes were wide and he knew he shouldn't be listening, knew he should pull his pillow over his head and force himself to sleep, but he didn't understand what the hell was happening, what the hell was so wrong that Spencer--tough, smiling Spencer--had to climb into Ryan's bed and actually cry.
"Oh, my God," Spencer said after a few minutes. "Oh, God, I'm a fucking train wreck."
"Spence," Ryan whispered.
"It wasn't even, it was good," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It was. I don't know. Not perfect. You know I hate that word. But good. Really good."
"Lovely," said Ryan.
Spencer groaned, like the thought of whatever it was being lovely embarrassed him.
"Are you OK?"
"Apparently, I'm emotionally unstable."
"No. I mean."
"Oh," said Spencer. "Oh. God. No, I'm, I'm, no. No, I'm OK."
"OK."
"God."
"It wasn't painful?"
"No. I mean it was, just. I don't know. In a good way? I can't believe I'm telling you this."
"Who else are you going to tell?"
Spencer sighed and neither one of them said anything for a long time. Finally Spencer asked, "Can I sleep here tonight?"
"Of course you can, idiot."
There was nothing after that. Brendon pinched the inside of his arm to keep himself awake, just in case one of them decided to say anything else, but after about twenty minutes he heard Ryan's soft almost-snore and realized they were asleep and they weren't going to say anything that let him understand what the hell had just happened.
Three weeks later, Brendon's in the lounge fooling around on his guitar, picking out whatever melodies come into his head. He's hungry and he wishes he could go back to Baltimore where Torrey, Jon's middle school girlfriend, had cooked for them. She'd made lasagna and chili and cornbread and three different types of pie and Brendon had no idea why Jon hadn't just married her in sixth grade, though maybe her culinary skills hadn't been apparent at such a young age.
He thinks about the mixed berry pie, which had been his favorite, and the vanilla ice cream he'd allowed himself to eat with it, and how Torrey's brother had looked at Spencer almost the same way Brendon had been looking at the pie, and--
Brendon drops his guitar.
Ryan snaps his head up, startled at the noise. "The fuck, Brendon?" It's more of a complaint than a question, though.
"Sorry," Brendon says hastily. "Fuck. Fuck. Sorry." He picks the guitar up off the lounge floor and slides his hands over it, strums it once and it's out of tune a little bit but he doesn't think there's any real damage. His hands are shaking and he swallows hard and makes himself turn the pegs slowly, makes himself breathe in and out, because if he doesn't he's liable to do or say something really stupid, something like, "Jesus Christ, that night in Baltimore did Torrey's brother maybe fuck Spencer?"
He bites down on his tongue and says nothing and tries not to remember Ryan asking if it hurt and Spencer saying that it had, but in a good way. He keeps trying and failing to get the A string tuned and finally he just gives up and shoves the guitar back on its stand and goes to hide in his bunk, stomach sour and heart beating out of time.
It's not that he thinks less of Spencer or anything, because he totally doesn't. He'll be the first to admit that he was raised to think being gay was a terrible thing, but he doesn't think that anymore. He hasn't thought that way for a long time, pretty much since he found out Melissa Etheridge was a lesbian because, seriously, how could anyone not like Melissa Etheridge for any reason?
And it's not like he's mad at Spencer for not making some sweeping announcement to the other members of the band. It's not like it's any of their business who Spencer goes to bed with. He wonders if Jon knows, wonders if Spencer's told him. He wonders if he's the only one who doesn't know, wonders if he's giving off homophobic vibes or something. He's pretty fucking sure he's not, but sometimes the Mormon thing throws people even though he's totally not Mormon and hasn't been, not really, for a very long time.
He decides that's what's upsetting him, decides that he's just going to have to let Spencer know that he's OK with whoever Spencer is, that they're friends and Brendon's got his back no matter what.
That night they're still traveling and Spencer's curled up on the couch with his Sidekick, biting his lower lip as he reads his messages, smiling soft and happy, and Brendon wonders how he didn't notice before that Spencer was in love. Spencer's in love with Torrey's brother, Jasper, who was pretty fucking cool, actually. He and Brendon had spent nearly an hour talking about Iggy Pop and Anthony Kiedis and Pelle Almqvist and Roger Daltry.
Brendon says, "Tell Jasper he still owes me those Iggy Pop bootlegs," because that's what he does, speaks before he thinks. In this case, it works in his favor.
Spencer looks up at him with wide, startled eyes. Brendon grins and says, "I'm not actually retarded, you know."
Ryan doesn't look away from his notebook, but he snickers nonetheless.
Jon's lying on the floor watching the television at a fucked up angle and he rolls onto his stomach and says, "You're talking to Jasper? Hey, tell him I say hi."
Brendon thinks that maybe those subtlety lessons Ryan gave him have finally paid off. It's been nearly a year since Ryan got fed up and proclaimed Brendon a lost cause but, hey, sometimes he's just a slow learner. And now Brendon's mission has been accomplished; Spencer knows that Brendon knows and that Brendon's OK with it, so everything's back the way it should be. Only Brendon's not sure Jasper's the right guy for Spencer since, obviously, anyone who thinks that Liam Gallagher is the best frontman of all time is clinically insane.
"Not to talk shit about your boyfriend," Brendon says the next day as they wander the maze of corridors in the back of the venue looking for craft services.
"Oh my God," says Spencer. "Please don't say that out loud ever again."
"What? Talk shit?"
"No," Spencer snaps. "The other thing. Just. Call him by his name, OK? That's why he has one."
"Are you shy about the fact that you have a boyfriend, Spencer Smith?" Brendon asks, enjoying Spencer's discomfort way too much. It's nearly impossible to embarrass Spencer and he plans on taking full advantage of it.
"I don't," Spencer says. "It's not like, it was just." He sighs.
"Fine. So, not to talk shit about your not-boyfriend, but anyone who thinks Liam Gallagher is the greatest frontman of all time is clinically insane."
"Clearly," says Spencer. Then, "Wait. So Jasper thinks? Liam Gallagher? Really? Because he's, OK, top fifty, maybe, but come on. Robert Plant."
"That's what I said!" Brendon cries. They're at another dead end and he looks around and checks his phone. There's a weak signal, thankfully. A lot of times all the concrete and steel make cell phones useless. "Do you think we should call Jon and ask for directions?"
Spencer rolls his eyes. "You're such a girl sometimes," he says, walking back up the hall the way they'd come.
"I'm not the one people mistake for a lesbian!" Brendon calls after him, cackling when Spencer flips him the bird. He jogs to catch up with Spencer and says, "So. Not boyfriend?"
Spencer shrugs like it's not a big deal, but his cheeks are pink.
"I'm not Ryan, you know," Brendon says. "I'm not going to freak out if suddenly you're not totally together and in charge."
"He doesn't freak out," Spencer says.
"I've seen the thinly veiled panic on his face any time you're vulnerable."
"He just worries, is all."
"You can be vulnerable with me, Spencer Smith."
"Why do you always call me that?"
"I like the sibilance."
Spencer rolls his eyes and shakes his head and says, "Oh, hey, I think I smell food coming from this way," and Brendon's moment is lost.
Before the meet and greet, Brendon's trying to do anything he can think of to make Spencer blush. He says, "What about paramour, are you OK with the word paramour?"
Spencer shrugs. "It's a band name."
"Oh. Good point. So, lover then. Can I use the word lover?"
Spencer pretends to be very interested in the can of soda he's drinking.
"Or, maybe inamorato? That's kind of got a sexy ring to it."
"I hate you," says Spencer.
"Please stop pulling Spencer's pigtails," Ryan says from across the room.
"Spencer doesn't even have, ooh, hey, can I give you pigtails?" Brendon asks.
Spencer shrugs. "Whatever."
Brendon grins and pulls and sculpts Spencer's hair, runs off to find hair ties, then comes back and has to pull and sculpt it again, ending up with two tiny little pigtails at the nape of Spencer's neck.
"Hottest lesbian ever," says Brendon.
Spencer laughs easily.
"You're not scary at all, you know," Brendon tells him.
"Am I supposed to be?"
"You were. When I met you, you were terrifying."
That makes Spencer laugh again. Brendon tugs on one of his pigtails and Spencer bats his hand away but he's not really mad. Across the room, Ryan's watching them from beneath lowered eyelashes and he seems to be trying not to smile.
When Spencer's Sidekick beeps, Ryan rolls his eyes and goes back to his novel and Brendon says, "Give Jasper lots of kisses for me."
"Dude," says Jon. "Brendon. Please tell me you didn't make out with Jasper."
Spencer, Ryan, and Brendon laugh so hard that Ryan ends up sliding off his chair onto the floor and Spencer and Brendon cling to one another to stay upright while Jon says, "What? What did I say? Did you guys make fucking pot brownies and not give me any?"
That night's a hotel night, and Brendon's surprised when Spencer claims him in the name of five generations of Spencer James Smiths. He even has a flag. Or, you know, a bandanna. He probably claimed Brendon because he and Ryan had gotten into a slap fight earlier, but Brendon will take all the Spencer time he can get.
It's a mellow night and Brendon's pretty sure there's not even an afterparty anywhere. Not that he'd go. He's totally comfortable sprawled out on top of his comforter and periodically dropping Gushers into his mouth. Spencer's doing the same thing, minus the Gushers and plus his Sidekick. Brendon thinks that when they finally come out with cell phone implants, Spencer and Ryan will be two of the first to sign up.
"Did you see that girl who kept lifting her shirt up during Esteban?" Brendon asks. "That was. I kept trying not to look because I think maybe we'll all get arrested just for being in the same room with a fifteen year old girl who wants us to see her breasts."
Spencer laughs. "Is that the same girl that told Jon she wanted to rim him into oblivion?"
Brendon chokes on a Gusher, has to get up and get a drink of water from the tap. "Somebody actually said that to Jon?" he asks, dropping down next to Spencer on his bed.
"She was fifteen, man. Sixteen tops. I didn't even know what rimming was when I was sixteen."
"I don't even know what rimming is now."
Spencer laughs, and Brendon thinks that he likes it when Spencer laughs. He likes the sound of it, likes the way Spencer's skin flushes just a tiny bit, likes how happy and relaxed he sounds.
"It's when you lick somebody's asshole," Spencer tells him. "Or somebody licks yours."
"Huh," says Brendon. "And that's a good thing?"
"Apparently," Spencer says. He sighs. "I don't have a lot of experience when it comes to the whole dating thing."
"Are you coming to me for advice? Because you know I'll always listen to you but, um, the advice part? I'm not exactly qualified. You've met all three women I've dated in my entire life, and one of those I didn't even have sex with, and then another one I had kind of emotionally scarring sex with so, um. That might be too much information."
Spencer laughs and presses his face against Brendon's arm to muffle the sound. "Emotionally scarring?" he asks. "Do I...I don't think I want to know, but really?"
Brendon shrugs. "I maintain that no guy wants to hear the description of a woman's abortion while he's actually inside her."
