[bandom] FIC: "Treasure Island," Spencer/Brendon, NC17
So. I porned again. You're all shocked, I'm sure.
Title: Treasure Island
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon
Rating: NC17
Summary: In which there are shameless jokes at the Muppets' expense. No, really.
Warnings: Dirty talk, reasonably graphic fisting!kink
Notes: So this is all lissa_bear's fault, because she wouldn't write it, but somebody had to. Quite obviously. Thanks to jewels667 for the lickety-split beta and to t_usual_suspect for bravely giving up her higher brain functions to audience the porny bits. 1700 words.
***
So Brendon has fisting on the brain, and it's all Siska's fault.
Well. Actually, maybe it's fairer to assign blame to The Academy as a whole, since it was their collective horror that Brendon had never seen Mallrats which led to a Kevin Smith movie marathon on their bus. But it was definitely Sisky who noticed Brendon's look of horrified fascination when Joey Lauren Adams makes that obscenely hot little hand gesture in Chasing Amy, and it was definitely Sisky who began steering every single conversation-without regard for subject, audience, or simple human decency-towards fisting whenever Brendon was within earshot. After that, it was really only a matter of time until The Butcher started doing Muppet impressions.
Sisky's kind of an asshole sometimes.
Brendon thinks that it's all really, really unfair. You can't just spring something like fisting on someone like that and expect him not to freak out at least a little. And everyone's having a great laugh over it. Another hilarious round of "scare the Mormon kid," out this spring on Fueled by Ramen-reserve your copy today.
But the thing is? That is so, so not it. Not all of it, anyway.
Because unlike most easily scare-able Mormon kids, Brendon has recently discovered that he really, really likes having certain things in his ass. Like, say, Spencer's dick. And after the initial shock wore off-people do that?-Brendon suddenly started thinking thoughts about things, thoughts that send hot little tendrils of want curling through his veins, and that rattles him a lot more than the teasing ever could.
It's getting bad enough that his wires are getting crossed in potentially sanity-damaging ways. Like. Fuck, one day Ryan has "The Rainbow Connection" stuck in his head and spends half the day humming it under his breath, and Brendon has to hide a boner for, like, three states. And, granted, they're in the northeast somewhere, so they're little states, but still. Three states.
In what way is that anything less than completely fucked up?
Spencer notices, of course, because Spencer notices pretty much everything; Brendon counts himself lucky that Spencer's notice usually takes the form of affectionate sarcasm rather than, say, leaving a Kermit the Frog doll in Brendon's bunk after the show in Virginia.
(Butcher is many things, but subtle is not one of them.)
But really, it's not so bad. The Academy don't have the attention span for sustained mockery, anyway-and Brendon recognizes the irony inherent in Brendon talking disparagingly about other people's attention spans, but he knows without a doubt that as soon as one of them does something totally retarded while wasted, Brendon will be off the hook, his little fisting issue immediately forgotten. It's just the way things are.
In the meantime, Brendon can always retreat to his (Muppet-free) bunk to get away from them. Nobody bothers him there.
Nobody, that is, except for Spencer.
"Hey," Spencer says, poking Brendon until he scoots in a little and makes room for Spencer to climb in and spoon up behind him. "Did William tell you they were going to watch The Great Fisting Caper again?"
"Fisting Treasure Island," Brendon mumbles. "Fucking jerks. I used to love that movie."
"Hmm." Spencer noses Brendon's hair aside, kisses the thin skin behind his ear. "You know, that one might actually be a porno. I'm pretty sure I saw stranger titles in Butcher's stash."
Brendon huffs out a laugh. "Why were you going through Butcher's porn?"
"Research," Spencer says, and okay, Brendon knows that tone of voice. Brendon is not used to hearing that tone of voice in the middle of the afternoon while the bus is rolling through South Carolina, but. Whatever, he's adaptable.
"Spence?"
"I know you can't stop thinking about it," Spencer murmurs.
Brendon bites his lip. "Thinking about what?" he asks.
And Spencer doesn't say anything, just runs his hand down Brendon's side and dips his fingertips below the waistband of Brendon's jeans, and fuck, girls' jeans were really, really not designed to be worn by any guy who has sex with Spencer Smith on a fairly regular basis. Brendon makes a tiny sound and shifts around, popping open the buttons of his fly and sighing when his dick is no longer trapped by the denim.
He wants to touch himself, but Spencer curls a possessive hand around his dick before Brendon gets a chance. Spencer gently strokes him to full hardness, kisses his neck, and Brendon takes back every mean thought he's had about The Academy, ever, because if they weren't fucking jerks who delight in ruining Brendon's childhood, Brendon wouldn't be getting a midafternoon handjob from Spencer, and Spencer gives amazing handjobs.
