bandslash fic: Stay (Panic, Brendon/Spencer, NC17)
New fic! That didn't take 9 months to write. :D
Stay
[Panic; Brendon/Spencer; 6700 words]
Summary: It's early morning, the sun not yet breaking over the horizon, when Spencer knocks on the hotel room door.
So many thanks to schneestern for the beta! *hugs* All remaining mistakes are my own.
Stay
by Sori
It's early morning, the sun not yet breaking over the horizon, when Spencer knocks on the hotel room door.
When the door opens, Brendon's already reaching out, pulling Spencer inside and pressing their bodies together. His hands are running up Spencer's chest and into his hair, slow and rough, deliberate in ways that Brendon's usually not.
Spencer should probably say something, slow them down in some way because it seems wrong to do it like this, too easy and without a word spoken between them. They're both looking for uncomplicated, but it seems like there should be some sort of etiquette for this kind of thing.
(Spencer hadn't been able to look away from that small slice of skin. Brendon stretching big in the dressing room, cracking his neck and softly singing under his breath, and right there, right where his shirt didn't quite meet the waistband of his pants was this quick flash of pale skin. Spencer had never gotten so hard, so fast in his life. Too long, Spencer had thought then. It'd been too long since-- )
Spencer anchors himself with Brendon's hips, spinning them around and pushing him into the wall, his whole body moving in close and tight and there, licking into Brendon's mouth with quick swipes of tongue and slow, biting kisses.
Brendon groans. "This is yes, right? Oh, fuck, this had better be you saying yes."
("We could do this for each other, Spence," Brendon had said. "It's obvious, right? Better than the groupies, better than--")
And if Spencer hadn't already decided, hadn't spent the entire day after sound check thinking about Brendon's offer again and again, he knows that the sound of Brendon's voice right now would have changed his mind. All honest need wrapped inside the sound of quiet desperation.
Spencer pulls back long enough to ask, "What do you want to do?" Because that's what this whole thing is about - getting exactly what they like and want and need without any of the complications.
(And Spencer hadn't gotten what Brendon was asking, not really, not until Brendon had leaned over and coaxed Spencer's mouth into a kiss that was more wet than good--)
"Orgasms. I fucking love orgasms," Brendon answers, pulling Spencer's head back down for a kiss, and shoving Spencer backwards until they're shuffling toward the bed. "Big ones and little ones and...," he's laughing, enough that Spencer can feel the rumble of his chest and the smile on his lips.
"And little ones, too," Spencer sing-songs back. His legs hit the bed and he falls, tumbling onto the mattress and pulling Brendon with him, arching up into the feel of Brendon's body already covering his own.
"Oh my god, seriously, and people say that I'm-," Brendon's saying, until Spencer growls and flips them over on the bed, pushing Brendon's t-shirt up far enough that he can press kisses along the length of Brendon's chest.
(And right before Brendon had gotten up, he looked over at Spencer and said, "It's a hotel night tonight. Spencer, this wouldn't be just for you. I need it, too--")
"Clothes," Brendon gasps out, pushing Spencer away and pulling off his shirt.
Spencer watches for a minute, Brendon's skin flashing in the dimness, his complete relish at getting naked with Spencer obvious. It's enough to get Spencer up and moving, stripping off his own clothes fast enough that Brendon's still working on shoving his jeans down his legs by the time Spencer's finished.
Brendon stutters to a stop, staring at Spencer, wide-eyed, and grinning. "Fuck, Spencer." He shakes his head and says, finally, "Help me, ass. Come on.."
Spencer reaches out and starts tugging down Brendon's pants. Brendon's pushing and Spencer's pulling, squirming around together until the pants are off, dangling from Spencer's fingers, and Brendon's grinning happily up at him. "Dude. You are totally my hero," he says, taking the pants from Spencer's fingers and tossing them off the side of the bed.
It's been a while since Spencer's been hard and horny when he's laughing. He'd forgotten how good it is to feel the laughter shake up through his body, tightening and stretching thin the nerves already coiled tight from arousal. It's better, making the awkward parts easy and simple and awesome in the ways that they're usually just awkward.
Brendon pushes him down flat against the bed, and slides up Spencer's body. He's already reaching out and winding fingers through Spencer's hair, tugging hard until Spencer leans up enough to lick into Brendon's mouth, tasting cigarettes and beer and the smooth, warm malt of whiskey.
Spencer groans into the kiss, shudders as Brendon sinks his teeth into Spencer's lips.
"Fuck," Brendon says, and Spencer's nodding, wrapping his hands around Brendon's hips and thrusting up against Spencer's body once, twice. "We should fuck now, definitely," Brendon's gasping out between almost-moans. "Condom, condom, condom."
It takes a minute for Spencer to understand the words, by then Brendon's already pushing away from Spencer and rolling off the bed. Spencer watches his ass as Brendon bends over a duffel bag, pulling out shirts and pants, flinging them across the room. He stands up with a condom in one hand, a tube of lube in the other.
"Okay, now we can fuck," Brendon says, smiling huge as he jumps back on the bed, tossing the lube and the condom next to them, his mouth already tracing out lines across Spencer's chest.
"Fucking finally," Spencer says, grinning against the rough scrape of Brendon's stubble as he reaches for the tube.
Spencer only manages a few swipes of slick fingers then Brendon's moaning, "Now, right the fuck now," like it was a command.
And before Spencer can do more than nod - fuck, yes, please, that - Brendon's already moving up and over, sinking down slow onto Spencer's cock, his head thrown back, fingers wound tight against Spencer's chest.
"Spence," he says, blinking once, twice. "Move, oh my fucking God, move already."
Spencer starts moving, tries to stay in control enough to get them both off slow and easy. And fuck, Spencer used to be good at this part, drawing it out, making it last; making the other person want it with a shocking desperation. But Spencer keeps getting lost in Brendon: the heat that rolls off him in waves, his low groans that vibrate against Spencer's body, the way Brendon keeps slowing them down with small, contained little motions, knowing each and every time that Spencer's already teetering on the brink of control.
It's maddening and crazy, and Spencer's too far gone to spend much time fighting Brendon for control. Instead, he stretches back, his hands wrapped around Brendon's hips, and lets Brendon get them both where they want to be. It's almost a surprise when he feels Brendon tumble headfirst into orgasm, pulling Spencer along with a moaned, "Fuck, yes, Spencer," his body clenching down until Spencer's gasping and coming too.
Brendon slumps back onto the bed, not moving, just lying there, staring at the wall, already halfway asleep. Spencer feels dazed and confused and so good he could melt into the bed right now and stay forever. For a minute, Spencer holds perfectly still, knowing he's got to move, but not quite ready.
He doesn't get to curl up next to Brendon, soaking in the warmth and sleeping for hours. That's not what this is about.
Spencer rolls out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom. He doesn't turn on the light until the door's closed. Shaking his head, Spencer climbs into the shower, closing the cheap curtain, and shutting his eyes against the weak spray of water.
Brendon's spent the day turning Spencer's world view upside down, from the moment Spencer looked across the dressing room and saw that small slice of skin, a quick flash of white, until later when Brendon slid onto the couch next to him and blurted out the most ridiculous idea ever. Spencer had spent hours, long after everyone stumbled into their hotel rooms, considering Brendon, and his offer, and what it'd mean to them.
Not just to Brendon and Spencer, but to Ryan and Jon, as well. It was their band and if things got awkward, maybe even fell apart, they'd all pay the price. Spencer hadn't been entirely sure what he was going to say until he'd shown up at Brendon's room and didn't say no when Brendon pulled him inside. So far, it'd worked out pretty well.
Not a really stupid idea then. At least not yet.
He feels the cold blast of air first, feels Brendon's hands wrap around his hips next. Spencer doesn't need to open his eyes to see Brendon climbing in the shower behind him, pressing close, his mouth already moving across the skin of Spencer's shoulder.
Spencer turns around and licks into Brendon's mouth and it's quick shower sex, a couple of dirty blowjobs, hands scrambling for purchase on soap slick skin and smooth tile walls. It's good and easy, and for the first time in a while, Spencer feels bone weary and exhausted in all the right ways.
Somehow, it doesn't feel awkward at all.
**
The next day is so phenomenally normal that Spencer spends ten minutes standing in front of the bathroom mirror on the bus, listening to Jon's whispered voice on the phone with Cassie, and Ryan and Brendon arguing over d-scale harmonies in the kitchen. Spencer would think he'd imagined the whole thing if it wasn't for the long row of scrapes on his chest, the red, raw patches of skin on his neck and thighs that are still burning from Brendon's beard stubble.
