Patd fic -- An Echo in So Much Space -- NC-17 -- Brendon/Spencer

[sneaky_sena]

Title: An Echo in So Much Space
Author: sneaky_sena
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer (some Brendon/OMC)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Brendon doesn't mean to do it. Spencer means to say no.
Word Count: ~11,000
Disclaimer: No they did not.

It's hot in the club and Spencer's bored, annoyed at the way Ryan and Keltie are so fucking in love and Jon's texting Cassie and smiling to himself and everywhere Spencer looks there are couples holding each other and kissing and being happy and he's really, really not in the mood. He steals Ryan's cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. Ryan barely even notices, just glances at Spencer for a split second before gazing back at Keltie and smiling his stupid, madly-in-love grin.

Not that Spencer begrudges him that. He totally doesn't. He's relieved and amazed by how happy Ryan is now--he hadn't even known it was possible. He just. He doesn't need to see it all the fucking time. He doesn't need to see people happy and in love everywhere he turns.

He heads out the back door of the club and the scent of the dumpsters is unpleasant, but he steps away from it and lights a cigarette and is just exhaling when he hears a scuffle from the other side of the dumpsters and a man's voice deep and angry, shouting, "Fucking faggot!"

The alley's dark, but Spencer can still see a man falling, collapsing to the pavement, curling in on himself like he's expecting the kick that comes just a second later.

"Hey!" Spencer shouts, moving forward. He's not tough, not really, but he talks a good game and his intimidating voice and body language has worked well enough since he was in his early teens. "The fuck's your problem, asshole?" he demands.

The guy on the other side of the dumpster has his pants undone, is buttoning them up quickly, and while he might be man enough to beat on the guy who just sucked him off, he doesn't seem to want to face Spencer's rage. He backs up, then turns and hurries out of the alley and Spencer sighs and says, "You all right, man?"

He's turning and starting to crouch down to see how badly the guy on the pavement is hurt when he realizes that, fuck, it's not just some random dude. It's Brendon. It's Brendon sitting up slowly, arm wrapped around his waist, hand pressed tight against his ribs. Spencer's heart stutters in his chest for a moment and he doesn't know what the fuck to say.

"How'd you know I was out here?" Brendon asks. His voice is rough, partly because he's upset and partly because, fuck, he just had some guy's cock down his throat.

"Lucky guess," Spencer says. He squats down next to Brendon and offers him the cigarette. Brendon takes it and his hand's shaking. Spencer sighs.

"Don't," Brendon whispers after he exhales. "Don't tell anyone."

"I won't," Spencer says. He doesn't even have to think about it. Of course he won't tell. He reaches out to wipe the blood off the corner of Brendon's mouth, then realizes that his thumb comes away sticky not only with blood but also with the closet case's semen. He tries not to wince as he wipes his hand on the pavement. "Come on," he says, helping Brendon to his feet "Let's get the fuck out of here. I'll call a cab."

"I don't mean to," Brendon says, leaning heavily on Spencer. He's really drunk, gets weepy sometimes when he's really drunk. "I don't mean to, Spence, I just, it just happens, OK? I'm sorry."

"Hey," Spencer says as he helps Brendon down the alley. "Don't worry about it, OK?"

"I just, sometimes I just have to, you know? Sometimes I just need it and then, fuck, I'm so sorry. You can't tell anyone. Promise me, all right? Promise me you won't tell?"

"I promise," Spencer says softly as he pulls out his phone and calls Zack who will send them a cab. Zack says, "What's wrong with Bden?" and Spencer just says, "He's drunk and a little sick and I don't want to drag him back inside to get the keys from Jon."

"I know I'm sick," Brendon says miserably against Spencer's neck after he hangs up with Zack. He's smaller than Spencer, but he's still heavy when he's drunk and leaning against Spencer with his full weight. "I know it's fucked up and sick but sometimes I can't help it and then stuff like this happens and I know I deserve it but I--"

"Brendon," Spencer says, moving Brendon so he's leaning against the building. "You're not sick, all right? Whatever you want to do, that's fine. Just maybe, I don't know, let me know next time."

"Really?" Brendon asks.

"Yes, really." Spencer doesn't know exactly what he's going to do, stand outside the room or the alley to make sure Brendon doesn't get beat up? Interview potential flings of Brendon's to see whether or not they're violent closet cases? He doesn't know what he'll do, but he'll figure something out. He always does.

Brendon curls up against Spencer on the ride back to the hotel, curls up as small as he can, still shaking a little bit, whispering, "I'm sorry," over and over again. Spencer sighs and strokes Brendon's hair and tells him it's all right.

Even though Brendon's never actually come out and said it in so many words, Spencer already knew he was into guys. They all knew Brendon was into guys. It just wasn't anything they talked about. And Spencer didn't care, knew Ryan and Jon didn't care, knew that nobody actually cared, they just never talked about it because Brendon never talked about it.

Spencer always assumed Brendon never talked about it just because he wasn't ready to talk about it. Now, though, as he helps Brendon up to the room and fends off Zack's concern about Brendon's split lip--He's really drunk, Zack, he fell straight over, just faceplanted, man, I need to get him into bed--Spencer thinks maybe it's something else. Maybe Brendon doesn't talk about it because he thinks it's something to be ashamed of, and that's fucked up.

Spencer texts Jon, u ok to crash w eric 2nite? Bdens sick so il stay w him, while Brendon goes to take a shower. He gets a text back within a minute, Jon saying yes, of course he'll trade rooms. None of Jon's things are unpacked so Spencer takes them across the hall to his room, grabs his suitcase and brings it back to Brendon's room. Zack's door is propped open and he leans out to look at Spencer for a long minute.

Spencer drops his suitcase inside Brendon's room and looks back at Zack.

"How bad did the guy hurt him?" Zack asks softly, and Spencer's more surprised than he should be when he realizes that Zack knows exactly what happened, has probably known that Brendon slipped off with guys sometimes ever since Brendon started doing it.

"He's fine," Spencer says softly. He lets the suitcase keep the door propped open, goes to hand over the keycard to his old room. "Jon's switching with me so I can keep an eye on him."

Zack nods.

"I'm going to keep a better eye on him from now on," Spencer says and Zack nods again. Spencer doesn't know what else to say so he just heads back to the room. The shower's running and Spencer sits down on the end of his bed and stares at the TV. He thinks about turning it on, then gets up and grabs the ice bucket and wanders down the hall looking for the vending machines. He actually has to go down two flights to get to the ice machine, and when he gets back to the room, Brendon's curled up on his bed.

Spencer makes an ice pack with the complimentary shower cap and wraps it in a hand towel.

"Here," Spencer says, sitting on the edge of the bed where Brendon's just lying there, not moving. It's strange to see him so still. He presses the ice pack to Brendon's lower lip.

Brendon winces and pulls away, but he takes the pack from Spencer's hand and whispers, "Thanks," before pressing it against his lip again. "I'm so sorry," he sighs.

