Some Sense Of Touch, Spencer/ Brendon, NC-17
Title: Some Sense Of Touch
Authors: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Word Count: 3,000
Summary: "Hey," he says, mouthing idly at the skin of Brendon's neck simply because it's there. "Hey, we only have an hour, right?"
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Confined places, frottage, feet, and your mom jokes. A typical fic for me.
Author Notes: I will write porn about anything. But really, I am tired of sadfacing and am combating that by writing porn. As you do. Should you be in the porn mood, sunsetmog posted some truly excellent Brendon/Spencer domestic porn here and fictionalaspect wrote the hot, kind of hazy Jon/Brendon fic of my heart here. If it's still just too soon for you to get your porn on, I suggest you go and read fallintosilence's ridiculously adorable kitten!panic fic (with bonus kitten spam!), which is here. Thank you to boy_wrangler for the awesome as always beta, to untappedbeauty for slaughtering my splices, and to everyone who read this nineteen times because I'm needy. Title from "Look Up" by Stars.
"This," Spencer says, climbing over an amp after Brendon, "is probably a really dumb idea."
"This is an awesome idea." Brendon says, tossing a box of merch onto Ryan's guitar case. "Now c'mere."
"Come where?" Spencer asks, eyeing the tiny dark patch of floor dubiously. "Both of us are not going to fit there. This was a really dumb idea."
"Yes we will," Brendon says, tugging on Spencer's wrist. "Now come on. We've only got an hour."
Spencer sighs, but he lets Brendon tug him closer and push him to the ground. He barely fits, sitting pressed against the wall and boxed in by his drum cases, but then Brendon drops down into his lap with a grin and a tiny grunt, and, fine. It's maybe not so bad. Spencer settles his hands on Brendon's hips and looks up, finds Brendon looking down at him, a ridiculously proud smile on his face.
"See?" Brendon says, threading his hands into Spencer's hair. "We totally fit. I'm bendy."
"Yeah, you are," Spencer says with an exaggerated leer. Brendon laughs, too loud in the tight space, and Spencer can feel it where Brendon's pressed close, feel the rumble in his chest and the puffs of air that ruffle his hair. It's hot in the trailer, the air heavy and a little stale, and Brendon's already starting to sweat a little. His skin is warm and just a little damp when Spencer tucks his hand under the back of Brendon's t-shirt, skims it up the ridges of his spine.
Brendon shivers a little and presses closer, settles more heavily into Spencer's lap. It's strange like this, with Brendon taller, with Brendon settled over him. They've mostly had to make do with rushed make outs in venue closets, quiet kisses in the back of the van, sleepy handjobs on the rare hotel night. There's still a lot that's new, and this, Brendon in his lap, pressing down on him, is new enough to make Spencer's stomach coil up hot and tense.
"Hey," he says, mouthing idly at the skin of Brendon's neck simply because it's there. "Hey, we only have an hour, right?"
"Yeah," Brendon says, pulling back a little, looking down at Spencer with a look that does nothing to ease the tension in Spencer's stomach. "Yeah," he says again needlessly, leaning down to meet Spencer's lips. It's awkward. The angle's all wrong and there's a sharp something or other digging into Spencer's back. But it's still Brendon; he's so close like this, his weight pressing Spencer down even though there's nowhere to go, his fingers still wound tightly through Spencer's hair.
Spencer doesn't want to move, but this seriously is not working. They can't manage much more than shallow kisses like this, and it's nice, it is, but it kind of defeats the entire point of sneaking off to the trailer in the first place. He pulls away from Brendon's mouth reluctantly, grins a little when Brendon tries to follow him, says, "Hey, hey, Brendon. Bren."
"Hmm?" is all the response he gets, Brendon bending over at what seems like an impossible angle to get at Spencer's neck, his jaw, the back of his ear.
"C'mon," Spencer says, pushing at Brendon's hips. "Up, this isn't working."
"Your face isn't working, oh my god," Brendon groans into his neck. "Spence, come on, it's working. It's totally working. I can make it work better if you want." Brendon's making a pretty good case. He has somehow managed to find an angle that keeps their laps pressed together while he nips at Spencer's throat, but there's still something stabbing into the small of Spencer's back and his neck is cramping up rapidly.
