but really, what isn't > studying for history?
WIP AMNESTY > STUDYING FOR HISTORY
Um, around 1,400 words of what would have eventually turned into a Spencer/Brendon fake boyfriend story, because I just can't get enough of that. The file name for this is spencerbdenfauxmance. So, evidence of my continued failure to actually write Spencer/Brendon:
Everything with Pete and Ashlee is an Event, even going to dinner at an untrendy, semi-shitty Indian restaurant at five- thirty on a Tuesday. Brendon's phone vibrates in his pocket, and Spencer can feel it buzz against his own thigh. It's the alarm set to go off at six-sixteen.
"Fuck, dude," Brendon sighs, hits Spencer's elbow with the side of his wrist when he stubs out his cigarette on the brick wall they've been leaning against so long it's amazing they haven't been picked up for loitering. He's tinged dark pink all over, and his nose is starting to peel. He scratches at the side of his neck with his thumbnail, kicks at Spencer and nearly loses the flip-flop he's wearing that he stole out of Jon's luggage, and says, "No way, dude, I call bullshit. How do you always know what time people are really going to show up? It's like your fucking superpower."
"I'm thinking about going into the psychic business for a living," Spencer says, nodding along. He keeps watching Pete's car inch along the road, surrounded by at least fifteen people with giant cameras. They can't even be getting good pictures, because Pete can barely see over the steering wheel. It's actually kind of a slow night. Somewhere in L.A. Lindsey Lohan must be fighting with her girlfriend again. Spencer would totally pay good money to watch that reality show. Jon would probably buy the DVDs. "I'll make a fortune telling people when they're going to show up at my Beverly Hills shop."
"I'm so hungry," Brendon tells him, very seriously, his spine curved, and both hands on his stomach, clenching hard at the red t-shirt he'd swiped from the clean laundry pile on Spencer's air mattress, just before running out the door. His stomach grumbled, loudly, just to prove his point. "I could eat a photog right now, with a side of boxed mashed potatoes. If there is a fleshy limb that gets to close, I can't make any promises; I may start gnawing. And I know they won't taste good, Spence. I know. Does your superpower know when I'll get food?"
His t-shirt hangs kind of funny and too big on Brendon, the neckline slipped down on his right shoulder to reveal a good two inches of sunburned skin. Spencer reaches around him to pat his other shoulder in commiseration. "You could probably get the others to runaway if you made dinner out of one or two, you know; speed things up a little." Spencer nods, again, and keeps his arm hooked around Brendon's shoulders. He reaches into the pocket of the Brendon's jeans with more than two fingers, just to marvel at the fact that they'll fit, and pulls out his cell to finally stop the alarm from buzzing. "You're still paying for dinner after, though."
"A bet's a bet," Brendon says, on another sigh, leaning his head on Spencer's shoulder. "If I die of starvation before then, you can just get the money out of my wallet."
"I'll even make Pete pay for your funeral costs."
"That burden should not fall on my parents," Brendon says, agreeably. He bumps against Spencer with his shoulder, because apparently that quarter of an inch of space between them wasn't getting Spencer's attention enough, and then he just kind of stays there. "Why do we even hang out with Pete anyway? We have to battle TMZ for his attention, and he's always late. And his hair is stupid."
Spencer turns his head, so his chin is pretty much in Brendon's own stupid hair. He raises his eyebrows at it meaningfully, but he thinks that's probably lost to the top of Brendon's head. "You like having someone around that is shorter than you are."
"That is nice," Brendon says, and starts humming It's Not Easy Being Green. He bounces up to his tiptoes and ends up head butting Spencer's jaw.
Pete has finally managed to park on the street-completely in a tow zone-without even running over anyone's toes. He keeps smiling, but in a way that pretty much suggests that he wouldn't be above eating your heart. Brendon's halfway through Kokomo on his Muppet sing-a-long internal playlist, before Pete has made to over to open Ashlee's door, and seriously, it's like-
"My grandpa is eighty-seven, and just had his knee replaced," Spencer says, when the happy couple is only five trashy photographers away, "and even he moves faster than this."
"Pete is totally a punk-rock senior citizen, Spencer," Brendon says, loudly, when Pete sticks his middle fingers up as high as he can. So, about ear level of half the cameramen. "Didn't your parents ever teach you to respect your elders?"
"Fuck you," Pete says, laughing, his hand half on Ashlee's hip and half on her ass. He's wearing almost an entire drugstore worth of eyeliner, jeans that probably belong to his wife, and a cardigan Bill Cosby would've shit over if it were still the 1980's. The cameras keep flashing, and they all keep pretending they aren't there like that'll make it true, like kids who covering their eyes and thinking they're hidden. "I have a kid now. I'm being a careful and responsible adult."
"Dude, no, yeah, I understand. It would totally suck to fall and break your hip. You should absolutely be careful." Brendon sticks his fist out, and gives Pete some very serious Pound-It vibes, but doesn't say that part, because the phrase had been banned after a pot-giggles session that Zack swears lasted at least a week.