Spencer sighs and strokes Brendon's hair. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

"I don't mean to do it."

He realizes that Brendon's still too drunk to reason with. Instead, he stretches out on the bed next to him and says, "Come here," and lets Brendon curl up against him. He tips his head up to kiss Brendon's forehead, strokes the hair that curls at the nape of his neck. "There's nothing wrong with you," he murmurs, just in case something he says might sink in. "That guy tonight? He's the fucked up one, not you."

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Of course not," Spencer says. He considers telling Brendon that Zack already knows, but he thinks better of it and says nothing.

In the morning, Brendon's awake before Spencer is, sitting by the window and drinking a soda as he gazes outside, shoulders hunched.

"Anything good to look at?" Spencer asks.

Brendon shrugs. "Parking lot." He rubs his hand over his face. "I was pretty fucked up last night."

"Yeah."

"Can we, I mean." He sighs and shakes his head. "I feel like I need to start drinking again just to face you."

"Hey," Spencer says, maybe a little sharper than he means to. "You're not fucked up, okay? I get that maybe that's not sinking into your brain, yet, but I'm serious. You're not the one who's fucked up. And I get that you don't want to talk about it, so I'll leave it at that."

Brendon manages a weak smile. He doesn't look at Spencer, but he does say, "Thanks."

A couple weeks later they're in the middle of the tour, the part where Spencer starts getting tired and starts thinking about home, even though he doesn't really have a home to go to anymore. He's got a house with a bunch of furniture he didn't pick out and he's got a fenced yard for dogs that are no longer his.

"I'm bailing," he says to Ryan, who's deep in conversation with some girl about some novel that sounds so depressing it makes Spencer want to kill himself. They're at an afterparty at some restaurant, and everyone's talking and laughing and drinking and Spencer just want to go to sleep.

"Hey, Spencer," Jon says, his lisp a little more pronounced due to the alcohol in his system. "Hey, Spencer, stay, we're ordering pizza. It's Godfather's. Their taco pizza is awesome."

Spencer laughs. "You're at a restaurant and you're ordering pizza from somewhere else?"

Jon smiles at him, easy and slow. "Taco pizza, Spencer, with giant tortilla chips crushed over the top."

"I'll pass," he says, smiling back at Jon and patting his shoulder.

His hotel room is blissfully silent and empty. He takes a shower and changes into sweats and a t-shirt, then considers cleaning up the mess on Brendon's side of the room. He decides to just leave it in its original whirlwind condition, though. He's trying this new thing where he doesn't organize everybody else's life.

It's too late to call his parents and say hello, so he just watches a little TV, some made-for-TV movie that he never really understands the plot of before he just gives up and turns it off and stretches out beneath the covers for sleep.

Spencer wakes up to the smell of alcohol, squints and tries to bring the world into focus. Brendon's right there, face right above Spencer's, breathing alcohol-breath heavy onto Spencer's face.

"Dude," Spencer grumbles, turning his face away.

"That's okay," Brendon whispers, and then he's, what? Nuzzling? He's nuzzling Spencer's neck a little bit. "It's okay if you don't want to kiss me."

Spencer blinks a few times and tries to figure out what's going on, but it's like looking at the alarm clock when he's still half asleep; the numbers are right there plain as day, but he has no idea what they mean.

"What?" Spencer finally manages to ask, struggling through his sleep. "Brendon, the fuck?" For as exhausted as he is, that totally counts as a coherent sentence.

"You said," Brendon whispers against Spencer's neck, then starts pushing the covers down clumsily. "You said when I needed it I could come to you, and I've been trying not to, I've been trying so hard, but I need..." Brendon kisses his way down Spencer's chest, bites at the strip of skin between his t-shirt and his boxers and then Spencer's wide awake.

Spencer's wide awake and he's about to squawk, That's not what I meant! but instead he gasps and forgets to say anything because that's Brendon's mouth on Spencer's dick. That's Brendon's mouth hot around him and, fuck, it's been so long since Spencer's had anyone touch him.

He gets so hard so fast that he's a little dizzy. He covers his face with his hands and when he means to say, "Stop," what he actually says is, "Oh, fuck." And when he reaches down to push Brendon away what he actually does is fist his fingers in Brendon's hair.

Brendon moans around Spencer's dick and it's fucking amazing. And it's not like he's never had anybody do it before, just that he's only ever been with one person in his entire life, and she wasn't a big fan of it. She'd go down on him sometimes, if it was a special occasion, but it was far from her favorite thing. From the noises Brendon's making, it sounds like it might be his favorite thing.

It's so hot, and just the perfect amount of wet, Brendon's lips sliding spit-slicked over Spencer's cock before he takes it in his hand and then, fuck, then he's licking at Spencer's balls and Spencer's never had anyone do that, never knew it would be so toe-curlingly good.

"Oh, Jesus," Spencer gasps, propping himself on his elbows so he can see. His lungs already feel achy and ragged, like he's been running, like he can't get enough air.

Brendon grins up at him, hand jerking Spencer's cock hard and slow. Spencer wants to yank him up and kiss him, but he doesn't want Brendon to stop what he's doing, so he just drops his head back and bites his lips and moans through the best head of his entire life.

The next morning should be weird, but it's not. Brendon's already awake when Spencer wakes up, and he's sitting at the foot of his bed, knee jiggling as he checks his email on his laptop. He says, "Why does my mother send me every single forward in the history of the internet?"

"Forwards make moms happy," is the only explanation Spencer has. He pushes himself up. "Is there coffee?"

"Didn't make any, but I think there's a coffee pot and one of those filter thingies in the bathroom."

"Awesome," Spencer says. He sets the coffee brewing and takes a shower. When he comes back out, clean and clutching a Styrofoam cup full of weak coffee, Brendon's still reading his email. "You know you don't actually have to read every single forward your mother sends you, right?"

Brendon shrugs and sighs. "She takes the time to send them, so..."

"She clicks a button."

"Did you know they're still sending that one about the two hundred dollar cookie recipe around?"

"When will that die?"

"I don't know. About the same time the one with all the so-called hilarious headlines dies."

"Who do you think starts these things?" Spencer asks. He wants to say, You sucked me off last night, but he doesn't.

"Psychopaths, obviously."

"Obviously," says Spencer. His phone buzzes and he reaches for it. It's a text from Zack telling him they have 20 minutes before they have to go. ready in 10 he texts back. "That was Zack," he says, and Brendon nods, and they get ready to go.

The second time it happens, it's a lot like the first. They've been up drinking, Keltie's there so she and Ryan have their own room, Jon's with Cassie, and when Spencer collapses back onto his bed, he's not surprised to feel it dip with Brendon's weight. He closes his eyes at first, bites his lower lip as Brendon unfastens his jeans and sucks him to hardness. Finally, though, he works up the nerve to look, to watch, and Brendon's so fucking hot like that, jerking himself off, lips stretched tight around Spencer's cock.

