OK, I am just posting this. *washes hands of it*
Title Mothertruckin’ Flapjacks
Author adellyna
Pairing Jon/Spencer
Rating Dude. Um. Pretty PG. Maybe R for language.
Description Goes along with Panic! hosting Rage. Clips here.
Author’s Notes Just wrote it in order of how the clips went in the one where they’re all smooshed together. I know two of them are out of order, but… yeah.
Disclaimer About as real as Pamela Anderson's boobs, guys. Please don't sue.
Introduction
Brendon’s claimed the spot closest to the camera, Spencer the one furthest. Which is, you know, pretty much the natural order of things, so Ryan settles himself in next to Spencer and lets Jon and Brendon do their thing.
He’s got this lyric floating around in his head anyway, this little snippet that looks like melted wax in his mind and he just wants to force it past his tongue and onto Brendon’s. So he’s barely paying attention, just kind of letting the words swirl, and then Jon jumps Spencer’s cue. Brendon is supposed to say that they’re Panic! and that this is Rage and that they have videos and then Spencer is supposed to say that it’s Saturday night, but suddenly Jon is babbling something about flapjacks and Spencer is pressed into Ryan’s elbow waiting. Brendon jumps in again, asserting that they call videos “French toast” and then Spencer’s just kind of reclaiming his cue; he never gets mad, he just gets his.
“It’s Saturday night,” he says, “and you guys are at sitting home, uh.”
Everyone’s head turns in unison to Spencer -- he just has that effect -- and Ryan snorts. “Why.” Ryan hates questions. Well, it’s more that he hates the answers, the uncertainty, so he’s just sort of banished question marks from his vocabulary. Deadpan, they call it. Indifferent. Passionless. Whatever. They also say that Spencer’s a bitch, which is only half true, if at all. “Why?” Spencer echoes, but he makes it a question, laughing a little.
Which just starts it all, doesn’t it? Jon jumps in again--nobody bothers scripting Jon, he’ll never stick to it--and runs with it, “Question number two is: Why are you spending it with us?” And then, of course, Ryan is trapped between Jon and Spencer; Jon’s face is turned from the camera and he gives Spencer this look and Ryan feels more than sees Spencer’s answering one. Fuck. He really should have sat next to Brendon.
He feels the side of his face warming from the way Spencer’s beaming at Jon, like Jon hung the fucking moon and then did a little dance around it and then possibly gave Spencer the best head of his life or something, and doesn’t anyone realize that there is a camera on them?
It's all fucked up anyway, so Ryan deadpans in with, “And why aren’t you eating flapjacks.”
“And why aren’t you…” Jon echoes, trailing off, distracted and the bar is set. Ryan wishes he was sitting next to Brendon again, but this time so that they could exchange sympathetic glances and maybe figure out some way to play rock-paper-scissors off-camera because they’re in for another twenty minutes of The Jon and Spencer Show, which is cute most times but less so when Ryan hasn’t gotten laid in a week and Jon’s trying to lick Spencer’s throat from three feet away, seriously. He kicks Spencer a little, the heel of his shoe impacting with Spencer’s shin, but it doesn’t halt the flood of warm melty that he feels coming off of Spencer at all, so.
Brendon at least remembers that they’re intro’ing a video. Thank God for Brendon and his ability to, say, finish sentences. Or, you know, not lipstick a sloppy heart onto a Post-It and then pin it to his sleeve. Ryan gives up on the kicking and turns to eye Spencer. Stop it, he says with his eyes. Right now.
Spencer does the eyebrow quirk of What? You’re crazy, but Ryan just chews his gum more purposefully and stares.
“Here it comes,” Jon says.
Break
“I want to sit next to Brendon,” Ryan announces.
Brendon grins, exuberant, and reaches his arms over Jon. “Yes. Come to me baby. You want top or bottom?” He’s starting to twist in his seat, ready to scramble over to the middle of the sofa, but Ryan is already standing and yanking Spencer up with him.
“Bottom,” he says, slapping Brendon’s hand away, hip cocked, making stern eyes at Jon. “Jon’s switching with us.”
Dammit. Why’d he sit next to the camera? Being the front man sucks sometimes, like when interpersonal conflict happens right next to you and you miss all of it because you’re busy being suave and charming. Not that the other guys would understand that. Suave and charming isn’t exactly their thing.
But then Jon shrugs and slides across the couch, pausing to wrap his hand around Spencer’s hip and squeeze. Spencer lights up, more than usual even, and Brendon goes oooooh. The old ‘Jon is between Spencer and the camera’ problem. Right.
Ryan drops onto the sofa and Brendon feels Ryan’s shoulder angle under his own- bony but warm, and he leans in and hums so he doesn’t have to listen to Spencer and Ryan hiss at each other. “Camera,” Ryan says, and he jerks under Brendon so there’s an assumed gesture there. Presumably at the tripod. Ryan likes to point out the obvious, like maybe you‘re actually too stupid to notice it. “It’s the black thing with the red light on it. It records the things we do and then other people watch them.”
The camera guy finishes jotting notes on his clipboard and leans out, “You guys ready?”
New Noise - REFUSED
It’s a little tense, the first actual video intro. Brendon’s doing the one for Refused; they’d kind of thought it would be funny, what with his affinity for Disney soundtracks and cheesy pop. He starts talking about the video and how it intrigued him, but Jon’s busy reading the brittle set of Spencer’s jaw and the way he leans into him: heavily, overlapped more than is strictly necessary, his ankle tucked around Jon’s. That part is safely off camera. Spencer really hates it when Ryan gets upset with him, he just kind of retreats and tries to do better.
Ryan hates it too, but in his own way. He’s more like a cat, like when you scold a cat and it glares at you balefully from atop your armoire and then gleefully shreds your potted plants, secure in the knowledge that you can’t reach it. Spencer’s more of a puppy, at least when it comes to Ryan. He has his arm along the sofa behind Ryan, but where he’d usually be casually draped he’s placed it several conspicuous inches away from Ryan’s shoulders. Jon’s draped his arm too, but his is rubbing the peak of Spencer’s elbow where it hangs off the back.
“-a different feel,” Brendon is saying, dragging it out, waiting for someone else to jump on in here. Jon can see it in the way he’s rubbing his jaw, someone jump on in here, I can only say so much about hardcore, you guys, seriously. “To.. The video.”
Spencer’s the one who should talk, but he doesn’t. Not petulant, not exactly, just, you know. Ryan. “Yeah,” Jon chimes in. Ryan’s shit doesn’t really bother him, and if he ever decides he wants to fucking grope Spencer on camera, he will. “It’s off the CD The Shape of Punk to Come, which is basically known as one of the pioneers of, you know, hardcore music.” He shifts a little, bumping Spencer’s knee. “Refused. Is.”
Spencer laughs, finally, and Jon laughs back. Brendon too, because Spencer is a mood projector and it’s hard to be happy when he’s not. (Or, as Brendon says, “I can’t imagine puppies and princesses when you’re sad, Spencer, unless they’re in a crumpled, bloody heap and nobody wants that. Smile, Spencer Smith.”) Even Ryan, a little, and Spencer moves his arm almost imperceptibly, just a breath away from Ryan’s shoulder now. It’s enough, and when Ryan brushes his hair away from his eyes he also shifts so they’re in contact- the fragile planes of his back touching the sleeve of Spencer’s coat.
Break
“My turn!” Jon practically jumps off the sofa, so abruptly that Spencer nearly tumbles off with him. “Muse,” Jon says, in that voice that sounds like he just gave slow, sloppy head for three hours straight, “Muse is my bitch.”
Plug In Baby - MUSE
Spencer watches Jon hang half off the sofa arm, leaned toward the camera like he’s about to tell the whole fucking world a secret. “Shhhh,” Jon says, purred back over his shoulder, and Spencer loses himself in remembering the other ways he’s heard that sound lately: mumbled into his stomach, panted into the sweaty stretch of his neck, hissed up at the ceiling of his bunk like Jon has to remind himself sometimes.
Granted, Jon doesn’t usually say “I’m introducing a video” immediately after, it’s always more along the lines of ‘God, Spence,” or “I’m going to- holy shit,” or admittedly, sometimes even, “Guys. Guys, cool it, So You Think You Can Dance is starting, guys.”
