Fic: Brendon/Spencer NC-17
Title: November, like a train wreck
Author: floridapeaches
Disclaimer: Scurrilous lies.
Summary: Julia was talking about pantyfic, and how there should be more of it. Like, 3 months ago. HERE U GO BB. /o\ ~3,600 words.
A/N: This is unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are my own. Title from the poem "Reasons to Survive November" by Tony Hoagland.
“Shut the fuck up. No really. Keep laughing and you die.” Brendon looks fierce, or he’s obviously trying really hard to, and Spencer manages to clamp down on the almost-giggles.
Spencer blinks, but no, the image doesn’t change. Brendon is still standing there with one leg in his pants, in a pair of lacy boy-cut panties, and he knows he’s going to get hit, but it’s so worth it to say, “Hey dude, it could be worse, right? At least it’s not a fucking diaper.” Spencer ducks back, but he’s not fast enough, and fuck, his jaw is probably going to bruise. Brendon fights like a bitch.
He can’t really complain too much, though. Brendon had to twist around to throw the punch, and Jesus Christ, Spencer only thought those kind of panties didn’t hide much on a girl. It’s not like Brendon’s huge or anything, but his dick is barely, barely covered.
Spencer isn’t thinking about the way the lace would slip right out of the way if Brendon was hard, about the way he can already see everything.
Brendon is trembling lightly, and Spencer isn’t sure if it’s with embarrassment or anger or both, but he thinks it doesn’t matter either way. He should go. He should turn around and leave and forget that he ever saw the way cream lace stretches over the curve of Brendon’s ass, the dimples at the base of his spine rising above the scalloped edge. He should forget the flush on Brendon’s cheeks, and the way his hands are curling into fists at his sides like he wants to throw another punch, then flexing back open like maybe he wants to cover himself. Considering how often he walks around naked on the bus, it seems a little absurd that he should care, but this is. Different. Spencer understands that much at least.
“Hey. I’m not going to say anything,” Spencer says, pulling his hand back when it takes it upon itself to reach out. He doesn’t know where it thinks it was going, really, but Brendon doesn’t look like he wants to be touched. It would be awesome if Spencer could just go back in time, like, 5 minutes. He could have skipped coming back for his phone, and then he wouldn’t be standing here in the doorway to the bunks with a mostly-naked Brendon and a whole lot of awkward.
Brendon ducks his head, and one hand does drift partially across his crotch, even though it doesn’t really do more than draw Spencer’s attention to the area, and fuck, why is he still looking? Why is he still standing here at all? He’s going to go. He’s going to go - and then Brendon opens his stupid fucking mouth.
“It’s not weird. Or. Okay, it’s weird, but it’s not like, creepy,” Brendon says, and his face is open, and he looks desperate. He’s begging Spencer to understand, to get it, and Spencer wishes he did, but he really, really doesn’t. Brendon’s got his girljeans around his ankles, and that’s par for the course - Spencer finally grew out of them, but he knows they’re the only thing that really fits Brendon (Brendon’s ass) - but the panties. They’re. Definitely not par for any course Spencer has ever heard of.
“So, what, you just decided you might as well match the pants?” Spencer says, and it’s not like he doesn’t know he can be a dick when he’s uncomfortable, but he really didn’t mean to make this more awkward. And he didn’t mean to make Brendon crumple in on himself like that. Damage control. “Shit, fuck, Brendon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, just. I’m going to. Go. Yeah. I should go.” Spencer can’t stop his mouth when he’s uncomfortable.
“I’ve only done it a few times.”
And damn it, Spencer had almost managed to turn around and walk out when Brendon’s voice stops him, and why is Brendon telling him this, why does he think Spencer wants to know, doesn’t he get that Spencer would rather just forget he ever saw anything - but Spencer isn’t moving
“I was high and mostly drunk the first time,” Brendon continues, and Spencer listens. “Sisky dared me. He had this thong some girl left on the bus, and Butcher was sitting there naked anyway, so it didn’t seem like a big deal to just. Put it on.” Brendon laughs, and his voice is hoarse. “I did mention that I was high, right? And drunk?” Spencer shifts his gaze from the wall over Brendon’s shoulder to the crimson flush in his cheeks. Brendon is busy staring at his feet, or Spencer would look him in the eye.
“You don’t have to explain,” Spencer says, and he means it. There’s never any privacy on tour - being in a bus didn’t change that - and they all know things about each other that they shouldn’t. It’s gotten easier to lock those things away, to pretend they’re still secret. This isn’t Brendon’s only public secret, and it won’t be his last. Brendon keeps plenty of things locked away for Spencer, too.
They can leave it at that, and Spencer is planning to leave it at that, but then Brendon’s hand curls around his wrist, and Brendon is finally looking at Spencer, instead of at the ugly berber carpet.