The third time, Spencer's pretty sure neither one of them is even drunk. It's after a show. Spencer's hopped up on adrenaline and he's barely had time to dry off from his shower, but when Brendon pushes him into a dark, unused room down the hall from their dressing room, Spencer just bites the heel of his hand to muffle his moans.

The next morning, he wakes up hard, thinking about the bright shine in Brendon's eyes, the way he pressed his forehead to Spencer's hip and shuddered as he came. He thinks maybe it's time to talk to somebody about it.

Jon's still asleep, but he can't talk to Jon about it, anyway. Zack and Eric are playing a vicious game of slapjack in the back lounge, and Spencer can't talk to them, either. He can hear Brendon humming to himself from behind his bunk curtain, can hear the tinny sound of his earbuds turned up loud and, God, Spencer can definitely not talk to him.

Ryan's sitting at the kitchen table drinking apple juice and doodling in his notebook. Spencer sits down next to him, drinks some of Ryan's juice, then picks up a spare pen and draws a crosshatch in the corner.

Ryan fills the top left corner with an "O" and Spencer draws an "X" in the middle square. Three games in and Spencer's won every one. He wonders if he's going to have to explain the rules of tic-tac-toe to Ryan again.

"Do you think I'm a lamer because I've only slept with one person in my entire life?" Spencer asks, filling the top right square with an X.

"Hmm? Oh. No. I think you're a lamer because you had a panic attack over a skin tag." Ryan draws a few curliques on the paper's margin before drawing a circle in the right middle box.

"That so could have been cancerous."

"It was a skin tag, you lamer, and you made the doctor remove it anyway."

"I have fair skin, okay? I freckle easily. That puts me at a much higher risk for malignant melanoma than you."

"Because we spend so much time in the sun." Ryan draws another circle in the top left box.

"It wasn't your turn."

"You were taking too long. Besides, you always win."

"That's because you never take the middle square. How many times have I told you to take the middle square?"

Ryan shrugs. "I like to leave it for you."

"I think you're missing the point of tic-tac-toe."

"Tic-tac-toe has a point?"

"Yes. To win."

"Oh. I thought it was just what we did when you wanted to talk to me but were too embarrassed to look me in the eye."

"I hate you," Spencer says, putting his pen down. He can never count on Ryan to be oblivious when he needs it. "You know how much I hate you, right?"

"That's not important. What is important is this: do you think you're a lamer because you've only slept with one person in your entire life?"

"No," says Spencer. "Maybe. I don't know."

"And since when is sex an embarrassing topic between us? You've never needed to play tic-tac-toe to talk about sex with me before."

"Yeah. Just. You remember when you were, like, sixteen and you said you were theoretically bisexual and I said yeah, I was theoretically bisexual, too, and you got pissed at me because you said I couldn't just copy you and say something without really meaning it?"

Ryan laughs and nods. "Oh, my God," he says. "I'd totally forgotten that. How did you stand me some days?"

Spencer shrugs. He'd actually never had that much trouble handling Ryan, even when he was at his most pretentious and artistically tortured. "Um, I actually meant it at the time, and now? It's not so much theoretical."

Ryan puts his pen down. He says, "Really?"

Spencer shrugs again.

"Is this about Haley?"

"No, this is about me having sex of the homo kind. There was gayness. In which I participated."

"Interesting," says Ryan.

"I'm coming out to you and all you have to say is that it's interesting?"

"Oh, um. I'm totally supportive of you participating in the gayness if that's your thing. I just. I thought for sure Brendon would be the first one of us to come out."

Spencer drops his head down onto the table. "I hate my life," he says.

"Are you having a lot of sex of the homo kind?" Ryan asks.

"Hate, hate, hate," Spencer groans.

"I'm trying to be supportive here. Did you break up with Haley because you wanted to be having gay sex?"

"No. No, Haley broke up with me because we ended up mostly just annoying each other. You know this already."

"I'm asking leading questions. I'm drawing you out of your shell."

"I don't have a shell."

"You have a huge shell. You have a shell that would make an Aldabra tortoise go, 'Dude, that thing's giant.'"

"I'm taking away your subscription to National Geographic, just so you know."

"Not going to stop the nature metaphors."

Ryan's quiet, then, and Spencer waits for his next question. When a few minutes pass and Ryan remains quiet, Spencer peeks up at him through his hair. "You're not asking me leading questions," he says.

Ryan shrugs. "Now I'm giving you time, allowing you to remain in your own comfort zone."

"I hate you."

"Fine. What kind of homo sex have you been having and with whom?"

Spencer sighs.

"You're the one who wanted me to keep asking questions."

"Just a guy," Spencer says softly. "And there's maybe been some head."

"That's not embarrassing. I've totally gone down on a guy before."

"I haven't," Spencer says.

"Before the guy or, like, ever ever?"

"Ever ever."

"So there's a guy who blows you and you just, what, jerk him off in return?"

"Um," says Spencer.

"You don't even jerk him off in return?"

"Is that bad?"

"Kinda selfish. How'd you feel if you sucked a guy's dick and he didn't even give you a hand job as a thank you?"

Spencer sighs and puts his arms over his head. A moment later he lifts his head up. "In my defense, he really seems to be enjoying the blowjobs."

"Okay," says Ryan.

"Seriously. Like, he totally gets off on giving them. That's kind of how the whole thing started. Just. Never mind."

Ryan reaches across the table slowly and pulls the apple juice back towards him.

"Are you giving me space again?"

"No. I'm trying to figure out whose mouth you've had your dick in."

"Please don't," Spencer says weakly.

"We travel with a limited number of people. How many people are working this tour? Like, fifty or something?"

Spencer knows the exact number of people but he doesn't tell Ryan what it is.

"Fine. Don't tell me. It's not like I don't tell you everything--"

"Oh, God, not the best friend speech, please."

"I'm only your friend, ostensibly your best friend. Far be it from me to expect you to share, to communicate, to--"

"I hate you so bad right now."

Ryan laughs delightedly and takes a sip of his apple juice. "Is it good head, at least?"

"Amazing." Spencer sighs.

"Hey," Brendon says by way of greeting as he wanders into the kitchen area, pressing his hands to the small of his back and curving his spine until it pops.

"You're going to get arthritis if you keep doing that," Ryan tells him.

"Old wives' tale. What's amazing?"

"The head Spencer's been getting from some guy," Ryan says.

Brendon starts coughing and Spencer drops his head back down onto the table and wishes he could die or, better yet, kill Ryan with his brain.

"Are you blushing?" Ryan asks.

"I'm killing you with my brain."

Brendon pours himself a cup of coffee and takes a few sips.

"Spencer's bisexual now," Ryan says.

"Painfully. Killing you so painfully, oh my God."

"Interesting," says Brendon.