"Jesus," says Spencer.
"The graphic description."
"Why would she...?"
"I think it was some sort of test. She was kind of. I think maybe half our entire relationship was based on her desire to shock me. Which was apparently really easy because I'm naïve."
"You're not naïve. The whole not knowing what rimming is thing aside."
"Sex with two people, Spencer. In my entire life. You can see how I'm unqualified to give advice."
"I don't need advice. If I needed advice I'd go to Ryan or Jon. Just. Maybe I want to talk to somebody who's not some sexual savant."
"Well, I am totally retarded when it comes to relationships." He sighs and gazes up at the ceiling. "Do you think maybe we fail at being decadent rock stars?"
"Considering the fact that I'm eighteen, sober, and not fucking two groupies right this second, I know I fail at being a decadent rock star."
"We could go find groupies. Unless. Are you and Jasper, is that like an exclusive thing?"
Spencer shrugs. "I don't know. We haven't really talked about it?" Brendon likes the way sometimes Spencer makes his sentences sound like questions.
"Do you want it to be an exclusive thing?"
Spencer sighs.
Brendon turns onto his side and rests his chin on Spencer's shoulder. "Is that a yes or a no?"
Spencer laughs and pushes Brendon's face away, "Tickles," he says, rubbing at his ear.
"Spence?"
"I don't know. It's hard."
Brendon raises his eyebrows and lifts his head, pointedly looks down at Spencer's crotch.
"Not, God, you're such a perv all the time," Spencer says. He shoves at Brendon but he's laughing. He's laughing and his face is flushed and his smile is pretty much the most gorgeous thing Brendon's ever seen and oh. Oh.
Brendon rolls off Spencer's bed, onto his feet, and flops onto his own bed in one smooth motion. He tries to make it seem like he did it because Spencer was pushing him and not at all because he's just had an epiphany.
"It's difficult," Spencer says. "I never see him. I mean, I've only seen him twice ever, at Torrey's house that one time and then when he came to see us in Atlanta."
"He came to see us in Atlanta?" Brendon asks. He thinks he remembers Atlanta, thinks maybe that was the night that Eric got the hiccups halfway through the first set.
"And we talk on the phone and text all the time, but I don't know. I don't know if I like him because of who he is or just because he's the first guy who ever liked me back."
Brendon rolls onto his stomach, kicks the covers down enough that he can get his cold feet beneath them. "I'll bet lots of guys have liked you back," he says.
Spencer scoffs, and that's something Brendon already knew, the way Spencer thinks he's unattractive, the way Spencer always compares himself to other guys and somehow thinks he comes up short.
"Not even kidding," Brendon says, and maybe his voice is shaking a little bit because this is huge. This is probably the most important thing he's ever realized about himself, maybe even more important than admitting that he no longer believed in God. He's in the middle of the biggest epiphany of his entire life and it's such a quiet, normal moment and Spencer's right there in the same room and he doesn't even know, can't even tell that Brendon's world has just split open.
Spencer climbs under his covers and reaches out to turn off the light. He says, "I think maybe I like him more than he likes me."
"Spencer," Brendon whispers. He doesn't know what else to say. He can't say what he's thinking because it freaks him out too much even when it's just in his own head. He might have a panic attack if he actually says, I think I'm into guys. I think I'm into you.
"Don't tell me I'm imagining it," Spencer says. "Don't try to make me feel better by lying. I'm just a kid to him, you know? And I think maybe the only reason he's even a little interested, still, is because of the band."
"That's really fucked up," Brendon says. He doesn't know why anyone wouldn't love Spencer, his smile and his laugh and his sharp, wicked humor.
"And I wanted to, you said you can't give advice but maybe you can better than anyone because when you were with her, did you feel like that? Like if you'd just been yourself, if you hadn't ever gotten up on stage, that maybe she wouldn't be with you at all?"
"Yeah," Brendon says honestly. He knows it, now, that she never would have looked at him twice otherwise.
"I'm going to break up with him." Spencer's voice is soft.
"I'm sorry."
Spencer sighs. "Thanks."
After he breaks up with Jasper, Spencer doesn't spend as much time gazing out the window and smiling as he used to. He doesn't curl up on the couch with his Sidekick and pull on his hair and look flushed and happy anymore. It makes Brendon a little sad even though he knows it's probably for the best.
If you weren't looking, you probably couldn't even tell that Spencer had changed. If you weren't looking, you probably couldn't tell that Brendon had changed, either.
In Boise, he kisses one of the venue's security guards, lets the guy press him up against the rough cement wall and grind against him until they both come in their pants. Brendon excuses himself quickly afterwards and hurries to the bathroom to mop up the mess and thinks that Lisa, their wardrobe lady, is probably not paid enough for all the stuff she has to put up with.
In Minneapolis, he makes out with a random guy in a broom closet at the after party but stops it before things get to coming-in-your-pants territory.
In Wisconsin, he jerks off one of the sound techs and comes to the conclusion that it's not a fluke; he really is into guys.
Every time he looks at Spencer, his chest gets tight and it's a little hard to breathe. He's pretty sure that's not a fluke, either.
"So, um," he says, sitting next to Jon in the bus's lounge the next day. Jon's tuning his acoustic bass, his ear close to the sound hole, his left arm stretched out along the length of the neck, fingers gentle on the pegs.
"The D's still flat," Jon says.
"Here." Brendon moves Jon's fingers away, turns the peg just a tiny bit. "Try it now."
"Still flat," says Jon.
"I think I'm into dudes," Brendon tells him, turning the peg a little more.
"Now it's sharp."
"Jon," Brendon says. "I'm having a moment here. Were you listening to me tell you that I think I'm probably gay?"
Jon lifts his head up and looks at Brendon. He blinks. "Is that?" he asks. "Is that a new thing? Because I just always thought..."
Brendon swallows hard.
"No?" Jon asks.
"New to me," Brendon says. "You really thought...?"
"I don't know," Jon says. "I thought it was a possibility."
"Oh."
"Bden, dude, come on. It's not like it matters. You know that, right?"
He nods. He knows that in theory.
"So, thank you. For trusting me with that."
He says, "I think I'm in love with Spencer."
Jon blinks.
"Please don't tell anyone I told you that."
"Yeah," says Jon. "Yeah. OK. Just. You should maybe not..."
"I'm not stupid," Brendon says. "I'm not going to do anything about it. I just wanted to say it out loud at least once."
"OK," Jon says.
Brendon sits back on the couch and sighs. "Wanna play Grand Theft Auto?" he asks.
"I'm kind of trying to be nonviolent lately," Jon admits. "So, um, Mario Brothers?"
"Yeah," Brendon says. "OK."
He thinks it's better now that he's actually told somebody. He thinks he can probably get over it now that he's not trying so hard to keep it inside.
That night, Spencer's curled up on the couch in the lounge with his Sidekick but it isn't open. He keeps sliding his thumb over the side and sighing softly and then putting it down and pretending to watch Breakin'. It had been Jon's turn to pick the movie.
Ryan's not even pretending to be interested in the movie. He's sitting with his back to the television, reading a novel narrated by a hunchback dwarf. He looks up every now and then with a sour look on his face. At first Brendon thinks maybe it's because of the book, since he'd read a little bit over Ryan's shoulder but gave up when the conjoined piano-playing twins were forcibly married to a man who'd somehow lost most of his face.
Then Spencer picks up his Sidekick again and checks to see if he has any messages, sighs, puts it back down and looks totally miserable and Brendon pushes up off his chair and settles on the couch next to Spencer.
"Five greatest drummers of all time," he says. "I submit, as number five, Bob Bruford of Yes. Number four is Ginger Baker of Cream. Three is Keith Moon, two is Jon Bonham, and one is Neal Pert."
"Wait," says Spencer. "Five greatest drummers of all time or five greatest rock drummers of all time? Because if it's both jazz and rock drummers and you don't have Buddy Rich on your list, you're sort of an idiot."
"Rock drummers," says Brendon. He sees Ryan smiling from behind his book.
"And you didn't put Charlie Watts in the top five?" Spencer asks. After that, Brendon gets a half hour lecture on the perfection of Charlie Watts' technique which somehow segues into how underrated Def Leppard is and how Stewart Copeland may be a pretentious douche but, really, it's not like anyone can even come close to Sting on the pretentious douche scale and it's a wonder Andy Summers didn't kill them both.
Then Jon jumps into the conversation with the observation that douchey as they may be, Sting and Stewart Copeland made up a rhythm section second to none in the rock industry. Spencer comes back with the combination of Flea and Chad Smith, and Brendon grins and just listens, is glad to see Spencer animated and smiling again.
"Thank you," Ryan mouths at Brendon as Spencer demonstrates the drum line from Higher Ground. Jon stretches out on his back and plays accompanying air bass, and after a second Brendon can't stand it and he belts out, "People! Keep on learning!" while jumping to his feet and doing his best Anthony Kiedis impersonation. Ryan doesn't join in on air guitar, just watches them with a smile on his face and calls them idiots, but he says it fondly.
Brendon watches state after state pass by, spends so many nights in the bus that he's off kilter when he has to sleep in an actual bed and can't hear the sound or feel the sway of the road beneath him. Some days he thinks he going to go crazy, cooped up in the bus, and some days he just surrenders to the drone of the asphalt beneath the tires and leans his head on his arms and gazes out the window.
He's got his head on his arms, but he's nearly asleep when Spencer touches his shoulder. "Hey," Spencer says softly. "Hey, Brendon, look."
Brendon opens his eyes, and in the lane next to them is a giant fiberglass chicken and three smaller fiberglass rabbits being hauled on the flatbed of a semi. He sits up and tips his head, looks at it for a long while. "Huh," he says.
"I know, right?" Spencer asks.
Brendon grins and settles his chin back on his arms. "Thanks," he says. He loves stuff like that, loves the half-finished stories they see every day if they bother to pay attention.
They pull off for dinner just a few minutes later, and on their way into town they pass a giant fiberglass statue of a man on a Victorian bicycle, the kind with the huge front wheel. "That's awesome," Spencer says.
Brendon nods in agreement and rubs his eyes sleepily and when the bus pulls into a diner parking lot, he's the first one out the door. He's not too sure about their choice of eating establishments once they get into the diner. It's clean and the staff seems friendly enough, but it smells like everything's fried and he hates it when there's nothing on the menu he can get besides salad and French fries.
"Um," he says as he looks over the menu the middle-aged waitress just gave him. "Do you have anything without meat in it?"
"Sure," she says, pointing. "We've got tuna salad and and tuna melt, catch of the day is walleye--"
"I should have been more specific," he says. "I'm vegan, so..."
The waitress, whose name is Dianne if her nametag is correct, looks at him like he's speaking a foreign language. She looks at Spencer, next, then Jon. She seems to be avoiding Ryan, who's wearing smudged black eyeliner, fingerless satin gloves, one of Spencer's pink t-shirts, and a grey blazer with white piping. In summer. He's also got on a pair of rhinestone-studded sunglasses, but he's pushed them up on his head to keep his bangs out of his eyes.