Regardless. He’s half-eliminated them from the equation, all of them; the camera guy had said, “Over just a little, Jon” before he started shooting and Brendon had chimed in with “Bitch, you’re blocking my good side!” but Spencer doesn’t mind. It means he gets to sit back and listen to the voice.
Jon waves Brendon off and says, “They make. Amazing videos. That, uh, I wish we made, but they already made them, so we can’t.” He looks back and it’s not. It’s not like he’s looking for approval or anything, not for saying ‘we,’ because he’s part of the band. More a part of the band than Brent ever was and definitely more a part of Spencer than Brent ever could be, but still. Spencer laughs and infects Ryan with it. Habit, maybe, and Brendon echoes the ‘we’ back at Jon, “Then we’ve got to step it up a notch.”
He doesn’t seem to need it, not the laughing or the echoing, and he tells the camera that Muse will “Blow your face off.” They all really laugh this time, Brendon with his whole body, moving and blocking Ryan from the camera and hoo-boy. Thank God that didn’t happen on stage.
Break
“I want to do Tonight, Tonight,” Ryan says, and it’s no more a request than most of his questions are questions.
“And maybe,” he says, when he stands and stretches, his angles pressing into the crisp layers of his clothing, “Maybe we can get our favorite camwhore to move down the sofa some and stop monopolizing the whole screen.”
Brendon stands too and presses his hands to his back, arching, and they’re just these ridiculously slight slices of people. Jon rubs his palm on his pant leg and ducks his head, meeting Spencer in the middle of the sofa. He holds up a pinky, bends it a bit, a one-digit impersonation of Brendon and Ryan (there’s a different digit he could use but, as Ryan pointed out, there’s a camera) and Spencer laughs, crooks his pinky around Jon’s, and says, “I know, right? Switch with me. Brendon gets fresh.”
Tonight, Tonight - SMASHING PUMPKINS
Ryan really loves Tonight, Tonight. He loves that every time he hears the opening strains he remembers the first time he heard it- in Spencer’s room with all the windows open and the Nevada heat seeping in and pricking at his skin. He’d closed his eyes and felt his stomach relocate to somewhere around his throat, Spencer lying next to him, still but for the fingers he couldn’t stop tapping, the moment just… like there was more. Beyond Spencer’s rumpled black comforter and the curtains that billowed in. More. More, beyond the windows and the strip.
He still feels that way, sometimes, when he hears it. Hopeful. Like the first time he heard Brendon sing it, when he said “Let’s cover Tonight, Tonight,” and Brendon belted out “Belieeeeve in me,” he’d felt it again. Feet heavy, head light, and he’d just nodded and said, “Yes. Just like that.”
Not that he’s going to say that for the camera, no fucking way he’ll say that covering it was like covering hope itself, and that sometimes he closes his eyes and sings along to it on stage when he’s not even mic’d, so. Instead he says, “It, uh, had some influence on our set design, for our last tour as well.”
Jon chimes in with fascinating trivia about their hometown of Chicago, things like: he is also from Chicago and it is located in the United States. And it’s uncharitable to be annoyed, Ryan knows, but he can see Spencer rolling his eyes (with his whole body, really, but that’s a Spencer Smith trademark), and Ryan kind of just wants to hear Brendon singing the damn song again.
Break
“You guys,” Brendon wheedles once the light on the camera flickers off. “You guys, haven’t you ever seen Dirty Dancing? Nobody puts Brendon in the corner.”
“That’s Baby,” Spencer corrects, but he’s already standing up to trade. Too much face time with the lens makes Spencer nervous, everyone knows that.
Brendon makes a grab for his ass as they pass, twirling away to escape retribution. “You shouldn’t call me baby,” he advises. “Jon will get jealous.”
The Scientist - COLDPLAY
So they’re totally allowed to say ‘fuck’ on the air, which Brendon thinks is awesome, but he’s pretty sure they, you know, haven’t. So when Jon, the stealthy attention whore that he is, slides into prime position at the last possible second, Brendon leans in and says, “Dude. Say fuck. Say it a lot.”
He doesn’t though, he just says, “This next video is for, uh, a band called Coldplay.” And Spencer purses his lips (porn star lips, Brendon says) and goes “Brrrrm.” Jon stops and he’s half in Brendon’s lap, twisted to look at Spencer. Spencer who has just won the fucking ‘throw everyone the fuck off’ award, dude, because they’re all just looking at him.
“Uh,” Jon says, scattered like only Spencer ever can get him, “And it’s entitled The Scientist.” Spencer beeps again. Brendon can feel Ryan shaking with silent laughter under him, sees Jon drop his head and laugh in surrender, and just tries like hell not to laugh himself. “I’m working on my censoring skills,” Spencer lisps, exactly the same way he lisps, ‘Girls, how does my makeup look? Is it natural’ before performances.
Brendon bends behind Jon’s neck to cough. Well, actually he bends behind Jon’s neck to say, “Get a room,” but there’s a mic and he’s pretty sure Ryan will kill him dead if he does. Jon’s picking up the slack anyway. He’s like a fucking humor cowboy, he just lassos shit right up and runs with it. “This motherf-” he says, bent and waiting for Spencer to chime in. He does, “Brrrrm,” and Brendon grins so hard he’s pretty sure the fans will be able to see what flavor gum he’s chewing and the three fillings he has in the back of his mouth.
“-video,” Jon finishes, “Is pretty motherf-”
“Brrrrm”
“-awesome, because it kicks a lot of motherf-”
“Brrrrrm”
“ass.”
Silence. Jon laughs into it, turned and looking expectantly at Spencer, but Brendon totally loses his shit and cracks up. He promises himself that later, the very next time Spencer and Jon get too loud and he hears them moaning things like “Shit” or “Fuck” or “God”, he’s going to get right up next to Spencer’s bunk and shout “BRRRRM” at the top of his fucking lungs. And he’s a singer, ok, so the top of his fucking lungs is pretty impressive.
Spence finally realizes ‘ass’ is a cuss word and “Brrrms” into the laughter. Brendon adds ’point out all the times they don’t say ’ass’ in cartoons’ to his list of ways to mock Spencer. “Coldplay, The Scientist,” Jon repeats. “Check it out. Motherf-”
“Brrrrm.”
Break
“Oh God,” Brendon says. “Spence, I love you so much man. Let’s make out.”
“I vote you don’t,” Ryan says mildly and it’s an excellent position, so Jon is forced to agree. “I’m forced to agree,” he says. “But if you switch places with me I’ll say fuck in the next clip.”
Spencer settles further into his corner and grins up the sofa. “I’ll make out with whoever says fuck first on air.”
“That’ll be me,” Jon says. “Switch with me, Brendon, I want to be closer for when I win.”
Bumper
They’re going in unscripted, which Ryan thinks is always dangerous, but especially when there’s Spencer-kissing on the table. Personally, he suddenly finds his vocabulary spotlessly clean, and he’s pretty sure Brendon values his dignity too much to step on Jon’s toes, but still.
“HEY,” Spencer says, as exuberant as he ever gets. “We’re Panic! at the Disco and we’re eating mothertrucking flapjacks on Rage.” He says it grinning at Ryan, gum trapped in the back of his teeth. It’s amazing when Spencer has fun on camera- he gets better about it, the more it happens, but Ryan can still sometimes pick up the nervousness in the way Spencer handles the props or giggles senselessly at Jon.
Jon says, “Fuck” into the silence, seemingly apropos of nothing, and Spencer laughs freely. And hey, objectively… ok, not at all objectively, because Spencer is Ryan’s best friend and takes care of fucking everything, but he’s also incredibly beautiful when he laughs like that. Everyone, he thinks, should love Spencer. He doesn’t understand not loving Spencer. And if the look on Jon’s face is any indication, well. Ryan supposes they can maybe make fools of themselves on camera occasionally. Occasionally.
Break
Brendon claims the corner to sulk. “Give me the corner, heartbreaker. I have to sulk and mourn the deep seeded Mormon values that prevented me from saying fuck on the air.” He sighs and stands, impatiently beckoning Spence out of his seat. “Fuck. Fuck. It’s so easy to say. Kiss me anyway?”