"That's what I said! See, Spencer, I wasn't being a bad friend. Brendon thinks it's interesting, too."

Spencer pushes away from the table and slams into Jon on his way to the bunks but he doesn't even say he's sorry, just throws himself into his bunk and pulls the curtain shut, wishing it was a door so he could slam it. He curls up in the darkness and pulls his pillow to his chest and spends a very long time recalling every terrible thing Ryan's ever done to him and more and more inventive and painful ways to get him back.

A long while later, he hears Ryan outside the curtain. "Spencer?" Ryan asks softly. "Spence, come on, are you pissed?"

Spencer doesn't say anything, and if Ryan dares to pull the curtain back he's going to get punched in the face.

"Spencer, hey, come on, talk to me."

"You should probably leave him alone for a while." Brendon's voice is further away.

"But I was just. What did I do?"

"You told me something you didn't have any right to tell."

"But he, I, I didn't." Ryan sounds so lost and confused that Spencer starts to feel a little bit sorry for him. Just a little bit, though, not enough for him to pull the curtain back and have an actual conversation that doesn't end in Ryan with a fat lip.

After a few hours, he gets tired of remembering every tiny thing Ryan's ever done wrong. He gets tired of imagining swift and terrible revenge. He stops being mad and he starts feeling stupid.

It's not like he's special or anything; he knows that. He knows that the only reason Brendon ever did anything with him was because he was safe. Brendon was drunk and Spencer was there and wouldn't kick his face in afterwards. He knows it was nothing special, knows he was just a warm body, knows he just happened to be there.

He's so stupid for telling Ryan about it, for letting Brendon find out that it was something he'd had to talk about. He so stupid for thinking that Brendon's gorgeous and for starting to make plans in his head about things like next times. Everybody thinks Brendon's gorgeous. He so stupid for letting himself think even for a second that Brendon was choosing to be with him for anything other than convenience.

He's humiliated and he kind of wants to die and he stays in his bunk all day, even when Zack knocks on the ledge of his bunk and says, "Please tell me you're still alive."

"I'm still alive," Spencer says softly. He considers saying that he's tired or that he doesn't feel well, but in the end he doesn't say anything else at all.

They get to the next venue later that afternoon. Spencer gets out of his bunk and it's business as usual, even if he won't look at Ryan or Brendon, even if Zack and Jon and Eric all look concerned and a little confused. He smokes a bowl with Jon before the show and it's fine, it's perfect, everything is back to normal.

Things get back to normal eventually, anyway. Things with Brendon are fine; they're friends. Whatever. Things with Ryan take a little longer, but then Ryan draws Spencer a picture of Ryan-as-mime with his cartoon heart in his hands and an epically sad expression on his face and he gives it to Spencer with an entire rack of beef ribs and a plate of jalapeno sausage flown in from Spencer's favorite restaurant in Austin.

"One day, we're going to have to talk about this weird mime obsession of yours," Spencer says, mouth watering from the aroma of the tender, juicy ribs.

"Will we have to play tic-tac-toe to do it?"

Spencer kicks Ryan in the shin, but gently, and the two of them eat ribs and sausage and fend off everyone else backstage with pointed looks and sharp forks.

**********

It's been nearly two weeks since Spencer talked to Ryan about it, nearly two weeks since the last time he and Brendon hooked up. Spencer's riding his bike in circles around the stadium floor during Motion City Soundtrack's sound check. Ryan had been on his skateboard for a while, but he'd given it up and gone off with Jon, probably to smoke a bowl.

On the other side of the arena floor, Brendon's doing kickflips and standing ollies with the board Ryan left behind. Spencer sees Brendon eyeing the metal railing leading up to the first level. There are at least twenty rows of seats between the landing and the floor.

"I'm going to say no," he says conversationally, coasting to a stop next to Brendon. He gazes up the steep stairway, decides there are more like thirty rows of seats. "I'm going to say that as much as you wish you were Tony Hawk, in reality you sing much better than he does and have a much higher chance of wiping out epically and ending up with a broken jaw."

"That's kind of what I was thinking," Brendon says, nodding. "And I totally can't break my jaw. I mean, come on. Apparently, I give amazing head."

"Oh, my God," Spencer says, resting his arms on the handlebars and letting his head hand forward. "I was kind of hoping we were never going to mention that, like, ever."

Brendon shrugs. "Actually, I, well. Can we go somewhere and talk?"

"I guess," Spencer says. He wants to say no, they can't talk, he's got a very important appointment to do...something important, and he'll unfortunately be very, very busy any time Brendon wants to talk to him. Instead he leans his bike against the guard rail in front of the first row of seats and follows Brendon up the stairs. They get to row V and Brendon turns in, and they end up in seats 22 and 23. It occurs to Spencer that maybe he should have sat one seat away from Brendon, but he always makes fun of guys who do that in movie theatres, so whatever.

"I just," Brendon says, then quirks his mouth a little bit and scratches the back of his neck. "Weird as it sounds, you kind of helped me out a lot."

"Okay," says Spencer, because he doesn't want to be having this conversation, anyway, so he thinks maybe if he just lets Brendon do all the talking it will be less painful.

"It was like I was running? And, just. The way you just told Ryan that you were with a guy, like it wasn't a big deal. I mean, I know it was, and I get why you got pissed at him, just. It wasn't a big deal to him. And I kept thinking about that, about how he couldn't understand why you were mad because it didn't even matter, because you were his friend and if you'd told him that what you really wanted was something fucking insane, it still wouldn't have mattered. And I spent a few days being jealous before realizing that he's my friend, too, and that all my friends are like that. That none of my friends, my real friends, none of you are going to care when I tell you I'm gay."

"We don't care," Spencer says softly. "B, come on. We never have."

Brendon nods quickly and he's not crying, but his eyes are damp. "Just," he whispers, looking down at his hands and picking at the callus on his ring finger. "I spent a really long time being afraid of it, you know? I spent a really long time hiding it, and I just. I've been running. I've been telling myself that it's nothing real, that it's just something that happens sometimes, but it's not. I'm gay."

Spencer nods, and when he realizes that Brendon's waiting for him to say something, he smiles a little bit and shakes his head. "I know," he says. "We all know."

"Yeah?" Brendon asks.

Spencer nods.

"So I've been spending all this time freaking out about nothing."

"Pretty much."

Brendon laughs, and he sounds relieved. He runs his fingers through his hair. "That's what Shane said, but I wasn't sure. I just. I don't have to run, do I? Because my friends don't give a shit, and my family, well. I don't know if it can be any worse than last time when I left the church, but even if it is, I know that they'll come around eventually. So what am I running from?"

Spencer was wrong. It's totally painful even with Brendon doing most of the talking. "Shane's awesome," he says softly, because it's true. "I, yeah. I think that's awesome."

Brendon smiles at him, his huge, unreserved smile, and his eyes are still damp and he just looks so fucking happy that Spencer wants to stab himself in the face.