“I just like it,” Brendon says, fingers clenching and unclenching on Spencer’s skin. “And besides, they do fit better under the pants.” He laughs then, voice cracking, and Spencer manages a shaky smile in return.
“Don’t they itch, though? All that lace?” And what the fuck, brain. This is not the way to de-awkward-ify things. He is curious, though. They’ve worn enough lace-and-velvet concoctions for Spencer to know that it usually itches, and Brendon’s got lace against some very sensitive skin.
Brendon shakes his head quickly, still obviously uncomfortable, and says, “No, no, they’re really soft.” Brendon must notice Spencer’s fingers flexing with the half-formed thought that he wants to touch, wants to see for himself, because he loosens his grip and murmurs, “Here, see? They’re like, stretchy.” Brendon tugs Spencer’s hand closer, until he can skate his fingers lightly across the rise of Brendon’s hip, over the swirls of delicate embroidery. Brendon’s right. It’s totally soft.
The fabric slips across Brendon’s skin, and Spencer realizes he’s pressing a little too hard.
When Spencer tugs his hand back Brendon lets him go, and it should end at that. If only Spencer’s stupid fucking mouth would get with the program. “You said you like it. So, what, it gets you off?” Spencer doesn’t care, Spencer doesn’t want to know, so Spencer has no idea why he asked. It doesn’t help that Brendon ducks his head again and brushes his fingers over the lace along his belly, fingers dangerously close to his dick.
Frankly, Brendon should look ridiculous. He does look ridiculous. He’s standing there in a too-tight Army-green t-shirt with a very unsubtle reference to something else green, with his pale, hairy legs, and his impossibly tiny jeans half-twisted around his feet. And panties. Thin, lacy, soft cream panties. Spencer is sure he should feel more like laughing than like crowding Brendon back against the bunks and touching him until he knows for sure what Brendon would look like in those panties if he was hard.
“It’s not like that,” Brendon says, glancing up at Spencer. He smiles a little, with an edge to it like a knife blade, and Spencer knows he’s been caught staring. Brendon’s voice goes all low and rough then, more confident than it’s been since Spencer walked into this mess. “Why, Spence. Does it get you off?” Brendon cocks his head then, studying Spencer’s face, a slow grin slipping across his lips at the blush Spencer can feel in his cheeks. Brendon tilts his hips deliberately, stretching the lace tighter, and fuck.
Somehow, in the span of mere seconds, Spencer has totally lost control of this situation. Brendon is standing there hipshot and relaxed, defiant, and Spencer doesn’t know what to be, other than honest.
“They look good on you.” Spencer winces after he says it, forcing himself to look at Brendon’s face, not the angle of his hips.
Brendon’s smile turns sly. The blush is gone from his cheeks, having settled firmly on Spencer instead. It’s like having a bad sunburn, his skin tight and hot, and Spencer really doesn’t care for it.
Spencer catches himself glancing down again, at the contrast of delicate fabric against pale skin, at the light stubble above the line of Brendon’s dick where he obviously shaves, and the way his legs are still covered in coarse, dark wiry hair.
He startles when he realizes that Brendon’s at least half hard. Brendon’s smile is still wicked, but he’s got some color back in his cheeks when Spencer manages to focus on his face again. Spencer quirks a brow, and Brendon laughs, says, “Okay, so maybe I lied. Sometimes it gets me off.”
Spencer’s world view has shifted, realigned in the last five minutes. He feels like he’s trying to navigate without a map, like he’s in a country that’s never felt a cartographer’s touch at all. And he’s not sure how it happens, but one minute they’re both standing there with red in their cheeks, and the next minute Brendon licks his lips and Spencer is standing close enough to feel Brendon’s breath on his chin and throat.
“Is this okay?” Spencer hates that he sounds as uncertain as he feels. He’s usually the one who handles things, and he feels a little light-headed at just how out of his control this situation is.
“Yeah,” Brendon says, voice sounding a little raspy. “Yeah, it’s okay. It’s good. What about you? You okay?” Brendon rests his hands on the rise of Spencer’s hips as he says it, and Spencer thinks, yeah, fuck, I’m so much better than okay.
It’s weird, the way Spencer is tingling all over, down to the tips of his fingers. The only place he and Brendon are touching is where Brendon’s hands are curling into the hem of Spencer’s shirt, not even skin-on-skin contact, and it’s dizzying.
He takes a second to think, very clearly, fuck it, so that at least he can console himself later that he didn’t just act without considering it, and then Spencer leans down enough that he can murmur, “I’m doing fantastic,” against Brendon’s lips.
Brendon’s hands go tight in Spencer’s shirt, and his fingers are digging into Spencer’s waist, but it doesn’t hurt, it just grounds him. There’s no chance that Spencer’s going to be gentle, not with the way Brendon opens for him, mouth slickwethot and perfect.