Spencer waits all day for the awkwardness to set in.
Shower sex leads to sound check, and pre-show prep, and what turns out to be the best show of the tour. Spencer's drumming faster, sharper, that much cleaner than usual, Brendon has the crowd roaring, nuzzling up against Ryan and singing into his microphone, grinning at Jon across the stage, and wagging his ass at Spencer.
Possibly, Spencer may be imagining the ass wagging. It's hard to tell with Brendon.
When the show's over, Brendon climbs onto Spencer's back after the encore, ignoring the sweat soaking through his shirt and his hair plastered to his head. It's just like usual. They get back to the bus and flop down around the small bus TV to watch DVDs in the lounge: The Princess Bride and Spinal Tap and Transformers for the fifteenth time which leads to stupid jokes about dwarfs and six-fingered men.
When Ryan and Jon finally stumble back toward the bunks, Brendon reaches across the inches separating them and winds his fingers through Spencer's hair, pulling him into a kiss. Spencer moans, and hitches Brendon closer, leaning back against the arm of the couch, tugging Brendon along until they're half stretched out, half sitting up. They're touching from their shoulders all the way down to their legs, their rough denim and t-shirts sliding together. Brendon pulls back and laughs, a small laugh that sounds desperate.
Spencer recognizes the feeling.
"You should have sex with me again. Right now," Brendon says as he's already grinding down against Spencer's body.
Spencer captures Brendon hands and pulls them up over their heads, wiggling down the couch, watching Brendon's eyes lose focus, his mouth fall open on a loud breath. "I really should," Spencer says, thrusting up slow and even with his hips.
Brendon struggles against Spencer's hands, not enough to pull away, just enough to jostle them together, enough that Spencer winds their fingers together and stretches his hands farther back. They're both moving now, frantic movements that aren't enough, not really, but it's close enough that Spencer's legs are trembling and Brendon's breath is ragged against Spencer's lips.
Spencer gasps and rolls them off the couch, hitting the carpet with a muffled thump. "Ryan and Jon," Spencer starts to say, because they're just down the hall in the bunks, but Brendon quiets him with a kiss, whispering, "They're not going to care," against his lips.
And it's not like Spencer can stop, not when he's already thumbing open the button on Brendon's pants, reaching inside and pulling out his cock, palming it once, twice, fast. Brendon gasps into his mouth, pushing away just enough to start working at Spencer's pants, and fuck, Spencer moans as Brendon's hands move against his fly.
Shoving Brendon's hands away, he rolls them just enough that they're lying on their sides facing each other. He works Brendon faster, biting down on his neck, licking at the teeth marks.
"Spencer." Brendon's breathless, his voice so quiet that Spencer can barely hear it over the rattling of his own breath.
Brendon opens his eyes and comes over Spencer's hands. He takes one shattered breath then another, before saying, "Fuck, Spencer. Get your pants off."
Spencer rips at the button on his jeans, pushing the fabric down his hips, already reaching for Brendon's hand, whispering, "Please," like there was any chance at all of Brendon saying no.
Brendon's hand wraps around Spencer's cock and the tight grip around his cock is enough to get Spencer's legs shaking, the slow, smooth pull up and down, just enough pressure that it burns, a small hurt, and Brendon's leaning in, his tongue dancing across Spencer's neck. When Spencer groans it's loud enough that Spencer bites down on his tongue trying to keep it inside; Brendon just smiles against his skin and speeds up his hand.
A little more pressure, just that much faster, and Spencer is tumbling into orgasm.
Brendon kisses him after, just small kisses that tease at his lips without ever going further. Spencer can't do much beyond hope that Ryan and Jon don't walk out from the bunks anytime soon. When they pull themselves up, Brendon kisses him just once more, strangely chaste on his lips before walking back to the bunks.
Spencer follows slowly.
"Night, Spence," he hears Brendon whisper from the bunk beneath him.
Spencer falls asleep listening to Brendon's quietly stuttering breaths. They sound distant, far away, even though there's only five feet between them.
**
Spencer's days take on a hazy, satisfied quality. They write some music and play some shows; occasionally they drink, sometimes they smoke up. Suddenly, it's not just Brendon's voice singing their songs; it's the sound of Brendon's voice saying yes and harder and fuck and blowjobs, seriously, Spence, they're the best thing ever. It's not just Brendon stripping down before a show, climbing into his ridiculous hippie shirts, it's Brendon stripping down and climbing into a hotel bed or the bunk on the bus, taunting Spencer with miles of skin.
As far as changes go, it's mostly a pretty good one.
Brendon's never been one to hesitate to move in close, leaning his head against any available shoulder, winding fingers together quickly and squeezing, saying something in Brendon speak that only his closest friends can usually figure out. It's normal for Spencer to feel Brendon's fingers ghosting over his skin. Innocent touches that have happened a thousand times a day for the last five years.
Those touches feel wrong now. They're too much when Spencer can still feel the beard burn on his thighs, can still remember the hours Brendon spent tracing lingering pathways across Spencer's body.
It's the little touches, perfectly normal, that feel too obvious in their intimacy.
They're all sitting in the back lounge, Spencer and Jon watching a DVD, Ryan scribbling away in his notebook, occasionally muttering something to himself and then picking up his phone to type. Brendon walks over to the couch and flops down next to Spencer, their legs pressed together at the knee. Spencer moves away a little and Brendon stops, glancing quickly at Spencer.
"Spencer?" Brendon starts to ask but Spencer shakes his head, gesturing toward the TV. Brendon watches Spencer carefully, then turns and settles back against the couch. Their legs almost, but not quite, touching.
Brendon's already laughing at the TV and Spencer has no idea what's so funny because he can't look away from where Brendon's leg is almost touching his own. Obvious obvious obvious he's chanting relentlessly inside his head. Spencer hears Jon laughing on the other side of the couch, and Brendon cracks up, tilting over until he's laughing into Spencer's shoulder just like he has a thousand times before.
Spencer jerks his arm away and Brendon's head topples sideways, painfully if the 'ouch' is anything to go by. "What the fuck?" Brendon says.
Brendon looks over at him and Spencer can actually see the moment Brendon gets what just happened; he can see the hurt look in Brendon's eyes, the way he gets up and shuffles into the kitchen saying something about, "Anyone else want a beer?" over his shoulder like it was just a casual question.
He doesn't come back for a long time. When he finally does, he strolls back, beer in hand and sits on the floor at the other end of the couch by Jon's legs.
Spencer pretends he doesn't notice Jon looking back and forth between them.
**
Brendon's actually better at ignoring people than he's usually given credit for. He effectively evades Spencer for the rest of the day, managing to get through two radio interviews, sound check and a meet-and-greet without ever coming within two feet of Spencer.
Spencer feels every foot of that space in the way that it itches across his shoulder blades, like eyes drilling into his back, painful and annoying.
That night Brendon pulls back the curtain on Spencer's bunk and climbs inside all hesitant restraint and shuffling body parts. "Spencer, earlier -," he starts to say quietly, but Spencer's already stealing away the words, keeping them trapped with soft kisses and slow, careful touches of tongue.
"Shhhh," Spencer whispers into the kiss, as if somehow Spencer can take away that moment if they don't actually talk about it.
Brendon opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but he must change his mind because he nods his head and wraps his hands into Spencer's hair. "Yeah, okay," he says.
For a while, he lets Spencer control the kiss, then Brendon rolls them over, his hands pressing down against Spencer's, holding them in place, not letting Spencer move. And maybe, okay probably, Spencer could break that hold, but Brendon's pressed up against him, rocking them together, licking into Spencer's mouth almost rough, and Spencer can't imagine ever pushing away from this touch.
"I want a blow job," Brendon says, his voice gravelly against Spencer's ear. "I want to watch you between my legs. I want to watch you touch me. Fuck, Spencer...."
And for a minute the world grays out at the edges, tunnel vision setting in, and that's all that Spencer can see: lying between Brendon's legs, his mouth wrapped around Brendon's cock, Brendon's hand winding through his hair, tugging harder and harder, taking everything that he wants and everything that Spencer wants to give.
"Yeah." Spencer clears his throat. "I can do that," Spencer says.
He reaches down and palms Brendon's cock through his pants, pushing just hard enough that Brendon moans and thrusts against Spencer's hand. "Take your pants off," Spencer says, his voice sounding almost steady.
Brendon's already scrambling up and around, twisting weirdly in the small bunk space, and pulling off his pants. He stares hard at Spencer as he tosses his pants deliberately out of the curtain, into the walkway between their bunks. Spencer watches, imagines Ryan stumbling down the aisle and stepping on Brendon's pants lying outside Spencer's space.