"The rest of us will be getting red meat," Spencer says to her. "Brendon's just weird about food. Do you have anything without any animal products in it? No meat or fish or eggs or cheese, that sort of thing?"
She says, "I'll check with John in the kitchen."
Spencer says, "Ask if he's got any veggie burgers in the freezer. Also, I know it's not on the menu, but if he could just make a sandwich with a whole lot of vegetables on it and maybe some Italian dressing, that would totally work, too."
Brendon says, "I'm not weird about food. It's for my voice."
Dianne ignores that and takes their drink order before heading to her next table.
"I'm not weird about food," Brendon says.
Spencer sighs and shakes his head. "It was a gross oversimplification to avoid terrorizing the waitress while simultaneously getting her to find something good you can eat."
"Oh," says Brendon.
"Dude," says Jon. "I could eat, like, seven cheeseburgers right now. Are you sure you don't want a cheeseburger, Brendon?"
"I'm sure," he says. He misses cheese. He sometimes misses meat, but then he just watches clips online of how the cows are handled and slaughtered and he doesn't miss meat at all.
Spencer says, "Do not tell us about how cows are slaughtered."
"I wasn't going to," Brendon says, though he maybe kind of was.
He ends up with a pretty decent sandwich, though he does have to peel a slice of American cheese off it, which Ryan willingly takes for his cheeseburger.
"Wait," says Jon when they're halfway through dinner. "Doesn't bread have, like, eggs and stuff in it?"
"I'm not that good of a vegan," Brendon admits and Spencer grins and kicks him under the table. Brendon smiles at his sandwich and kicks Spencer back.
They walk down to the giant bicycle statue after dinner with Zack displeased and watching the empty streets around them with wary eyes. Jon takes pictures of the statue, then wanders off to take pictures of the strip of gravel between the grass and the pavement. Brendon watches him for a while, tries to see what Jon sees but can't, not really.
The grass in the park next to the giant bicycle statue is soft and thickly green. Brendon challenges Ryan to a cartwheel contest, but they're only six cartwheels in when Ryan flops down on the grass and says, "Ugh. Cheeseburger." He rubs his stomach and puts his sunglasses on even though it's getting towards dusk.
"Cheeseburger, cheeseburger!" Brendon cries like John Belushi in that old Saturday Night Live skit. He does another cartwheel and then a back flip for good measure, and flops down next to Ryan. The stars aren't out yet, but he can see Venus shining in the east. "Venus if you will," he sings softly, "please send a little girl for me to thrill. A girl who wants my kisses and my arms, a girl with all the charms of you."
Ryan hums along, joins in during the chorus. Spencer steps over Ryan, then over Brendon, sits next to Brendon's hips and plucks up a thick blade of grass. He steadies it between his thumbs and blows, accompanying Brendon's Venus rendition with a reedy squeak.
All three of them laugh at the sound, and Spencer stretches out in the grass next to Brendon. He says, "Make a wish on the first star."
"That's actually Venus," Brendon says.
"Fine. Make a wish on Venus, ass."
Brendon grins and closes his eyes and makes a wish. He always makes the same wish, on stars or birthdays or in front of sparkling fountains; he wishes for everyone he loves to have a happy life.
"Jon," Ryan calls. "Jon, you're missing out on quality bonding time. We're feeling neglected."
Brendon hears someone crash to the ground on the other side of Ryan, then hears Jon saying, "What are we doing?"
"Watching the stars come out," Ryan says, as if that's obvious.
"Y'all are going to be covered in mosquito bites tomorrow," Zack says, and Brendon doesn't have to look to know he's shaking his head sadly.
Brendon keeps his eyes closed, would rather just lie there and enjoy the stillness and silence than watch the sky turn from blue to purple to black. He can tell, though, can sense when the light on the other side of his eyelids has mostly gone.
"We should get a move on," Zack says.
"Ten more minutes," says Ryan.
Zack sighs but he doesn't argue. Brendon listens to the crunch of his feet on the grass as he walks away, probably to make sure the perimeter is secure. For as silly as Zack is most days, he really does keep them safe.
Brendon feels Spencer's fingers brush against his and he doesn't yank his hand away even though he wants to. He keeps his hand where it is and tries to think of what he'd do before, back when he didn't like boys that way and Spencer was just a friend. He thinks he probably would have held Spencer's hand, but that's too dangerous, now.
Spencer's fingers brush against Brendon's a couple more times before Brendon realizes that it's intentional. He opens his eyes and turns his head, and in the dim light from the streetlamp he can just barely make out Spencer's features, his eyes closed, lashes casting dark shadows on his cheeks, lower lip caught between his teeth.
Brendon slides his hand over, slips his palm against Spencer's and interlaces their fingers. He squeezes once, gently. Spencer takes a deep breath and it shakes a little on the exhale. He strokes his thumb slowly over Brendon's, back and forth and back again. This time Brendon takes the shaky breath. Spencer opens his eyes and looks over at Brendon and Brendon smiles. Spencer looks unsure for a moment, then smiles back and it's all Brendon can do not to push himself up and climb over Spencer and kiss him until they're both breathless.
"Hey," Spencer says, barely a whisper.
"Hey," Brendon says. He pulls his hand out of Spencer's grasp just enough so that he can drag his fingertips against the calluses at the top of Spencer's palm. He can tell that Spencer's looking at his mouth, so he slides his tongue over his lower lip and watches Spencer bite his own lip in return.
"It's been ten minutes," Zack says. "We really do have to get moving."
"Fascist," Ryan grumbles, but he holds his arms up so Zack can help him to his feet and then just laughs when Zack slings him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Jon follows, taking pictures of them, the flash bright and startling in the darkness.
"Hey, up," says Spencer. He stands first, doesn't let go of Brendon's hand, though, pulls him up until he's standing.
"No dawdling," Zack calls over his shoulder.
Brendon laughs and squeezes Spencer's hand, then lets go. They walk shoulder to shoulder on the way back to the bus, though, and as they're waiting for Jon to climb the stairs, Spencer lays his chin on Brendon's shoulder and breathes warm against his neck.
In the lounge, there's nowhere to sit except on the same couch as Spencer. Brendon wants to sit right next to him, wants to drape himself over Spencer and play with his hair and kiss his mouth, but instead he sits on the far end of the couch. Spencer tugs on his hair and looks away. Brendon stays still for a moment, is afraid if he scoots over that it will be obvious. He leans over and scoops up Spencer's feet, pulls him until his legs are across the couch and his feet are in Brendon's lap. He takes Spencer's shoes off and sets them carefully beneath the table next to him, rubs the arch of Spencer's foot with his thumbs.
He wants to say something but he doesn't know what. He stares at the television and doesn't even know what the movie they're watching is supposed to be about. Ryan heads to bed first, followed by Spencer about half an hour later. Brendon wants to tell him no, to stay up, to wait Jon out, but he doesn't. He just watches the end of the movie, still not sure what it's about, then goes to bed. He wants Spencer's partition to be cracked but it's not, it's pulled shut tightly and there's no sound from behind it. He gets ready for bed and climbs into his bunk and pulls the partition closed and stares up at the underside of Ryan's bunk, trying to get to sleep.
The next day is a flurry of activity, a radio show in the morning and a signing at a record store after that, a quick lunch and then across town to do another interview. He thinks that if another reporter asks him if growing up LDS was the same as growing up in a cult, he'll scream. He's only just started talking to his family again. He doesn't want to hash out his shit online or in the pages of somebody's magazine.
Then it's back to the venue for the sound check and then another interview and the meet and greet and finally the show. He kind of forgets that he's trying to get a second alone with Spencer, is so busy that all he can think about is what he's doing that very second. That's maybe a good thing, though, since the auditorium's sold out and he has to stand up in front of thousands of people and perform without anything distracting him from his job.
Distraction finds him, though. It's nothing he's ever really paid attention to before, the drums in the bridge of Sins before he jumps back into the verse. Usually he uses the break as a chance for water, but as he's cracking open a bottle he glances up at Spencer, who's looking right back at him, flushed and sweating, breathing deeply through his mouth as he continues his persistent rhythm on the floor tom. He bites his lower lip as he looks at Brendon, hits the ride and looks away as if it's too much. Brendon can suddenly feel the rhythm of the drums all through his body, can feel the vibrations as if they're Spencer's hands on his skin.
He nearly misses his cue, comes in just on time and feels like he's playing catch up for the rest of the song. Then, God, they play Tonight, Tonight and he has to sit there at the piano with Spencer's drums right beside him, Spencer playing that intense ostinato that seeps into his bones while Brendon sings lyrics of urgent love and change and need.
After the show he's wired and vaguely ill, the way he gets when he's had too much caffeine. He takes first shower even though Jon called it, and he must look out of sorts to everyone because no one complains. After he's toweled off and dressed, he can't quite catch his breath. He presses his lips together and swallows over and over again. He can't sit still, and when he tries he can't keep his leg from jiggling. He decides to walk it out, but it makes him feel like he wants to run.
"Brendon," Zack says, all grim concern. "What's going on?"
Brendon shakes his head. "Nothing." He waits for Zack to call him a spaz or tell him he needs to start taking his Ritalin again, but all he gets is Zack's serious face, the one that means something's wrong.
"What did you take?" Zack asks softly. His hand is gentle on Brendon's face as he tips it up to look at his eyes. "Bden, seriously, you know you can't just take shit people give you."
He shakes his head again. "I didn't," he says.
Zack frowns. He was the one who had to talk Brendon down the one and only time he tried coke. He doesn't seem to have forgotten that.
"I think Spencer and I might have sex," he says, and if his traitorous mouth is just going to spill the truth to everyone who asks, he might as well just make up some flyers.
Zack, to his credit, doesn't look shocked. He looks a little concerned, but he doesn't look shocked.
Brendon puts his hands over his face. "I think maybe I just need to sleep," he says. "Is there a car heading to the hotel soon?"
"I'll get you one," Zack says, and pulls out his radio.
In his hotel room, Brendon's suitcase is laid neatly on a stand at the foot of one of the beds. He doesn't miss the fact that the suitcase at the foot of the other bed is Spencer's. He thinks he's going to change into his pajamas, but after he opens his suitcase he just stands there looking down at his clothes for a long time.
He closes his eyes when he hears the lock on the door click open. He recognizes the sound of Spencer's footsteps.
"Hey," Spencer says softly, coming up behind Brendon. "You OK?"
He nods as he feels Spencer's hands on his hips, feels Spencer's fingers slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt to stroke the skin. "Do you claim me in the name of five generations of Spencer James Smiths?" he asks. He wants it to be a joke, but the words come out shaky and unsure.
"No," Spencer says, kissing the back of Brendon's neck. "Just the current generation."
"So," he says. "Um."