They kiss for long enough Spencer can’t think about anything but the way it feels when Brendon slips his tongue past Spencer’s lips and along his teeth, about the nagging ache building in his neck from the angle he’s got his head at. He can’t think about anything but that, so when his fingers slip past the hem of Brendon’s shirt and hit soft whorls of embroidery instead of plain cotton, it takes him a second to remember that oh yeah, Brendon’s wearing panties.
Spencer’s not sure which one of them moans into the kiss, but it’s loud, dragging through the air and startling them both into pulling back. Brendon’s eyes slip open as Spencer manages to focus on his face, and he looks wrecked, lips red and wet, pupils blown. It’s definitely Spencer who groans then, and he’d be embarrassed, but Brendon’s breath hitches and his hands go tighter, slide a little farther around Spencer’s waist, and then Brendon is pulling him in, the height difference keeping their hips from lining up.
There’s still enough pressure, enough contact that Brendon has to feel how hard Spencer is where Spencer’s cock is bumping low on his belly; enough that Spencer can feel the hard line of Brendon’s dick, hot against the top of Spencer’s thigh. The heavy denim of Spencer’s jeans and the barely there nothing of Brendon’s panties don’t do anything to disguise how fucking turned on Brendon is.
Brendon’s hands slip under Spencer’s shirt, callused fingers rough against the skin of Spencer’s back, and Spencer sucks in a breath through his teeth, harsh and rasping. He tips his head to press his nose into the curve of Brendon’s neck, hoping to catch his breath, but the air is to close, too hot, and it’s suffocating. Spencer lets his eyes close and doesn’t move for a long minute.
“Spence, are you sure you’re okay?” Brendon’s voice is soft, words sifting through Spencer’s hair, and Brendon’s hands are moving soothingly across Spencer’s back. Spencer sighs when Brendon rubs at the bumps of his spine, and slides his fingers under swirls of elastic over Brendon’s ass for an answer. Spencer’s maybe going a little crazy, but he can breathe again, and he doesn’t want to stop touching Brendon. He feels the smile Brendon presses against his temple, and he does open his eyes when he moves to catch Brendon’s mouth again.
It’s just as good as it was before, Brendon’s mouth soft and welcoming except for when it’s not, when he’s kissing Spencer back almost too roughly, teeth digging into Spencer’s lip and tongue pressing behind Spencer’s teeth. Brendon’s mouth goes slack when Spencer thumbs his hips, fingers sliding down a little lower, taking the lace with them, and Spencer uses it, pressing Brendon back until his head knocks lightly against the wall.
Spencer’s not sure what he’s going to do once he gets Brendon out of the panties. He just knows he wants to see what Brendon looks like with them stretched tight across his dick, with the perfect cream swirls skewed out of shape. It’s hard to pull himself away from Brendon’s mouth, but he has to look, has to see.
Spencer manages to look away from the curve of Brendon’s throat and steps back to see the rest, and Brendon’s fingers dig into his back, trying to keep him close. Spencer’s stronger though, and he presses Brendon’s hips back to give himself some leverage and pulls away. Brendon hooks his fingers through Spencer’s belt loops, so he can’t go far, but he doesn’t need to. Arms-length is enough.
The panties barely covered anything to begin with, and now they’re pretty much useless. Spencer twists his fingers in the lace, and Brendon’s dick slips the rest of the way over the scalloped edge along the top. Spencer can’t stop the muttered “God” from slipping past his lips, and Brendon whines when he hears it.
“Are you just going to stand there?” Brendon slits his eyes open, tugging at Spencer’s jeans, trying to get him closer. “I don’t care what you do, Spence, as long as you do something.”
Spencer keeps his fingers hooked in the panties and slides his hand around, until his knuckles are dragging across the underside of Brendon’s cock, and leans in to murmur, “Well, my jaw’s a little sore where you punched me, so I’m not gonna blow you.”
He doesn’t wait for Brendon to say something that will probably make him sound like a jackass, just twists his wrist around and slides his palm over the head of Brendon’s dick, slicking through the wetness and down. Brendon makes the most hilarious giggle-moan ever, and Spencer grins as he leans close to suck at Brendon’s bottom lip.
Brendon rocks into Spencer’s hand and works his fingers under Spencer’s shirt again, pushing up his back until he’s curving his hands over Spencer’s shoulder blades and pulling him closecloseclose. It’s a few rough pulls until Brendon is digging blunt fingernails into the curve of Spencer’s shoulder blades and coming over Spencer’s hand.
Spencer doesn’t let go of Brendon’s dick until his hips flinch back just a little, and Brendon’s hands slide back to rest in the curve of Spencer’s low back. Spencer’s dick is pressed against the seam of his jeans, and he’s hard enough it hurts, but he doesn’t push back just yet, gives Brendon a minute to catch his breath.