“No way,” Jon says, his hand on Spencer’s wrist, tugging. “I won fair and square. My mother will be so ashamed.” Ryan’s out of the way already, so Jon’s got nothing but space to press his side against Spencer’s and brush his hair out of his face. “I’ll tell her you made an honest man out of me,” he mumbles into Spencer’s lips, and it’s not much of a kiss. Just a quick brush and Spencer’s hand, gentle on Jon’s lapel.
“What’s next?” Ryan asks, and he’s standing between the camera and the couch, between the cameraman and the couch, just in case, forcing the cameraman to look down and say, “Uh, Ambulance LTD.”
Ryan nods and doesn’t look back over his shoulder. “Ok. And after that?”
Stay Where You Are - AMBULANCE LTD
Hey, Jon totally appreciates the human shield. He’s pretty sure it would have to be one of those pinhole cameras for Ryan’s waifish form to do any good, but still. They’ve shuffled again, so that Spencer can sit next to Ryan and Jon can be near Brendon. “To gloat.”
Ryan starts off strong. Maybe it’s to make up for the gay kissing they just indulged in, but maybe it’s just Ryan. Strong. He calls the video a shout out to Eric, but that’s not really enough of a shout out for Jon’s taste. “He’s not in this video,” he chimes in, “But if he was, he’d be the good looking one.” Which isn’t doing much to counteract that ‘gay image’ that Ryan snips about (snips about with an eyeliner pencil in one hand, nonetheless), but they’re probably the only band that hasn’t been definitively photographed kissing each other, so.
There’s a moment or two of tense, where he wonders if Spencer will be jealous and sulk, if the next time his arm falls behind Jon on the sofa if it will be pointedly distant, or if Jon tries to tuck his fingers under Spencer’s thigh, if Spencer will shift or switch with someone else. He doesn’t think so, it’s not like he fucks around or even like there’s some big official thing to fuck around on, but Spencer has to know that no one compares, right? Jon spent all that time around William Beckett without so much as playing doctor, so he thinks his self-control credentials ought to count for something.
Everyone just kind of... agrees. And Spencer’s hand finds his knee when the light flickers off, so.
Break
“That was weak,” Spencer says. “Dude, even I’m more natural than that.”
Ryan pets his bangs back into place and lifts an eyebrow. “You think you can do better? It’s Counting Crows. You’ll have to introduce it and somehow keep yourself from offering to rim the whole band.”
“Wow,” Brendon says, wincing as they all shuffle down a seat. “That’s… unsanitary.”
“Yeah.” Jon nods. “And I’d definitely be jealous. Can I rim half of them?”
Mr. Jones - COUNTING CROWS
Spencer realizes he’s saying ‘um’ way, way too often. He just can’t seem to stop. He’s still got the mental image of rimming Adam Duritz in his mind- not exactly welcome, obviously. And there’s Ryan, fussing with his hair at the other end of the sofa, Jon jiggling their knees a little every time Spencer says ‘uh’ or ‘um’ and then, halfway through his speech--and he’s doing well, ok, he’s talking about musical and lyrical influences, which is totally better than talking about hot keyboard players--he hears Brendon laugh at him. Dammit.
It’s not like he doesn’t know that his cadence is a little off, that he’s babbling, but hell. “We’ll, uh, open your eyes up to, uh,”
“Spark some interest,” Ryan prompts.
“A new world,” Jon adds.
And Spencer wouldn’t mind a magic carpet ride right around now, so, “A whole new world.” He rolls his head back, wanting the camera off so he can laugh at himself, just laugh hard enough that he can’t talk and has to suck his breath in from somewhere in the area of Jon’s collar, but it’s not fucking over yet.. Brendon says, “A whole new genre,“ with this ridiculous inflection like he just learned the word, and Spencer rushes the finish before anyone can burst into song.
“And, uh-” dammit, “here’s Counting Crows with Mr. Jones.”
Break
“Dude,” Spencer says before anyone else can. “That was weak. I need my corner back, Ryan.”
Ryan smacks his gum at Spencer and does the thing he does instead of smiling, where his eyes gleam and his hands tuck daintily over his knees. “At least I think you’re safe from the rimming. Usually insulting someone’s production values isn’t the way to go about propositioning them.”
“I’ll go,” Jon says. “I’ll say something romantic and then you can try again. The propositioning. Me, that is.”
Nice and Slow - USHER
Everyone waits to hear Jon be romantic. It’s not that he’s not romantic, it’s just that, you know, there’s only so much romance you can eke out of the situation. Being on tour. Ryan approves of Jon’s habit of memorizing all of Spencer’s allergies and fast food orders. He approves of the way Jon will mix the juices that Spencer likes, the way he’ll go to the store to get more cranberry juice if someone’s finished the last of it, even if it means he has to put on socks with his sandals and shiver all the way to the corner store in jeans and a hoodie.
Also acceptable is: the way Spencer blushes when Brendon goes “So, was it good? It was good, right?”, the fact that Jon almost never drinks around them, the crinkles at the corners of Jon’s eyes when he smiles at Spencer, and the way he’ll link their fingers together and tuck the whole tangled up mess into Spencer’s back pocket.
Not acceptable would be: mentioning a recent ex or mutually acquainted ex during his intro for this Usher video or mentioning the juice thing and calling Spencer Sally, or something.
“Um,” Jon says, and you can tell he’s kind of sorting through his mental catalogue, looking for something appropriate. “Back when I was in elementary school we used to go to the roller skating rink every Friday night and, uh, this song was the first song I ever couples skated with a girl, It’s, uh, Usher, with Nice and Slow.”
Which is, ok, yeah. Ryan nods slowly, “That’s romantic.” And it is, it’s really cute, baby!Jon in white skates with blue laces, he’s sure. Some girl, tiny and giggling, maybe a pirouette or two?
Brendon agrees and Jon ends the intro not by looking at the camera, but by looking at Spencer. Which is also romantic. Ryan makes a note to help Spencer proposition Jon later.
Break
“I’m not intro’ing Wonderboy,” Jon says. “Someone else has to sit here.”
Ryan shakes his head hard, ass planted in the seat. Glued, practically. “I’m not doing it. No fucking way.”
“Not it,” Spencer volunteers.
Which leaves, of course, “You guys are pussies. The D rules.” Brendon shoves at Jon and slides into his seat, right up next to the camera.
“Well, yeah. Just try explaining that. Right after fucking Usher, man. We’re losing street cred.”
“We had street cred?”
Wonderboy - TENACIOUS D
Jon may have been right. Brendon has a lot of things to say about Tenacious D. Things about Jack Black ruling the world and Fuck Her Gently being one of the greatest rock masterpieces of all time and hey, maybe you should all lighten up and give it a chance, but, um. Brendon kind of stopped saying shit like that when his voice stopped cracking, so. “This next one is by, uh, a great band called Tenacious D. It’s called Wonderboy.”
And hey, you know what? Fuck those guys. If Pete Wentz isn’t proof enough that you can be ridiculous and ridiculously talented, then Brendon doesn’t know what is. Except, you know, The D. So yeah, fuck it, he’s going pretentious. “And, uh, I chose this one because of the artistic value that it has,” he said, haughty, scratching at his chin appraisingly. “Uh, you know, the mountains and the medieval times settings. So. Uh, they did a great job.”
Nobody else says a word. Too busy smiling secretly at each other or being Ryan Ross, if the news reports from the corner of his eye are to be trusted. This just in: everybody else on this couch sucks. Fuckers.
Break
“Bumper,” the cameraman says, so nobody moves.
Bumper
“Hey, this is Panic! at the Disco and you’re raging with Rage,” Jon says, and Brendon flashes a sort of weird ass peace sign. Like a gang sign, actually. Like they run around and mug people, but instead of stealing their money they leave marshmallows and spare change in people’s pockets. Pictures of puppies, maybe.
“With us,” he says, and there’s Brendon with the fingers again. Ok. Jon doesn’t pretend to understand Brendon’s mental cues. He marches to his own drummer, is all, it’s just that Brendon’s drummer happens to be a monkey. On crack cocaine. “On rage. Now.”
Brendon makes a fist this time, which Jon supposes is more hardcore. Yeah, the fist says, yeah we’re really going to brighten your day, see, and you’re gonna like it, see. “Tonight.”
Break
Ryan pops his gum at them and sounds utterly unimpressed when he says, “That was really sexy, guys. Hardcore. Totally.”