"Um?" Spencer asks. His fingertips are stroking up and down Brendon's belly, along the line of hair beneath his navel.
"Are we going to do the sex thing now?" Brendon asks. He can feel Spencer smile against the back of his neck. "Because I'm. I should probably tell you that I haven't really done, um, much. With guys. I've done some, because I thought I should probably check to make sure it was what I really wanted, and it is, just. I haven't. I don't really know what I'm."
"Brendon," Spencer says gently. He pushes against one of Brendon's hips and pulls on the other and Brendon turns to face him. His eyes are still closed. "We don't have to do anything," Spencer says, and Brendon tips his face up for a kiss.
It's not weird at all, kissing Spencer. He thought it might be. He thought maybe he'd freak out or hate it or it wouldn't be good. It feels totally natural, though. It feels fantastic, Spencer's arms around his waist, pulling him in close, Spencer's tongue hot and slick against his own.
"I think," Spencer whispers after a moment. "I think maybe we should go slow. We have time."
Brendon nods. "Yeah."
Spencer kisses Brendon one more time, then pulls back. His cheeks are flushed and Brendon smiles. "Are you blushing?" he asks.
"Shut up," says Spencer. He grabs boxers and a t-shirt out of his bag and says, "I'm gonna get ready for bed." He heads to the bathroom to change, even though any other night he and Brendon would have just gotten undressed in front of one another.
Brendon strips down quickly and pulls on his flannel pajama bottoms. He doesn't usually sleep with a shirt on, but he pulls a white t-shirt on over his head anyway, then climbs into bed. He feels like his entire body is vibrating. He closes his eyes and breathes in slowly the way Jon taught him. He makes his exhale as long as possible, then breathes in again. Thirty eight inhales later and he hears the bathroom door open. He hears Spencer flip the light switch, can tell that the room's gone dark even though his eyes are closed.
He opens his eyes when he feels the bed shift, when he realizes that Spencer's climbing in next to him.
"We're just sleeping," Spencer tells him as he stretches out beneath the covers.
"OK," says Brendon. He can do that. He can just sleep next to Spencer. Sure. No problem. "Sleeping and cuddles?" he asks. His mouth really needs to stop doing that whole speaking without permission thing.
Spencer laughs softly and turns, pulls Brendon towards him, and that's actually a lot less nerve wracking than just lying in bed next to Spencer. Brendon's kind of a whore for cuddles so it feels normal and innocent and like any other night. Almost. Any other night and Spencer would have acted like letting Brendon cuddle up to him was an imposition. Now, though, Spencer just relaxes against him and slides his fingers through Brendon's hair and kisses Brendon's temple, right near the corner of his eye.
He falls asleep like that, warm and cradled against Spencer's chest. He wakes up hard and grinding against Spencer's thigh, doesn't quite know what's going on for a moment except for that he's really, really turned on. He slides his hand into Spencer's boxers and has his hand around Spencer's dick before he realizes that he's not dreaming. "Oh," he whispers and starts to pull away.
Spencer's awake. Spencer puts his hand on Brendon's shoulder and says, "No, it's good."
"Yeah?" he asks.
"Yeah," Spencer says. He slides Brendon's t-shirt off, reaches for the tie of his pajama pants.
They get naked quickly and Brendon decides that he wants to be half asleep and warm and touching as much of Spencer's skin as he can for the rest of his life. Their cocks brush together and that's awesome, amazing, makes him shudder and climb over Spencer so he can do it again on purpose.
That turns out to be a fantastic idea, especially with the kissing and the soft, needy noises Spencer's making in the back of his throat. Spencer raises one of his legs and wraps it around Brendon's waist, uses it to pull Brendon down with more force, and Brendon thinks that Spencer's pretty much a genius. It's not long before his coming, shaking and biting at Spencer's throat and Spencer's not far behind and his choked-back moan is pretty much the hottest thing Brendon's heard in his entire life.
He rolls onto his back and they breathe for a long time. Brendon finds Spencer's hand with his own and slides their fingers together and he grins and Spencer laughs softly.
"So, um," Brendon says after a while. Their palms are sweaty but it doesn't make him want to let go of Spencer's hand. "How was I at the whole sex thing? Does what we just did even count as a sex thing?"
"I've got your spunk cooling on my stomach right now," Spencer tells him. "It counts."
"Awesome," says Brendon.
Spencer pulls his hand away and Brendon's about to protest before he realizes that Spencer's just pushing himself up to lean over Brendon and gaze down at him. "Was that?" he asks. "You've done that before. Right?"
"Of course," Brendon tells him. "I mean, if you count sleeping with one girl two times and another girl five times and giving a guy a hand job one time in Milwaukee, then, yes. Yes, I've done this before."
Spencer looks down at him with fond exasperation and Brendon's smiling back up at him when they kiss.
It's edging towards dawn, light dull and gray as it comes around the sides of the curtains. They stretch out facing one another, Brendon unable to keep his hands off Spencer's skin, unable to keep from leaning forward for more kisses.
"We should talk about this," Spencer says.
Brendon considers feigning sleep.
"I kind of. The last guy I dated, I just kind of. I don't know. Jumped into it. And I know we can't really do that because we've known each other for so long already. Just. I never really told him what I wanted or what I was looking for, thought that somehow I'd just get what I wanted without having to say it. And he was kind of a dick, but still. I should have said it. Because I'm not, I can't just sleep around. I've tried and it's just not me. So."
Brendon can tell Spencer's blushing and it makes him kiss Spencer over and over again.
"Are you saying you want to be my boyfriend, Spencer Smith?" he asks.
Spencer twists and scoots down on the bed, covers his face with his hands. "Maybe," he whispers. He peeks through his fingers. "Can we not call it that, though?"
"Can I be your inamorato?" Brendon asks. "If you say yes, I'm actually going to make you call me that. Fair warning."
"How about, um, friend?" Spencer asks. "We can be good friends."
Brendon shakes his head. "Lame. Jon's your friend. Zack's your friend. I'm your...naked friend. You can call me your naked friend."
"Guy I'm seeing?" Spencer offers. "Is that. Are we seeing each other now?"
Brendon sweeps his eyes down Spencer's body, grins. "I'm certainly seeing a lot of you," he says. "I like naked friends, though. I won't make you call me your naked friend in public as long as we agree that we can be naked friends."
"Who maybe, um, don't get naked with other people."
Brendon slides down on the bed, slings his arm over Spencer's hips. "Yeah," he says, nuzzling against Spencer's cheek. "That sounds good."
They sleep tangled up and they wake tangled up with both their phones going off because they're late. They shower together, quickly, kiss but nothing else, make it back to the bus in time for people to be annoyed but for nobody to really be mad.
The bus takes them out of the city and across flat, Midwestern plains again. Brendon gazes out the window and Spencer sits next to him and rubs the small of his back and Brendon's never enjoyed just being silent so much with anybody before.
Two days later he hears Ryan's voice indistinct but amused, hears Spencer saying, "Oh my God, please shut up, I'm begging you," and Brendon knows they're talking about him. Later when they're all watching Joe Dirt, another one of Jon's so bad they're good movie picks, Brendon looks up at see Ryan gazing at him. He starts to offer a smile, but then Ryan grins in a slightly terrifying way and very slowly draws his pointer finger across his throat. Brendon swallows hard and looks over at Spencer, who simply reaches out and slaps Ryan in the back of the head.
Then Spencer shifts and pulls Brendon close to him. Brendon smiles and willingly accept Spencer's snuggles, watches the movie through half-closed eyes as Spencer's fingers trail slowly up and down his arm.
Ryan rolls his eyes and goes back to his book, this time something about a whole bunch of people locked in quarantine who have a virus that makes them all go blind. Brendon had read the back cover and decided that nothing good could come of a whole bunch of blind people locked up with no one to take care of them.
"Hotel night tomorrow," Spencer whispers in Brendon's ear.
Brendon's skin flushes with just the thought of it, an entire night of privacy where he and Spencer can get naked and make out and do more totally amazing sex stuff. He tips his face up and Spencer kisses him. Ryan makes a disgusted noise, but Brendon doesn't care and Spencer doesn't seem to, either, just deepens the kiss and Brendon can taste Diet Coke on his tongue.
"Um," Jon says suddenly. "Um, guys, are you? Ryan, are they...?"
"Yes," Ryan says wearily.
Brendon pulls away from Spencer just a little bit and smiles at him. Spencer smiles back, soft and happy.
"How long?" Jon asks.
"Since the day they met," says Ryan.
Spencer says, "Oh, God, please shut up," and hides his face against Brendon's neck.
Brendon strokes Spencer's cheek and whispers against his temple. "I've liked you for a really long time, too." He doesn't think he was interested in Spencer from the day they met, but he might have been if he'd known himself well enough at sixteen to know he was gay.
"Huh," says Jon. Then he turns back to the movie and laughs at the part with the alligator, and Brendon kind of loves that about him, the way he takes everything in stride.
"When I met you," Brendon whispers, nuzzling against Spencer's hair. "When I met you, I thought you hated me."
"I didn't," Spencer says. He runs his hand up and down Brendon's arm.
"Guys," says Jon. "This is the best part. Come on. You can't talk through Joe Dirt."
Spencer laughs and lifts his head, then he's pulling Brendon up off the couch and through the lounge and into Brendon's bunk. Brendon laughs as they kiss and tangle together and knock his Jane Austen action figure off her shelf.
"I thought you were cute," Spencer admits in a low whisper once they've situated themselves on their sides, limbs intertwined. "Ryan could tell. He mocked me pretty much nonstop."
"I didn't know," Brendon says.
"I didn't want you to know. And you were straight, so, whatever. It wasn't like I even had a crush on you. I just wasn't blind."
"I was pretty much convinced that if I fucked up, you'd kill me in my sleep."
Spencer laughs and Brendon wants to make him laugh like that for the rest of his life, holds on tight, and the last thing he sees before he falls asleep is Spencer's smile.
Author: sneaky_sena
Rating: R
Pairing: Spencer/OMC, Spencer/Brendon
POV: 3rd person
Summary: Brendon doesn't always notice things until they're right in front of his face.
Disclaimer: No they did not.
Author Notes: as always, beta by the fantastic battie_hattie
He didn't really get it, at first, what the conversation was about. That was partly because he was half asleep and partly because it wasn't the sort of conversation he was expecting. Brendon found sometimes that he could be really dense and not see things that were right in front of his face just because he didn't expect to see them.
He was half asleep, curled warm in his bunk, just enjoying the swaying of the bus and his belly full of actual food from somebody's kitchen instead of a fryer. He wouldn't have paid any attention, really, except for how the tone of Spencer's voice was like nothing he'd ever heard before.
He was half asleep, dozing, vaguely aware of the fact that Spencer was climbing into Ryan's bunk above him.
"Hey," was all Ryan said. He said it gently, and that was weird, too, because for some reason Brendon expected him to be annoyed at Spencer. He always seemed annoyed when Brendon crawled into his bunk.