Brendon’s forehead is sweaty when he presses it against Spencer’s collarbones, and that’s kind of gross, but Spencer’s hand is kind of gross too, so he doesn’t say anything about it. He slips his clean hand low around Brendon’s waist and tries not to be too obvious when he presses closer, against Brendon’s hip, trying to get a little bit of friction.
A shiver slips down Spencer’s spine when Brendon tilts his head enough to open his mouth over
Spencer’s throat, down to the dip between his collarbones. He’s sucking a little, teeth grazing across the soft, rounded rises of bone, lips slipping in to fill the hollows. Brendon seems to be getting his coordination back, and he’s using it to drive Spencer crazy. It’s all little touches and soft and light, and what Spencer wants is hard and fast and everything.
Spencer can’t wait for Brendon to get around to it, doesn’t want to see how long it takes, so he reaches for the button of his jeans. It’s difficult, what with the way his hips want to stay as close as physically possible to Brendon’s, and he only has his left hand to use, but he manages. Brendon helps, teasing one hand down Spencer’s back and around, pushing Spencer’s jeans down low on his hips once Spencer’s got them open.
He’s wound so tight it’s not going to matter what Brendon does. Now he knows how Brendon felt. He just wants something, and he wants it now. It’s a relief when Brendon curls his free hand around the base of his dick, his other sliding back to Spencer’s hip. Brendon’s fingers go just a little too tight, and Spencer muffles a groan in the curve of Brendon’s throat.
“Move back,” Brendon says, pushing at Spencer’s hip. When Spencer doesn’t move fast enough, Brendon turns, hip-checking him back, and before Spencer can ask him what he’s doing, Brendon starts sliding down the wall. He has to pause long enough hitch the panties back up, and Spencer settles a hand on Brendon’s shoulder, not pushing but letting it rest heavy. Brendon shushes him and finishes his slide, giving Spencer’s dick one lazy pull while he makes himself comfortable.
Spencer gives up and wipes his hand clean on side of his shirt, deciding that it’s worth using up one of his last clean shirts to be able to tangle his fingers in Brendon’s hair. He doesn’t pull or push, just cups the back of Brendon’s skull and makes himself meet Brendon’s eyes, instead of staring at his mouth.
Brendon grins at him, and breathes, “Sorry for punching you.” Then it’s just the flex of Brendon’s fingers, still around Spencer’s dick, only looser now, and the heat of his mouth as he sucks the head of Spencer’s dick in.
Brendon wants to go slow, Spencer can tell by the way he sucks almost lazily, but Spencer wants. He needs. His fingers curl a little in Brendon’s hair, putting just enough pressure to ask for more without having to make his voice work. Spencer lets his hips roll just slightly too, and the slick slide of it makes him moan, low and rough.
It’s been hours, days of Spencer riding the edge, and then Brendon sucks hard and does something with his tongue, and Spencer bangs his knuckles on the wall when he rocks forward, managing to think clearly enough to drag Brendon’s head back as he does so there’s no choking.
Brendon pushes at Spencer’s hip, muffling something that sounds like “fuck, move,” and then Spencer pulls his eyes back to meet Brendon’s, instead of watching the way his dick is stretching Brendon’s mouth. Spencer starts to pull back, give Brendon some room, but then Brendon tightens his fingers on Spencer’s hip, digging in hard enough to bruise, and lets his eyes slip closed, pressing his head back into Spencer’s hand.
There’s no way that’s not an invitation, and just the thought of it is enough to draw Spencer’s hips in a little closer, his dick sliding a little deeper. Spencer’s careful, aware that Brendon doesn’t have anywhere to go, that Brendon’s trusting him to know when to stop. It’s a rush, and it only takes Spencer a couple of shallow thrusts before he’s shuddering and coming hard, forcing himself to pull back enough to let Brendon swallow, or at least breathe.
Spencer manages to catch his breath and unclench his fingers, smoothing Brendon’s hair down and sliding his hand around to palm his jaw, thumb brushing over the stubble on his cheek. He’s got a flush high in his cheeks, and his lips are so swollen they look raw, and Spencer tugs him back to his feet because he needs to kiss him now.
When he his hands come to rest on Brendon’s hips, Spencer feels the soft whorls of lace again. He’d somehow managed to almost forget the panties, and now here they are again, soft and delicate and indecent. He clears his throat and tries to catch his breath, and lets his fingers slip-slide over the scalloped edge.
“I was on my way to get food,” Spencer says, remembering why he’d come back to the bus as the haze starts to clear from his head a little.
Brendon nods, says, “Yeah, okay. I could eat.”
Spencer steps far enough back that Brendon can finish putting on his pants, watching as he adjusts the panties so they sit low enough not to show and wondering what happens now. Just as things start to feel terminally awkward again, Brendon finishes buckling his belt and looks up, biting his lip.