That night after the show, Spencer gets ridiculously, sloppily drunk and throws up in Ryan's favorite hat. He's hungover for two days afterwards, but at least the physical misery distracts him from the jealousy and humiliation churning inside.

Spencer really, really wants to hate Shane, but he can't. He hates how happy Brendon and Shane are now that they've worked things out, now that Brendon's no longer running. He hates how happy Brendon is with someone who's not Spencer. He hates their little inside jokes and he hates the way they smile and he hates the way he feels every time he's reminded that Shane and Brendon are together, but he can't hate either one of them for it. It would probably be easier if he could.

Instead, he does what he does best. He shoves everything away deep inside and keeps on going. He's the steady one. He's the one who holds everyone else together, so it's not even an option to fall apart.

He's doing the crossword one morning, sipping coffee, looking forward to the end of the tour, when Ryan sits down next to him, steals his coffee, and steals his pen. He expects Ryan to take over the crossword like he always does, but instead, Ryan draws a crosshatch at the edge of the paper and puts a circle in the bottom left square.

Spencer smiles and takes the pen from Ryan's hand, draws an x in the center box.

"You gonna tell me what's going on?" Ryan asks.

"Nothing."

"Liar, liar, pants," says Ryan.

"I'm just tired. I miss my dogs." As soon as Spencer says it, he remembers that Haley took the dogs when she left and he aches with how much he really does miss them.

Ryan takes the pen back and they fill the blank spots in the paper with games of tic-tac-toe. Finally, Spencer says, "I've never done this before. I've never wanted somebody who didn't want me back." He doesn't call it love. He thinks that's something that has to be mutual, thinks that whatever he and Brendon played at, it wasn't enough for love.

"Your blowjob guy?"

Spencer nods once, quickly.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. He wants somebody else, that's all."

Ryan slides his arm around Spencer's shoulders and Spencer leans into the hug. Ryan's still boney, but he's free with his hugs in a way he'd never been when they were younger, and it's nice to be the one getting comforted for a change.

Two nights before their last show, Brendon gathers everybody into the back lounge. "I have to tell you something," he says to Ryan and Spencer and Jon. "I think you guys already know, but I want it to be official. Just. I mean, I want to say officially or whatever that I'm gay. So." He shrugs and looks down at his feet. He's got a hole in his sock near the heel and Spencer kind of wants to wiggle his finger into it, but he doesn't.

"Right on," says Jon, giving Brendon the thumbs up.

"No shit," says Ryan, earning a dark look from Jon. "Oh, um. I mean I fully support your alternative lifestyle." He gives Brendon the thumbs up, too, along with a cheesy smile.

"I hate your face, Ross," Brendon says, but he's laughing and his shoulders relax.

"What about you, Spence?" Jon asks, kicking his shoe against Spencer's gently.

"What about me?" Spencer asks. He really doesn't want to make a grand announcement about being bi, though it would be only fair to tell Jon since Ryan and Brendon both already know. "I'm, yeah, okay, I'm bi, but not like. Just a little bit. Sort of. I don't even know what I mean." He slouches on the couch and flicks his thumb over the calluses on his palm.

"That was. Okay," says Jon. "I actually meant what did you think about Brendon coming out to us, but, you know." He gives Spencer the thumbs up.

"I hate my life," says Spencer.

"You're not allowed to hate your life," Brendon tells him. "Without you, I never would have had the guts to make an official announcement, so you have to be, like, proud or whatever. You're my role model, Spencer Smith. I want to be just like you when I grow up."

"You'll never beat my score at Mario Kart and you'll never come close to matching my badass drum skills," Spencer says with a shrug.

"Maybe, but I give way better head than you."

Jon actually snorts beer out of his nose, which is pretty fucking awesome. Both Spencer and Brendon crack up as Jon coughs and laughs, and Spencer turns to Ryan to laugh with him, but instead of laughing, Ryan's looking at Spencer, then at Brendon, then back at Spencer. He raises both eyebrows as if to say, What the fucking fuck, dude? and Spencer goes back to hating his life.

Then, because Ryan's a sadistic little fucker, he tosses his head back and laughs until he can't breathe.

"Wait," says Jon after most of the laughter has subsided. "Wait, Bden, dude, are you going to officially come out, like, officially? Like, you know, publically?"

Brendon's eyes widen and he shakes his head. "No! I mean. Look, my parents don't even know. Just." He shrugs. "Baby steps. I am taking tiny little baby steps that may or may not eventually one day end up with me telling the world, but for now. Fuck. This right here is like the biggest step I'm ready to take."

"Aww," says Jon, reaching out to pull Brendon into a hug and give him a half-hearted nuggie.

Brendon doesn't mention anything about Shane, so Spencer doesn't, either. He knows this was a scary thing for Brendon to do and that having to field questions about his boyfriend would make it even more uncomfortable.

That night, Spencer's staring at the too-close ceiling in his bunk and not sleeping when Ryan pushes his way in.

"Ow, hey," says Spencer, shifting over and pressing himself against the far wall. "There's barely enough room for one person in here, ass. Fuck. You're made of nothing but elbows."

"Please, please, please let me tell Keltie," Ryan says after he's jammed himself into Spencer's bunk to his satisfaction.

"I think she already knows that you're made of nothing but elbows. Forget snips and snails and puppy dog tails, you're made of elbows and paisley."

Ryan laughs and presses his face to Spencer's shoulder. His chin digs into Spencer's collarbone a little bit, but Spencer's used to it. "I have to tell her. It's killing me not to tell her."

"No. Jesus. I don't even want you to know."

"Spencer, come on. Don't even pretend like this isn't hilarious."

Spencer shoves him hard, and Ryan goes tumbling out of the bunk with a squawk.

"Dudes," Jon mumbles sleepily from the bunk above Spencer's. "Rough sex in the back lounge only."

"Your mom's in the back lounge," Ryan says.

"Spencer's mom's in the back lounge," says Jon. Then, "Fuck."

"Pay up, bitch," says Spencer. "I totally heard that." There's a hundred dollar fine every time someone says anything remotely sexual about his mother.

"It's not my fault your mom's a MILF, okay?" Jon asks. "I don't see why I can't make 'your mom' jokes about her just because she's hot."

"You owe me, like, three hundred dollars right now."

"Fine," Jon says wearily, and Spencer can hear him turning over. He's silent, like he's decided to sleep again, but Spencer knows he'll pay up in the morning.

Ryan leans into Spencer's bunk and pokes at Spencer's shoulder. "Come on," he says. "How is this not hilarious? It's," he looks over his shoulder at Brendon's closed partition. He mouths, "It's Brendon."

Spencer rolls over onto his side and stares at the wall. He's not talking about this.

"Not even a little ha ha?" Ryan asks softly.

Spencer sighs pointedly.