"Spencer," Brendon groans, and Spencer tugs him backward a little, enough to slip his arm under Brendon's shoulders, so he's cradling Brendon against his chest.
Then he pushes two fingers into Brendon's mouth and orders, "Don't talk."
"Mmph," Brendon says, just to be contrary, but then he seals his lips around Spencer's fingers, sucking hard, licking over the pads of his fingertips.
He feels Spencer grin against his neck. "You are so orally fixated."
Brendon makes a small interrogative noise. So?
"That's not all you're fixated on, though, is it? I bet you'd totally watch Fisting Treasure Island if you were all alone." Spencer bites Brendon's earlobe. "Or if it was just us."
Okay, that? That is fucking unfair, is what that is. Because maybe he would and maybe he wouldn't-no, that's a lie; he totally would, so long as there were no actual Muppets involved-but Spencer can't just say things like that, not when he's got his hand wrapped warm and perfect around Brendon's cock, and Brendon can't say a word to defend himself, anyway, because he's too busy fellating Spencer's fingers. Christ.
"We could do it, you know," Spencer continues, squeezing Brendon's dick when Brendon jerks in his arms. "Not here, not now, but-later. Hotel night, maybe."
Brendon shuts his eyes tight and sucks down Spencer's fingers a little deeper, moaning softly as Spencer just keeps talking in that whisper-low, filthy tone.
"It wouldn't be that different, at first. Maybe you'd even think I was just opening you up for my dick. At first. I'd give you two, stroke inside you until you're begging for me to fuck you-because you always beg, don't you, Bren?-but then instead of giving you my cock, I'd push a third finger inside. Twist them around a little, let you feel it." He kisses the side of Brendon's neck, and Brendon can feel the blood rushing to the surface, can feel the heat that tells him there will be a mark there later. "Then I'd pull out, and you'd be almost crying for it, clenching down on nothing until I come back, slicker, harder than before, and you know you're going to be sticky with lube for days, but you don't care because I'm slipping my pinky inside you, too."
Oh sweet Jesus fuck. Brendon's panting now, breathing hard through his nose, his cock wet in Spencer's hand and Spencer's fingers brushing the roof of his mouth. He tries really, really hard to forget that he has a gag reflex, that he even knows what a gag reflex is. All he can do is push his hips up into Spencer's grip, so fucking turned on by the ridiculously dirty shit coming out of Spencer's mouth, mindless with the pleasure of it.
"It's going to hurt, a little," Spencer says, softly, confidentially. "Because you've never taken anything as big as my hand-never done this for anyone else. But you want it, don't you?"
Brendon whines high in his throat and nods, desperate.
"That's good, Bren. Because once I'm fucking you with four fingers, I'm going to stop." Spencer stills his hand on Brendon's dick, then, like he's trying to emphasize the point, his fingers curled loosely around the base, his forearm holding Brendon's hips down, immobile; Brendon is about to lose his fucking mind. "If you want it," he continues, "you're going to have to take it yourself. I'll get you wet enough, but I want to feel you fucking yourself on my hand, pushing back until I'm all the way inside you, until I'm feeling how tight and perfect you are-"
Just like that-with Spencer barely even touching his dick-Brendon comes, spilling slick and hot over Spencer's fingers and his own belly, groaning like he's in pain, but he's really, really not in pain. Not even a little bit.
"Good Goddamn," Spencer says, awe coloring his voice. "Did you really just-wow." He slides his fingers out of Brendon's mouth with a wet, obscene sound and wipes his hand on Brendon's shirt.
Looking down at the mess on his stomach-and the hem of his t-shirt, damn it-Brendon says, "I, um. Jesus, Spence."
Spencer shifts, turns them a little, and rolls on top of Brendon, pressing him into the mattress. "You're amazing," he says, and leans down to lick into Brendon's mouth.
Brendon opens for him, humming contentedly. "Not so bad yourself." He walks a hand down Spencer's stomach to toy with the fly of Spencer's jeans. "Do you want me to tell you a story, too?" he asks, cupping Spencer through his pants, smiling when Spencer's breath stutters out in a huff.
"You don't have to," Spencer says. "Just-your hand, your mouth, God. I'm so close just from watching you."
"I want to," Brendon says, unzipping Spencer's jeans, pushing them out of the way so he can wrap a hand around Spencer's cock. "You ready?"
Spencer answers by thrusting down into Brendon's hand, just seeking friction, too far gone for finesse.
"Okay, I'll take that as a yes." He reaches up with his other hand and threads his fingers through Spencer's hair, pulls him down and murmurs, "I can't wait until the next hotel night."