Spencer laughed softly and said, "Ryan," and that's what got Brendon's attention. He sounded sort of...frayed. He sounded not at all like the no-nonsense Spencer that Brendon had always known.
Brendon knew he should maybe feel guilty for eavesdropping, but he never did. It wasn't like he was trying to overhear, it was just that it was impossible not to. Brendon refused to feel guilty for things that he had no control over.
"Wanna talk about it?" Ryan asked, and then there was some shifting above Brendon, the sheets rustling, Spencer saying, "Your elbow," and Ryan saying, "Your mom's elbow," and Spencer saying, "Please don't talk about my mom right now. Please."
"Hey," said Ryan. "Hey. Fuck. Don't do that. Don't, OK? Jesus. Was it...? Fuck, Spence, it was like that?"
"No," Spencer whispered. There was a soft sound and Brendon was a little terrified to realize that Spencer was crying. He hadn't even known that it was physically possible for Spencer to cry.
Brendon pushed himself up on his elbows and held his breath and listened to Spencer's soft sobs and Ryan's tender, muffled words of comfort. His eyes were wide and he knew he shouldn't be listening, knew he should pull his pillow over his head and force himself to sleep, but he didn't understand what the hell was happening, what the hell was so wrong that Spencer--tough, smiling Spencer--had to climb into Ryan's bed and actually cry.
"Oh, my God," Spencer said after a few minutes. "Oh, God, I'm a fucking train wreck."
"Spence," Ryan whispered.
"It wasn't even, it was good," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It was. I don't know. Not perfect. You know I hate that word. But good. Really good."
"Lovely," said Ryan.
Spencer groaned, like the thought of whatever it was being lovely embarrassed him.
"Are you OK?"
"Apparently, I'm emotionally unstable."
"No. I mean."
"Oh," said Spencer. "Oh. God. No, I'm, I'm, no. No, I'm OK."
"OK."
"God."
"It wasn't painful?"
"No. I mean it was, just. I don't know. In a good way? I can't believe I'm telling you this."
"Who else are you going to tell?"
Spencer sighed and neither one of them said anything for a long time. Finally Spencer asked, "Can I sleep here tonight?"
"Of course you can, idiot."
There was nothing after that. Brendon pinched the inside of his arm to keep himself awake, just in case one of them decided to say anything else, but after about twenty minutes he heard Ryan's soft almost-snore and realized they were asleep and they weren't going to say anything that let him understand what the hell had just happened.
Three weeks later, Brendon's in the lounge fooling around on his guitar, picking out whatever melodies come into his head. He's hungry and he wishes he could go back to Baltimore where Torrey, Jon's middle school girlfriend, had cooked for them. She'd made lasagna and chili and cornbread and three different types of pie and Brendon had no idea why Jon hadn't just married her in sixth grade, though maybe her culinary skills hadn't been apparent at such a young age.
He thinks about the mixed berry pie, which had been his favorite, and the vanilla ice cream he'd allowed himself to eat with it, and how Torrey's brother had looked at Spencer almost the same way Brendon had been looking at the pie, and--
Brendon drops his guitar.
Ryan snaps his head up, startled at the noise. "The fuck, Brendon?" It's more of a complaint than a question, though.
"Sorry," Brendon says hastily. "Fuck. Fuck. Sorry." He picks the guitar up off the lounge floor and slides his hands over it, strums it once and it's out of tune a little bit but he doesn't think there's any real damage. His hands are shaking and he swallows hard and makes himself turn the pegs slowly, makes himself breathe in and out, because if he doesn't he's liable to do or say something really stupid, something like, "Jesus Christ, that night in Baltimore did Torrey's brother maybe fuck Spencer?"
He bites down on his tongue and says nothing and tries not to remember Ryan asking if it hurt and Spencer saying that it had, but in a good way. He keeps trying and failing to get the A string tuned and finally he just gives up and shoves the guitar back on its stand and goes to hide in his bunk, stomach sour and heart beating out of time.
It's not that he thinks less of Spencer or anything, because he totally doesn't. He'll be the first to admit that he was raised to think being gay was a terrible thing, but he doesn't think that anymore. He hasn't thought that way for a long time, pretty much since he found out Melissa Etheridge was a lesbian because, seriously, how could anyone not like Melissa Etheridge for any reason?
And it's not like he's mad at Spencer for not making some sweeping announcement to the other members of the band. It's not like it's any of their business who Spencer goes to bed with. He wonders if Jon knows, wonders if Spencer's told him. He wonders if he's the only one who doesn't know, wonders if he's giving off homophobic vibes or something. He's pretty fucking sure he's not, but sometimes the Mormon thing throws people even though he's totally not Mormon and hasn't been, not really, for a very long time.
He decides that's what's upsetting him, decides that he's just going to have to let Spencer know that he's OK with whoever Spencer is, that they're friends and Brendon's got his back no matter what.
That night they're still traveling and Spencer's curled up on the couch with his Sidekick, biting his lower lip as he reads his messages, smiling soft and happy, and Brendon wonders how he didn't notice before that Spencer was in love. Spencer's in love with Torrey's brother, Jasper, who was pretty fucking cool, actually. He and Brendon had spent nearly an hour talking about Iggy Pop and Anthony Kiedis and Pelle Almqvist and Roger Daltry.
Brendon says, "Tell Jasper he still owes me those Iggy Pop bootlegs," because that's what he does, speaks before he thinks. In this case, it works in his favor.
Spencer looks up at him with wide, startled eyes. Brendon grins and says, "I'm not actually retarded, you know."
Ryan doesn't look away from his notebook, but he snickers nonetheless.
Jon's lying on the floor watching the television at a fucked up angle and he rolls onto his stomach and says, "You're talking to Jasper? Hey, tell him I say hi."
Brendon thinks that maybe those subtlety lessons Ryan gave him have finally paid off. It's been nearly a year since Ryan got fed up and proclaimed Brendon a lost cause but, hey, sometimes he's just a slow learner. And now Brendon's mission has been accomplished; Spencer knows that Brendon knows and that Brendon's OK with it, so everything's back the way it should be. Only Brendon's not sure Jasper's the right guy for Spencer since, obviously, anyone who thinks that Liam Gallagher is the best frontman of all time is clinically insane.
"Not to talk shit about your boyfriend," Brendon says the next day as they wander the maze of corridors in the back of the venue looking for craft services.
"Oh my God," says Spencer. "Please don't say that out loud ever again."
"What? Talk shit?"
"No," Spencer snaps. "The other thing. Just. Call him by his name, OK? That's why he has one."
"Are you shy about the fact that you have a boyfriend, Spencer Smith?" Brendon asks, enjoying Spencer's discomfort way too much. It's nearly impossible to embarrass Spencer and he plans on taking full advantage of it.
"I don't," Spencer says. "It's not like, it was just." He sighs.
"Fine. So, not to talk shit about your not-boyfriend, but anyone who thinks Liam Gallagher is the greatest frontman of all time is clinically insane."
"Clearly," says Spencer. Then, "Wait. So Jasper thinks? Liam Gallagher? Really? Because he's, OK, top fifty, maybe, but come on. Robert Plant."
"That's what I said!" Brendon cries. They're at another dead end and he looks around and checks his phone. There's a weak signal, thankfully. A lot of times all the concrete and steel make cell phones useless. "Do you think we should call Jon and ask for directions?"
Spencer rolls his eyes. "You're such a girl sometimes," he says, walking back up the hall the way they'd come.
"I'm not the one people mistake for a lesbian!" Brendon calls after him, cackling when Spencer flips him the bird. He jogs to catch up with Spencer and says, "So. Not boyfriend?"
Spencer shrugs like it's not a big deal, but his cheeks are pink.
"I'm not Ryan, you know," Brendon says. "I'm not going to freak out if suddenly you're not totally together and in charge."
"He doesn't freak out," Spencer says.
"I've seen the thinly veiled panic on his face any time you're vulnerable."
"He just worries, is all."
"You can be vulnerable with me, Spencer Smith."
"Why do you always call me that?"
"I like the sibilance."
Spencer rolls his eyes and shakes his head and says, "Oh, hey, I think I smell food coming from this way," and Brendon's moment is lost.
Before the meet and greet, Brendon's trying to do anything he can think of to make Spencer blush. He says, "What about paramour, are you OK with the word paramour?"
Spencer shrugs. "It's a band name."
"Oh. Good point. So, lover then. Can I use the word lover?"
Spencer pretends to be very interested in the can of soda he's drinking.
"Or, maybe inamorato? That's kind of got a sexy ring to it."
"I hate you," says Spencer.
"Please stop pulling Spencer's pigtails," Ryan says from across the room.
"Spencer doesn't even have, ooh, hey, can I give you pigtails?" Brendon asks.
Spencer shrugs. "Whatever."
Brendon grins and pulls and sculpts Spencer's hair, runs off to find hair ties, then comes back and has to pull and sculpt it again, ending up with two tiny little pigtails at the nape of Spencer's neck.
"Hottest lesbian ever," says Brendon.
Spencer laughs easily.
"You're not scary at all, you know," Brendon tells him.
"Am I supposed to be?"
"You were. When I met you, you were terrifying."
That makes Spencer laugh again. Brendon tugs on one of his pigtails and Spencer bats his hand away but he's not really mad. Across the room, Ryan's watching them from beneath lowered eyelashes and he seems to be trying not to smile.
When Spencer's Sidekick beeps, Ryan rolls his eyes and goes back to his novel and Brendon says, "Give Jasper lots of kisses for me."
"Dude," says Jon. "Brendon. Please tell me you didn't make out with Jasper."
Spencer, Ryan, and Brendon laugh so hard that Ryan ends up sliding off his chair onto the floor and Spencer and Brendon cling to one another to stay upright while Jon says, "What? What did I say? Did you guys make fucking pot brownies and not give me any?"
That night's a hotel night, and Brendon's surprised when Spencer claims him in the name of five generations of Spencer James Smiths. He even has a flag. Or, you know, a bandanna. He probably claimed Brendon because he and Ryan had gotten into a slap fight earlier, but Brendon will take all the Spencer time he can get.
It's a mellow night and Brendon's pretty sure there's not even an afterparty anywhere. Not that he'd go. He's totally comfortable sprawled out on top of his comforter and periodically dropping Gushers into his mouth. Spencer's doing the same thing, minus the Gushers and plus his Sidekick. Brendon thinks that when they finally come out with cell phone implants, Spencer and Ryan will be two of the first to sign up.
"Did you see that girl who kept lifting her shirt up during Esteban?" Brendon asks. "That was. I kept trying not to look because I think maybe we'll all get arrested just for being in the same room with a fifteen year old girl who wants us to see her breasts."
Spencer laughs. "Is that the same girl that told Jon she wanted to rim him into oblivion?"
Brendon chokes on a Gusher, has to get up and get a drink of water from the tap. "Somebody actually said that to Jon?" he asks, dropping down next to Spencer on his bed.