Ryan climbs into the bunk behind him and spoons up close. It's just Ryan, and it's not what Spencer really wants, but it's actually kind of nice to have somebody's body pressed up against his. He hadn't realized before how long he's gone without it.

"Is this one of those times when I'm being insensitive?" Ryan asks, tugging the partition shut behind him.

"Yes," Spencer says.

"I just don't get it. I mean it's. You know. Who it is."

"How about we talk about anything else in the entire world?" Spencer asks.

"Who is he, I mean, you said he was with somebody else?"

"Shane," he whispers, feeling a little bit like a traitor for saying it. It's not his place to talk about it, but it's a relief not to be the only person who knows anymore.

"No shit? I guess. Huh." Ryan gives him a squeeze and his nose is cold against the back of Spencer's neck, and despite the fact that they're smushed together in the tiny bunk and Ryan's a notorious blanket hog, Spencer closes his eyes and sleeps the best he has in weeks.

Spencer wakes up to the feeling that someone's looking at him. He opens his eyes, and the partition is open and Brendon's grinning through the crack.

"The fuck, Brendon?" he asks as Ryan snuffles and continues to drool against his arm.

"I think I'm contagious," Brendon calls over his shoulder. "Spencer and Ryan already caught the gay from me. Jon, come here, let me sneeze on you so you go homo, too."

Ryan's not even awake, his eyes aren't even open, but he's got amazing aim when he's annoyed at he flails his arm out and slaps his palm into Brendon's face.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but it was secret best friend bonding time," Jon says as Brendon holds both hands over his face. "You're still the only gaymo in the band."

"Spencer's a little bit gay," Brendon says.

"You're all a little bit gay," says Zack. "We've got an hour and then interviews."

"No interviews," Ryan mumbles. "Sleeping."

Brendon grins at Spencer and slides the partition open all the way just as Spencer shoves Ryan hard, and the memory of Ryan's undignified flailing as he tumbles out of the bunk amuses Spencer for the rest of the day.

Finally, the tour's over and Spencer goes home. He spends the first twenty four hours sleeping, then takes a hot shower and goes to visit his parents. They have chili and cornbread for dinner and watch Iron Chef and Spencer feels jittery, like he needs to start moving again. It's the way it always is; it takes him weeks to calm down from a tour and accept his life at a standstill.

When he comes home, he trips over the stupid little table in the front hallway and wishes he could just throw it away. Then he remembers that he can just throw it away because when you're single, there's a lot less you need to compromise on. He feels a little giddy taking the little table out to his garage, and then he thinks about the rest of his tasteful, delicate furniture and the artsy prints on the walls he didn't pick out and all the crap he's got that he never really wanted and he starts to pack. He falls asleep around six in the morning surrounded by boxes and wakes up ten hours later and starts packing some more.

He's expecting questions when he calls the resale people, but there aren't any, besides them wanting to know when they can come pick the stuff up.

"You can have it as soon as you get a truck out here," he tells them, and they make an appointment for the next day.

They take every piece of furniture in Spencer's house and most of the boxes of random crap he'd packed up. He's left with a closet half-full of clothes, his laptop, his drum kit, and boxes full of things he actually wants to keep that he just tapes up and stores in his spare room.

He spends one night sleeping on the carpet, wrapped in blankets, then goes out the next day and buys a full sized mattress and box spring. He doesn't even get a frame to put them on.

He vacuums his entire house, wipes down the walls with a damp rag to get all the dust. He stands in his empty living room, nothing but divots in the carpet where furniture used to be, and the empty space, the lack of anything personal, feels right. He feels like he's starting over.

He doesn't need fancy furniture and knick-knacks and artsy photographs on the walls. He's got beer in his fridge and he makes pretty kick-ass nachos if he does say so himself, and it's not like he can't just sit down on the floor and eat his nachos and drink his beer and look at his bare walls.

He's been living like that for a few days when he hears a key in his lock. He figured somebody would come over eventually, since he turned his phone off and hasn't been checking his email. He's lying in the middle of what used to be the dining room, thinking about maybe getting a chair. Just one, though. A recliner or something he can sleep in when he doesn't feel like going to bed.

He hears the key in the door and he expects Ryan to be looming over him soon, but instead he's ambushed by a tiny little ball of fur that immediately decides that his skin tastes amazing, if all the licking is anything to go by.

"Why is there a live animal licking my face?" Spencer asks, lifting his head up to look at the fuzzy black and brown puppy dancing around on his tile. He can see Brendon's shoes out of the corner of his eye.

"Why are you lying on the floor? And, dude. Seriously? The fuck is going on? Are you moving?"

"I may or may not have had a psychotic break and sold everything I own. I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," Brendon says, sitting on the floor next to him. He holds his hands out, and the puppy bounds over to him, bites onto his fingers and tugs.

"Dude, don't let him do that. It might not hurt now, but he has to know that fingers aren't toys for when he's bigger."

"You're so good with dogs," Brendon says, tugging his fingers away from the puppy. "This is Brigita, by the way. She's Dylan's half sister."

Spencer turns onto his side to look at the ball of fluff in Brendon's lap. "She doesn't look anything like Dylan."

"Yeah. Margo, she's the lady who breeds Italian Greyhounds, she says she's pretty sure Dylan's mom got knocked up by the neighborhood Pomeranian."

"That's fucking hilarious." He sits up and reaches out for the puppy. "What are you?" he asks. "You don't even look real. You look like a little bear." He looks at Brendon. "And Brigita? Seriously? Because I know you're happy being out now, but you've out-gayed yourself pretty fucking hard core, naming a dog Brigita."

"That's the name she came with. You can name her anything you want."

"Why would I name her?"

"Because she's your dog." Brendon jumps up and wipes his hands on his jeans. "You guys have fun."

"Wait. What? I don't even. You got me a dog?"

"She needs a home, Spencer. And you apparently really, really need a dog."

"She's a little pretend dog," Spencer says. Brendon knows how he feels about little dogs.

"Dude, please tell me you at least kept your bed."

"I got a new one."

"Thank God. Seriously. It's like you got robbed by the most thorough robbers in the history of forever. I put all of Brigita's stuff in your kitchen. She's mostly housetrained, but there might be a few accidents. Not that you have any furniture for her to ruin."

"You're seriously leaving her here with me?"

"You seriously sold all of your worldly possessions?"

"Not all of them. Just. You know. Most of them."

"You're in desperate need of a dog, Spencer Smith. I'm glad I came over when I did. Do you even have a TV?"

"Nope."

"Wow. Did you, fuck. Did you sell your Wii?"

"I'm having a midlife crisis, I'm not actually insane."

"I was just stopping by to drop off Brigita and make sure you were still alive, but I think maybe you need an intervention."

"I have beer in the fridge and ingredients for nachos."

"Right on," says Brendon, heading towards the kitchen. He comes back a minute later and says, "You've got three beers and half a bag of chips. I'm going to the store to get you some real food. Bond with your dog."