“I have a black pair, too,” Brendon says, and that takes care of that.
Author: floridapeaches
Disclaimer: Scurrilous lies.
Summary: Julia was talking about pantyfic, and how there should be more of it. Like, 3 months ago. HERE U GO BB. /o\ ~3,600 words.
A/N: This is unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are my own. Title from the poem "Reasons to Survive November" by Tony Hoagland.
“Shut the fuck up. No really. Keep laughing and you die.” Brendon looks fierce, or he’s obviously trying really hard to, and Spencer manages to clamp down on the almost-giggles.
Spencer blinks, but no, the image doesn’t change. Brendon is still standing there with one leg in his pants, in a pair of lacy boy-cut panties, and he knows he’s going to get hit, but it’s so worth it to say, “Hey dude, it could be worse, right? At least it’s not a fucking diaper.” Spencer ducks back, but he’s not fast enough, and fuck, his jaw is probably going to bruise. Brendon fights like a bitch.
He can’t really complain too much, though. Brendon had to twist around to throw the punch, and Jesus Christ, Spencer only thought those kind of panties didn’t hide much on a girl. It’s not like Brendon’s huge or anything, but his dick is barely, barely covered.
Spencer isn’t thinking about the way the lace would slip right out of the way if Brendon was hard, about the way he can already see everything.
Brendon is trembling lightly, and Spencer isn’t sure if it’s with embarrassment or anger or both, but he thinks it doesn’t matter either way. He should go. He should turn around and leave and forget that he ever saw the way cream lace stretches over the curve of Brendon’s ass, the dimples at the base of his spine rising above the scalloped edge. He should forget the flush on Brendon’s cheeks, and the way his hands are curling into fists at his sides like he wants to throw another punch, then flexing back open like maybe he wants to cover himself. Considering how often he walks around naked on the bus, it seems a little absurd that he should care, but this is. Different. Spencer understands that much at least.
“Hey. I’m not going to say anything,” Spencer says, pulling his hand back when it takes it upon itself to reach out. He doesn’t know where it thinks it was going, really, but Brendon doesn’t look like he wants to be touched. It would be awesome if Spencer could just go back in time, like, 5 minutes. He could have skipped coming back for his phone, and then he wouldn’t be standing here in the doorway to the bunks with a mostly-naked Brendon and a whole lot of awkward.
Brendon ducks his head, and one hand does drift partially across his crotch, even though it doesn’t really do more than draw Spencer’s attention to the area, and fuck, why is he still looking? Why is he still standing here at all? He’s going to go. He’s going to go - and then Brendon opens his stupid fucking mouth.
“It’s not weird. Or. Okay, it’s weird, but it’s not like, creepy,” Brendon says, and his face is open, and he looks desperate. He’s begging Spencer to understand, to get it, and Spencer wishes he did, but he really, really doesn’t. Brendon’s got his girljeans around his ankles, and that’s par for the course - Spencer finally grew out of them, but he knows they’re the only thing that really fits Brendon (Brendon’s ass) - but the panties. They’re. Definitely not par for any course Spencer has ever heard of.
“So, what, you just decided you might as well match the pants?” Spencer says, and it’s not like he doesn’t know he can be a dick when he’s uncomfortable, but he really didn’t mean to make this more awkward. And he didn’t mean to make Brendon crumple in on himself like that. Damage control. “Shit, fuck, Brendon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, just. I’m going to. Go. Yeah. I should go.” Spencer can’t stop his mouth when he’s uncomfortable.
“I’ve only done it a few times.”
And damn it, Spencer had almost managed to turn around and walk out when Brendon’s voice stops him, and why is Brendon telling him this, why does he think Spencer wants to know, doesn’t he get that Spencer would rather just forget he ever saw anything - but Spencer isn’t moving
“I was high and mostly drunk the first time,” Brendon continues, and Spencer listens. “Sisky dared me. He had this thong some girl left on the bus, and Butcher was sitting there naked anyway, so it didn’t seem like a big deal to just. Put it on.” Brendon laughs, and his voice is hoarse. “I did mention that I was high, right? And drunk?” Spencer shifts his gaze from the wall over Brendon’s shoulder to the crimson flush in his cheeks. Brendon is busy staring at his feet, or Spencer would look him in the eye.
“You don’t have to explain,” Spencer says, and he means it. There’s never any privacy on tour - being in a bus didn’t change that - and they all know things about each other that they shouldn’t. It’s gotten easier to lock those things away, to pretend they’re still secret. This isn’t Brendon’s only public secret, and it won’t be his last. Brendon keeps plenty of things locked away for Spencer, too.
They can leave it at that, and Spencer is planning to leave it at that, but then Brendon’s hand curls around his wrist, and Brendon is finally looking at Spencer, instead of at the ugly berber carpet.