"Nope, come on," Spencer says, and when Brendon shows no signs of moving, he sighs, wraps his arms around Brendon's waist and manages to pull them both up at the same time. Brendon stumbles a little and Spencer ends up with his foot caught in a strap, but it's still pretty impressive, he thinks. "Hah!" he says triumphantly, right before Brendon shifts in his arms and Spencer windmills, landing with a crash on top of a stack of boxes.
"Well," he says. "Fuck."
Brendon, the asshole, laughs for almost a full minute before he helps Spencer up, but he also reaches up and kisses at Spencer's forehead, rubs his thumb over Spencer's neck. "You okay?" he asks, his breath warm in Spencer's ear. "No head wounds?"
"I think I'll live," Spencer says, tipping his head to the side so Brendon can get at his neck, nip just below his hairline. Brendon likes leaving marks and Spencer likes not being stupid, so they've mostly come up with a system, a road map of where Brendon can and can't bite and suck at.
Brendon's thumb is still moving, digging into the knots under Spencer's neck, and he lifts his head up, says, "From playing?"
From playing, from touring, from being away from home and never having enough time for what he needs. Spencer settles on, "Mmm."
"Come on," Brendon says, and then he's sliding behind Spencer and hoisting himself up onto a drum case, staring at Spencer patiently for all of two seconds before he reaches out and grabs Spencer's belt loop, pulling him forward. "Turn around."
"An hour," Spencer repeats. "More like forty minutes, now," but he lets Brendon tug, lets Brendon push on his shoulder until he turns, lets Brendon scoot forward until he's pressed warm against Spencer's back.
"So gimme ten minutes," Brendon says into the back of his neck as he digs his fingers into Spencer's shoulders, going straight for the tension bunched up beneath his skin. "You can have the rest."
It feels amazing; Brendon's hands are warm and strong, and Spencer lets his head drop forward, offers up a weak, "M'kay." Brendon's legs are wrapped around Spencer's hips, and they look funny from this angle, his bare knees sticking out sharply from the bottoms of his old gym shorts. Spencer skirts his hands up and down Brendon's shins, rubbing the hair the wrong way before smoothing it back, and he chokes out a laugh when Brendon squirms behind him. "You're so easy," he says, squeezing Brendon's bony knee.
"I'm ticklish, asshole," Brendon responds, "Now shut up and take your shirt off."
"I love it when you sweet talk me," Spencer says, but Brendon's hands are already under the hem of his shirt, already skimming up his sides, and Spencer's maybe a little easy too. Spencer curses when he raises his arms and bumps his knuckles on the low ceiling, skin dragging rough against the wood. There's no fucking room, but Spencer can't seem to mind when Brendon presses himself against Spencer's back as soon as his shirt is off, hands curling over his shoulders, thumbs digging into the muscle while his fingers splay over Spencer's collarbone. He must have taken his shirt off too, because Spencer can feel his skin, warm and a little damp with sweat, pressing against his own.
He wants to turn around, wants to touch, because that was the entire point of coming in here in the first place. Brendon's too close, though, his legs locked tightly around Spencer's hips, keeping him in place. "Brendon, come on," Spencer urges, reaching back blindly, trying to find skin. "Come on, we're wasting time."
Brendon huffs out a laugh into the back of Spencer's neck before pulling back just a little, enough to slide his hands down Spencer's back, to rub rough circles just above his hips. "Impatient," he says.
"Yeah," Spencer answers. "Yes, yes, I am, come on." Brendon's still rubbing at his hips, and he presses in close again, so close that Spencer can feel Brendon's ribs press against his back when he breathes in. Brendon doesn't say anything, just sets his teeth into the curve of Spencer's shoulder, slips his fingertips under the waistband of Spencer's pajama pants. "Brendon," Spencer says, wincing a little when it comes out more whine than anything. Spencer shifts a little and Brendon tightens his legs, the heel of his bare foot brushing against Spencer's balls in the process.
Spencer can't help it, he can't, his hips try to buck forward completely on their own, and then Brendon is laughing into his neck, the fucking asshole. Spencer opens his mouth and he is totally planning on saying something indignant, but what comes out is a truly embarrassingly high-pitched moan when Brendon shifts at the same time, running the arch of his foot over the line of Spencer's cock through his pants. It's more tease than anything, not nearly enough pressure, but Spencer still presses up into it, and Brendon lets go of Spencer's hips, slides his hands forward and settles them low on Spencer's belly beneath his pants and boxers.