And Spencer's groan as he comes is about the sweetest sound Brendon's ever heard.
***
Title: Treasure Island
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon
Rating: NC17
Summary: In which there are shameless jokes at the Muppets' expense. No, really.
Warnings: Dirty talk, reasonably graphic fisting!kink
Notes: So this is all lissa_bear's fault, because she wouldn't write it, but somebody had to. Quite obviously. Thanks to jewels667 for the lickety-split beta and to t_usual_suspect for bravely giving up her higher brain functions to audience the porny bits. 1700 words.
***
So Brendon has fisting on the brain, and it's all Siska's fault.
Well. Actually, maybe it's fairer to assign blame to The Academy as a whole, since it was their collective horror that Brendon had never seen Mallrats which led to a Kevin Smith movie marathon on their bus. But it was definitely Sisky who noticed Brendon's look of horrified fascination when Joey Lauren Adams makes that obscenely hot little hand gesture in Chasing Amy, and it was definitely Sisky who began steering every single conversation-without regard for subject, audience, or simple human decency-towards fisting whenever Brendon was within earshot. After that, it was really only a matter of time until The Butcher started doing Muppet impressions.
Sisky's kind of an asshole sometimes.
Brendon thinks that it's all really, really unfair. You can't just spring something like fisting on someone like that and expect him not to freak out at least a little. And everyone's having a great laugh over it. Another hilarious round of "scare the Mormon kid," out this spring on Fueled by Ramen-reserve your copy today.
But the thing is? That is so, so not it. Not all of it, anyway.
Because unlike most easily scare-able Mormon kids, Brendon has recently discovered that he really, really likes having certain things in his ass. Like, say, Spencer's dick. And after the initial shock wore off-people do that?-Brendon suddenly started thinking thoughts about things, thoughts that send hot little tendrils of want curling through his veins, and that rattles him a lot more than the teasing ever could.
It's getting bad enough that his wires are getting crossed in potentially sanity-damaging ways. Like. Fuck, one day Ryan has "The Rainbow Connection" stuck in his head and spends half the day humming it under his breath, and Brendon has to hide a boner for, like, three states. And, granted, they're in the northeast somewhere, so they're little states, but still. Three states.
In what way is that anything less than completely fucked up?
Spencer notices, of course, because Spencer notices pretty much everything; Brendon counts himself lucky that Spencer's notice usually takes the form of affectionate sarcasm rather than, say, leaving a Kermit the Frog doll in Brendon's bunk after the show in Virginia.
(Butcher is many things, but subtle is not one of them.)
But really, it's not so bad. The Academy don't have the attention span for sustained mockery, anyway-and Brendon recognizes the irony inherent in Brendon talking disparagingly about other people's attention spans, but he knows without a doubt that as soon as one of them does something totally retarded while wasted, Brendon will be off the hook, his little fisting issue immediately forgotten. It's just the way things are.
In the meantime, Brendon can always retreat to his (Muppet-free) bunk to get away from them. Nobody bothers him there.
Nobody, that is, except for Spencer.
"Hey," Spencer says, poking Brendon until he scoots in a little and makes room for Spencer to climb in and spoon up behind him. "Did William tell you they were going to watch The Great Fisting Caper again?"
"Fisting Treasure Island," Brendon mumbles. "Fucking jerks. I used to love that movie."
"Hmm." Spencer noses Brendon's hair aside, kisses the thin skin behind his ear. "You know, that one might actually be a porno. I'm pretty sure I saw stranger titles in Butcher's stash."
Brendon huffs out a laugh. "Why were you going through Butcher's porn?"
"Research," Spencer says, and okay, Brendon knows that tone of voice. Brendon is not used to hearing that tone of voice in the middle of the afternoon while the bus is rolling through South Carolina, but. Whatever, he's adaptable.
"Spence?"
"I know you can't stop thinking about it," Spencer murmurs.
Brendon bites his lip. "Thinking about what?" he asks.
And Spencer doesn't say anything, just runs his hand down Brendon's side and dips his fingertips below the waistband of Brendon's jeans, and fuck, girls' jeans were really, really not designed to be worn by any guy who has sex with Spencer Smith on a fairly regular basis. Brendon makes a tiny sound and shifts around, popping open the buttons of his fly and sighing when his dick is no longer trapped by the denim.
He wants to touch himself, but Spencer curls a possessive hand around his dick before Brendon gets a chance. Spencer gently strokes him to full hardness, kisses his neck, and Brendon takes back every mean thought he's had about The Academy, ever, because if they weren't fucking jerks who delight in ruining Brendon's childhood, Brendon wouldn't be getting a midafternoon handjob from Spencer, and Spencer gives amazing handjobs.