“I just like it,” Brendon says, fingers clenching and unclenching on Spencer’s skin. “And besides, they do fit better under the pants.” He laughs then, voice cracking, and Spencer manages a shaky smile in return.
“Don’t they itch, though? All that lace?” And what the fuck, brain. This is not the way to de-awkward-ify things. He is curious, though. They’ve worn enough lace-and-velvet concoctions for Spencer to know that it usually itches, and Brendon’s got lace against some very sensitive skin.
Brendon shakes his head quickly, still obviously uncomfortable, and says, “No, no, they’re really soft.” Brendon must notice Spencer’s fingers flexing with the half-formed thought that he wants to touch, wants to see for himself, because he loosens his grip and murmurs, “Here, see? They’re like, stretchy.” Brendon tugs Spencer’s hand closer, until he can skate his fingers lightly across the rise of Brendon’s hip, over the swirls of delicate embroidery. Brendon’s right. It’s totally soft.
The fabric slips across Brendon’s skin, and Spencer realizes he’s pressing a little too hard.
When Spencer tugs his hand back Brendon lets him go, and it should end at that. If only Spencer’s stupid fucking mouth would get with the program. “You said you like it. So, what, it gets you off?” Spencer doesn’t care, Spencer doesn’t want to know, so Spencer has no idea why he asked. It doesn’t help that Brendon ducks his head again and brushes his fingers over the lace along his belly, fingers dangerously close to his dick.
Frankly, Brendon should look ridiculous. He does look ridiculous. He’s standing there in a too-tight Army-green t-shirt with a very unsubtle reference to something else green, with his pale, hairy legs, and his impossibly tiny jeans half-twisted around his feet. And panties. Thin, lacy, soft cream panties. Spencer is sure he should feel more like laughing than like crowding Brendon back against the bunks and touching him until he knows for sure what Brendon would look like in those panties if he was hard.
“It’s not like that,” Brendon says, glancing up at Spencer. He smiles a little, with an edge to it like a knife blade, and Spencer knows he’s been caught staring. Brendon’s voice goes all low and rough then, more confident than it’s been since Spencer walked into this mess. “Why, Spence. Does it get you off?” Brendon cocks his head then, studying Spencer’s face, a slow grin slipping across his lips at the blush Spencer can feel in his cheeks. Brendon tilts his hips deliberately, stretching the lace tighter, and fuck.
Somehow, in the span of mere seconds, Spencer has totally lost control of this situation. Brendon is standing there hipshot and relaxed, defiant, and Spencer doesn’t know what to be, other than honest.
“They look good on you.” Spencer winces after he says it, forcing himself to look at Brendon’s face, not the angle of his hips.
Brendon’s smile turns sly. The blush is gone from his cheeks, having settled firmly on Spencer instead. It’s like having a bad sunburn, his skin tight and hot, and Spencer really doesn’t care for it.
Spencer catches himself glancing down again, at the contrast of delicate fabric against pale skin, at the light stubble above the line of Brendon’s dick where he obviously shaves, and the way his legs are still covered in coarse, dark wiry hair.
He startles when he realizes that Brendon’s at least half hard. Brendon’s smile is still wicked, but he’s got some color back in his cheeks when Spencer manages to focus on his face again. Spencer quirks a brow, and Brendon laughs, says, “Okay, so maybe I lied. Sometimes it gets me off.”
Spencer’s world view has shifted, realigned in the last five minutes. He feels like he’s trying to navigate without a map, like he’s in a country that’s never felt a cartographer’s touch at all. And he’s not sure how it happens, but one minute they’re both standing there with red in their cheeks, and the next minute Brendon licks his lips and Spencer is standing close enough to feel Brendon’s breath on his chin and throat.
“Is this okay?” Spencer hates that he sounds as uncertain as he feels. He’s usually the one who handles things, and he feels a little light-headed at just how out of his control this situation is.
“Yeah,” Brendon says, voice sounding a little raspy. “Yeah, it’s okay. It’s good. What about you? You okay?” Brendon rests his hands on the rise of Spencer’s hips as he says it, and Spencer thinks, yeah, fuck, I’m so much better than okay.
It’s weird, the way Spencer is tingling all over, down to the tips of his fingers. The only place he and Brendon are touching is where Brendon’s hands are curling into the hem of Spencer’s shirt, not even skin-on-skin contact, and it’s dizzying.
He takes a second to think, very clearly, fuck it, so that at least he can console himself later that he didn’t just act without considering it, and then Spencer leans down enough that he can murmur, “I’m doing fantastic,” against Brendon’s lips.
Brendon’s hands go tight in Spencer’s shirt, and his fingers are digging into Spencer’s waist, but it doesn’t hurt, it just grounds him. There’s no chance that Spencer’s going to be gentle, not with the way Brendon opens for him, mouth slickwethot and perfect.