The thought doesn't bother Spencer as much as it probably should.
"Spencer," Brendon's whining, but he's grinning, poking at the soft spot on Spencer's belly right above his hipbone. "Spencer, blowjob."
Spencer grins and tugs Brendon down on top of him, enjoying the press of Brendon's cock before shoving up and over, carefully, until he's pressing Brendon down into the mattress. "Don't rush me," he says, shaking his head a little as bites a trail of kisses down Brendon's collarbone, along the line of his stomach, into the trail of hair leading down. When he finally wraps his lips around Brendon's cock, Brendon groans, thrusting up and clenching his fists into the sheets on the bunk.
"Sorry, sorry," he says, brushing his fingers along the line of Spencer's ear once.
Spencer can actually see Brendon try to control the movement of his hips, can tell by the way his stomach muscles clench, by the way his knuckles are turning white against the sheets. He reaches out and wraps his fingers around Brendon's hand and moves their hands to his head. "I like it this way," he says and looks up enough to see Brendon nod before stretching his head back and smiling.
It's kind of a shock to Spencer how much he does like it: Brendon's hands holding tight, the movement of Brendon's hips, the way he never hesitates to say exactly what he wants and how he wants it. Faster and harder and it's like sheet music, notes building on notes, exact and specific and beautiful to hear. It's whispered pleads and the way Brendon tenses up when the touch is too light and melts into the bed when the touch is just that little bit rough.
When Brendon comes, it's strangely silent, their fingers tangled tight, his feet pushing them both up off the bed. Afterwards, he pulls Spencer up and licks into his mouth, unbuttoning Spencer's jeans and jacking him hard and fast and rough.
Spencer realizes that whatever this thing is that they have, it's sort of almost perfect.
**
Spencer's drinking coffee one morning, watching the boring nothingness of Middle America roll by outside the bus window. They're somewhere east of Indiana, but Spencer's not entirely sure where. Someplace with a lot of open land between here and their next venue that's a full day's ride away. Spencer hates bus days.
Ryan's sitting across the small kitchen table from him, a mess of crumbs surrounding his beat-up, old notebook. "So, you and Brendon," Ryan says between bites of his breakfast.
Spencer keeps sipping his coffee, looking away from the window and across the table at Ryan with a raised eyebrow. "Me and Brendon?"
"Would that be yes?" Ryan asks. He's eating a Poptart and his hands are wrapped around his old 'Fall Out Boy Fanboy' mug that Pete had given right after they signed. Spencer's never found it all that funny, but that's Ryan and Pete in a nutshell. Whatever -- it's always been Ryan's favorite mug.
"Yes," Spencer says, not really an answer at all. He's not going to lie, although he might be willing to bend the truth a little if he thought Ryan would buy it. It's not like he's embarrassed, but this is completely not Ryan's business.
"And?" Ryan takes another huge bite of his Poptart, splattering crumbs across their small kitchen table.
"And what? Was there something you wanted to know?" Spencer makes sure to look directly at Ryan, unflinching in the face of Ryan's blank look.
"Nope. Not a thing," Ryan says, but he's starting to smile into his coffee cup. "My question has been answered completely."
**
"Move over," Brendon says, shuffling closer on the couch and spreading his legs out along the cushions. He's moved just enough that they're touching chest to thigh, contorted on the couch in some weird sitting-cuddling position that isn't all that comfortable.
Spencer inches over and Brendon curls in even closer, until Spencer can't really help but reach out and wind their fingers together, softly brushing his thumb over the palm of Brendon's hand. Brendon settles against him and they go back to staring at One Tree Hill on the TV. (One Tree Hill. Fucking Jon and his stupid teenage dramas that have hooked them all.)
And it's moments like this when it's just them, before sex or after sex, when they're just lying on the couch, all quiet conversations and long silences, when Brendon actually sits still, easy and relaxed. Strangely, it's somehow more Brendon despite the lack of motion. It's all the goofiness and happiness, just contained in his eyes and shared with the lazy, comfortable sprawl of his body.
Brendon hums softly under his breath during all the big, lame angst montages. The smooth vibrations flow across Spencer's chest, just a soft sort of rumbling that rolls through his body, making him feel heavy and tired and so comfortable that he leans his head against Brendon's and closes his eyes. Brendon's twisted their hands around enough that's he's softly running his fingers up and down the inside of Spencer's wrist, long, slow strokes, and Spencer feels himself slip into sleep.
When he wakes up the TV screen is blue, One Tree Hill ended and gone. Brendon's still curled into his side, head tossed back and pressed into Spencer's neck, snoring softly. There's a blanket tossed across their legs, halfway on and halfway off, and Spencer's pretty sure he's never been this perfectly comfortable in his life. He doesn't even want to think about moving.
But.
And there's always a 'but' somewhere, Spencer knows. They've been fucking for six weeks and there's been very little awkwardness between them, but there have also been a whole lot of limits, and lines, and things left unsaid. This - long, slow cuddles and nights spent wrapped each other -- is teetering dangerously close to all those unspoken places.
As much as Spencer would like to deny it, things have been changing between them. Almost invisible things like a hand running softly down Spencer's side as Brendon walks by, fingertips sliding smoothly, that much softer than they would have before; a smile that Spencer's never seen before on Brendon's face, one that looks more like contentment than giddy exuberance.
Spencer thinks that he sort of loves that look on Brendon.
Eventually, his back starts to cramp up, and the patch of drool on his shirt from Brendon's mouth starts to get uncomfortably cool, and really, what the hell is thinking?
There's no fucking, no sex, going on here. They're not doing anything that Spencer can't do better in his own bunk.
He shakes Brendon gently. "Bren, hey, wake up." Spencer tries to keep his voice quiet, but it still echoes in the small lounge.
Brendon opens his eyes, and looks up at Spencer. His fingers tighten around Spencer's hand. "Hey, you." His voice is sleep-rough and gravelly.
Spencer smiles a little, enjoying the way his body starts to vibrate. "Time to go to bed," Spencer says, finally.
"Mmmmm...'m comfortable right here," Brendon says, turning his face into Spencer's neck, rubbing his stubbly cheek across Spencer's skin.
"My back hurts. Come on." Spencer pushes him away, softly, and eases up off the couch. He reaches up and stretches huge, his pajama pants sagging low, his t-shirt riding up. Looking over, he catches Brendon staring at him, eyes wide and soft looking, a small smile tilting up his mouth. Spencer shrugs his shoulders and grins, holding out his hand and helping Brendon up off the couch.
They stumble back toward the bunk area, hands linked, Spencer swaying comfortably, still sleepy and droopy-eyed. Brendon goes to climb into Spencer's bunk, and Spencer tugs him back a little, sort of taps him across the aisle to his own bunk. He catches the flash of confusion in Brendon's eyes.
"Not enough room," he lies, staring hard at his toes wiggling against the bus carpet.
Brendon just nods and squeezes Spencer's hand once before climbing into his own bunk. "Yeah, sure, Spence," he says, shutting the curtain with a small wave. His mouth is curved up into something that's supposed to look like a smile, but doesn't, not really.
Spencer watches the curtain rustle in front of Brendon's bunk, can hear the slow, shuffle of his body as he settles against the cushion. Usually, Brendon says exactly what he wants in bed, no embarrassment or stumbling sentences, so it's sort of unexpected that he's not saying exactly what he wants outside of bed too. The silence between them feels heavy.
Sliding into his own bunk, Spencer pulls his blankets up tight, trying to recapture that warmth from earlier. The blankets are scratchy, and his feet are cold, and the hand Brendon had been holding feels tingly, the skin stretched painfully tight around the joints.
The bed's empty and ice cold, and even though Spencer is bone-deep exhausted, he can't find a comfortable position. He just tosses and turns, his body searching for something that's not quite there.
Maybe, possibly, that's when Spencer realizes that the other shoe has finally dropped.
**
They've got the next two nights in a hotel room and Spencer thinks it'll probably be the best two days of touring ever. A comfortable bed and plenty of sleep, and maybe they're overloaded on interviews and an extra show, but still. He's so tired he can hardly keep his eyes open, his body already sinking down into the bed in exhaustion.
Two hotel nights. Fucking awesome.
The bed gets even better when Brendon slides onto the sheets next to him, a few drops of water still trailing steaming pathways across his skin. Spencer turns his head to the side and watches as Brendon wiggles closer until he's pressed up close to Spencer, the space between them shrinking into nothingness.