Spencer stretches out on his stomach and the dog jumps onto his back and starts scratching at his t-shirt to make herself a nest.

"I'm not calling you Brigita," he tells the dog after he hears Brendon leave.

The dog settles down between his shoulder blades and lets out a sigh.

Spencer doesn't know how long the two of them lie there like that, but he's nearly asleep by the time Brendon gets back. The dog jumps up and dances her feet back and forth on his back for a little bit, then dashes towards the front door and starts barking.

"Come get your dog," Brendon says.

"I'm still not convinced she's supposed to be mine."

"Of course she's supposed to be yours. I just gave her to you."

Spencer gets up and walks over to where the dog is jumping around Brendon's feet. He picks her up with one hand and tucks her under his arm. "I feel like the biggest gaymo in the entire world right now," he says. "Like, Elton John gay."

Brendon laughs and sets down four or five plastic bags full of food on Spencer's kitchen counter.

"How much food did you get?"

"Your fridge is totally bare. And, you know, I still can't quite shake that whole Mormon food-storage thing."

"What's that about, anyway?" Spencer asks, following Brendon out to his Nissan.

"Just to be prepared in case there are stormy times ahead," Brendon says with a shrug.

Spencer's seen Brendon's parents' house, and they have a giant stockpile of canned goods and water, pasta and beans and sugar and wheat that Brendon's mom rotates through during the year. "If the zombies ever come, I'm going to your mom's house," he says.

Brendon grins and hands him a couple of grocery bags. "That's what it's there for."

The dog squirms in Spencer's arm and he takes a second to readjust her. "How much Jell-o do you think your mom's got in her storage pantry?"

Brendon shrugs as he pulls two new lawn chairs out of his trunk. "Fifty or sixty boxes, probably. You're not morally opposed to furniture now or anything, are you?"

"No."

"Good."

Spencer heads back into the house and waits until Brendon's inside to put the dog back onto the floor, where she promptly pees on the tile.

"I told you the whole potty training thing wasn't completely solid yet, right?" Brendon asks.

"You're cleaning it up," Spencer says, heading into the kitchen to make dinner.

They eat nachos on the back porch, balancing their plates on their laps, picking up their beers when the dog gets too close to them.

"You need a name," Spencer says, reaching down to scratch the top of the dog's head. "What's your name?"

"Zoe," says Brendon.

"No."

"Princess Sparklepants."

"Fuck, no. I'm torn between Wingnut and Police Commissioner Gordon."

"You can't," Brendon huffs. "You cannot name a pretty little girl dog Police Commissioner Gordon."

"Why not?"

"Because she's a pretty little girl dog. Also, that's a pain in the ass to shout when you're calling for her."

"Wingnut it is, then." Spencer picks her up and sets her on his lap. "Hey, Wingnut," he says. Wingnut licks his wrist, then scratches at his thighs and turns around a few times before settling down and falling asleep.

It's actually kind of nice to have something to take care of. The next day, Spencer calls his vet and makes an appointment, then goes shopping. He spends a hundred dollars on a dog bed shaped like a coffee cup, then a couple hundred more on food and water bowls, ID tags, a cool black and blue argyle collar and leash set, a crate, a carrier that won't make him look like a pussy, and more toys than she's going to need in her entire life. Most of the toys are too big for her, but she doesn't seem to care, just tackles them and drags them around with all her might.

Brendon brings Dylan over for a play date and does backflips in Spencer's bare living room while the dogs chase each other around the back yard.

"I'm thinking of getting surround sound put in," Spencer says, handing Brendon a beer.

Brendon reaches up from his spot on the floor and looks around the room. "To hook up to what?" he asks.

"I'd get a stereo and a flat-screen, too."

"How big?"

"I don't know. Sixty-five inches or something."

"Sweet. You should also probably get a couch. I mean, we could totally pull the lawn chairs in from outside any time we wanted to watch a movie, but couches are good. You don't have anything against couches, right?"

"I just sold everything because Haley picked it out," Spencer says. "I keep meaning to get new stuff, then I decide I kind of like how bare everything is."

"We should go furniture shopping tomorrow," Brendon says. "You can bring Wingnut."

"I'm not bringing a dog furniture shopping."

"You can put her in her carrier. It totally just looks like a messenger bag."

"I am so not carrying around a tiny little pretend dog while furniture shopping," Spencer says firmly. He finishes his beer and stretches out on his back, gazing up at his ceiling.

"My one concern with you getting a stereo system," Brendon says, stretching out next to him, "is you lying on the floor twenty hours a day listening to depressing country music."

Spencer laughs softly.

"I'm serious. If I come over and find you with the greatest hits of Patsy Cline on or some shit--"

"Give me some credit. I'm at least going to be listening to Johnny Cash's version of Hurt on repeat."

"Or, oooh, that one with the, you know." Brendon makes pulling motions between his hands.

"Cat's In the Cradle," says Spencer.

"Exactly. That one's, like, knife to the gut. It's not exactly country, though. No depressing folk music, either."

"Okay," Spencer says, and when he turns to look at Brendon, Brendon's looking back at him and smiling and his eyes are bright and soft and Spencer kisses him. Spencer kisses him and Brendon kisses him back, slides his body over Spencer's and keeps kissing him, grinding their hips together.

Then the dogs start scratching at the sliding glass door, and Brendon laughs against Spencer's mouth. "I'll be right back," he says, then gives Spencer another kiss, then a few more. Wingnut starts to bark and Brendon says, "Hold your horses," before he finally gets up and lets the dogs inside.

Spencer sits up and watches him go, watches the glimpse of skin between his jeans and his tight brown t-shirt, watches the easy way he is in his body, like it's never been anything except exactly what Brendon wanted it to be.

Spencer gets up and heads down the hall, heads into the bathroom with the idea that he's going to splash water on his face. He turns the faucet on and then just watches the water run. He closes his eyes when he feels Brendon come up behind him, when Brendon rests one hand on Spencer's hip and uses the other one to turn the water off.

"Been thinking about this," Brendon says, kissing the knob at the top of Spencer's spine. "Been thinking about this ever since we stopped. Why did we stop?"

Spencer shoves back and tells himself not to feel guilty when Brendon stumbles. "Because you're in love with Shane," he says.

He's in the hallway before Brendon catches his arm. "I'm what with who?" Brendon asks.

Spencer sighs and looks at him. "Shane. Christ, Brendon. You live together. You have a dog together. The way you look at him--"

"I'm not," Brendon says, shaking his head. "He and I aren't. We're not. He's my roommate, my actual roommate."

"But your inside jokes and the way you're always smiling around him and--"

"He's my best friend. You and Ryan have over a decade's worth of inside jokes but that doesn't mean you're in love with him."

Spencer closes his eyes when Brendon moves forward and crowds him against the wall. His hands come up and rest on Brendon's hips and he strokes his thumb beneath Brendon's t-shirt, against the warm, bare skin. "When you wanted to talk to me before," he says. "When you told me you were done running."