They kiss for long enough Spencer can’t think about anything but the way it feels when Brendon slips his tongue past Spencer’s lips and along his teeth, about the nagging ache building in his neck from the angle he’s got his head at. He can’t think about anything but that, so when his fingers slip past the hem of Brendon’s shirt and hit soft whorls of embroidery instead of plain cotton, it takes him a second to remember that oh yeah, Brendon’s wearing panties.
Spencer’s not sure which one of them moans into the kiss, but it’s loud, dragging through the air and startling them both into pulling back. Brendon’s eyes slip open as Spencer manages to focus on his face, and he looks wrecked, lips red and wet, pupils blown. It’s definitely Spencer who groans then, and he’d be embarrassed, but Brendon’s breath hitches and his hands go tighter, slide a little farther around Spencer’s waist, and then Brendon is pulling him in, the height difference keeping their hips from lining up.
There’s still enough pressure, enough contact that Brendon has to feel how hard Spencer is where Spencer’s cock is bumping low on his belly; enough that Spencer can feel the hard line of Brendon’s dick, hot against the top of Spencer’s thigh. The heavy denim of Spencer’s jeans and the barely there nothing of Brendon’s panties don’t do anything to disguise how fucking turned on Brendon is.
Brendon’s hands slip under Spencer’s shirt, callused fingers rough against the skin of Spencer’s back, and Spencer sucks in a breath through his teeth, harsh and rasping. He tips his head to press his nose into the curve of Brendon’s neck, hoping to catch his breath, but the air is to close, too hot, and it’s suffocating. Spencer lets his eyes close and doesn’t move for a long minute.
“Spence, are you sure you’re okay?” Brendon’s voice is soft, words sifting through Spencer’s hair, and Brendon’s hands are moving soothingly across Spencer’s back. Spencer sighs when Brendon rubs at the bumps of his spine, and slides his fingers under swirls of elastic over Brendon’s ass for an answer. Spencer’s maybe going a little crazy, but he can breathe again, and he doesn’t want to stop touching Brendon. He feels the smile Brendon presses against his temple, and he does open his eyes when he moves to catch Brendon’s mouth again.
It’s just as good as it was before, Brendon’s mouth soft and welcoming except for when it’s not, when he’s kissing Spencer back almost too roughly, teeth digging into Spencer’s lip and tongue pressing behind Spencer’s teeth. Brendon’s mouth goes slack when Spencer thumbs his hips, fingers sliding down a little lower, taking the lace with them, and Spencer uses it, pressing Brendon back until his head knocks lightly against the wall.
Spencer’s not sure what he’s going to do once he gets Brendon out of the panties. He just knows he wants to see what Brendon looks like with them stretched tight across his dick, with the perfect cream swirls skewed out of shape. It’s hard to pull himself away from Brendon’s mouth, but he has to look, has to see.
Spencer manages to look away from the curve of Brendon’s throat and steps back to see the rest, and Brendon’s fingers dig into his back, trying to keep him close. Spencer’s stronger though, and he presses Brendon’s hips back to give himself some leverage and pulls away. Brendon hooks his fingers through Spencer’s belt loops, so he can’t go far, but he doesn’t need to. Arms-length is enough.
The panties barely covered anything to begin with, and now they’re pretty much useless. Spencer twists his fingers in the lace, and Brendon’s dick slips the rest of the way over the scalloped edge along the top. Spencer can’t stop the muttered “God” from slipping past his lips, and Brendon whines when he hears it.
“Are you just going to stand there?” Brendon slits his eyes open, tugging at Spencer’s jeans, trying to get him closer. “I don’t care what you do, Spence, as long as you do something.”
Spencer keeps his fingers hooked in the panties and slides his hand around, until his knuckles are dragging across the underside of Brendon’s cock, and leans in to murmur, “Well, my jaw’s a little sore where you punched me, so I’m not gonna blow you.”
He doesn’t wait for Brendon to say something that will probably make him sound like a jackass, just twists his wrist around and slides his palm over the head of Brendon’s dick, slicking through the wetness and down. Brendon makes the most hilarious giggle-moan ever, and Spencer grins as he leans close to suck at Brendon’s bottom lip.
Brendon rocks into Spencer’s hand and works his fingers under Spencer’s shirt again, pushing up his back until he’s curving his hands over Spencer’s shoulder blades and pulling him closecloseclose. It’s a few rough pulls until Brendon is digging blunt fingernails into the curve of Spencer’s shoulder blades and coming over Spencer’s hand.
Spencer doesn’t let go of Brendon’s dick until his hips flinch back just a little, and Brendon’s hands slide back to rest in the curve of Spencer’s low back. Spencer’s dick is pressed against the seam of his jeans, and he’s hard enough it hurts, but he doesn’t push back just yet, gives Brendon a minute to catch his breath.