"Let's have sex," Brendon says, a grin on his face as he starts trailing kissing across Spencer's chest.
That sounds like the only thing that'll make this whole two hotel night thing even better. Except Spencer's so unbearably exhausted that he can't quite make his arms move off the bed. Instead, he just closes his eyes and floats along on the feel of Brendon's lips against his skin.
"Or maybe not," Brendon says, laughing softly when Spencer still hasn't moved. He lifts himself up and over, settling his weight carefully on top of Spencer. His fingers start to trace random lines under Spencer's eyes, so softly that Spencer can't be sure he's not imagining the touch. "You look exhausted."
"Yeah," Spencer whispers, breathing slowly in and out. Brendon's face is only inches away; he's got his own dark circles under his eyes and he's been shaking, just a little, since last night when he flopped on the couch next to Spencer, curled up with his face stuck in Spencer's armpit and slept for three hours straight.
Brendon's grin is small, but it's there. Not really any ordinary kind of grin either, something different, a little off in ways that Spencer can't quite place. He likes it though.
Leaning down, Brendon lets his lips wander softly over Spencer's. Just a trail of small kisses that get a little deeper, a little wetter, but never turn into anything that Spencer has to do more than lie there and welcome. Brendon laughs against his mouth and swipes his teeth against Spencer's chin.
"Tell you what, you lie there and I'll do a little of this," he leans down and licks a stripe up Spencer's neck, "And a little of that," he rocks his hips gently against Spencer's body. "And then we'll see what happens."
Spencer can't fight down the smile that spreads across his face. "I could go for a little of this and a little of that," he says. He gets his arms to move just enough that he can rest his hands on Brendon's hips, holding steady and pulling easily to get Brendon moving again. There's not much he can do, not really, not with Brendon taunting him with small kisses that never quite manage to land on his mouth.
Smooth teases that have Spencer groaning softly in anticipation.
Brendon lifts up enough to get his elbow on the bed next to Spencer's head, his other hand winding up through Spencer's hair, massaging at the scalp with firm touches that Spencer presses into. They're still rocking together slow and easy, not enough to do much for either of them probably, but Spencer can feel the hard edge of Brendon's cock and the way his leg muscles are starting to contract slowly with the motion of their bodies.
Up and down and back and forth, it's just small slow circles of Brendon's hips.
"Bren," Spencer whispers, and he can hardly recognize his voice, too rough and too low, sounding too tiredly wanting.
"Shhh...," Brendon says against his lips. He lowers his body just enough that he can lick into Spencer's mouth, once, twice, speeding up the movements of his body until they're both gasping into the kiss.
"Bren, Bren, Brendon." Spencer can hear himself chanting, but the sound is removed, sort of swirling around them, mostly unrecognizable.
"Spence, I...you...yes..," Brendon whispers, moving faster and faster. Fast enough that Spencer's stomach tightens up, his breath ragged as he comes in a slow, rolling wave.
Brendon's body stills and Spencer can feel the wetness spreading between them, warm and slick. Spencer doesn't pull away, just tips Brendon off to the side, enough that he can breathe easy again, and nuzzles into Brendon's neck. "Mmmm...." It's more a sound than a word, but Brendon nods his head and says, "Yeah, Spence," like he was answering a question.
Spence thinks about pushing Brendon away, climbing out of this bed and then flinging himself onto the other one, but he's warm and comfortable, and he can hardly feel his legs anymore. He's so sleepy and tired, and he really fucking deserves one night, just one damn night, of this.
"Stay?" He asks against Brendon's skin, and Brendon nods his head, and Spencer thinks that maybe Brendon already answered that question.
**
It's the first time in a week that Spencer's had an unlimited supply of hot water. When he climbs under the scorching hot spray of the shower, he closes his eyes and presses his hands against the tile wall. He moans as the water slices across his skin.
The shower curtain is pulled back, blasting cold air into the warmth of the shower stall. "Brendon, get the fuck in, Jesus," he says, not bothering to lift himself out of the spray.
He hears the quiet giggle behind him right before arms wrap around his waist, a cold body pressing against his back. Shaking his head, he smiles.
"I think I will." Brendon's words are muffled against Spencer's back. "Morning," he says, his hands wandering down Spencer's stomach, rubbing softly before coming to rest on Spencer's hips.
Spencer turns around in the spray and wraps his arms around Brendon. "Morning," he says when he's resting his forehead against Brendon's.
For a while, they just stand there, trapped together in the spray, letting the water work its magic on both of them. Spencer still feels that small hook of fatigue, the kind that sort of settles in his body deep enough that he won't be able to escape it entirely until a month after the tour's over. He feels better, though. Better than he has in a month really, rested enough that the aches are gone and that itch under his skin has settled down into something bearable.
He spreads his fingers across Brendon's cheeks, tugging just enough that Brendon turns his face so that Spencer can kiss him slowly and methodically.
Strong hands rub up his back and into Spencer's hair, tugging on the strands, wrapping them around fingers. Brendon runs his tongue along the crease of Spencer's lip once and then pulls back till there's a slice of space between. For a minute, he stands perfectly still, staring at Spencer's face.
Spencer can practically feel Brendon's eyes on him as he let his eyes wander from Spencer's face, down to his neck, back to his mouth. It's like a liquid trail of heat sliding across Spencer's skin.
Brendon's fingers trace a line into Spencer's beard, tugging softly at the strands. He's grinning and watching his fingers carefully. "So," Brendon says, "I sort of miss your face."
"Umm...okay?" Spencer says, not really understanding, but he's not going to pull away. Brendon's fingers are still dancing across Spencer's face and it feels amazing.
"Yeah, I really do," Brendon says, leaning close and placing light kisses along the edges of Spencer's beard. "Like, a lot, really. Not that I don't love the beard and all but-." Brendon shrugs his shoulders.
Spencer wraps his fingers around Brendon's fingers, stilling them against his cheeks. He stares at Brendon: the way he's biting at his lip, staring at Spencer like he's asking some sort of question. The way he's not fighting against Spencer's grip on his hands. There's something going on that Spencer can't quite figure out. Although, that's pretty much been par for the course since they started this whole thing.
Spencer thinks that in his own way, Brendon's been waiting for Spencer to make some sort of decision. To take them wherever it is that they're headed. Spencer has no idea, but he's going to have to figure it out and soon. This strange limbo can't last forever.
"You see my face every day," he says because it's the easiest question to answer right now. "You see a whole lot more than just my face every day." It's a lame joke and Spencer knows it. His fingers tighten around Brendon's hands in apology.
"Not so much what I was talking about," Brendon says quietly, moving his fingers just enough that Spencer can feel the tug on his beard.
His beard.
Oh.
"I'm not shaving my beard," he says, already shaking his head. "No, no, no. Brendon," he's whispering the words by this point.
"Okay," Brendon says, shrugging his shoulder. "It's just...," he turns his head and Spencer can see the scrape of red on Brendon's neck, raw and sort of painful looking. "It's just...beard burn, you know. Kind of irritating." He shrugs his shoulders, mouth twisted at the corner. "Also, sort of obvious."
Spencer had grown the beard with Haley, some sort of statement that he had needed to make at 19. He's kept it because he's gotten used to the feel of it, gotten used to the startled looks, the way he's completely different than the Spencer he was when they started the band. It covers soft cheeks and a jaw that's somewhat less than strongly defined and, well, it's a way to hide parts of himself that he doesn't want to share.
Apparently, it's also the thing that'll give Brendon's life away to the world.
Put that way, Spencer realizes that there's not much of a choice here. But Brendon's still standing there, silently watching him, that look in his eyes that Spencer's been trying to figure out for a while.
Spencer clears his throat. "Is that bad? I mean, would you mind? People figuring it out?" Spencer asks finally, not really sure what he's hoping the answer will be.
Brendon shuffles half a step back, out of the spray of water, putting a little more space between them. Spencer immediately misses the warmth because the air feels cold against his skin.
"I wouldn't mind people knowing. I just don't want to be standing out there alone when they figure it out." His leg starts to bounce, just a little, but he keeps his eyes on Spencer's.
Spencer clears his throat. "You know that we've - Ryan, Jon and I - we've got your back. You know that, right?"
Brendon laughs and it sounds bitter in the shower of water. "And you know that's not what I mean."
Spencer nods his head. "Yeah, I know." He drops Brendon's hands and steps closer, spreading his fingers against Brendon's hips and tugging him closer, back into the warmth of the water.
"The beard?" Brendon asks, standing still against Spencer.
"Leave it," Spencer says and kisses Brendon. Not a promise, not really, but it's enough that Brendon lifts his head and kisses back.