“Blow me,” Brendon chirps back. “It’s 702 next. Spencer’s gonna sing.”
“I’m gonna what? Nu’uh.”
“No, Spence,” Jon clambers off the sofa, arches like his cat, makes a low sort of whimpering noise when his back pops. “Spence, you have to. Have to, Spence, where are your girls at?”
“I don’t have girls, I’m-“ gay, but hello, cameraman. “-girlless,” he finishes lamely, but lets Jon manhandle him into the primary seat anyway.
Jon tucks his arm around Spencer’s shoulder and grins. “C’mon. Just the chorus.”
Where My Girls At - 702
Fucking camera is too fast, and Spencer feels Jon drop his arm away like burning, but he’s still got Jon’s voice rumbling in his ears and man, this is off to another great start isn’t it? Spencer Smith: Professional Intro Bungler.
“Seven Oh Two.” Ok, it could be worse, but the air is still stirring, sending whiffs of Jon up. Fresh cut grass and lazy summer mornings and possibly lemonade, and how the fuck is he supposed to focus like this? Spencer shoots a ‘how am I supposed to focus like this’ look at Jon, and Jon grins back, his ‘you cannot possibly blame me for this’ smile.
He helps though, eyes innocent, “What more can you say?”
Right. Ok. He can say… “This is a video from the group 702, and they are from… Las Vegas, Nevada, where me, Brendon, and Ryan are from.” Oh, look, a new title to add to his resume. Spencer Smith: Professional Grammar Fucker Upper.
“702 is the area code for Las Vegas.” Fascinating, Spencer. “Um. And I don’t know anybody who, uh, doesn’t know at least the chorus to this song.”
It’s a mistake, looking at Jon. There’s the eyebrow raise, first of all, the suggestive one that he uses whenever they’re cuddled on the couch and hands have strayed beneath blankets and possibly beneath shirts and Ryan and Brendon are mere feet away shooting them suspicious glances; it’s usually then that Jon raises his eyebrows just like that and says, “Man, I’m beat.”
This time he says, “What is it?” But no, no, Spencer is not going to sing. He laughs again, helpless, gum pressing toward the front of his mouth. No. Noooo singing. Not unless Jon keeps-
“You’re about to find out,” Ryan says, and the skies open up, the ceiling splits apart, and the light from heaven beams straight down and halos him. They talked about that shit a lot in Catholic school though, so Spencer’s not surprised. He ignores the benevolent light of God to point at the camera, echoing, “You’re about to find out.”
Break
“You guys,” Spencer says when the light goes off, every inch of him woeful. “You guys, I really suck at this. Maybe we could find a chair? Put it behind the sofa? I think it would work. Give me some sticks or something.”
Brendon grins at him, leaning right over Jon to adjust Spencer’s coat and undo his top button. “You’ve just got to loosen up a little, Smith. Flash some skin. I vote you go again.”
“I vote you go again too,” says Ryan. “I’m comfortable.”
“I third that,” Jon says, though he does lean in to re-button Spencer’s shirt. “But mostly because it’s cute when you blush.”
Rabbit In Your Headlights - UNKLE
Personally, Brendon might not have gone with spelling as the way to start the intro, but that’s just one man’s opinion. Unless it’s, like, some freaky kink that he and Jon have. Like they lie in bed and say things like: “God, spell fornicate for me.” Which is weird, but it’s Spencer and Jon, so whatever. This leads to Brendon picturing Spencer, mouth red from blowing Jon, stopping long enough to say, “Can you use it in a sentence?”
He grins. Hard, and back at Ryan who he thinks should magically be in on the joke, but evidently not. He’ll have to work on his Jedi powers.
Spencer detours up a new alley, the classic (also, boring) ‘name the director’ game, and Brendon has to fight back an urge to play Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.’ Like, Hype Williams directed Will Smith’s Getting’ Jiggy With It video, Will Smith was in I, Robot with Alan Tudyk, who was in Dodgeball with Vince Vaughn, who was in Old School with Luke Wilson, who was in My Dog Skip with Kevin Bacon. And that’s five steps to Kevin Bacon, which is actually pretty pathetic, and is Spencer still talking about Rabbit In Your Headlights?
Jon cuts in and mentions the parallel with the car-hitting which is obviously the first interesting thing said about this video- seeing as how it’s the first time they’ve mentioned Brendon and all.
“So that’s why it had some-” he starts to contribute, but Ryan the scene stealer chimes in from his lounging to add totally unnecessary (but, objectively, rather sexily drawled) commentary on Brendon’s car experience and could he maybe have gotten to Kevin Bacon quicker if he’d gone through Hollow Man? Who else had been in Hollow Man. Or hey, Serenity. Will Smith had been in Independence Day with Adam Baldwin who was in Serenity with Alan Tudyk who was in Dodgeball with… no, it was the same. Alan Tudyk to A Knight’s Tale, maybe?
“Check Brendon out,” Spencer says finally, and Brendon makes what he’s pretty sure is the most heterosexual hand gesture of the night and says, “Cameo.”
Break
The cameraman makes a note on his clipboard and pops out to say, “Two more, guys. Just bumpers.”
“Quick,” Brendon says. “Ryan. Do something sexy so that everyone will forget how much Spencer Smith rambles.”
Bumper
Spencer’s shoulder is warm and curves just right under his head. Probably, after all of those years of friendship, Spencer’s actual bones have formed around Ryan’s bits to accommodate him more comfortably. This is another thing Ryan approves of: physiological changes by others just to make his life easier. Not that he’s cocky or anything, he totally recognizes the possibility that his own skull chose to form into the same curve as Spencer’s neck. Whatever.
He waits for Jon and Brendon to settle themselves in, kicking his feet into their laps once the manly posturing for position has ceased. Their arms curve up to hold his legs like a fucking baby or something. Man, he totally owns this band. “Hey,” he says, as cocksure as he can manage. “I’m hosting this show. Along with my friends here, Panic! at the Disco. You’re watching rage.”
Jon’s right there, so Ryan pokes him in the head like a talking toy and Jon obediently says, “We’ll eat your flesh.”
Spencer says nothing, unsurprisingly. Which is good, this show is only so long, after all.
There’s a meager length of silence and then Brendon volunteers: “Fuck.”
Oh, Brendon.
Break
“There was no second place for saying fuck, you know. Like, no runner-up.”
“Dude,” Brendon says, making a swing for Ryan’s shoelaces. “Jon already won the make-out-with-Spencer-Smith thing, I know. I’m going for the make-out-with-Ryan-Ross deal.”
Ryan just kicks at Brendon’s hand and fake scowls. “What am I? Consolation prize? Blow me, Urie.”
Jon’s vaulting off the sofa for no apparent reason; Brendon takes a half-hearted swipe at his back pockets and grins brightly in the face of Ryan’s disapproval. “I’m trying, Ross.”
Bumper
Jon’s kneeling off to the side, making faces, and everyone else is staring very intently at the camera. “Don’t laugh,” he instructs before he ducks out of sight. “Be very serious. Brendon… show me sexy.”
“Hey.” And it’s passably sexy, Jon will allow. “We’re Panic! at the Disco, and you’re watching Rage!”
Which is his cue, and he slides abruptly into the frame with what he feels is an excellent, truly representative bit of information that the entire viewing audience needs to know, not to mention the exact right image to leave off with. “Where they don’t give a fart knocker.”
Departure
“You guys,” Ryan says the minute they hit the van. “That cameraman thought we were such freaks.” He slides into the front seat and turns, eyeing Spencer and Jon. “Which is maybe fair, when it comes to you two, but Brendon and I were totally normal. You’re fucking up our images with your non-verbal public sex games.”
“We could be more verbal,” Jon says helpfully. “If you like, I mean, we could get pretty verbal now, right Spencer?”
Spencer nods. It‘s a character flaw, but Ryan has long known that guys will agree with the one who‘s putting out; so. “Totally. Really verbal. Just don’t watch, Ryan, because that’s kind of creepy.”
The smile that spreads onto Brendon’s face is wide and open, squinting up his eyes like there‘s a glare from the windows. Spencer’s already beaming, half-heartedly swatting Jon’s hands away from his zipper, and while Jon’s face is turned, Ryan can see his shoulders shaking with laughter. “Ew,” he says, but he’s grinning at the dashboard when he turns away.