"She was fifteen, man. Sixteen tops. I didn't even know what rimming was when I was sixteen."
"I don't even know what rimming is now."
Spencer laughs, and Brendon thinks that he likes it when Spencer laughs. He likes the sound of it, likes the way Spencer's skin flushes just a tiny bit, likes how happy and relaxed he sounds.
"It's when you lick somebody's asshole," Spencer tells him. "Or somebody licks yours."
"Huh," says Brendon. "And that's a good thing?"
"Apparently," Spencer says. He sighs. "I don't have a lot of experience when it comes to the whole dating thing."
"Are you coming to me for advice? Because you know I'll always listen to you but, um, the advice part? I'm not exactly qualified. You've met all three women I've dated in my entire life, and one of those I didn't even have sex with, and then another one I had kind of emotionally scarring sex with so, um. That might be too much information."
Spencer laughs and presses his face against Brendon's arm to muffle the sound. "Emotionally scarring?" he asks. "Do I...I don't think I want to know, but really?"
Brendon shrugs. "I maintain that no guy wants to hear the description of a woman's abortion while he's actually inside her."
"Jesus," says Spencer.
"The graphic description."
"Why would she...?"
"I think it was some sort of test. She was kind of. I think maybe half our entire relationship was based on her desire to shock me. Which was apparently really easy because I'm naïve."
"You're not naïve. The whole not knowing what rimming is thing aside."
"Sex with two people, Spencer. In my entire life. You can see how I'm unqualified to give advice."
"I don't need advice. If I needed advice I'd go to Ryan or Jon. Just. Maybe I want to talk to somebody who's not some sexual savant."
"Well, I am totally retarded when it comes to relationships." He sighs and gazes up at the ceiling. "Do you think maybe we fail at being decadent rock stars?"
"Considering the fact that I'm eighteen, sober, and not fucking two groupies right this second, I know I fail at being a decadent rock star."
"We could go find groupies. Unless. Are you and Jasper, is that like an exclusive thing?"
Spencer shrugs. "I don't know. We haven't really talked about it?" Brendon likes the way sometimes Spencer makes his sentences sound like questions.
"Do you want it to be an exclusive thing?"
Spencer sighs.
Brendon turns onto his side and rests his chin on Spencer's shoulder. "Is that a yes or a no?"
Spencer laughs and pushes Brendon's face away, "Tickles," he says, rubbing at his ear.
"Spence?"
"I don't know. It's hard."
Brendon raises his eyebrows and lifts his head, pointedly looks down at Spencer's crotch.
"Not, God, you're such a perv all the time," Spencer says. He shoves at Brendon but he's laughing. He's laughing and his face is flushed and his smile is pretty much the most gorgeous thing Brendon's ever seen and oh. Oh.
Brendon rolls off Spencer's bed, onto his feet, and flops onto his own bed in one smooth motion. He tries to make it seem like he did it because Spencer was pushing him and not at all because he's just had an epiphany.
"It's difficult," Spencer says. "I never see him. I mean, I've only seen him twice ever, at Torrey's house that one time and then when he came to see us in Atlanta."
"He came to see us in Atlanta?" Brendon asks. He thinks he remembers Atlanta, thinks maybe that was the night that Eric got the hiccups halfway through the first set.
"And we talk on the phone and text all the time, but I don't know. I don't know if I like him because of who he is or just because he's the first guy who ever liked me back."
Brendon rolls onto his stomach, kicks the covers down enough that he can get his cold feet beneath them. "I'll bet lots of guys have liked you back," he says.
Spencer scoffs, and that's something Brendon already knew, the way Spencer thinks he's unattractive, the way Spencer always compares himself to other guys and somehow thinks he comes up short.
"Not even kidding," Brendon says, and maybe his voice is shaking a little bit because this is huge. This is probably the most important thing he's ever realized about himself, maybe even more important than admitting that he no longer believed in God. He's in the middle of the biggest epiphany of his entire life and it's such a quiet, normal moment and Spencer's right there in the same room and he doesn't even know, can't even tell that Brendon's world has just split open.
Spencer climbs under his covers and reaches out to turn off the light. He says, "I think maybe I like him more than he likes me."
"Spencer," Brendon whispers. He doesn't know what else to say. He can't say what he's thinking because it freaks him out too much even when it's just in his own head. He might have a panic attack if he actually says, I think I'm into guys. I think I'm into you.
"Don't tell me I'm imagining it," Spencer says. "Don't try to make me feel better by lying. I'm just a kid to him, you know? And I think maybe the only reason he's even a little interested, still, is because of the band."
"That's really fucked up," Brendon says. He doesn't know why anyone wouldn't love Spencer, his smile and his laugh and his sharp, wicked humor.
"And I wanted to, you said you can't give advice but maybe you can better than anyone because when you were with her, did you feel like that? Like if you'd just been yourself, if you hadn't ever gotten up on stage, that maybe she wouldn't be with you at all?"
"Yeah," Brendon says honestly. He knows it, now, that she never would have looked at him twice otherwise.
"I'm going to break up with him." Spencer's voice is soft.
"I'm sorry."
Spencer sighs. "Thanks."
After he breaks up with Jasper, Spencer doesn't spend as much time gazing out the window and smiling as he used to. He doesn't curl up on the couch with his Sidekick and pull on his hair and look flushed and happy anymore. It makes Brendon a little sad even though he knows it's probably for the best.
If you weren't looking, you probably couldn't even tell that Spencer had changed. If you weren't looking, you probably couldn't tell that Brendon had changed, either.
In Boise, he kisses one of the venue's security guards, lets the guy press him up against the rough cement wall and grind against him until they both come in their pants. Brendon excuses himself quickly afterwards and hurries to the bathroom to mop up the mess and thinks that Lisa, their wardrobe lady, is probably not paid enough for all the stuff she has to put up with.
In Minneapolis, he makes out with a random guy in a broom closet at the after party but stops it before things get to coming-in-your-pants territory.
In Wisconsin, he jerks off one of the sound techs and comes to the conclusion that it's not a fluke; he really is into guys.
Every time he looks at Spencer, his chest gets tight and it's a little hard to breathe. He's pretty sure that's not a fluke, either.
"So, um," he says, sitting next to Jon in the bus's lounge the next day. Jon's tuning his acoustic bass, his ear close to the sound hole, his left arm stretched out along the length of the neck, fingers gentle on the pegs.
"The D's still flat," Jon says.
"Here." Brendon moves Jon's fingers away, turns the peg just a tiny bit. "Try it now."
"Still flat," says Jon.
"I think I'm into dudes," Brendon tells him, turning the peg a little more.
"Now it's sharp."
"Jon," Brendon says. "I'm having a moment here. Were you listening to me tell you that I think I'm probably gay?"
Jon lifts his head up and looks at Brendon. He blinks. "Is that?" he asks. "Is that a new thing? Because I just always thought..."
Brendon swallows hard.
"No?" Jon asks.
"New to me," Brendon says. "You really thought...?"
"I don't know," Jon says. "I thought it was a possibility."
"Oh."
"Bden, dude, come on. It's not like it matters. You know that, right?"
He nods. He knows that in theory.
"So, thank you. For trusting me with that."
He says, "I think I'm in love with Spencer."
Jon blinks.
"Please don't tell anyone I told you that."
"Yeah," says Jon. "Yeah. OK. Just. You should maybe not..."
"I'm not stupid," Brendon says. "I'm not going to do anything about it. I just wanted to say it out loud at least once."
"OK," Jon says.
Brendon sits back on the couch and sighs. "Wanna play Grand Theft Auto?" he asks.
"I'm kind of trying to be nonviolent lately," Jon admits. "So, um, Mario Brothers?"
"Yeah," Brendon says. "OK."
He thinks it's better now that he's actually told somebody. He thinks he can probably get over it now that he's not trying so hard to keep it inside.
That night, Spencer's curled up on the couch in the lounge with his Sidekick but it isn't open. He keeps sliding his thumb over the side and sighing softly and then putting it down and pretending to watch Breakin'. It had been Jon's turn to pick the movie.
Ryan's not even pretending to be interested in the movie. He's sitting with his back to the television, reading a novel narrated by a hunchback dwarf. He looks up every now and then with a sour look on his face. At first Brendon thinks maybe it's because of the book, since he'd read a little bit over Ryan's shoulder but gave up when the conjoined piano-playing twins were forcibly married to a man who'd somehow lost most of his face.
Then Spencer picks up his Sidekick again and checks to see if he has any messages, sighs, puts it back down and looks totally miserable and Brendon pushes up off his chair and settles on the couch next to Spencer.
"Five greatest drummers of all time," he says. "I submit, as number five, Bob Bruford of Yes. Number four is Ginger Baker of Cream. Three is Keith Moon, two is Jon Bonham, and one is Neal Pert."
"Wait," says Spencer. "Five greatest drummers of all time or five greatest rock drummers of all time? Because if it's both jazz and rock drummers and you don't have Buddy Rich on your list, you're sort of an idiot."
"Rock drummers," says Brendon. He sees Ryan smiling from behind his book.
"And you didn't put Charlie Watts in the top five?" Spencer asks. After that, Brendon gets a half hour lecture on the perfection of Charlie Watts' technique which somehow segues into how underrated Def Leppard is and how Stewart Copeland may be a pretentious douche but, really, it's not like anyone can even come close to Sting on the pretentious douche scale and it's a wonder Andy Summers didn't kill them both.
Then Jon jumps into the conversation with the observation that douchey as they may be, Sting and Stewart Copeland made up a rhythm section second to none in the rock industry. Spencer comes back with the combination of Flea and Chad Smith, and Brendon grins and just listens, is glad to see Spencer animated and smiling again.
"Thank you," Ryan mouths at Brendon as Spencer demonstrates the drum line from Higher Ground. Jon stretches out on his back and plays accompanying air bass, and after a second Brendon can't stand it and he belts out, "People! Keep on learning!" while jumping to his feet and doing his best Anthony Kiedis impersonation. Ryan doesn't join in on air guitar, just watches them with a smile on his face and calls them idiots, but he says it fondly.
Brendon watches state after state pass by, spends so many nights in the bus that he's off kilter when he has to sleep in an actual bed and can't hear the sound or feel the sway of the road beneath him. Some days he thinks he going to go crazy, cooped up in the bus, and some days he just surrenders to the drone of the asphalt beneath the tires and leans his head on his arms and gazes out the window.
He's got his head on his arms, but he's nearly asleep when Spencer touches his shoulder. "Hey," Spencer says softly. "Hey, Brendon, look."
Brendon opens his eyes, and in the lane next to them is a giant fiberglass chicken and three smaller fiberglass rabbits being hauled on the flatbed of a semi. He sits up and tips his head, looks at it for a long while. "Huh," he says.
"I know, right?" Spencer asks.
Brendon grins and settles his chin back on his arms. "Thanks," he says. He loves stuff like that, loves the half-finished stories they see every day if they bother to pay attention.