Stay
[Panic; Brendon/Spencer; 6700 words]
Summary: It's early morning, the sun not yet breaking over the horizon, when Spencer knocks on the hotel room door.
So many thanks to schneestern for the beta! *hugs* All remaining mistakes are my own.
Stay
by Sori
It's early morning, the sun not yet breaking over the horizon, when Spencer knocks on the hotel room door.
When the door opens, Brendon's already reaching out, pulling Spencer inside and pressing their bodies together. His hands are running up Spencer's chest and into his hair, slow and rough, deliberate in ways that Brendon's usually not.
Spencer should probably say something, slow them down in some way because it seems wrong to do it like this, too easy and without a word spoken between them. They're both looking for uncomplicated, but it seems like there should be some sort of etiquette for this kind of thing.
(Spencer hadn't been able to look away from that small slice of skin. Brendon stretching big in the dressing room, cracking his neck and softly singing under his breath, and right there, right where his shirt didn't quite meet the waistband of his pants was this quick flash of pale skin. Spencer had never gotten so hard, so fast in his life. Too long, Spencer had thought then. It'd been too long since-- )
Spencer anchors himself with Brendon's hips, spinning them around and pushing him into the wall, his whole body moving in close and tight and there, licking into Brendon's mouth with quick swipes of tongue and slow, biting kisses.
Brendon groans. "This is yes, right? Oh, fuck, this had better be you saying yes."
("We could do this for each other, Spence," Brendon had said. "It's obvious, right? Better than the groupies, better than--")
And if Spencer hadn't already decided, hadn't spent the entire day after sound check thinking about Brendon's offer again and again, he knows that the sound of Brendon's voice right now would have changed his mind. All honest need wrapped inside the sound of quiet desperation.
Spencer pulls back long enough to ask, "What do you want to do?" Because that's what this whole thing is about - getting exactly what they like and want and need without any of the complications.
(And Spencer hadn't gotten what Brendon was asking, not really, not until Brendon had leaned over and coaxed Spencer's mouth into a kiss that was more wet than good--)
"Orgasms. I fucking love orgasms," Brendon answers, pulling Spencer's head back down for a kiss, and shoving Spencer backwards until they're shuffling toward the bed. "Big ones and little ones and...," he's laughing, enough that Spencer can feel the rumble of his chest and the smile on his lips.
"And little ones, too," Spencer sing-songs back. His legs hit the bed and he falls, tumbling onto the mattress and pulling Brendon with him, arching up into the feel of Brendon's body already covering his own.
"Oh my god, seriously, and people say that I'm-," Brendon's saying, until Spencer growls and flips them over on the bed, pushing Brendon's t-shirt up far enough that he can press kisses along the length of Brendon's chest.
(And right before Brendon had gotten up, he looked over at Spencer and said, "It's a hotel night tonight. Spencer, this wouldn't be just for you. I need it, too--")
"Clothes," Brendon gasps out, pushing Spencer away and pulling off his shirt.
Spencer watches for a minute, Brendon's skin flashing in the dimness, his complete relish at getting naked with Spencer obvious. It's enough to get Spencer up and moving, stripping off his own clothes fast enough that Brendon's still working on shoving his jeans down his legs by the time Spencer's finished.
Brendon stutters to a stop, staring at Spencer, wide-eyed, and grinning. "Fuck, Spencer." He shakes his head and says, finally, "Help me, ass. Come on.."
Spencer reaches out and starts tugging down Brendon's pants. Brendon's pushing and Spencer's pulling, squirming around together until the pants are off, dangling from Spencer's fingers, and Brendon's grinning happily up at him. "Dude. You are totally my hero," he says, taking the pants from Spencer's fingers and tossing them off the side of the bed.
It's been a while since Spencer's been hard and horny when he's laughing. He'd forgotten how good it is to feel the laughter shake up through his body, tightening and stretching thin the nerves already coiled tight from arousal. It's better, making the awkward parts easy and simple and awesome in the ways that they're usually just awkward.
Brendon pushes him down flat against the bed, and slides up Spencer's body. He's already reaching out and winding fingers through Spencer's hair, tugging hard until Spencer leans up enough to lick into Brendon's mouth, tasting cigarettes and beer and the smooth, warm malt of whiskey.
Spencer groans into the kiss, shudders as Brendon sinks his teeth into Spencer's lips.
"Fuck," Brendon says, and Spencer's nodding, wrapping his hands around Brendon's hips and thrusting up against Spencer's body once, twice. "We should fuck now, definitely," Brendon's gasping out between almost-moans. "Condom, condom, condom."
It takes a minute for Spencer to understand the words, by then Brendon's already pushing away from Spencer and rolling off the bed. Spencer watches his ass as Brendon bends over a duffel bag, pulling out shirts and pants, flinging them across the room. He stands up with a condom in one hand, a tube of lube in the other.
"Okay, now we can fuck," Brendon says, smiling huge as he jumps back on the bed, tossing the lube and the condom next to them, his mouth already tracing out lines across Spencer's chest.
"Fucking finally," Spencer says, grinning against the rough scrape of Brendon's stubble as he reaches for the tube.
Spencer only manages a few swipes of slick fingers then Brendon's moaning, "Now, right the fuck now," like it was a command.
And before Spencer can do more than nod - fuck, yes, please, that - Brendon's already moving up and over, sinking down slow onto Spencer's cock, his head thrown back, fingers wound tight against Spencer's chest.
"Spence," he says, blinking once, twice. "Move, oh my fucking God, move already."
Spencer starts moving, tries to stay in control enough to get them both off slow and easy. And fuck, Spencer used to be good at this part, drawing it out, making it last; making the other person want it with a shocking desperation. But Spencer keeps getting lost in Brendon: the heat that rolls off him in waves, his low groans that vibrate against Spencer's body, the way Brendon keeps slowing them down with small, contained little motions, knowing each and every time that Spencer's already teetering on the brink of control.
It's maddening and crazy, and Spencer's too far gone to spend much time fighting Brendon for control. Instead, he stretches back, his hands wrapped around Brendon's hips, and lets Brendon get them both where they want to be. It's almost a surprise when he feels Brendon tumble headfirst into orgasm, pulling Spencer along with a moaned, "Fuck, yes, Spencer," his body clenching down until Spencer's gasping and coming too.
Brendon slumps back onto the bed, not moving, just lying there, staring at the wall, already halfway asleep. Spencer feels dazed and confused and so good he could melt into the bed right now and stay forever. For a minute, Spencer holds perfectly still, knowing he's got to move, but not quite ready.
He doesn't get to curl up next to Brendon, soaking in the warmth and sleeping for hours. That's not what this is about.
Spencer rolls out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom. He doesn't turn on the light until the door's closed. Shaking his head, Spencer climbs into the shower, closing the cheap curtain, and shutting his eyes against the weak spray of water.
Brendon's spent the day turning Spencer's world view upside down, from the moment Spencer looked across the dressing room and saw that small slice of skin, a quick flash of white, until later when Brendon slid onto the couch next to him and blurted out the most ridiculous idea ever. Spencer had spent hours, long after everyone stumbled into their hotel rooms, considering Brendon, and his offer, and what it'd mean to them.
Not just to Brendon and Spencer, but to Ryan and Jon, as well. It was their band and if things got awkward, maybe even fell apart, they'd all pay the price. Spencer hadn't been entirely sure what he was going to say until he'd shown up at Brendon's room and didn't say no when Brendon pulled him inside. So far, it'd worked out pretty well.
Not a really stupid idea then. At least not yet.
He feels the cold blast of air first, feels Brendon's hands wrap around his hips next. Spencer doesn't need to open his eyes to see Brendon climbing in the shower behind him, pressing close, his mouth already moving across the skin of Spencer's shoulder.
Spencer turns around and licks into Brendon's mouth and it's quick shower sex, a couple of dirty blowjobs, hands scrambling for purchase on soap slick skin and smooth tile walls. It's good and easy, and for the first time in a while, Spencer feels bone weary and exhausted in all the right ways.
Somehow, it doesn't feel awkward at all.
**
The next day is so phenomenally normal that Spencer spends ten minutes standing in front of the bathroom mirror on the bus, listening to Jon's whispered voice on the phone with Cassie, and Ryan and Brendon arguing over d-scale harmonies in the kitchen. Spencer would think he'd imagined the whole thing if it wasn't for the long row of scrapes on his chest, the red, raw patches of skin on his neck and thighs that are still burning from Brendon's beard stubble.
Spencer waits all day for the awkwardness to set in.