Brendon's hands are so close, fingers settling in the hair above Spencer's cock and pressing in, pulling Spencer back against his body. Brendon flexes his foot and Spencer whines a little, hips pressing forward into the glancing friction. Spencer can feel Brendon breathing hot against his neck as Brendon moves his foot again, nudging his toes at the base of Spencer's cock before running them up his length, material catching and dragging. "Yeah?" Brendon asks in Spencer's ear, and that's when Spencer realizes he's panting, harsh breaths that seem too big for the small space. He can't answer, can't draw in enough air, so he just nods and lets his head fall back onto Brendon's shoulder.
It's hot in the trailer, hot and cramped, and he's sweating like crazy but he can't stop trying to press closer to Brendon. Spencer tightens his grip on Brendon's legs, and Brendon shifts a little behind him, curls his other foot tighter around Spencer's knee, and suddenly Spencer can feel how hard Brendon is, his cock pressing into the small of Spencer's back. Spencer doesn't know if he wants to press forward into Brendon's foot and his fingers or backward against his cock. He just knows that he wants to move. He digs his fingers into the soft skin behind Brendon's knees, and it's cheating, but it works, making Brendon's legs unclench, letting Spencer turn around.
Spencer grabs onto Brendon's hips, holds him in place as he turns around and settles back in between Brendon's legs. Brendon is wide-eyed and panting in front of him, and it's dark, but Spencer can see the sweat shining on Brendon's forehead, feel how damp Brendon's hair is when Spencer slides his hands into it. "Hi," he says.
"Yeah," Brendon replies, untangling his hands from Spencer's pants and sliding them around his neck. "Hey."
They both move at the same time, and Brendon's teeth catch Spencer's lip when their mouths meet, a sharp, stinging drag that makes him press in closer and tighten his grip on Brendon's hips. Brendon's legs come back up to wrap around Spencer's hips, and it's better like this, face to face, Brendon pressed so close. The case Brendon's sitting on is pressed against the wall and just a little too low to the ground to be any real help in terms of aligning their hips, and Spencer is almost regretting getting up off the floor until Brendon leans back, pulling Spencer down over him a little in the process and oh. Okay. That'll work.
It's good like this, Brendon kissing him messily, his mouth hot and open under Spencer's, fingers tangled in Spencer's hair while his hips push up. Spencer braces one hand on top of the case, wraps the other around Brendon's waist and hisses when Brendon tightens his legs, when his cock slides along Spencer's through their pants. Brendon nods and nips at Spencer's lower lip, which, yeah, he kind of forgot about kissing for a second there, is more just breathing against Brendon's mouth as he presses their hips together.
Not that Brendon seems to mind. He's clinging to Spencer's neck, his legs are locked around Spencer's waist, crossed at the ankles with his heels digging into the top of Spencer's ass, pushing him closer, pulling him down, and fuck, it feels good. Spencer idly considers trying to get their pants off, but he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to stop the slow slide of his cock against Brendon's. They don't exactly settle into a rhythm, but they work something out, Spencer pressing down while Brendon grinds his hips up, their cocks dragging against each other through their worn sleep pants. Brendon's kissing him deep and wet, and it's overwhelming, so close in the dark like this, where Brendon's all he can feel and hear and smell. Spencer tries to focus, tries to memorize the way Brendon's mouth tastes and the way he smells a little like soap but mostly like salt, the way it feels when Brendon arches under him.
Brendon's making these noises every time their hips meet just right, throaty little gasps that rumble over Spencer's lips and straight down his spine, and he tightens his arm around Brendon's waist, tries to get him closer. It changes the angle so that Spencer's cock is bumping underneath Brendon's balls, pressing in with every stutter of his hips, and Brendon arches even closer and bites down hard on Spencer's lip, toes curling against Spencer's skin. "Fuck," he hisses, pulling back from Spencer's mouth. "Fuck, fuck, how much time do we have left?"
Not enough, and Spencer doesn't want to know, wants to stay right here. "Dunno," Spencer says, kissing at the corner of Brendon's mouth and letting his fingers slide through the sweat that's collecting under his palm on the small of Brendon's back. "Doesn't matter, come on," he says, and hopes Brendon doesn't notice how his voice shakes.