Author adellyna
Pairing Jon/Spencer
Rating Dude. Um. Pretty PG. Maybe R for language.
Description Goes along with Panic! hosting Rage. Clips here.
Author’s Notes Just wrote it in order of how the clips went in the one where they’re all smooshed together. I know two of them are out of order, but… yeah.
Disclaimer About as real as Pamela Anderson's boobs, guys. Please don't sue.
Introduction
Brendon’s claimed the spot closest to the camera, Spencer the one furthest. Which is, you know, pretty much the natural order of things, so Ryan settles himself in next to Spencer and lets Jon and Brendon do their thing.
He’s got this lyric floating around in his head anyway, this little snippet that looks like melted wax in his mind and he just wants to force it past his tongue and onto Brendon’s. So he’s barely paying attention, just kind of letting the words swirl, and then Jon jumps Spencer’s cue. Brendon is supposed to say that they’re Panic! and that this is Rage and that they have videos and then Spencer is supposed to say that it’s Saturday night, but suddenly Jon is babbling something about flapjacks and Spencer is pressed into Ryan’s elbow waiting. Brendon jumps in again, asserting that they call videos “French toast” and then Spencer’s just kind of reclaiming his cue; he never gets mad, he just gets his.
“It’s Saturday night,” he says, “and you guys are at sitting home, uh.”
Everyone’s head turns in unison to Spencer -- he just has that effect -- and Ryan snorts. “Why.” Ryan hates questions. Well, it’s more that he hates the answers, the uncertainty, so he’s just sort of banished question marks from his vocabulary. Deadpan, they call it. Indifferent. Passionless. Whatever. They also say that Spencer’s a bitch, which is only half true, if at all. “Why?” Spencer echoes, but he makes it a question, laughing a little.
Which just starts it all, doesn’t it? Jon jumps in again--nobody bothers scripting Jon, he’ll never stick to it--and runs with it, “Question number two is: Why are you spending it with us?” And then, of course, Ryan is trapped between Jon and Spencer; Jon’s face is turned from the camera and he gives Spencer this look and Ryan feels more than sees Spencer’s answering one. Fuck. He really should have sat next to Brendon.
He feels the side of his face warming from the way Spencer’s beaming at Jon, like Jon hung the fucking moon and then did a little dance around it and then possibly gave Spencer the best head of his life or something, and doesn’t anyone realize that there is a camera on them?
It's all fucked up anyway, so Ryan deadpans in with, “And why aren’t you eating flapjacks.”
“And why aren’t you…” Jon echoes, trailing off, distracted and the bar is set. Ryan wishes he was sitting next to Brendon again, but this time so that they could exchange sympathetic glances and maybe figure out some way to play rock-paper-scissors off-camera because they’re in for another twenty minutes of The Jon and Spencer Show, which is cute most times but less so when Ryan hasn’t gotten laid in a week and Jon’s trying to lick Spencer’s throat from three feet away, seriously. He kicks Spencer a little, the heel of his shoe impacting with Spencer’s shin, but it doesn’t halt the flood of warm melty that he feels coming off of Spencer at all, so.
Brendon at least remembers that they’re intro’ing a video. Thank God for Brendon and his ability to, say, finish sentences. Or, you know, not lipstick a sloppy heart onto a Post-It and then pin it to his sleeve. Ryan gives up on the kicking and turns to eye Spencer. Stop it, he says with his eyes. Right now.
Spencer does the eyebrow quirk of What? You’re crazy, but Ryan just chews his gum more purposefully and stares.
“Here it comes,” Jon says.
Break
“I want to sit next to Brendon,” Ryan announces.
Brendon grins, exuberant, and reaches his arms over Jon. “Yes. Come to me baby. You want top or bottom?” He’s starting to twist in his seat, ready to scramble over to the middle of the sofa, but Ryan is already standing and yanking Spencer up with him.
“Bottom,” he says, slapping Brendon’s hand away, hip cocked, making stern eyes at Jon. “Jon’s switching with us.”
Dammit. Why’d he sit next to the camera? Being the front man sucks sometimes, like when interpersonal conflict happens right next to you and you miss all of it because you’re busy being suave and charming. Not that the other guys would understand that. Suave and charming isn’t exactly their thing.
But then Jon shrugs and slides across the couch, pausing to wrap his hand around Spencer’s hip and squeeze. Spencer lights up, more than usual even, and Brendon goes oooooh. The old ‘Jon is between Spencer and the camera’ problem. Right.
Ryan drops onto the sofa and Brendon feels Ryan’s shoulder angle under his own- bony but warm, and he leans in and hums so he doesn’t have to listen to Spencer and Ryan hiss at each other. “Camera,” Ryan says, and he jerks under Brendon so there’s an assumed gesture there. Presumably at the tripod. Ryan likes to point out the obvious, like maybe you‘re actually too stupid to notice it. “It’s the black thing with the red light on it. It records the things we do and then other people watch them.”
The camera guy finishes jotting notes on his clipboard and leans out, “You guys ready?”
New Noise - REFUSED
It’s a little tense, the first actual video intro. Brendon’s doing the one for Refused; they’d kind of thought it would be funny, what with his affinity for Disney soundtracks and cheesy pop. He starts talking about the video and how it intrigued him, but Jon’s busy reading the brittle set of Spencer’s jaw and the way he leans into him: heavily, overlapped more than is strictly necessary, his ankle tucked around Jon’s. That part is safely off camera. Spencer really hates it when Ryan gets upset with him, he just kind of retreats and tries to do better.
Ryan hates it too, but in his own way. He’s more like a cat, like when you scold a cat and it glares at you balefully from atop your armoire and then gleefully shreds your potted plants, secure in the knowledge that you can’t reach it. Spencer’s more of a puppy, at least when it comes to Ryan. He has his arm along the sofa behind Ryan, but where he’d usually be casually draped he’s placed it several conspicuous inches away from Ryan’s shoulders. Jon’s draped his arm too, but his is rubbing the peak of Spencer’s elbow where it hangs off the back.
“-a different feel,” Brendon is saying, dragging it out, waiting for someone else to jump on in here. Jon can see it in the way he’s rubbing his jaw, someone jump on in here, I can only say so much about hardcore, you guys, seriously. “To.. The video.”
Spencer’s the one who should talk, but he doesn’t. Not petulant, not exactly, just, you know. Ryan. “Yeah,” Jon chimes in. Ryan’s shit doesn’t really bother him, and if he ever decides he wants to fucking grope Spencer on camera, he will. “It’s off the CD The Shape of Punk to Come, which is basically known as one of the pioneers of, you know, hardcore music.” He shifts a little, bumping Spencer’s knee. “Refused. Is.”
Spencer laughs, finally, and Jon laughs back. Brendon too, because Spencer is a mood projector and it’s hard to be happy when he’s not. (Or, as Brendon says, “I can’t imagine puppies and princesses when you’re sad, Spencer, unless they’re in a crumpled, bloody heap and nobody wants that. Smile, Spencer Smith.”) Even Ryan, a little, and Spencer moves his arm almost imperceptibly, just a breath away from Ryan’s shoulder now. It’s enough, and when Ryan brushes his hair away from his eyes he also shifts so they’re in contact- the fragile planes of his back touching the sleeve of Spencer’s coat.
Break
“My turn!” Jon practically jumps off the sofa, so abruptly that Spencer nearly tumbles off with him. “Muse,” Jon says, in that voice that sounds like he just gave slow, sloppy head for three hours straight, “Muse is my bitch.”
Plug In Baby - MUSE
Spencer watches Jon hang half off the sofa arm, leaned toward the camera like he’s about to tell the whole fucking world a secret. “Shhhh,” Jon says, purred back over his shoulder, and Spencer loses himself in remembering the other ways he’s heard that sound lately: mumbled into his stomach, panted into the sweaty stretch of his neck, hissed up at the ceiling of his bunk like Jon has to remind himself sometimes.
Granted, Jon doesn’t usually say “I’m introducing a video” immediately after, it’s always more along the lines of ‘God, Spence,” or “I’m going to- holy shit,” or admittedly, sometimes even, “Guys. Guys, cool it, So You Think You Can Dance is starting, guys.”