Ashlee steps in front of Pete to bump fists with Brendon. She's got on heels so high she's about three inches taller than Pete. "That's what I keep telling him. I don't think I could handle having two in walkers."
"Right?" Brendon laughs, pushes his elbow into Spencer side and somehow manages to twist away and closer at the same time, because invading personal space is totally his superpower. "Jesus Christ, you guys, I'm starving."
"Fucking whippersnappers," Pete sighs, all dramatic like, rolling his eyes toward the sky, "never understand that patience is a virtue." Even as he says it though, he starts walking toward the door again, guiding Ashlee with the hand he's still got on her hip.
"You wouldn't know virtue if it bent you over a desk." Spencer turns so he can roll his eyes with Brendon. He puts his hand half on Brendon's hip and half on his ass, and Brendon bats his eyelashes. Spencer grins and Brendon pretends to swoon.
"Alright," Pete says, with his big stupid laugh, standing in the door that's being held open by a dude who'll sell a picture of Pete helping Ashlee out of the car in order to pay his rent. "Are you assholes done yet? I'm fucking hungry."
"Dude, dude, Pete," Bden says, stepping forward but still keeping close to Spencer, "we do not even have to be done to eat." He grabs the hand that Spencer doesn't have on his hip and laces their fingers together, which makes it really awkward to walk, but they manage. "Just you wait and see."
---
Pete calls Spencer at nine fifteen the next morning, and doesn't say a word. He laughs for about a minute straight, and Spencer hangs up, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.
There are perks to being kind of a rock star.
---
Ryan calls thirty minutes later, and is silent on the other end of the line.
Spencer doesn't hang up, because Ryan being up this early on a weekday when they don't have to work is pretty much the sign of a breakdown or the apocalypse, and Spencer is an awesome friend.
"What the fuck, Ry?" he asks, in the most supportive tone of voice a guy can be expected to have at an ungodly hour in the morning. He'd been dreaming about Heidi Klum bringing him gourmet coffee, while Michael Kors and Tim Gunn judged his boxers. The results were overall positive, though, and he'd rather be in a place where a supermodel was serving him caffeine, if he had the choice. "Did you set something on fire again? Are you dying and/or bleeding from the head?"
"Spence," Ryan says, finally, and sounds like he's choking, a little bit, but in the way that makes Spencer sit up straight because it means he knows something Spencer doesn't. And thinks it's hilarious. "Oh, No They Didn't," he wheezes, quickly, and hangs up.
---
::hands::
Yeah, I got nothing.
Um, around 1,400 words of what would have eventually turned into a Spencer/Brendon fake boyfriend story, because I just can't get enough of that. The file name for this is spencerbdenfauxmance. So, evidence of my continued failure to actually write Spencer/Brendon:
Everything with Pete and Ashlee is an Event, even going to dinner at an untrendy, semi-shitty Indian restaurant at five- thirty on a Tuesday. Brendon's phone vibrates in his pocket, and Spencer can feel it buzz against his own thigh. It's the alarm set to go off at six-sixteen.
"Fuck, dude," Brendon sighs, hits Spencer's elbow with the side of his wrist when he stubs out his cigarette on the brick wall they've been leaning against so long it's amazing they haven't been picked up for loitering. He's tinged dark pink all over, and his nose is starting to peel. He scratches at the side of his neck with his thumbnail, kicks at Spencer and nearly loses the flip-flop he's wearing that he stole out of Jon's luggage, and says, "No way, dude, I call bullshit. How do you always know what time people are really going to show up? It's like your fucking superpower."
"I'm thinking about going into the psychic business for a living," Spencer says, nodding along. He keeps watching Pete's car inch along the road, surrounded by at least fifteen people with giant cameras. They can't even be getting good pictures, because Pete can barely see over the steering wheel. It's actually kind of a slow night. Somewhere in L.A. Lindsey Lohan must be fighting with her girlfriend again. Spencer would totally pay good money to watch that reality show. Jon would probably buy the DVDs. "I'll make a fortune telling people when they're going to show up at my Beverly Hills shop."
"I'm so hungry," Brendon tells him, very seriously, his spine curved, and both hands on his stomach, clenching hard at the red t-shirt he'd swiped from the clean laundry pile on Spencer's air mattress, just before running out the door. His stomach grumbled, loudly, just to prove his point. "I could eat a photog right now, with a side of boxed mashed potatoes. If there is a fleshy limb that gets to close, I can't make any promises; I may start gnawing. And I know they won't taste good, Spence. I know. Does your superpower know when I'll get food?"
His t-shirt hangs kind of funny and too big on Brendon, the neckline slipped down on his right shoulder to reveal a good two inches of sunburned skin. Spencer reaches around him to pat his other shoulder in commiseration. "You could probably get the others to runaway if you made dinner out of one or two, you know; speed things up a little." Spencer nods, again, and keeps his arm hooked around Brendon's shoulders. He reaches into the pocket of the Brendon's jeans with more than two fingers, just to marvel at the fact that they'll fit, and pulls out his cell to finally stop the alarm from buzzing. "You're still paying for dinner after, though."