"But we were supposed to--" Brendon pulls back a little farther and Spencer groans, lets his lips slide down Brendon's throat as he moves. "You know," Brendon says, miming a hilariously half-hearted blowjob that Spencer barely catches in the corner of his eye. "We had plans," Brendon says, even as he tilts his head back and lets Spencer skim his teeth along Brendon's collarbone, kiss at the hollow of his throat.
Spencer's phone chirps loudly from the floor, cutting sharp and sudden in the quiet darkness of the room. Fuck.
"That's not good, is it?" Brendon asks, and Spencer shakes his head slightly, can feel Brendon's pulse where it pumps beneath his lips, can taste the sweat on Brendon's skin and smell his fading deodorant.
"Fifteen minutes," Spencer says into Brendon's neck. "Fifteen minutes until bus call," and Spencer can feel Brendon tense beneath him.
"Fuck," Brendon says, trying to pull away, "Fucking shit," but Spencer just tightens his arm around Brendon's waist, because fifteen minutes is fifteen minutes and Spencer can work with that if he has to.
"No," he says, lifting his head and picking Brendon's eyes out of the dark. "No, come on," he says, and thrusts down sharply, watching Brendon's face as his eyes fall shut and his mouth falls slack. Brendon tightens his hands in Spencer's hair, twined almost painfully tight as he rocks back up. "Yeah?" Spencer asks, skimming his lips over the bridge of Brendon's nose. "This?"
"This, this, yeah," Brendon says, dropping one of his arms to wrap tight around Spencer's shoulders, to pull himself closer. Spencer tries to find Brendon's mouth in the dark but Brendon shakes his head and buries his face into Spencer's shoulder so he can get as close as he can, his hips tilting up so that Spencer's cock is pressing in, rubbing into the space between Brendon's cock and one thigh on each thrust and fuck. "This," Brendon says into his skin, "This, please, come on," and he's babbling, but Spencer knows the feeling.
Spencer's so fucking close, and Brendon's thighs are trembling against Spencer's hips, and he could slip his hand between their bodies, speed things along, but he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to let go of Brendon squirming in his arms and panting against his shoulder. He speeds his hips up instead, flexing the hand he has braced against the case. His arm is burning from holding them both up, but he doesn't care, just locks his elbow and presses down against Brendon's body, hips snapping.
He hears his phone again, last-last call, almost drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. "Spence," Brendon says, voice tight, hips grinding up frantically, "is that time, do we--"
Spencer cuts him off, sliding his hand down to grip at Brendon's ass, to try to pull him even closer. "Come on," he urges, ignoring Brendon's question. "We can, we have time, look at me," because it suddenly seems important, that he see Brendon again before they have to go back, back to the rush of people and road. "Look, come on." And when Brendon raises his head from Spencer's shoulder, Spencer finds his mouth on instinct, kisses him hard and deep in time with the thrust of his hips.
Spencer can feel himself tensing up, and he pulls back, just enough room to move his lips as he says, "Brendon, Bren--" and his voice is high and a little helpless as his hips snap forward, his cock twitching against Brendon's as he comes. Brendon groans against Spencer's lips, his hips still jerking forward, pressing in against Spencer's sensitive cock, and he grits his teeth, tightens his hold on Brendon's ass and says, "C'mon. Brendon."
"Yeah," Brendon says, voice cracked and raw, "Yeah, yes, Spence," and his entire body shudders forward as he comes, teeth clicking against Spencer's as he lets out a high noise into Spencer's mouth. Brendon's entire body is still shaking a little, and Spencer presses their foreheads together, lets go of Brendon's ass, settles him back down fully onto the case so he can run his hand up and down Brendon's damp back, keeping him close while they both come down. "Fuck," Brendon says after a minute or so.
"Yeah," Spencer replies, pulling back reluctantly, shaking out his aching arm and grimacing at the wet slide of his cock in his underwear.
Brendon laughs softly, and Spencer scowls at him before holding his hand out, helping Brendon down. "Yeah, okay," Brendon says once he's back on his feet, looking sadly down at his stained shorts. "It's possible we didn't think this all the way through."
"No kidding, genius," Spencer says, bending over to fumble on the floor for his phone and their shirts. "Told you this was a stupid idea."
"My idea was flawless," Brendon says, taking his shirt from Spencer and pulling it on. "Your execution sucks."