Regardless. He’s half-eliminated them from the equation, all of them; the camera guy had said, “Over just a little, Jon” before he started shooting and Brendon had chimed in with “Bitch, you’re blocking my good side!” but Spencer doesn’t mind. It means he gets to sit back and listen to the voice.
Jon waves Brendon off and says, “They make. Amazing videos. That, uh, I wish we made, but they already made them, so we can’t.” He looks back and it’s not. It’s not like he’s looking for approval or anything, not for saying ‘we,’ because he’s part of the band. More a part of the band than Brent ever was and definitely more a part of Spencer than Brent ever could be, but still. Spencer laughs and infects Ryan with it. Habit, maybe, and Brendon echoes the ‘we’ back at Jon, “Then we’ve got to step it up a notch.”
He doesn’t seem to need it, not the laughing or the echoing, and he tells the camera that Muse will “Blow your face off.” They all really laugh this time, Brendon with his whole body, moving and blocking Ryan from the camera and hoo-boy. Thank God that didn’t happen on stage.
Break
“I want to do Tonight, Tonight,” Ryan says, and it’s no more a request than most of his questions are questions.
“And maybe,” he says, when he stands and stretches, his angles pressing into the crisp layers of his clothing, “Maybe we can get our favorite camwhore to move down the sofa some and stop monopolizing the whole screen.”
Brendon stands too and presses his hands to his back, arching, and they’re just these ridiculously slight slices of people. Jon rubs his palm on his pant leg and ducks his head, meeting Spencer in the middle of the sofa. He holds up a pinky, bends it a bit, a one-digit impersonation of Brendon and Ryan (there’s a different digit he could use but, as Ryan pointed out, there’s a camera) and Spencer laughs, crooks his pinky around Jon’s, and says, “I know, right? Switch with me. Brendon gets fresh.”
Tonight, Tonight - SMASHING PUMPKINS
Ryan really loves Tonight, Tonight. He loves that every time he hears the opening strains he remembers the first time he heard it- in Spencer’s room with all the windows open and the Nevada heat seeping in and pricking at his skin. He’d closed his eyes and felt his stomach relocate to somewhere around his throat, Spencer lying next to him, still but for the fingers he couldn’t stop tapping, the moment just… like there was more. Beyond Spencer’s rumpled black comforter and the curtains that billowed in. More. More, beyond the windows and the strip.
He still feels that way, sometimes, when he hears it. Hopeful. Like the first time he heard Brendon sing it, when he said “Let’s cover Tonight, Tonight,” and Brendon belted out “Belieeeeve in me,” he’d felt it again. Feet heavy, head light, and he’d just nodded and said, “Yes. Just like that.”
Not that he’s going to say that for the camera, no fucking way he’ll say that covering it was like covering hope itself, and that sometimes he closes his eyes and sings along to it on stage when he’s not even mic’d, so. Instead he says, “It, uh, had some influence on our set design, for our last tour as well.”
Jon chimes in with fascinating trivia about their hometown of Chicago, things like: he is also from Chicago and it is located in the United States. And it’s uncharitable to be annoyed, Ryan knows, but he can see Spencer rolling his eyes (with his whole body, really, but that’s a Spencer Smith trademark), and Ryan kind of just wants to hear Brendon singing the damn song again.
Break
“You guys,” Brendon wheedles once the light on the camera flickers off. “You guys, haven’t you ever seen Dirty Dancing? Nobody puts Brendon in the corner.”
“That’s Baby,” Spencer corrects, but he’s already standing up to trade. Too much face time with the lens makes Spencer nervous, everyone knows that.
Brendon makes a grab for his ass as they pass, twirling away to escape retribution. “You shouldn’t call me baby,” he advises. “Jon will get jealous.”
The Scientist - COLDPLAY
So they’re totally allowed to say ‘fuck’ on the air, which Brendon thinks is awesome, but he’s pretty sure they, you know, haven’t. So when Jon, the stealthy attention whore that he is, slides into prime position at the last possible second, Brendon leans in and says, “Dude. Say fuck. Say it a lot.”
He doesn’t though, he just says, “This next video is for, uh, a band called Coldplay.” And Spencer purses his lips (porn star lips, Brendon says) and goes “Brrrrm.” Jon stops and he’s half in Brendon’s lap, twisted to look at Spencer. Spencer who has just won the fucking ‘throw everyone the fuck off’ award, dude, because they’re all just looking at him.
“Uh,” Jon says, scattered like only Spencer ever can get him, “And it’s entitled The Scientist.” Spencer beeps again. Brendon can feel Ryan shaking with silent laughter under him, sees Jon drop his head and laugh in surrender, and just tries like hell not to laugh himself. “I’m working on my censoring skills,” Spencer lisps, exactly the same way he lisps, ‘Girls, how does my makeup look? Is it natural’ before performances.
Brendon bends behind Jon’s neck to cough. Well, actually he bends behind Jon’s neck to say, “Get a room,” but there’s a mic and he’s pretty sure Ryan will kill him dead if he does. Jon’s picking up the slack anyway. He’s like a fucking humor cowboy, he just lassos shit right up and runs with it. “This motherf-” he says, bent and waiting for Spencer to chime in. He does, “Brrrrm,” and Brendon grins so hard he’s pretty sure the fans will be able to see what flavor gum he’s chewing and the three fillings he has in the back of his mouth.
“-video,” Jon finishes, “Is pretty motherf-”
“Brrrrm”
“-awesome, because it kicks a lot of motherf-”
“Brrrrrm”
“ass.”
Silence. Jon laughs into it, turned and looking expectantly at Spencer, but Brendon totally loses his shit and cracks up. He promises himself that later, the very next time Spencer and Jon get too loud and he hears them moaning things like “Shit” or “Fuck” or “God”, he’s going to get right up next to Spencer’s bunk and shout “BRRRRM” at the top of his fucking lungs. And he’s a singer, ok, so the top of his fucking lungs is pretty impressive.
Spence finally realizes ‘ass’ is a cuss word and “Brrrms” into the laughter. Brendon adds ’point out all the times they don’t say ’ass’ in cartoons’ to his list of ways to mock Spencer. “Coldplay, The Scientist,” Jon repeats. “Check it out. Motherf-”
“Brrrrm.”
Break
“Oh God,” Brendon says. “Spence, I love you so much man. Let’s make out.”
“I vote you don’t,” Ryan says mildly and it’s an excellent position, so Jon is forced to agree. “I’m forced to agree,” he says. “But if you switch places with me I’ll say fuck in the next clip.”
Spencer settles further into his corner and grins up the sofa. “I’ll make out with whoever says fuck first on air.”
“That’ll be me,” Jon says. “Switch with me, Brendon, I want to be closer for when I win.”
Bumper
They’re going in unscripted, which Ryan thinks is always dangerous, but especially when there’s Spencer-kissing on the table. Personally, he suddenly finds his vocabulary spotlessly clean, and he’s pretty sure Brendon values his dignity too much to step on Jon’s toes, but still.
“HEY,” Spencer says, as exuberant as he ever gets. “We’re Panic! at the Disco and we’re eating mothertrucking flapjacks on Rage.” He says it grinning at Ryan, gum trapped in the back of his teeth. It’s amazing when Spencer has fun on camera- he gets better about it, the more it happens, but Ryan can still sometimes pick up the nervousness in the way Spencer handles the props or giggles senselessly at Jon.
Jon says, “Fuck” into the silence, seemingly apropos of nothing, and Spencer laughs freely. And hey, objectively… ok, not at all objectively, because Spencer is Ryan’s best friend and takes care of fucking everything, but he’s also incredibly beautiful when he laughs like that. Everyone, he thinks, should love Spencer. He doesn’t understand not loving Spencer. And if the look on Jon’s face is any indication, well. Ryan supposes they can maybe make fools of themselves on camera occasionally. Occasionally.
Break
Brendon claims the corner to sulk. “Give me the corner, heartbreaker. I have to sulk and mourn the deep seeded Mormon values that prevented me from saying fuck on the air.” He sighs and stands, impatiently beckoning Spence out of his seat. “Fuck. Fuck. It’s so easy to say. Kiss me anyway?”