They pull off for dinner just a few minutes later, and on their way into town they pass a giant fiberglass statue of a man on a Victorian bicycle, the kind with the huge front wheel. "That's awesome," Spencer says.
Brendon nods in agreement and rubs his eyes sleepily and when the bus pulls into a diner parking lot, he's the first one out the door. He's not too sure about their choice of eating establishments once they get into the diner. It's clean and the staff seems friendly enough, but it smells like everything's fried and he hates it when there's nothing on the menu he can get besides salad and French fries.
"Um," he says as he looks over the menu the middle-aged waitress just gave him. "Do you have anything without meat in it?"
"Sure," she says, pointing. "We've got tuna salad and and tuna melt, catch of the day is walleye--"
"I should have been more specific," he says. "I'm vegan, so..."
The waitress, whose name is Dianne if her nametag is correct, looks at him like he's speaking a foreign language. She looks at Spencer, next, then Jon. She seems to be avoiding Ryan, who's wearing smudged black eyeliner, fingerless satin gloves, one of Spencer's pink t-shirts, and a grey blazer with white piping. In summer. He's also got on a pair of rhinestone-studded sunglasses, but he's pushed them up on his head to keep his bangs out of his eyes.
"The rest of us will be getting red meat," Spencer says to her. "Brendon's just weird about food. Do you have anything without any animal products in it? No meat or fish or eggs or cheese, that sort of thing?"
She says, "I'll check with John in the kitchen."
Spencer says, "Ask if he's got any veggie burgers in the freezer. Also, I know it's not on the menu, but if he could just make a sandwich with a whole lot of vegetables on it and maybe some Italian dressing, that would totally work, too."
Brendon says, "I'm not weird about food. It's for my voice."
Dianne ignores that and takes their drink order before heading to her next table.
"I'm not weird about food," Brendon says.
Spencer sighs and shakes his head. "It was a gross oversimplification to avoid terrorizing the waitress while simultaneously getting her to find something good you can eat."
"Oh," says Brendon.
"Dude," says Jon. "I could eat, like, seven cheeseburgers right now. Are you sure you don't want a cheeseburger, Brendon?"
"I'm sure," he says. He misses cheese. He sometimes misses meat, but then he just watches clips online of how the cows are handled and slaughtered and he doesn't miss meat at all.
Spencer says, "Do not tell us about how cows are slaughtered."
"I wasn't going to," Brendon says, though he maybe kind of was.
He ends up with a pretty decent sandwich, though he does have to peel a slice of American cheese off it, which Ryan willingly takes for his cheeseburger.
"Wait," says Jon when they're halfway through dinner. "Doesn't bread have, like, eggs and stuff in it?"
"I'm not that good of a vegan," Brendon admits and Spencer grins and kicks him under the table. Brendon smiles at his sandwich and kicks Spencer back.
They walk down to the giant bicycle statue after dinner with Zack displeased and watching the empty streets around them with wary eyes. Jon takes pictures of the statue, then wanders off to take pictures of the strip of gravel between the grass and the pavement. Brendon watches him for a while, tries to see what Jon sees but can't, not really.
The grass in the park next to the giant bicycle statue is soft and thickly green. Brendon challenges Ryan to a cartwheel contest, but they're only six cartwheels in when Ryan flops down on the grass and says, "Ugh. Cheeseburger." He rubs his stomach and puts his sunglasses on even though it's getting towards dusk.
"Cheeseburger, cheeseburger!" Brendon cries like John Belushi in that old Saturday Night Live skit. He does another cartwheel and then a back flip for good measure, and flops down next to Ryan. The stars aren't out yet, but he can see Venus shining in the east. "Venus if you will," he sings softly, "please send a little girl for me to thrill. A girl who wants my kisses and my arms, a girl with all the charms of you."
Ryan hums along, joins in during the chorus. Spencer steps over Ryan, then over Brendon, sits next to Brendon's hips and plucks up a thick blade of grass. He steadies it between his thumbs and blows, accompanying Brendon's Venus rendition with a reedy squeak.
All three of them laugh at the sound, and Spencer stretches out in the grass next to Brendon. He says, "Make a wish on the first star."
"That's actually Venus," Brendon says.
"Fine. Make a wish on Venus, ass."
Brendon grins and closes his eyes and makes a wish. He always makes the same wish, on stars or birthdays or in front of sparkling fountains; he wishes for everyone he loves to have a happy life.
"Jon," Ryan calls. "Jon, you're missing out on quality bonding time. We're feeling neglected."
Brendon hears someone crash to the ground on the other side of Ryan, then hears Jon saying, "What are we doing?"
"Watching the stars come out," Ryan says, as if that's obvious.
"Y'all are going to be covered in mosquito bites tomorrow," Zack says, and Brendon doesn't have to look to know he's shaking his head sadly.
Brendon keeps his eyes closed, would rather just lie there and enjoy the stillness and silence than watch the sky turn from blue to purple to black. He can tell, though, can sense when the light on the other side of his eyelids has mostly gone.
"We should get a move on," Zack says.
"Ten more minutes," says Ryan.
Zack sighs but he doesn't argue. Brendon listens to the crunch of his feet on the grass as he walks away, probably to make sure the perimeter is secure. For as silly as Zack is most days, he really does keep them safe.
Brendon feels Spencer's fingers brush against his and he doesn't yank his hand away even though he wants to. He keeps his hand where it is and tries to think of what he'd do before, back when he didn't like boys that way and Spencer was just a friend. He thinks he probably would have held Spencer's hand, but that's too dangerous, now.
Spencer's fingers brush against Brendon's a couple more times before Brendon realizes that it's intentional. He opens his eyes and turns his head, and in the dim light from the streetlamp he can just barely make out Spencer's features, his eyes closed, lashes casting dark shadows on his cheeks, lower lip caught between his teeth.
Brendon slides his hand over, slips his palm against Spencer's and interlaces their fingers. He squeezes once, gently. Spencer takes a deep breath and it shakes a little on the exhale. He strokes his thumb slowly over Brendon's, back and forth and back again. This time Brendon takes the shaky breath. Spencer opens his eyes and looks over at Brendon and Brendon smiles. Spencer looks unsure for a moment, then smiles back and it's all Brendon can do not to push himself up and climb over Spencer and kiss him until they're both breathless.
"Hey," Spencer says, barely a whisper.
"Hey," Brendon says. He pulls his hand out of Spencer's grasp just enough so that he can drag his fingertips against the calluses at the top of Spencer's palm. He can tell that Spencer's looking at his mouth, so he slides his tongue over his lower lip and watches Spencer bite his own lip in return.
"It's been ten minutes," Zack says. "We really do have to get moving."
"Fascist," Ryan grumbles, but he holds his arms up so Zack can help him to his feet and then just laughs when Zack slings him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Jon follows, taking pictures of them, the flash bright and startling in the darkness.
"Hey, up," says Spencer. He stands first, doesn't let go of Brendon's hand, though, pulls him up until he's standing.
"No dawdling," Zack calls over his shoulder.
Brendon laughs and squeezes Spencer's hand, then lets go. They walk shoulder to shoulder on the way back to the bus, though, and as they're waiting for Jon to climb the stairs, Spencer lays his chin on Brendon's shoulder and breathes warm against his neck.
In the lounge, there's nowhere to sit except on the same couch as Spencer. Brendon wants to sit right next to him, wants to drape himself over Spencer and play with his hair and kiss his mouth, but instead he sits on the far end of the couch. Spencer tugs on his hair and looks away. Brendon stays still for a moment, is afraid if he scoots over that it will be obvious. He leans over and scoops up Spencer's feet, pulls him until his legs are across the couch and his feet are in Brendon's lap. He takes Spencer's shoes off and sets them carefully beneath the table next to him, rubs the arch of Spencer's foot with his thumbs.
He wants to say something but he doesn't know what. He stares at the television and doesn't even know what the movie they're watching is supposed to be about. Ryan heads to bed first, followed by Spencer about half an hour later. Brendon wants to tell him no, to stay up, to wait Jon out, but he doesn't. He just watches the end of the movie, still not sure what it's about, then goes to bed. He wants Spencer's partition to be cracked but it's not, it's pulled shut tightly and there's no sound from behind it. He gets ready for bed and climbs into his bunk and pulls the partition closed and stares up at the underside of Ryan's bunk, trying to get to sleep.
The next day is a flurry of activity, a radio show in the morning and a signing at a record store after that, a quick lunch and then across town to do another interview. He thinks that if another reporter asks him if growing up LDS was the same as growing up in a cult, he'll scream. He's only just started talking to his family again. He doesn't want to hash out his shit online or in the pages of somebody's magazine.
Then it's back to the venue for the sound check and then another interview and the meet and greet and finally the show. He kind of forgets that he's trying to get a second alone with Spencer, is so busy that all he can think about is what he's doing that very second. That's maybe a good thing, though, since the auditorium's sold out and he has to stand up in front of thousands of people and perform without anything distracting him from his job.
Distraction finds him, though. It's nothing he's ever really paid attention to before, the drums in the bridge of Sins before he jumps back into the verse. Usually he uses the break as a chance for water, but as he's cracking open a bottle he glances up at Spencer, who's looking right back at him, flushed and sweating, breathing deeply through his mouth as he continues his persistent rhythm on the floor tom. He bites his lower lip as he looks at Brendon, hits the ride and looks away as if it's too much. Brendon can suddenly feel the rhythm of the drums all through his body, can feel the vibrations as if they're Spencer's hands on his skin.
He nearly misses his cue, comes in just on time and feels like he's playing catch up for the rest of the song. Then, God, they play Tonight, Tonight and he has to sit there at the piano with Spencer's drums right beside him, Spencer playing that intense ostinato that seeps into his bones while Brendon sings lyrics of urgent love and change and need.
After the show he's wired and vaguely ill, the way he gets when he's had too much caffeine. He takes first shower even though Jon called it, and he must look out of sorts to everyone because no one complains. After he's toweled off and dressed, he can't quite catch his breath. He presses his lips together and swallows over and over again. He can't sit still, and when he tries he can't keep his leg from jiggling. He decides to walk it out, but it makes him feel like he wants to run.
"Brendon," Zack says, all grim concern. "What's going on?"
Brendon shakes his head. "Nothing." He waits for Zack to call him a spaz or tell him he needs to start taking his Ritalin again, but all he gets is Zack's serious face, the one that means something's wrong.
"What did you take?" Zack asks softly. His hand is gentle on Brendon's face as he tips it up to look at his eyes. "Bden, seriously, you know you can't just take shit people give you."
He shakes his head again. "I didn't," he says.
Zack frowns. He was the one who had to talk Brendon down the one and only time he tried coke. He doesn't seem to have forgotten that.
"I think Spencer and I might have sex," he says, and if his traitorous mouth is just going to spill the truth to everyone who asks, he might as well just make up some flyers.
Zack, to his credit, doesn't look shocked. He looks a little concerned, but he doesn't look shocked.