"Your mom sucks," Spencer says automatically as his phone goes off in his hand, wincing as soon as it's out of his mouth. Brendon has never been able to take a mom joke. "And look at that, have to go, no time for arguing, come on," he says as he pushes Brendon forward.
"Asshole," Brendon mumbles as he crawls his way over an amp to get to the doors of the trailer.
"Heard that," Spencer says as he drops to the floor behind Brendon.
"I don't care." Brendon says, but he steps forward when Spencer grabs at his wrist and lets Spencer twine their fingers together, lets Spencer kiss him soft and quick. "I still think you're an asshole," he says when Spencer pulls back, but he's grinning, bright in the dark, and he doesn't let go of Spencer's hand.
Authors: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Word Count: 3,000
Summary: "Hey," he says, mouthing idly at the skin of Brendon's neck simply because it's there. "Hey, we only have an hour, right?"
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Confined places, frottage, feet, and your mom jokes. A typical fic for me.
Author Notes: I will write porn about anything. But really, I am tired of sadfacing and am combating that by writing porn. As you do. Should you be in the porn mood, sunsetmog posted some truly excellent Brendon/Spencer domestic porn here and fictionalaspect wrote the hot, kind of hazy Jon/Brendon fic of my heart here. If it's still just too soon for you to get your porn on, I suggest you go and read fallintosilence's ridiculously adorable kitten!panic fic (with bonus kitten spam!), which is here. Thank you to boy_wrangler for the awesome as always beta, to untappedbeauty for slaughtering my splices, and to everyone who read this nineteen times because I'm needy. Title from "Look Up" by Stars.
"This," Spencer says, climbing over an amp after Brendon, "is probably a really dumb idea."
"This is an awesome idea." Brendon says, tossing a box of merch onto Ryan's guitar case. "Now c'mere."
"Come where?" Spencer asks, eyeing the tiny dark patch of floor dubiously. "Both of us are not going to fit there. This was a really dumb idea."
"Yes we will," Brendon says, tugging on Spencer's wrist. "Now come on. We've only got an hour."
Spencer sighs, but he lets Brendon tug him closer and push him to the ground. He barely fits, sitting pressed against the wall and boxed in by his drum cases, but then Brendon drops down into his lap with a grin and a tiny grunt, and, fine. It's maybe not so bad. Spencer settles his hands on Brendon's hips and looks up, finds Brendon looking down at him, a ridiculously proud smile on his face.
"See?" Brendon says, threading his hands into Spencer's hair. "We totally fit. I'm bendy."
"Yeah, you are," Spencer says with an exaggerated leer. Brendon laughs, too loud in the tight space, and Spencer can feel it where Brendon's pressed close, feel the rumble in his chest and the puffs of air that ruffle his hair. It's hot in the trailer, the air heavy and a little stale, and Brendon's already starting to sweat a little. His skin is warm and just a little damp when Spencer tucks his hand under the back of Brendon's t-shirt, skims it up the ridges of his spine.
Brendon shivers a little and presses closer, settles more heavily into Spencer's lap. It's strange like this, with Brendon taller, with Brendon settled over him. They've mostly had to make do with rushed make outs in venue closets, quiet kisses in the back of the van, sleepy handjobs on the rare hotel night. There's still a lot that's new, and this, Brendon in his lap, pressing down on him, is new enough to make Spencer's stomach coil up hot and tense.
"Hey," he says, mouthing idly at the skin of Brendon's neck simply because it's there. "Hey, we only have an hour, right?"
"Yeah," Brendon says, pulling back a little, looking down at Spencer with a look that does nothing to ease the tension in Spencer's stomach. "Yeah," he says again needlessly, leaning down to meet Spencer's lips. It's awkward. The angle's all wrong and there's a sharp something or other digging into Spencer's back. But it's still Brendon; he's so close like this, his weight pressing Spencer down even though there's nowhere to go, his fingers still wound tightly through Spencer's hair.
Spencer doesn't want to move, but this seriously is not working. They can't manage much more than shallow kisses like this, and it's nice, it is, but it kind of defeats the entire point of sneaking off to the trailer in the first place. He pulls away from Brendon's mouth reluctantly, grins a little when Brendon tries to follow him, says, "Hey, hey, Brendon. Bren."