“No way,” Jon says, his hand on Spencer’s wrist, tugging. “I won fair and square. My mother will be so ashamed.” Ryan’s out of the way already, so Jon’s got nothing but space to press his side against Spencer’s and brush his hair out of his face. “I’ll tell her you made an honest man out of me,” he mumbles into Spencer’s lips, and it’s not much of a kiss. Just a quick brush and Spencer’s hand, gentle on Jon’s lapel.
“What’s next?” Ryan asks, and he’s standing between the camera and the couch, between the cameraman and the couch, just in case, forcing the cameraman to look down and say, “Uh, Ambulance LTD.”
Ryan nods and doesn’t look back over his shoulder. “Ok. And after that?”
Stay Where You Are - AMBULANCE LTD
Hey, Jon totally appreciates the human shield. He’s pretty sure it would have to be one of those pinhole cameras for Ryan’s waifish form to do any good, but still. They’ve shuffled again, so that Spencer can sit next to Ryan and Jon can be near Brendon. “To gloat.”
Ryan starts off strong. Maybe it’s to make up for the gay kissing they just indulged in, but maybe it’s just Ryan. Strong. He calls the video a shout out to Eric, but that’s not really enough of a shout out for Jon’s taste. “He’s not in this video,” he chimes in, “But if he was, he’d be the good looking one.” Which isn’t doing much to counteract that ‘gay image’ that Ryan snips about (snips about with an eyeliner pencil in one hand, nonetheless), but they’re probably the only band that hasn’t been definitively photographed kissing each other, so.
There’s a moment or two of tense, where he wonders if Spencer will be jealous and sulk, if the next time his arm falls behind Jon on the sofa if it will be pointedly distant, or if Jon tries to tuck his fingers under Spencer’s thigh, if Spencer will shift or switch with someone else. He doesn’t think so, it’s not like he fucks around or even like there’s some big official thing to fuck around on, but Spencer has to know that no one compares, right? Jon spent all that time around William Beckett without so much as playing doctor, so he thinks his self-control credentials ought to count for something.
Everyone just kind of... agrees. And Spencer’s hand finds his knee when the light flickers off, so.
Break
“That was weak,” Spencer says. “Dude, even I’m more natural than that.”
Ryan pets his bangs back into place and lifts an eyebrow. “You think you can do better? It’s Counting Crows. You’ll have to introduce it and somehow keep yourself from offering to rim the whole band.”
“Wow,” Brendon says, wincing as they all shuffle down a seat. “That’s… unsanitary.”
“Yeah.” Jon nods. “And I’d definitely be jealous. Can I rim half of them?”
Mr. Jones - COUNTING CROWS
Spencer realizes he’s saying ‘um’ way, way too often. He just can’t seem to stop. He’s still got the mental image of rimming Adam Duritz in his mind- not exactly welcome, obviously. And there’s Ryan, fussing with his hair at the other end of the sofa, Jon jiggling their knees a little every time Spencer says ‘uh’ or ‘um’ and then, halfway through his speech--and he’s doing well, ok, he’s talking about musical and lyrical influences, which is totally better than talking about hot keyboard players--he hears Brendon laugh at him. Dammit.
It’s not like he doesn’t know that his cadence is a little off, that he’s babbling, but hell. “We’ll, uh, open your eyes up to, uh,”
“Spark some interest,” Ryan prompts.
“A new world,” Jon adds.
And Spencer wouldn’t mind a magic carpet ride right around now, so, “A whole new world.” He rolls his head back, wanting the camera off so he can laugh at himself, just laugh hard enough that he can’t talk and has to suck his breath in from somewhere in the area of Jon’s collar, but it’s not fucking over yet.. Brendon says, “A whole new genre,“ with this ridiculous inflection like he just learned the word, and Spencer rushes the finish before anyone can burst into song.
“And, uh-” dammit, “here’s Counting Crows with Mr. Jones.”
Break
“Dude,” Spencer says before anyone else can. “That was weak. I need my corner back, Ryan.”
Ryan smacks his gum at Spencer and does the thing he does instead of smiling, where his eyes gleam and his hands tuck daintily over his knees. “At least I think you’re safe from the rimming. Usually insulting someone’s production values isn’t the way to go about propositioning them.”
“I’ll go,” Jon says. “I’ll say something romantic and then you can try again. The propositioning. Me, that is.”
Nice and Slow - USHER
Everyone waits to hear Jon be romantic. It’s not that he’s not romantic, it’s just that, you know, there’s only so much romance you can eke out of the situation. Being on tour. Ryan approves of Jon’s habit of memorizing all of Spencer’s allergies and fast food orders. He approves of the way Jon will mix the juices that Spencer likes, the way he’ll go to the store to get more cranberry juice if someone’s finished the last of it, even if it means he has to put on socks with his sandals and shiver all the way to the corner store in jeans and a hoodie.
Also acceptable is: the way Spencer blushes when Brendon goes “So, was it good? It was good, right?”, the fact that Jon almost never drinks around them, the crinkles at the corners of Jon’s eyes when he smiles at Spencer, and the way he’ll link their fingers together and tuck the whole tangled up mess into Spencer’s back pocket.
Not acceptable would be: mentioning a recent ex or mutually acquainted ex during his intro for this Usher video or mentioning the juice thing and calling Spencer Sally, or something.
“Um,” Jon says, and you can tell he’s kind of sorting through his mental catalogue, looking for something appropriate. “Back when I was in elementary school we used to go to the roller skating rink every Friday night and, uh, this song was the first song I ever couples skated with a girl, It’s, uh, Usher, with Nice and Slow.”
Which is, ok, yeah. Ryan nods slowly, “That’s romantic.” And it is, it’s really cute, baby!Jon in white skates with blue laces, he’s sure. Some girl, tiny and giggling, maybe a pirouette or two?
Brendon agrees and Jon ends the intro not by looking at the camera, but by looking at Spencer. Which is also romantic. Ryan makes a note to help Spencer proposition Jon later.
Break
“I’m not intro’ing Wonderboy,” Jon says. “Someone else has to sit here.”
Ryan shakes his head hard, ass planted in the seat. Glued, practically. “I’m not doing it. No fucking way.”
“Not it,” Spencer volunteers.
Which leaves, of course, “You guys are pussies. The D rules.” Brendon shoves at Jon and slides into his seat, right up next to the camera.
“Well, yeah. Just try explaining that. Right after fucking Usher, man. We’re losing street cred.”
“We had street cred?”
Wonderboy - TENACIOUS D
Jon may have been right. Brendon has a lot of things to say about Tenacious D. Things about Jack Black ruling the world and Fuck Her Gently being one of the greatest rock masterpieces of all time and hey, maybe you should all lighten up and give it a chance, but, um. Brendon kind of stopped saying shit like that when his voice stopped cracking, so. “This next one is by, uh, a great band called Tenacious D. It’s called Wonderboy.”
And hey, you know what? Fuck those guys. If Pete Wentz isn’t proof enough that you can be ridiculous and ridiculously talented, then Brendon doesn’t know what is. Except, you know, The D. So yeah, fuck it, he’s going pretentious. “And, uh, I chose this one because of the artistic value that it has,” he said, haughty, scratching at his chin appraisingly. “Uh, you know, the mountains and the medieval times settings. So. Uh, they did a great job.”
Nobody else says a word. Too busy smiling secretly at each other or being Ryan Ross, if the news reports from the corner of his eye are to be trusted. This just in: everybody else on this couch sucks. Fuckers.
Break
“Bumper,” the cameraman says, so nobody moves.
Bumper
“Hey, this is Panic! at the Disco and you’re raging with Rage,” Jon says, and Brendon flashes a sort of weird ass peace sign. Like a gang sign, actually. Like they run around and mug people, but instead of stealing their money they leave marshmallows and spare change in people’s pockets. Pictures of puppies, maybe.
“With us,” he says, and there’s Brendon with the fingers again. Ok. Jon doesn’t pretend to understand Brendon’s mental cues. He marches to his own drummer, is all, it’s just that Brendon’s drummer happens to be a monkey. On crack cocaine. “On rage. Now.”
Brendon makes a fist this time, which Jon supposes is more hardcore. Yeah, the fist says, yeah we’re really going to brighten your day, see, and you’re gonna like it, see. “Tonight.”
Break
Ryan pops his gum at them and sounds utterly unimpressed when he says, “That was really sexy, guys. Hardcore. Totally.”