"Spencer," Brendon groans, and Spencer tugs him backward a little, enough to slip his arm under Brendon's shoulders, so he's cradling Brendon against his chest.
Then he pushes two fingers into Brendon's mouth and orders, "Don't talk."
"Mmph," Brendon says, just to be contrary, but then he seals his lips around Spencer's fingers, sucking hard, licking over the pads of his fingertips.
He feels Spencer grin against his neck. "You are so orally fixated."
Brendon makes a small interrogative noise. So?
"That's not all you're fixated on, though, is it? I bet you'd totally watch Fisting Treasure Island if you were all alone." Spencer bites Brendon's earlobe. "Or if it was just us."
Okay, that? That is fucking unfair, is what that is. Because maybe he would and maybe he wouldn't-no, that's a lie; he totally would, so long as there were no actual Muppets involved-but Spencer can't just say things like that, not when he's got his hand wrapped warm and perfect around Brendon's cock, and Brendon can't say a word to defend himself, anyway, because he's too busy fellating Spencer's fingers. Christ.
"We could do it, you know," Spencer continues, squeezing Brendon's dick when Brendon jerks in his arms. "Not here, not now, but-later. Hotel night, maybe."
Brendon shuts his eyes tight and sucks down Spencer's fingers a little deeper, moaning softly as Spencer just keeps talking in that whisper-low, filthy tone.
"It wouldn't be that different, at first. Maybe you'd even think I was just opening you up for my dick. At first. I'd give you two, stroke inside you until you're begging for me to fuck you-because you always beg, don't you, Bren?-but then instead of giving you my cock, I'd push a third finger inside. Twist them around a little, let you feel it." He kisses the side of Brendon's neck, and Brendon can feel the blood rushing to the surface, can feel the heat that tells him there will be a mark there later. "Then I'd pull out, and you'd be almost crying for it, clenching down on nothing until I come back, slicker, harder than before, and you know you're going to be sticky with lube for days, but you don't care because I'm slipping my pinky inside you, too."
Oh sweet Jesus fuck. Brendon's panting now, breathing hard through his nose, his cock wet in Spencer's hand and Spencer's fingers brushing the roof of his mouth. He tries really, really hard to forget that he has a gag reflex, that he even knows what a gag reflex is. All he can do is push his hips up into Spencer's grip, so fucking turned on by the ridiculously dirty shit coming out of Spencer's mouth, mindless with the pleasure of it.
"It's going to hurt, a little," Spencer says, softly, confidentially. "Because you've never taken anything as big as my hand-never done this for anyone else. But you want it, don't you?"
Brendon whines high in his throat and nods, desperate.
"That's good, Bren. Because once I'm fucking you with four fingers, I'm going to stop." Spencer stills his hand on Brendon's dick, then, like he's trying to emphasize the point, his fingers curled loosely around the base, his forearm holding Brendon's hips down, immobile; Brendon is about to lose his fucking mind. "If you want it," he continues, "you're going to have to take it yourself. I'll get you wet enough, but I want to feel you fucking yourself on my hand, pushing back until I'm all the way inside you, until I'm feeling how tight and perfect you are-"
Just like that-with Spencer barely even touching his dick-Brendon comes, spilling slick and hot over Spencer's fingers and his own belly, groaning like he's in pain, but he's really, really not in pain. Not even a little bit.
"Good Goddamn," Spencer says, awe coloring his voice. "Did you really just-wow." He slides his fingers out of Brendon's mouth with a wet, obscene sound and wipes his hand on Brendon's shirt.
Looking down at the mess on his stomach-and the hem of his t-shirt, damn it-Brendon says, "I, um. Jesus, Spence."
Spencer shifts, turns them a little, and rolls on top of Brendon, pressing him into the mattress. "You're amazing," he says, and leans down to lick into Brendon's mouth.
Brendon opens for him, humming contentedly. "Not so bad yourself." He walks a hand down Spencer's stomach to toy with the fly of Spencer's jeans. "Do you want me to tell you a story, too?" he asks, cupping Spencer through his pants, smiling when Spencer's breath stutters out in a huff.
"You don't have to," Spencer says. "Just-your hand, your mouth, God. I'm so close just from watching you."
"I want to," Brendon says, unzipping Spencer's jeans, pushing them out of the way so he can wrap a hand around Spencer's cock. "You ready?"
Spencer answers by thrusting down into Brendon's hand, just seeking friction, too far gone for finesse.
"Okay, I'll take that as a yes." He reaches up with his other hand and threads his fingers through Spencer's hair, pulls him down and murmurs, "I can't wait until the next hotel night."
And Spencer's groan as he comes is about the sweetest sound Brendon's ever heard.
***