Shower sex leads to sound check, and pre-show prep, and what turns out to be the best show of the tour. Spencer's drumming faster, sharper, that much cleaner than usual, Brendon has the crowd roaring, nuzzling up against Ryan and singing into his microphone, grinning at Jon across the stage, and wagging his ass at Spencer.
Possibly, Spencer may be imagining the ass wagging. It's hard to tell with Brendon.
When the show's over, Brendon climbs onto Spencer's back after the encore, ignoring the sweat soaking through his shirt and his hair plastered to his head. It's just like usual. They get back to the bus and flop down around the small bus TV to watch DVDs in the lounge: The Princess Bride and Spinal Tap and Transformers for the fifteenth time which leads to stupid jokes about dwarfs and six-fingered men.
When Ryan and Jon finally stumble back toward the bunks, Brendon reaches across the inches separating them and winds his fingers through Spencer's hair, pulling him into a kiss. Spencer moans, and hitches Brendon closer, leaning back against the arm of the couch, tugging Brendon along until they're half stretched out, half sitting up. They're touching from their shoulders all the way down to their legs, their rough denim and t-shirts sliding together. Brendon pulls back and laughs, a small laugh that sounds desperate.
Spencer recognizes the feeling.
"You should have sex with me again. Right now," Brendon says as he's already grinding down against Spencer's body.
Spencer captures Brendon hands and pulls them up over their heads, wiggling down the couch, watching Brendon's eyes lose focus, his mouth fall open on a loud breath. "I really should," Spencer says, thrusting up slow and even with his hips.
Brendon struggles against Spencer's hands, not enough to pull away, just enough to jostle them together, enough that Spencer winds their fingers together and stretches his hands farther back. They're both moving now, frantic movements that aren't enough, not really, but it's close enough that Spencer's legs are trembling and Brendon's breath is ragged against Spencer's lips.
Spencer gasps and rolls them off the couch, hitting the carpet with a muffled thump. "Ryan and Jon," Spencer starts to say, because they're just down the hall in the bunks, but Brendon quiets him with a kiss, whispering, "They're not going to care," against his lips.
And it's not like Spencer can stop, not when he's already thumbing open the button on Brendon's pants, reaching inside and pulling out his cock, palming it once, twice, fast. Brendon gasps into his mouth, pushing away just enough to start working at Spencer's pants, and fuck, Spencer moans as Brendon's hands move against his fly.
Shoving Brendon's hands away, he rolls them just enough that they're lying on their sides facing each other. He works Brendon faster, biting down on his neck, licking at the teeth marks.
"Spencer." Brendon's breathless, his voice so quiet that Spencer can barely hear it over the rattling of his own breath.
Brendon opens his eyes and comes over Spencer's hands. He takes one shattered breath then another, before saying, "Fuck, Spencer. Get your pants off."
Spencer rips at the button on his jeans, pushing the fabric down his hips, already reaching for Brendon's hand, whispering, "Please," like there was any chance at all of Brendon saying no.
Brendon's hand wraps around Spencer's cock and the tight grip around his cock is enough to get Spencer's legs shaking, the slow, smooth pull up and down, just enough pressure that it burns, a small hurt, and Brendon's leaning in, his tongue dancing across Spencer's neck. When Spencer groans it's loud enough that Spencer bites down on his tongue trying to keep it inside; Brendon just smiles against his skin and speeds up his hand.
A little more pressure, just that much faster, and Spencer is tumbling into orgasm.
Brendon kisses him after, just small kisses that tease at his lips without ever going further. Spencer can't do much beyond hope that Ryan and Jon don't walk out from the bunks anytime soon. When they pull themselves up, Brendon kisses him just once more, strangely chaste on his lips before walking back to the bunks.
Spencer follows slowly.
"Night, Spence," he hears Brendon whisper from the bunk beneath him.
Spencer falls asleep listening to Brendon's quietly stuttering breaths. They sound distant, far away, even though there's only five feet between them.
**
Spencer's days take on a hazy, satisfied quality. They write some music and play some shows; occasionally they drink, sometimes they smoke up. Suddenly, it's not just Brendon's voice singing their songs; it's the sound of Brendon's voice saying yes and harder and fuck and blowjobs, seriously, Spence, they're the best thing ever. It's not just Brendon stripping down before a show, climbing into his ridiculous hippie shirts, it's Brendon stripping down and climbing into a hotel bed or the bunk on the bus, taunting Spencer with miles of skin.
As far as changes go, it's mostly a pretty good one.
Brendon's never been one to hesitate to move in close, leaning his head against any available shoulder, winding fingers together quickly and squeezing, saying something in Brendon speak that only his closest friends can usually figure out. It's normal for Spencer to feel Brendon's fingers ghosting over his skin. Innocent touches that have happened a thousand times a day for the last five years.
Those touches feel wrong now. They're too much when Spencer can still feel the beard burn on his thighs, can still remember the hours Brendon spent tracing lingering pathways across Spencer's body.
It's the little touches, perfectly normal, that feel too obvious in their intimacy.
They're all sitting in the back lounge, Spencer and Jon watching a DVD, Ryan scribbling away in his notebook, occasionally muttering something to himself and then picking up his phone to type. Brendon walks over to the couch and flops down next to Spencer, their legs pressed together at the knee. Spencer moves away a little and Brendon stops, glancing quickly at Spencer.
"Spencer?" Brendon starts to ask but Spencer shakes his head, gesturing toward the TV. Brendon watches Spencer carefully, then turns and settles back against the couch. Their legs almost, but not quite, touching.
Brendon's already laughing at the TV and Spencer has no idea what's so funny because he can't look away from where Brendon's leg is almost touching his own. Obvious obvious obvious he's chanting relentlessly inside his head. Spencer hears Jon laughing on the other side of the couch, and Brendon cracks up, tilting over until he's laughing into Spencer's shoulder just like he has a thousand times before.
Spencer jerks his arm away and Brendon's head topples sideways, painfully if the 'ouch' is anything to go by. "What the fuck?" Brendon says.
Brendon looks over at him and Spencer can actually see the moment Brendon gets what just happened; he can see the hurt look in Brendon's eyes, the way he gets up and shuffles into the kitchen saying something about, "Anyone else want a beer?" over his shoulder like it was just a casual question.
He doesn't come back for a long time. When he finally does, he strolls back, beer in hand and sits on the floor at the other end of the couch by Jon's legs.
Spencer pretends he doesn't notice Jon looking back and forth between them.
**
Brendon's actually better at ignoring people than he's usually given credit for. He effectively evades Spencer for the rest of the day, managing to get through two radio interviews, sound check and a meet-and-greet without ever coming within two feet of Spencer.
Spencer feels every foot of that space in the way that it itches across his shoulder blades, like eyes drilling into his back, painful and annoying.
That night Brendon pulls back the curtain on Spencer's bunk and climbs inside all hesitant restraint and shuffling body parts. "Spencer, earlier -," he starts to say quietly, but Spencer's already stealing away the words, keeping them trapped with soft kisses and slow, careful touches of tongue.
"Shhhh," Spencer whispers into the kiss, as if somehow Spencer can take away that moment if they don't actually talk about it.
Brendon opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but he must change his mind because he nods his head and wraps his hands into Spencer's hair. "Yeah, okay," he says.
For a while, he lets Spencer control the kiss, then Brendon rolls them over, his hands pressing down against Spencer's, holding them in place, not letting Spencer move. And maybe, okay probably, Spencer could break that hold, but Brendon's pressed up against him, rocking them together, licking into Spencer's mouth almost rough, and Spencer can't imagine ever pushing away from this touch.
"I want a blow job," Brendon says, his voice gravelly against Spencer's ear. "I want to watch you between my legs. I want to watch you touch me. Fuck, Spencer...."
And for a minute the world grays out at the edges, tunnel vision setting in, and that's all that Spencer can see: lying between Brendon's legs, his mouth wrapped around Brendon's cock, Brendon's hand winding through his hair, tugging harder and harder, taking everything that he wants and everything that Spencer wants to give.
"Yeah." Spencer clears his throat. "I can do that," Spencer says.
He reaches down and palms Brendon's cock through his pants, pushing just hard enough that Brendon moans and thrusts against Spencer's hand. "Take your pants off," Spencer says, his voice sounding almost steady.
Brendon's already scrambling up and around, twisting weirdly in the small bunk space, and pulling off his pants. He stares hard at Spencer as he tosses his pants deliberately out of the curtain, into the walkway between their bunks. Spencer watches, imagines Ryan stumbling down the aisle and stepping on Brendon's pants lying outside Spencer's space.
