Post #158
Fics:
The Aesthetic Life Is For Me (Pete/Mikey)
I Keep Telling Myself, I'm Not the Desperate Type (Pete/Patrick)
fear and desperation (Gerard/Kobra Kid/Fun Ghoul)
Internet Killed the Video Star (Gerard/Party Poison)
we all fall down (Gerard/Kobra Kid)
And Oh, The Way Your Makeup Stains My Pillowcase (Pete/Mikey)
Welcome to the Black Parade (Frank/ ( Read more... )
The Aesthetic Life Is For Me (Pete/Mikey)
I Keep Telling Myself, I'm Not the Desperate Type (Pete/Patrick)
fear and desperation (Gerard/Kobra Kid/Fun Ghoul)
Internet Killed the Video Star (Gerard/Party Poison)
we all fall down (Gerard/Kobra Kid)
And Oh, The Way Your Makeup Stains My Pillowcase (Pete/Mikey)
Welcome to the Black Parade (Frank/ ( Read more... )
“These are fucking awesome,” he said, grinning. “Look at the little plastic flamingos! Oh my god, I’m gonna eat like fifty of them.” He glanced over at Spencer, smiling. “What flavor do you want, Spence?”
Ryan ground down hard on Spencer’s toe with the thick heel of her pumps.
“Spencer’s gonna pass,” she said. “She’s not feeling well.”
“Oh yeah?” Brendon said, looking concerned. “You OK, Spencey?”
Spencer swallowed and smiled weakly. “I’m fine, Bren. Just an upset stomach.”
Brendon frowned. “I’m sorry, lady.” He reached over, just in the casual tactile way that Brendon had, and patted Spencer’s belly. “Feel better.”
Spencer flinched. She felt horribly, suddenly nauseous.
****
“What the fuck are you doing in there?” Ryan asked, knocking on the door a little too loudly. “The photographer is ready for us.”
Spencer sniffed. She didn’t trust herself to speak. She should have known this was a terrible idea. She had known. Photoshoots were always mortifying. She sucked in her belly as much as she could and tried, hard, to get the two sides of the shirt to meet, but they just wouldn’t. She was too big. In the mirror, she looked pale, huge, flabby. She hated hated hated dressing rooms, more than anything. More than almost anything.
“Open the fucking door,” Ryan said, voice low.
Spencer didn’t move. Her cheeks were puffy and red and swollen, and she wasn’t crying, but her stupid eyes were all watery.
Ryan laughed, under her breath.
“I know what you look like,” she said. “I know what a fat pig you are, Spencer. It’s not exactly a secret. Everyone knows.”
Spencer opened the door.
Ryan was already dressed, in something black and tiny that clung. Her makeup made her cheekbones look even more sharp than they already were. She stood right behind Spencer, but Spencer was so much bigger that she was hidden in the mirror.
“Fuck,” she said. “You’re even huger than I remember.” She pinched the soft fleshy part of Spencer’s upper arm so hard it would bruise. “Suck in your gut.”
Spencer breathed in as deeply as she could. Ryan pulled and tugged the two halves of the skin-tight shirt, trying to get them to meet. She prodded Spencer’s belly hard. Spencer didn’t dare take a breath. Finally, Ryan managed to slip one of the buttons through it’s hole. Spencer felt constricted, her breasts bulging out of a too-tight bra, the shirt squeezing like a vice around her middle. She gasped. She couldn’t hold her breath forever … The exhale was a wonderful relief …
And the straining button, barely held on by a thread, popped right off. Spencer’s belly plopped forward. She met Ryan’s eyes in the mirror.
Ryan looked disappointed, like she’d known this would happen all along.
“That’s probably the biggest thing they had,” she said, conversationally. She grabbed a handful of Spencer’s stomach, and squeezed hard. “You better go tell them your fat ass busted it.”
Spencer wasn’t crying. She wasn’t. She was just … her eyes were dry, was all. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“They probably don’t expect to be dressing the morbidly obese,” Ryan continued. “I don’t know what they’ll put you in. Maybe a sheet or something.” Her face was absolutely blank. “Or maybe you can just go naked.”
Spencer couldn’t choke back a sob.
Ryan patted her on the shoulder and left her holding the ruined shirt.
****
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****
Spencer felt pretty damn good after an hour on the tread mill. She never dared go to the hotel gym except late at night when it was likely to be deserted. She didn’t need anybody staring at her. She just liked to concentrate on the rhythm of the music in her ears and the answering rhythm of her feet. It wasn’t all that much different than keeping beat while drumming. Just different body parts or something.
After an hour on the treadmill and a cool shower, honestly, Spencer felt pretty damn good. She smiled at herself in the steamy mirror. Everyone always said she had a nice smile, at least. She ran the towel over her wet hair one more time and slipped on her shoes.
When she got back to her room, she was surprised to see the shimmer of a light still on behind the door. Ryan was sitting up in bed, hair all in disarray, one thin strap of her lace babydoll falling off her narrow shoulder. She blinked sleepily when Spencer came in.
“Hey,” she said, voice husky.
“Hey,” Spencer said, softly. She knelt down to put her things away in her suitcase. “What are you still doing up?” she asked. Ryan had said she wanted an early night.
“Brendon and Jon wanted to go get something to eat,” Ryan said, stretching. Spencer could see her just out of the corner of her eye. She was bird thin. “I went with them.”
“Ah,” Spencer said, reaching for the boxers and tee shirt she slept in. She pulled off her dirty shirt and her bra with her back to Ryan, but she could feel Ryan watching. She could feel Ryan’s eyes on every roll, feel her eyes on the mean red marks that Spencer’s bra left where it bit into her soft sides.
“I brought you back a couple of burgers,” Ryan said, swallowing a yawn. “I didn’t know if you’d be hungry but I figured …”
Spencer grit her teeth, hard. “Thanks, Ry,” she said quietly. “You’re always thinking of me.”
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