“Blow me,” Brendon chirps back. “It’s 702 next. Spencer’s gonna sing.”
“I’m gonna what? Nu’uh.”
“No, Spence,” Jon clambers off the sofa, arches like his cat, makes a low sort of whimpering noise when his back pops. “Spence, you have to. Have to, Spence, where are your girls at?”
“I don’t have girls, I’m-“ gay, but hello, cameraman. “-girlless,” he finishes lamely, but lets Jon manhandle him into the primary seat anyway.
Jon tucks his arm around Spencer’s shoulder and grins. “C’mon. Just the chorus.”
Where My Girls At - 702
Fucking camera is too fast, and Spencer feels Jon drop his arm away like burning, but he’s still got Jon’s voice rumbling in his ears and man, this is off to another great start isn’t it? Spencer Smith: Professional Intro Bungler.
“Seven Oh Two.” Ok, it could be worse, but the air is still stirring, sending whiffs of Jon up. Fresh cut grass and lazy summer mornings and possibly lemonade, and how the fuck is he supposed to focus like this? Spencer shoots a ‘how am I supposed to focus like this’ look at Jon, and Jon grins back, his ‘you cannot possibly blame me for this’ smile.
He helps though, eyes innocent, “What more can you say?”
Right. Ok. He can say… “This is a video from the group 702, and they are from… Las Vegas, Nevada, where me, Brendon, and Ryan are from.” Oh, look, a new title to add to his resume. Spencer Smith: Professional Grammar Fucker Upper.
“702 is the area code for Las Vegas.” Fascinating, Spencer. “Um. And I don’t know anybody who, uh, doesn’t know at least the chorus to this song.”
It’s a mistake, looking at Jon. There’s the eyebrow raise, first of all, the suggestive one that he uses whenever they’re cuddled on the couch and hands have strayed beneath blankets and possibly beneath shirts and Ryan and Brendon are mere feet away shooting them suspicious glances; it’s usually then that Jon raises his eyebrows just like that and says, “Man, I’m beat.”
This time he says, “What is it?” But no, no, Spencer is not going to sing. He laughs again, helpless, gum pressing toward the front of his mouth. No. Noooo singing. Not unless Jon keeps-
“You’re about to find out,” Ryan says, and the skies open up, the ceiling splits apart, and the light from heaven beams straight down and halos him. They talked about that shit a lot in Catholic school though, so Spencer’s not surprised. He ignores the benevolent light of God to point at the camera, echoing, “You’re about to find out.”
Break
“You guys,” Spencer says when the light goes off, every inch of him woeful. “You guys, I really suck at this. Maybe we could find a chair? Put it behind the sofa? I think it would work. Give me some sticks or something.”
Brendon grins at him, leaning right over Jon to adjust Spencer’s coat and undo his top button. “You’ve just got to loosen up a little, Smith. Flash some skin. I vote you go again.”
“I vote you go again too,” says Ryan. “I’m comfortable.”
“I third that,” Jon says, though he does lean in to re-button Spencer’s shirt. “But mostly because it’s cute when you blush.”
Rabbit In Your Headlights - UNKLE
Personally, Brendon might not have gone with spelling as the way to start the intro, but that’s just one man’s opinion. Unless it’s, like, some freaky kink that he and Jon have. Like they lie in bed and say things like: “God, spell fornicate for me.” Which is weird, but it’s Spencer and Jon, so whatever. This leads to Brendon picturing Spencer, mouth red from blowing Jon, stopping long enough to say, “Can you use it in a sentence?”
He grins. Hard, and back at Ryan who he thinks should magically be in on the joke, but evidently not. He’ll have to work on his Jedi powers.
Spencer detours up a new alley, the classic (also, boring) ‘name the director’ game, and Brendon has to fight back an urge to play Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.’ Like, Hype Williams directed Will Smith’s Getting’ Jiggy With It video, Will Smith was in I, Robot with Alan Tudyk, who was in Dodgeball with Vince Vaughn, who was in Old School with Luke Wilson, who was in My Dog Skip with Kevin Bacon. And that’s five steps to Kevin Bacon, which is actually pretty pathetic, and is Spencer still talking about Rabbit In Your Headlights?
Jon cuts in and mentions the parallel with the car-hitting which is obviously the first interesting thing said about this video- seeing as how it’s the first time they’ve mentioned Brendon and all.
“So that’s why it had some-” he starts to contribute, but Ryan the scene stealer chimes in from his lounging to add totally unnecessary (but, objectively, rather sexily drawled) commentary on Brendon’s car experience and could he maybe have gotten to Kevin Bacon quicker if he’d gone through Hollow Man? Who else had been in Hollow Man. Or hey, Serenity. Will Smith had been in Independence Day with Adam Baldwin who was in Serenity with Alan Tudyk who was in Dodgeball with… no, it was the same. Alan Tudyk to A Knight’s Tale, maybe?
“Check Brendon out,” Spencer says finally, and Brendon makes what he’s pretty sure is the most heterosexual hand gesture of the night and says, “Cameo.”
Break
The cameraman makes a note on his clipboard and pops out to say, “Two more, guys. Just bumpers.”
“Quick,” Brendon says. “Ryan. Do something sexy so that everyone will forget how much Spencer Smith rambles.”
Bumper
Spencer’s shoulder is warm and curves just right under his head. Probably, after all of those years of friendship, Spencer’s actual bones have formed around Ryan’s bits to accommodate him more comfortably. This is another thing Ryan approves of: physiological changes by others just to make his life easier. Not that he’s cocky or anything, he totally recognizes the possibility that his own skull chose to form into the same curve as Spencer’s neck. Whatever.
He waits for Jon and Brendon to settle themselves in, kicking his feet into their laps once the manly posturing for position has ceased. Their arms curve up to hold his legs like a fucking baby or something. Man, he totally owns this band. “Hey,” he says, as cocksure as he can manage. “I’m hosting this show. Along with my friends here, Panic! at the Disco. You’re watching rage.”
Jon’s right there, so Ryan pokes him in the head like a talking toy and Jon obediently says, “We’ll eat your flesh.”
Spencer says nothing, unsurprisingly. Which is good, this show is only so long, after all.
There’s a meager length of silence and then Brendon volunteers: “Fuck.”
Oh, Brendon.
Break
“There was no second place for saying fuck, you know. Like, no runner-up.”
“Dude,” Brendon says, making a swing for Ryan’s shoelaces. “Jon already won the make-out-with-Spencer-Smith thing, I know. I’m going for the make-out-with-Ryan-Ross deal.”
Ryan just kicks at Brendon’s hand and fake scowls. “What am I? Consolation prize? Blow me, Urie.”
Jon’s vaulting off the sofa for no apparent reason; Brendon takes a half-hearted swipe at his back pockets and grins brightly in the face of Ryan’s disapproval. “I’m trying, Ross.”
Bumper
Jon’s kneeling off to the side, making faces, and everyone else is staring very intently at the camera. “Don’t laugh,” he instructs before he ducks out of sight. “Be very serious. Brendon… show me sexy.”
“Hey.” And it’s passably sexy, Jon will allow. “We’re Panic! at the Disco, and you’re watching Rage!”
Which is his cue, and he slides abruptly into the frame with what he feels is an excellent, truly representative bit of information that the entire viewing audience needs to know, not to mention the exact right image to leave off with. “Where they don’t give a fart knocker.”
Departure
“You guys,” Ryan says the minute they hit the van. “That cameraman thought we were such freaks.” He slides into the front seat and turns, eyeing Spencer and Jon. “Which is maybe fair, when it comes to you two, but Brendon and I were totally normal. You’re fucking up our images with your non-verbal public sex games.”
“We could be more verbal,” Jon says helpfully. “If you like, I mean, we could get pretty verbal now, right Spencer?”
Spencer nods. It‘s a character flaw, but Ryan has long known that guys will agree with the one who‘s putting out; so. “Totally. Really verbal. Just don’t watch, Ryan, because that’s kind of creepy.”
The smile that spreads onto Brendon’s face is wide and open, squinting up his eyes like there‘s a glare from the windows. Spencer’s already beaming, half-heartedly swatting Jon’s hands away from his zipper, and while Jon’s face is turned, Ryan can see his shoulders shaking with laughter. “Ew,” he says, but he’s grinning at the dashboard when he turns away.