The thought doesn't bother Spencer as much as it probably should.
"Spencer," Brendon's whining, but he's grinning, poking at the soft spot on Spencer's belly right above his hipbone. "Spencer, blowjob."
Spencer grins and tugs Brendon down on top of him, enjoying the press of Brendon's cock before shoving up and over, carefully, until he's pressing Brendon down into the mattress. "Don't rush me," he says, shaking his head a little as bites a trail of kisses down Brendon's collarbone, along the line of his stomach, into the trail of hair leading down. When he finally wraps his lips around Brendon's cock, Brendon groans, thrusting up and clenching his fists into the sheets on the bunk.
"Sorry, sorry," he says, brushing his fingers along the line of Spencer's ear once.
Spencer can actually see Brendon try to control the movement of his hips, can tell by the way his stomach muscles clench, by the way his knuckles are turning white against the sheets. He reaches out and wraps his fingers around Brendon's hand and moves their hands to his head. "I like it this way," he says and looks up enough to see Brendon nod before stretching his head back and smiling.
It's kind of a shock to Spencer how much he does like it: Brendon's hands holding tight, the movement of Brendon's hips, the way he never hesitates to say exactly what he wants and how he wants it. Faster and harder and it's like sheet music, notes building on notes, exact and specific and beautiful to hear. It's whispered pleads and the way Brendon tenses up when the touch is too light and melts into the bed when the touch is just that little bit rough.
When Brendon comes, it's strangely silent, their fingers tangled tight, his feet pushing them both up off the bed. Afterwards, he pulls Spencer up and licks into his mouth, unbuttoning Spencer's jeans and jacking him hard and fast and rough.
Spencer realizes that whatever this thing is that they have, it's sort of almost perfect.
**
Spencer's drinking coffee one morning, watching the boring nothingness of Middle America roll by outside the bus window. They're somewhere east of Indiana, but Spencer's not entirely sure where. Someplace with a lot of open land between here and their next venue that's a full day's ride away. Spencer hates bus days.
Ryan's sitting across the small kitchen table from him, a mess of crumbs surrounding his beat-up, old notebook. "So, you and Brendon," Ryan says between bites of his breakfast.
Spencer keeps sipping his coffee, looking away from the window and across the table at Ryan with a raised eyebrow. "Me and Brendon?"
"Would that be yes?" Ryan asks. He's eating a Poptart and his hands are wrapped around his old 'Fall Out Boy Fanboy' mug that Pete had given right after they signed. Spencer's never found it all that funny, but that's Ryan and Pete in a nutshell. Whatever -- it's always been Ryan's favorite mug.
"Yes," Spencer says, not really an answer at all. He's not going to lie, although he might be willing to bend the truth a little if he thought Ryan would buy it. It's not like he's embarrassed, but this is completely not Ryan's business.
"And?" Ryan takes another huge bite of his Poptart, splattering crumbs across their small kitchen table.
"And what? Was there something you wanted to know?" Spencer makes sure to look directly at Ryan, unflinching in the face of Ryan's blank look.
"Nope. Not a thing," Ryan says, but he's starting to smile into his coffee cup. "My question has been answered completely."
**
"Move over," Brendon says, shuffling closer on the couch and spreading his legs out along the cushions. He's moved just enough that they're touching chest to thigh, contorted on the couch in some weird sitting-cuddling position that isn't all that comfortable.
Spencer inches over and Brendon curls in even closer, until Spencer can't really help but reach out and wind their fingers together, softly brushing his thumb over the palm of Brendon's hand. Brendon settles against him and they go back to staring at One Tree Hill on the TV. (One Tree Hill. Fucking Jon and his stupid teenage dramas that have hooked them all.)
And it's moments like this when it's just them, before sex or after sex, when they're just lying on the couch, all quiet conversations and long silences, when Brendon actually sits still, easy and relaxed. Strangely, it's somehow more Brendon despite the lack of motion. It's all the goofiness and happiness, just contained in his eyes and shared with the lazy, comfortable sprawl of his body.
Brendon hums softly under his breath during all the big, lame angst montages. The smooth vibrations flow across Spencer's chest, just a soft sort of rumbling that rolls through his body, making him feel heavy and tired and so comfortable that he leans his head against Brendon's and closes his eyes. Brendon's twisted their hands around enough that's he's softly running his fingers up and down the inside of Spencer's wrist, long, slow strokes, and Spencer feels himself slip into sleep.
When he wakes up the TV screen is blue, One Tree Hill ended and gone. Brendon's still curled into his side, head tossed back and pressed into Spencer's neck, snoring softly. There's a blanket tossed across their legs, halfway on and halfway off, and Spencer's pretty sure he's never been this perfectly comfortable in his life. He doesn't even want to think about moving.
But.
And there's always a 'but' somewhere, Spencer knows. They've been fucking for six weeks and there's been very little awkwardness between them, but there have also been a whole lot of limits, and lines, and things left unsaid. This - long, slow cuddles and nights spent wrapped each other -- is teetering dangerously close to all those unspoken places.
As much as Spencer would like to deny it, things have been changing between them. Almost invisible things like a hand running softly down Spencer's side as Brendon walks by, fingertips sliding smoothly, that much softer than they would have before; a smile that Spencer's never seen before on Brendon's face, one that looks more like contentment than giddy exuberance.
Spencer thinks that he sort of loves that look on Brendon.
Eventually, his back starts to cramp up, and the patch of drool on his shirt from Brendon's mouth starts to get uncomfortably cool, and really, what the hell is thinking?
There's no fucking, no sex, going on here. They're not doing anything that Spencer can't do better in his own bunk.
He shakes Brendon gently. "Bren, hey, wake up." Spencer tries to keep his voice quiet, but it still echoes in the small lounge.
Brendon opens his eyes, and looks up at Spencer. His fingers tighten around Spencer's hand. "Hey, you." His voice is sleep-rough and gravelly.
Spencer smiles a little, enjoying the way his body starts to vibrate. "Time to go to bed," Spencer says, finally.
"Mmmmm...'m comfortable right here," Brendon says, turning his face into Spencer's neck, rubbing his stubbly cheek across Spencer's skin.
"My back hurts. Come on." Spencer pushes him away, softly, and eases up off the couch. He reaches up and stretches huge, his pajama pants sagging low, his t-shirt riding up. Looking over, he catches Brendon staring at him, eyes wide and soft looking, a small smile tilting up his mouth. Spencer shrugs his shoulders and grins, holding out his hand and helping Brendon up off the couch.
They stumble back toward the bunk area, hands linked, Spencer swaying comfortably, still sleepy and droopy-eyed. Brendon goes to climb into Spencer's bunk, and Spencer tugs him back a little, sort of taps him across the aisle to his own bunk. He catches the flash of confusion in Brendon's eyes.
"Not enough room," he lies, staring hard at his toes wiggling against the bus carpet.
Brendon just nods and squeezes Spencer's hand once before climbing into his own bunk. "Yeah, sure, Spence," he says, shutting the curtain with a small wave. His mouth is curved up into something that's supposed to look like a smile, but doesn't, not really.
Spencer watches the curtain rustle in front of Brendon's bunk, can hear the slow, shuffle of his body as he settles against the cushion. Usually, Brendon says exactly what he wants in bed, no embarrassment or stumbling sentences, so it's sort of unexpected that he's not saying exactly what he wants outside of bed too. The silence between them feels heavy.
Sliding into his own bunk, Spencer pulls his blankets up tight, trying to recapture that warmth from earlier. The blankets are scratchy, and his feet are cold, and the hand Brendon had been holding feels tingly, the skin stretched painfully tight around the joints.
The bed's empty and ice cold, and even though Spencer is bone-deep exhausted, he can't find a comfortable position. He just tosses and turns, his body searching for something that's not quite there.
Maybe, possibly, that's when Spencer realizes that the other shoe has finally dropped.
**
They've got the next two nights in a hotel room and Spencer thinks it'll probably be the best two days of touring ever. A comfortable bed and plenty of sleep, and maybe they're overloaded on interviews and an extra show, but still. He's so tired he can hardly keep his eyes open, his body already sinking down into the bed in exhaustion.
Two hotel nights. Fucking awesome.
The bed gets even better when Brendon slides onto the sheets next to him, a few drops of water still trailing steaming pathways across his skin. Spencer turns his head to the side and watches as Brendon wiggles closer until he's pressed up close to Spencer, the space between them shrinking into nothingness.
"Let's have sex," Brendon says, a grin on his face as he starts trailing kissing across Spencer's chest.