"Kinda throwing myself at you," Brendon says.

"I thought you were telling me about you and Shane."

Brendon nuzzles again Spencer's neck. "We're both retarded," he says.

Spencer nods.

"So, um. I'm throwing myself at you right now, just so you know."

"I have furniture," Spencer tells him. "In my room. I mean. Just. I have a bed. There's a bed in my room."

"I love beds," Brendon says, taking Spencer's hand and pulling him down the hall. "Oh, look," he says when they get into Spencer's bedroom. "There's the bed. We should probably lie down on it, it being the only furniture in your entire house and all." He tugs his shirt off over his head and shuts the door behind him with his foot.

It's not like Spencer's never seen it before. It's not like Brendon doesn't regularly walk around the bus and dressing rooms and hotels in nothing but his underwear, if that, but this is the first time Spencer's been able to touch and he's a little overwhelmed.

"Hey," Brendon says softly, sliding his hands down Spencer's arms. "Hey, no need to be shy. It's not like we've never had sex before."

"Does that count?" Spencer asks as Brendon tugs at his t-shirt. He lets Brendon take it off, then closes his eyes when he feels Brendon's hands at his fly. "I mean, does what we did count as sex?"

"I say anything that results in orgasms for everyone involved counts at sex," says Brendon. He tugs Spencer's jeans down, just gives Spencer's cock a quick lick on his way back up. "Get naked," he says, shoving his own pants down.

"I...I am naked," says Spencer. And incredibly turned on. He doesn't even know where to begin, can't focus enough to even move.

"Bed," Brendon says, bouncing on it. "I like your bed a lot, Spencer. I'd like your bed a lot more if you were on it with me."

Spencer sits next to Brendon on the bed and takes a deep breath. He's about to say something when Brendon tackles him down and pins his arms above his head.

"Just so we're clear, you're totally down with the sex, right?" Brendon asks.

Spencer laughs weakly. "Yeah. Yeah, sex is good."

"Awesome." Brendon smiles down at him, then shimmies around until their cocks are lined up. "I was thinking maybe I wanted you to fuck me--"

Spencer shudders and arches up against him.

"But this is good. I wanna rub off against you. I wanna watch your face when you're coming. That's the only downside to blowjobs, really, not being able to look you in the eye when you're coming. Not that I have anything against sucking your cock because, seriously. Seriously, I love to suck your cock."

Spencer's hips stutter forward and he manages to say, "You talk a lot."

Brendon's smile is dirty and delighted and he leans down to kiss Spencer hard. "When my mouth's not full of cock, yeah, I love to talk. Talking during sex is awesome. Like right now, the way your dick feels against mine, the way you're straining up against me like it's not quite enough--"

"It's not. Fuck. Brendon."

Brendon shifts until his hand's between them, until he's jerking both of them off. "Better?"

Spencer's eyes roll back a little bit and he nods. Now that Brendon's only got one hand holding him down, he can get an arm free and run it up and down Brendon's bare arm. His skin's hot and he starting to sweat, little beads forming on his forehead and his upper lip that Spencer sort of wants to lick away.

"Love the way your cock feels against mine. Love your hands on me. Wait. Here." He moves his other hand so that both of Spencer's hands are free. "Better?"

Spencer runs his hands up and down Brendon's back and nods. "Yeah. Jesus." Brendon's cock is rubbing against the underside of his, and every once in a while Brendon gives both of them a squeeze and Spencer doesn't think he's going to last long.

"After this, we're going to rest," Brendon says, then leans down for another kiss. "And after we rest, you're gonna fuck me, okay?"

"Yeah. Fuck. Want." Spencer slides his hands down Brendon's back and grips his ass.

"You like my ass?"

"Mmmm." Spencer's turned on enough to be bold, and he slips his fingers into the crack, brushes against Brendon's hole. "How do you like it? How do you like getting fucked?"

"On my back," says Brendon. "So I can see you. Fuck, Spence, you have no idea what you look like, do you? You have no idea how fucking hot you are."

Spencer feels hot, feels so turned on and sexy and the way Brendon's rubbing against him is so, so good. "Really close," he gasps.

Brendon kisses him over and over again. "Want you to come," he gasps. "Want to feel your come all over me."

Spencer's hips jerk up and he can't help but moan as he comes, shaking and clinging to Brendon's hips.

"Fuck," Brendon gasps once Spencer's through most of it. "Fuck, Spencer, the way it feels now, jerking off with your come making my cock all slick, fuck, fuck." And then Brendon's grunting and coming and laughing, laughing and kissing Spencer sloppy and deep.

Spencer thinks about getting up and washing off, but he's so comfortable and sated that all he can do is close his eyes and drift with Brendon's body curled against his. Brendon doesn't weight much, so it's totally comfortable to shift around and hold Brendon in his arms and kiss him sleepily.

When Spencer wakes, it's night. The only light in the room is coming from the little desk lamp he's had since he was fifteen. He doesn't even have a nightstand to put it on, so it's mostly shining on the floor.

"Spencer!" he hears again, realizing that it was someone calling his name that woke him in the first place. "Spencer, fuck, do I have to call 911? Jon, call 911!"

Spencer sits up as the door to his bedroom opens. "Holy shit, Spence," says Ryan, wide-eyed. "I thought you were dead when you wouldn't answer you phone, but it's worse. Somebody took all your furniture."

Spencer flops back down and laughs softly, then realizes he's naked and tugs a sheet over himself. "I didn't get robbed. I just."

"Got laid," says Ryan, eyes even wider as he stares at Spencer's bed. "Okay, I thought me flying Jon in was going to be today's big surprise. You know how much I like surprises, and you have to go and show me up every time, don't you?"

"Who would rob Spencer and leave this little baby behind?" Jon asks, wandering down the hall and into Spencer's bedroom. He looks at Spencer, then at Brendon who's waking slowly, blinking and stretching and completely comfortable being totally naked. "Um. Hey."

"Hey, Jon Walker," Brendon says, stretching some more. "I didn't know you were going to be in town."

"It was a surprise," Jon says, averting his eyes. "Um. Oh, hey, I think these are your pants."

"I hate pants," Brendon says, but he puts them on after Jon throws them towards him.

"I'm a big fan of pants," says Spencer, reaching his hand out.

"Oh, um, right," says Ryan, handing Spencer's pants to him. "We'll just go, um. We'll go play with Brendon's new dog while you get dressed." He's laughing as he turns to leave.

"That's Spencer's dog!" Brendon calls after them. "Her name is Princess Sparklepants!"

"Wingnut," Spencer says firmly.

Brendon leans over and presses a hard kiss to his mouth. "Princess Wingnut?" he asks.

Spencer slides his hands through Brendon's hair and kisses him gently. "Not on your motherfucking life," he says, before jumping out of bed and heading towards the shower.