Brendon puts his hands over his face. "I think maybe I just need to sleep," he says. "Is there a car heading to the hotel soon?"
"I'll get you one," Zack says, and pulls out his radio.
In his hotel room, Brendon's suitcase is laid neatly on a stand at the foot of one of the beds. He doesn't miss the fact that the suitcase at the foot of the other bed is Spencer's. He thinks he's going to change into his pajamas, but after he opens his suitcase he just stands there looking down at his clothes for a long time.
He closes his eyes when he hears the lock on the door click open. He recognizes the sound of Spencer's footsteps.
"Hey," Spencer says softly, coming up behind Brendon. "You OK?"
He nods as he feels Spencer's hands on his hips, feels Spencer's fingers slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt to stroke the skin. "Do you claim me in the name of five generations of Spencer James Smiths?" he asks. He wants it to be a joke, but the words come out shaky and unsure.
"No," Spencer says, kissing the back of Brendon's neck. "Just the current generation."
"So," he says. "Um."
"Um?" Spencer asks. His fingertips are stroking up and down Brendon's belly, along the line of hair beneath his navel.
"Are we going to do the sex thing now?" Brendon asks. He can feel Spencer smile against the back of his neck. "Because I'm. I should probably tell you that I haven't really done, um, much. With guys. I've done some, because I thought I should probably check to make sure it was what I really wanted, and it is, just. I haven't. I don't really know what I'm."
"Brendon," Spencer says gently. He pushes against one of Brendon's hips and pulls on the other and Brendon turns to face him. His eyes are still closed. "We don't have to do anything," Spencer says, and Brendon tips his face up for a kiss.
It's not weird at all, kissing Spencer. He thought it might be. He thought maybe he'd freak out or hate it or it wouldn't be good. It feels totally natural, though. It feels fantastic, Spencer's arms around his waist, pulling him in close, Spencer's tongue hot and slick against his own.
"I think," Spencer whispers after a moment. "I think maybe we should go slow. We have time."
Brendon nods. "Yeah."
Spencer kisses Brendon one more time, then pulls back. His cheeks are flushed and Brendon smiles. "Are you blushing?" he asks.
"Shut up," says Spencer. He grabs boxers and a t-shirt out of his bag and says, "I'm gonna get ready for bed." He heads to the bathroom to change, even though any other night he and Brendon would have just gotten undressed in front of one another.
Brendon strips down quickly and pulls on his flannel pajama bottoms. He doesn't usually sleep with a shirt on, but he pulls a white t-shirt on over his head anyway, then climbs into bed. He feels like his entire body is vibrating. He closes his eyes and breathes in slowly the way Jon taught him. He makes his exhale as long as possible, then breathes in again. Thirty eight inhales later and he hears the bathroom door open. He hears Spencer flip the light switch, can tell that the room's gone dark even though his eyes are closed.
He opens his eyes when he feels the bed shift, when he realizes that Spencer's climbing in next to him.
"We're just sleeping," Spencer tells him as he stretches out beneath the covers.
"OK," says Brendon. He can do that. He can just sleep next to Spencer. Sure. No problem. "Sleeping and cuddles?" he asks. His mouth really needs to stop doing that whole speaking without permission thing.
Spencer laughs softly and turns, pulls Brendon towards him, and that's actually a lot less nerve wracking than just lying in bed next to Spencer. Brendon's kind of a whore for cuddles so it feels normal and innocent and like any other night. Almost. Any other night and Spencer would have acted like letting Brendon cuddle up to him was an imposition. Now, though, Spencer just relaxes against him and slides his fingers through Brendon's hair and kisses Brendon's temple, right near the corner of his eye.
He falls asleep like that, warm and cradled against Spencer's chest. He wakes up hard and grinding against Spencer's thigh, doesn't quite know what's going on for a moment except for that he's really, really turned on. He slides his hand into Spencer's boxers and has his hand around Spencer's dick before he realizes that he's not dreaming. "Oh," he whispers and starts to pull away.
Spencer's awake. Spencer puts his hand on Brendon's shoulder and says, "No, it's good."
"Yeah?" he asks.
"Yeah," Spencer says. He slides Brendon's t-shirt off, reaches for the tie of his pajama pants.
They get naked quickly and Brendon decides that he wants to be half asleep and warm and touching as much of Spencer's skin as he can for the rest of his life. Their cocks brush together and that's awesome, amazing, makes him shudder and climb over Spencer so he can do it again on purpose.
That turns out to be a fantastic idea, especially with the kissing and the soft, needy noises Spencer's making in the back of his throat. Spencer raises one of his legs and wraps it around Brendon's waist, uses it to pull Brendon down with more force, and Brendon thinks that Spencer's pretty much a genius. It's not long before his coming, shaking and biting at Spencer's throat and Spencer's not far behind and his choked-back moan is pretty much the hottest thing Brendon's heard in his entire life.
He rolls onto his back and they breathe for a long time. Brendon finds Spencer's hand with his own and slides their fingers together and he grins and Spencer laughs softly.
"So, um," Brendon says after a while. Their palms are sweaty but it doesn't make him want to let go of Spencer's hand. "How was I at the whole sex thing? Does what we just did even count as a sex thing?"
"I've got your spunk cooling on my stomach right now," Spencer tells him. "It counts."
"Awesome," says Brendon.
Spencer pulls his hand away and Brendon's about to protest before he realizes that Spencer's just pushing himself up to lean over Brendon and gaze down at him. "Was that?" he asks. "You've done that before. Right?"
"Of course," Brendon tells him. "I mean, if you count sleeping with one girl two times and another girl five times and giving a guy a hand job one time in Milwaukee, then, yes. Yes, I've done this before."
Spencer looks down at him with fond exasperation and Brendon's smiling back up at him when they kiss.
It's edging towards dawn, light dull and gray as it comes around the sides of the curtains. They stretch out facing one another, Brendon unable to keep his hands off Spencer's skin, unable to keep from leaning forward for more kisses.
"We should talk about this," Spencer says.
Brendon considers feigning sleep.
"I kind of. The last guy I dated, I just kind of. I don't know. Jumped into it. And I know we can't really do that because we've known each other for so long already. Just. I never really told him what I wanted or what I was looking for, thought that somehow I'd just get what I wanted without having to say it. And he was kind of a dick, but still. I should have said it. Because I'm not, I can't just sleep around. I've tried and it's just not me. So."
Brendon can tell Spencer's blushing and it makes him kiss Spencer over and over again.
"Are you saying you want to be my boyfriend, Spencer Smith?" he asks.
Spencer twists and scoots down on the bed, covers his face with his hands. "Maybe," he whispers. He peeks through his fingers. "Can we not call it that, though?"
"Can I be your inamorato?" Brendon asks. "If you say yes, I'm actually going to make you call me that. Fair warning."
"How about, um, friend?" Spencer asks. "We can be good friends."
Brendon shakes his head. "Lame. Jon's your friend. Zack's your friend. I'm your...naked friend. You can call me your naked friend."
"Guy I'm seeing?" Spencer offers. "Is that. Are we seeing each other now?"
Brendon sweeps his eyes down Spencer's body, grins. "I'm certainly seeing a lot of you," he says. "I like naked friends, though. I won't make you call me your naked friend in public as long as we agree that we can be naked friends."
"Who maybe, um, don't get naked with other people."
Brendon slides down on the bed, slings his arm over Spencer's hips. "Yeah," he says, nuzzling against Spencer's cheek. "That sounds good."
They sleep tangled up and they wake tangled up with both their phones going off because they're late. They shower together, quickly, kiss but nothing else, make it back to the bus in time for people to be annoyed but for nobody to really be mad.
The bus takes them out of the city and across flat, Midwestern plains again. Brendon gazes out the window and Spencer sits next to him and rubs the small of his back and Brendon's never enjoyed just being silent so much with anybody before.
Two days later he hears Ryan's voice indistinct but amused, hears Spencer saying, "Oh my God, please shut up, I'm begging you," and Brendon knows they're talking about him. Later when they're all watching Joe Dirt, another one of Jon's so bad they're good movie picks, Brendon looks up at see Ryan gazing at him. He starts to offer a smile, but then Ryan grins in a slightly terrifying way and very slowly draws his pointer finger across his throat. Brendon swallows hard and looks over at Spencer, who simply reaches out and slaps Ryan in the back of the head.
Then Spencer shifts and pulls Brendon close to him. Brendon smiles and willingly accept Spencer's snuggles, watches the movie through half-closed eyes as Spencer's fingers trail slowly up and down his arm.
Ryan rolls his eyes and goes back to his book, this time something about a whole bunch of people locked in quarantine who have a virus that makes them all go blind. Brendon had read the back cover and decided that nothing good could come of a whole bunch of blind people locked up with no one to take care of them.
"Hotel night tomorrow," Spencer whispers in Brendon's ear.
Brendon's skin flushes with just the thought of it, an entire night of privacy where he and Spencer can get naked and make out and do more totally amazing sex stuff. He tips his face up and Spencer kisses him. Ryan makes a disgusted noise, but Brendon doesn't care and Spencer doesn't seem to, either, just deepens the kiss and Brendon can taste Diet Coke on his tongue.
"Um," Jon says suddenly. "Um, guys, are you? Ryan, are they...?"
"Yes," Ryan says wearily.
Brendon pulls away from Spencer just a little bit and smiles at him. Spencer smiles back, soft and happy.
"How long?" Jon asks.
"Since the day they met," says Ryan.
Spencer says, "Oh, God, please shut up," and hides his face against Brendon's neck.
Brendon strokes Spencer's cheek and whispers against his temple. "I've liked you for a really long time, too." He doesn't think he was interested in Spencer from the day they met, but he might have been if he'd known himself well enough at sixteen to know he was gay.
"Huh," says Jon. Then he turns back to the movie and laughs at the part with the alligator, and Brendon kind of loves that about him, the way he takes everything in stride.
"When I met you," Brendon whispers, nuzzling against Spencer's hair. "When I met you, I thought you hated me."
"I didn't," Spencer says. He runs his hand up and down Brendon's arm.
"Guys," says Jon. "This is the best part. Come on. You can't talk through Joe Dirt."
Spencer laughs and lifts his head, then he's pulling Brendon up off the couch and through the lounge and into Brendon's bunk. Brendon laughs as they kiss and tangle together and knock his Jane Austen action figure off her shelf.
"I thought you were cute," Spencer admits in a low whisper once they've situated themselves on their sides, limbs intertwined. "Ryan could tell. He mocked me pretty much nonstop."
"I didn't know," Brendon says.
"I didn't want you to know. And you were straight, so, whatever. It wasn't like I even had a crush on you. I just wasn't blind."
"I was pretty much convinced that if I fucked up, you'd kill me in my sleep."
Spencer laughs and Brendon wants to make him laugh like that for the rest of his life, holds on tight, and the last thing he sees before he falls asleep is Spencer's smile.