That sounds like the only thing that'll make this whole two hotel night thing even better. Except Spencer's so unbearably exhausted that he can't quite make his arms move off the bed. Instead, he just closes his eyes and floats along on the feel of Brendon's lips against his skin.
"Or maybe not," Brendon says, laughing softly when Spencer still hasn't moved. He lifts himself up and over, settling his weight carefully on top of Spencer. His fingers start to trace random lines under Spencer's eyes, so softly that Spencer can't be sure he's not imagining the touch. "You look exhausted."
"Yeah," Spencer whispers, breathing slowly in and out. Brendon's face is only inches away; he's got his own dark circles under his eyes and he's been shaking, just a little, since last night when he flopped on the couch next to Spencer, curled up with his face stuck in Spencer's armpit and slept for three hours straight.
Brendon's grin is small, but it's there. Not really any ordinary kind of grin either, something different, a little off in ways that Spencer can't quite place. He likes it though.
Leaning down, Brendon lets his lips wander softly over Spencer's. Just a trail of small kisses that get a little deeper, a little wetter, but never turn into anything that Spencer has to do more than lie there and welcome. Brendon laughs against his mouth and swipes his teeth against Spencer's chin.
"Tell you what, you lie there and I'll do a little of this," he leans down and licks a stripe up Spencer's neck, "And a little of that," he rocks his hips gently against Spencer's body. "And then we'll see what happens."
Spencer can't fight down the smile that spreads across his face. "I could go for a little of this and a little of that," he says. He gets his arms to move just enough that he can rest his hands on Brendon's hips, holding steady and pulling easily to get Brendon moving again. There's not much he can do, not really, not with Brendon taunting him with small kisses that never quite manage to land on his mouth.
Smooth teases that have Spencer groaning softly in anticipation.
Brendon lifts up enough to get his elbow on the bed next to Spencer's head, his other hand winding up through Spencer's hair, massaging at the scalp with firm touches that Spencer presses into. They're still rocking together slow and easy, not enough to do much for either of them probably, but Spencer can feel the hard edge of Brendon's cock and the way his leg muscles are starting to contract slowly with the motion of their bodies.
Up and down and back and forth, it's just small slow circles of Brendon's hips.
"Bren," Spencer whispers, and he can hardly recognize his voice, too rough and too low, sounding too tiredly wanting.
"Shhh...," Brendon says against his lips. He lowers his body just enough that he can lick into Spencer's mouth, once, twice, speeding up the movements of his body until they're both gasping into the kiss.
"Bren, Bren, Brendon." Spencer can hear himself chanting, but the sound is removed, sort of swirling around them, mostly unrecognizable.
"Spence, I...you...yes..," Brendon whispers, moving faster and faster. Fast enough that Spencer's stomach tightens up, his breath ragged as he comes in a slow, rolling wave.
Brendon's body stills and Spencer can feel the wetness spreading between them, warm and slick. Spencer doesn't pull away, just tips Brendon off to the side, enough that he can breathe easy again, and nuzzles into Brendon's neck. "Mmmm...." It's more a sound than a word, but Brendon nods his head and says, "Yeah, Spence," like he was answering a question.
Spence thinks about pushing Brendon away, climbing out of this bed and then flinging himself onto the other one, but he's warm and comfortable, and he can hardly feel his legs anymore. He's so sleepy and tired, and he really fucking deserves one night, just one damn night, of this.
"Stay?" He asks against Brendon's skin, and Brendon nods his head, and Spencer thinks that maybe Brendon already answered that question.
**
It's the first time in a week that Spencer's had an unlimited supply of hot water. When he climbs under the scorching hot spray of the shower, he closes his eyes and presses his hands against the tile wall. He moans as the water slices across his skin.
The shower curtain is pulled back, blasting cold air into the warmth of the shower stall. "Brendon, get the fuck in, Jesus," he says, not bothering to lift himself out of the spray.
He hears the quiet giggle behind him right before arms wrap around his waist, a cold body pressing against his back. Shaking his head, he smiles.
"I think I will." Brendon's words are muffled against Spencer's back. "Morning," he says, his hands wandering down Spencer's stomach, rubbing softly before coming to rest on Spencer's hips.
Spencer turns around in the spray and wraps his arms around Brendon. "Morning," he says when he's resting his forehead against Brendon's.
For a while, they just stand there, trapped together in the spray, letting the water work its magic on both of them. Spencer still feels that small hook of fatigue, the kind that sort of settles in his body deep enough that he won't be able to escape it entirely until a month after the tour's over. He feels better, though. Better than he has in a month really, rested enough that the aches are gone and that itch under his skin has settled down into something bearable.
He spreads his fingers across Brendon's cheeks, tugging just enough that Brendon turns his face so that Spencer can kiss him slowly and methodically.
Strong hands rub up his back and into Spencer's hair, tugging on the strands, wrapping them around fingers. Brendon runs his tongue along the crease of Spencer's lip once and then pulls back till there's a slice of space between. For a minute, he stands perfectly still, staring at Spencer's face.
Spencer can practically feel Brendon's eyes on him as he let his eyes wander from Spencer's face, down to his neck, back to his mouth. It's like a liquid trail of heat sliding across Spencer's skin.
Brendon's fingers trace a line into Spencer's beard, tugging softly at the strands. He's grinning and watching his fingers carefully. "So," Brendon says, "I sort of miss your face."
"Umm...okay?" Spencer says, not really understanding, but he's not going to pull away. Brendon's fingers are still dancing across Spencer's face and it feels amazing.
"Yeah, I really do," Brendon says, leaning close and placing light kisses along the edges of Spencer's beard. "Like, a lot, really. Not that I don't love the beard and all but-." Brendon shrugs his shoulders.
Spencer wraps his fingers around Brendon's fingers, stilling them against his cheeks. He stares at Brendon: the way he's biting at his lip, staring at Spencer like he's asking some sort of question. The way he's not fighting against Spencer's grip on his hands. There's something going on that Spencer can't quite figure out. Although, that's pretty much been par for the course since they started this whole thing.
Spencer thinks that in his own way, Brendon's been waiting for Spencer to make some sort of decision. To take them wherever it is that they're headed. Spencer has no idea, but he's going to have to figure it out and soon. This strange limbo can't last forever.
"You see my face every day," he says because it's the easiest question to answer right now. "You see a whole lot more than just my face every day." It's a lame joke and Spencer knows it. His fingers tighten around Brendon's hands in apology.
"Not so much what I was talking about," Brendon says quietly, moving his fingers just enough that Spencer can feel the tug on his beard.
His beard.
Oh.
"I'm not shaving my beard," he says, already shaking his head. "No, no, no. Brendon," he's whispering the words by this point.
"Okay," Brendon says, shrugging his shoulder. "It's just...," he turns his head and Spencer can see the scrape of red on Brendon's neck, raw and sort of painful looking. "It's just...beard burn, you know. Kind of irritating." He shrugs his shoulders, mouth twisted at the corner. "Also, sort of obvious."
Spencer had grown the beard with Haley, some sort of statement that he had needed to make at 19. He's kept it because he's gotten used to the feel of it, gotten used to the startled looks, the way he's completely different than the Spencer he was when they started the band. It covers soft cheeks and a jaw that's somewhat less than strongly defined and, well, it's a way to hide parts of himself that he doesn't want to share.
Apparently, it's also the thing that'll give Brendon's life away to the world.
Put that way, Spencer realizes that there's not much of a choice here. But Brendon's still standing there, silently watching him, that look in his eyes that Spencer's been trying to figure out for a while.
Spencer clears his throat. "Is that bad? I mean, would you mind? People figuring it out?" Spencer asks finally, not really sure what he's hoping the answer will be.
Brendon shuffles half a step back, out of the spray of water, putting a little more space between them. Spencer immediately misses the warmth because the air feels cold against his skin.
"I wouldn't mind people knowing. I just don't want to be standing out there alone when they figure it out." His leg starts to bounce, just a little, but he keeps his eyes on Spencer's.
Spencer clears his throat. "You know that we've - Ryan, Jon and I - we've got your back. You know that, right?"
Brendon laughs and it sounds bitter in the shower of water. "And you know that's not what I mean."
Spencer nods his head. "Yeah, I know." He drops Brendon's hands and steps closer, spreading his fingers against Brendon's hips and tugging him closer, back into the warmth of the water.
"The beard?" Brendon asks, standing still against Spencer.
"Leave it," Spencer says and kisses Brendon. Not a promise, not really, but it's enough that Brendon lifts his head and kisses back.