Brendon’s forehead is sweaty when he presses it against Spencer’s collarbones, and that’s kind of gross, but Spencer’s hand is kind of gross too, so he doesn’t say anything about it. He slips his clean hand low around Brendon’s waist and tries not to be too obvious when he presses closer, against Brendon’s hip, trying to get a little bit of friction.
A shiver slips down Spencer’s spine when Brendon tilts his head enough to open his mouth over
Spencer’s throat, down to the dip between his collarbones. He’s sucking a little, teeth grazing across the soft, rounded rises of bone, lips slipping in to fill the hollows. Brendon seems to be getting his coordination back, and he’s using it to drive Spencer crazy. It’s all little touches and soft and light, and what Spencer wants is hard and fast and everything.
Spencer can’t wait for Brendon to get around to it, doesn’t want to see how long it takes, so he reaches for the button of his jeans. It’s difficult, what with the way his hips want to stay as close as physically possible to Brendon’s, and he only has his left hand to use, but he manages. Brendon helps, teasing one hand down Spencer’s back and around, pushing Spencer’s jeans down low on his hips once Spencer’s got them open.
He’s wound so tight it’s not going to matter what Brendon does. Now he knows how Brendon felt. He just wants something, and he wants it now. It’s a relief when Brendon curls his free hand around the base of his dick, his other sliding back to Spencer’s hip. Brendon’s fingers go just a little too tight, and Spencer muffles a groan in the curve of Brendon’s throat.
“Move back,” Brendon says, pushing at Spencer’s hip. When Spencer doesn’t move fast enough, Brendon turns, hip-checking him back, and before Spencer can ask him what he’s doing, Brendon starts sliding down the wall. He has to pause long enough hitch the panties back up, and Spencer settles a hand on Brendon’s shoulder, not pushing but letting it rest heavy. Brendon shushes him and finishes his slide, giving Spencer’s dick one lazy pull while he makes himself comfortable.
Spencer gives up and wipes his hand clean on side of his shirt, deciding that it’s worth using up one of his last clean shirts to be able to tangle his fingers in Brendon’s hair. He doesn’t pull or push, just cups the back of Brendon’s skull and makes himself meet Brendon’s eyes, instead of staring at his mouth.
Brendon grins at him, and breathes, “Sorry for punching you.” Then it’s just the flex of Brendon’s fingers, still around Spencer’s dick, only looser now, and the heat of his mouth as he sucks the head of Spencer’s dick in.
Brendon wants to go slow, Spencer can tell by the way he sucks almost lazily, but Spencer wants. He needs. His fingers curl a little in Brendon’s hair, putting just enough pressure to ask for more without having to make his voice work. Spencer lets his hips roll just slightly too, and the slick slide of it makes him moan, low and rough.
It’s been hours, days of Spencer riding the edge, and then Brendon sucks hard and does something with his tongue, and Spencer bangs his knuckles on the wall when he rocks forward, managing to think clearly enough to drag Brendon’s head back as he does so there’s no choking.
Brendon pushes at Spencer’s hip, muffling something that sounds like “fuck, move,” and then Spencer pulls his eyes back to meet Brendon’s, instead of watching the way his dick is stretching Brendon’s mouth. Spencer starts to pull back, give Brendon some room, but then Brendon tightens his fingers on Spencer’s hip, digging in hard enough to bruise, and lets his eyes slip closed, pressing his head back into Spencer’s hand.
There’s no way that’s not an invitation, and just the thought of it is enough to draw Spencer’s hips in a little closer, his dick sliding a little deeper. Spencer’s careful, aware that Brendon doesn’t have anywhere to go, that Brendon’s trusting him to know when to stop. It’s a rush, and it only takes Spencer a couple of shallow thrusts before he’s shuddering and coming hard, forcing himself to pull back enough to let Brendon swallow, or at least breathe.
Spencer manages to catch his breath and unclench his fingers, smoothing Brendon’s hair down and sliding his hand around to palm his jaw, thumb brushing over the stubble on his cheek. He’s got a flush high in his cheeks, and his lips are so swollen they look raw, and Spencer tugs him back to his feet because he needs to kiss him now.
When he his hands come to rest on Brendon’s hips, Spencer feels the soft whorls of lace again. He’d somehow managed to almost forget the panties, and now here they are again, soft and delicate and indecent. He clears his throat and tries to catch his breath, and lets his fingers slip-slide over the scalloped edge.
“I was on my way to get food,” Spencer says, remembering why he’d come back to the bus as the haze starts to clear from his head a little.
Brendon nods, says, “Yeah, okay. I could eat.”
Spencer steps far enough back that Brendon can finish putting on his pants, watching as he adjusts the panties so they sit low enough not to show and wondering what happens now. Just as things start to feel terminally awkward again, Brendon finishes buckling his belt and looks up, biting his lip.
“I have a black pair, too,” Brendon says, and that takes care of that.