"A bet's a bet," Brendon says, on another sigh, leaning his head on Spencer's shoulder. "If I die of starvation before then, you can just get the money out of my wallet."
"I'll even make Pete pay for your funeral costs."
"That burden should not fall on my parents," Brendon says, agreeably. He bumps against Spencer with his shoulder, because apparently that quarter of an inch of space between them wasn't getting Spencer's attention enough, and then he just kind of stays there. "Why do we even hang out with Pete anyway? We have to battle TMZ for his attention, and he's always late. And his hair is stupid."
Spencer turns his head, so his chin is pretty much in Brendon's own stupid hair. He raises his eyebrows at it meaningfully, but he thinks that's probably lost to the top of Brendon's head. "You like having someone around that is shorter than you are."
"That is nice," Brendon says, and starts humming It's Not Easy Being Green. He bounces up to his tiptoes and ends up head butting Spencer's jaw.
Pete has finally managed to park on the street-completely in a tow zone-without even running over anyone's toes. He keeps smiling, but in a way that pretty much suggests that he wouldn't be above eating your heart. Brendon's halfway through Kokomo on his Muppet sing-a-long internal playlist, before Pete has made to over to open Ashlee's door, and seriously, it's like-
"My grandpa is eighty-seven, and just had his knee replaced," Spencer says, when the happy couple is only five trashy photographers away, "and even he moves faster than this."
"Pete is totally a punk-rock senior citizen, Spencer," Brendon says, loudly, when Pete sticks his middle fingers up as high as he can. So, about ear level of half the cameramen. "Didn't your parents ever teach you to respect your elders?"
"Fuck you," Pete says, laughing, his hand half on Ashlee's hip and half on her ass. He's wearing almost an entire drugstore worth of eyeliner, jeans that probably belong to his wife, and a cardigan Bill Cosby would've shit over if it were still the 1980's. The cameras keep flashing, and they all keep pretending they aren't there like that'll make it true, like kids who covering their eyes and thinking they're hidden. "I have a kid now. I'm being a careful and responsible adult."
"Dude, no, yeah, I understand. It would totally suck to fall and break your hip. You should absolutely be careful." Brendon sticks his fist out, and gives Pete some very serious Pound-It vibes, but doesn't say that part, because the phrase had been banned after a pot-giggles session that Zack swears lasted at least a week.
Ashlee steps in front of Pete to bump fists with Brendon. She's got on heels so high she's about three inches taller than Pete. "That's what I keep telling him. I don't think I could handle having two in walkers."
"Right?" Brendon laughs, pushes his elbow into Spencer side and somehow manages to twist away and closer at the same time, because invading personal space is totally his superpower. "Jesus Christ, you guys, I'm starving."
"Fucking whippersnappers," Pete sighs, all dramatic like, rolling his eyes toward the sky, "never understand that patience is a virtue." Even as he says it though, he starts walking toward the door again, guiding Ashlee with the hand he's still got on her hip.
"You wouldn't know virtue if it bent you over a desk." Spencer turns so he can roll his eyes with Brendon. He puts his hand half on Brendon's hip and half on his ass, and Brendon bats his eyelashes. Spencer grins and Brendon pretends to swoon.
"Alright," Pete says, with his big stupid laugh, standing in the door that's being held open by a dude who'll sell a picture of Pete helping Ashlee out of the car in order to pay his rent. "Are you assholes done yet? I'm fucking hungry."
"Dude, dude, Pete," Bden says, stepping forward but still keeping close to Spencer, "we do not even have to be done to eat." He grabs the hand that Spencer doesn't have on his hip and laces their fingers together, which makes it really awkward to walk, but they manage. "Just you wait and see."
---
Pete calls Spencer at nine fifteen the next morning, and doesn't say a word. He laughs for about a minute straight, and Spencer hangs up, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.
There are perks to being kind of a rock star.
---
Ryan calls thirty minutes later, and is silent on the other end of the line.
Spencer doesn't hang up, because Ryan being up this early on a weekday when they don't have to work is pretty much the sign of a breakdown or the apocalypse, and Spencer is an awesome friend.
"What the fuck, Ry?" he asks, in the most supportive tone of voice a guy can be expected to have at an ungodly hour in the morning. He'd been dreaming about Heidi Klum bringing him gourmet coffee, while Michael Kors and Tim Gunn judged his boxers. The results were overall positive, though, and he'd rather be in a place where a supermodel was serving him caffeine, if he had the choice. "Did you set something on fire again? Are you dying and/or bleeding from the head?"
"Spence," Ryan says, finally, and sounds like he's choking, a little bit, but in the way that makes Spencer sit up straight because it means he knows something Spencer doesn't. And thinks it's hilarious. "Oh, No They Didn't," he wheezes, quickly, and hangs up.
---
::hands::
Yeah, I got nothing.