"Hmm?" is all the response he gets, Brendon bending over at what seems like an impossible angle to get at Spencer's neck, his jaw, the back of his ear.
"C'mon," Spencer says, pushing at Brendon's hips. "Up, this isn't working."
"Your face isn't working, oh my god," Brendon groans into his neck. "Spence, come on, it's working. It's totally working. I can make it work better if you want." Brendon's making a pretty good case. He has somehow managed to find an angle that keeps their laps pressed together while he nips at Spencer's throat, but there's still something stabbing into the small of Spencer's back and his neck is cramping up rapidly.
"Nope, come on," Spencer says, and when Brendon shows no signs of moving, he sighs, wraps his arms around Brendon's waist and manages to pull them both up at the same time. Brendon stumbles a little and Spencer ends up with his foot caught in a strap, but it's still pretty impressive, he thinks. "Hah!" he says triumphantly, right before Brendon shifts in his arms and Spencer windmills, landing with a crash on top of a stack of boxes.
"Well," he says. "Fuck."
Brendon, the asshole, laughs for almost a full minute before he helps Spencer up, but he also reaches up and kisses at Spencer's forehead, rubs his thumb over Spencer's neck. "You okay?" he asks, his breath warm in Spencer's ear. "No head wounds?"
"I think I'll live," Spencer says, tipping his head to the side so Brendon can get at his neck, nip just below his hairline. Brendon likes leaving marks and Spencer likes not being stupid, so they've mostly come up with a system, a road map of where Brendon can and can't bite and suck at.
Brendon's thumb is still moving, digging into the knots under Spencer's neck, and he lifts his head up, says, "From playing?"
From playing, from touring, from being away from home and never having enough time for what he needs. Spencer settles on, "Mmm."
"Come on," Brendon says, and then he's sliding behind Spencer and hoisting himself up onto a drum case, staring at Spencer patiently for all of two seconds before he reaches out and grabs Spencer's belt loop, pulling him forward. "Turn around."
"An hour," Spencer repeats. "More like forty minutes, now," but he lets Brendon tug, lets Brendon push on his shoulder until he turns, lets Brendon scoot forward until he's pressed warm against Spencer's back.
"So gimme ten minutes," Brendon says into the back of his neck as he digs his fingers into Spencer's shoulders, going straight for the tension bunched up beneath his skin. "You can have the rest."
It feels amazing; Brendon's hands are warm and strong, and Spencer lets his head drop forward, offers up a weak, "M'kay." Brendon's legs are wrapped around Spencer's hips, and they look funny from this angle, his bare knees sticking out sharply from the bottoms of his old gym shorts. Spencer skirts his hands up and down Brendon's shins, rubbing the hair the wrong way before smoothing it back, and he chokes out a laugh when Brendon squirms behind him. "You're so easy," he says, squeezing Brendon's bony knee.
"I'm ticklish, asshole," Brendon responds, "Now shut up and take your shirt off."
"I love it when you sweet talk me," Spencer says, but Brendon's hands are already under the hem of his shirt, already skimming up his sides, and Spencer's maybe a little easy too. Spencer curses when he raises his arms and bumps his knuckles on the low ceiling, skin dragging rough against the wood. There's no fucking room, but Spencer can't seem to mind when Brendon presses himself against Spencer's back as soon as his shirt is off, hands curling over his shoulders, thumbs digging into the muscle while his fingers splay over Spencer's collarbone. He must have taken his shirt off too, because Spencer can feel his skin, warm and a little damp with sweat, pressing against his own.
He wants to turn around, wants to touch, because that was the entire point of coming in here in the first place. Brendon's too close, though, his legs locked tightly around Spencer's hips, keeping him in place. "Brendon, come on," Spencer urges, reaching back blindly, trying to find skin. "Come on, we're wasting time."
Brendon huffs out a laugh into the back of Spencer's neck before pulling back just a little, enough to slide his hands down Spencer's back, to rub rough circles just above his hips. "Impatient," he says.
"Yeah," Spencer answers. "Yes, yes, I am, come on." Brendon's still rubbing at his hips, and he presses in close again, so close that Spencer can feel Brendon's ribs press against his back when he breathes in. Brendon doesn't say anything, just sets his teeth into the curve of Spencer's shoulder, slips his fingertips under the waistband of Spencer's pajama pants. "Brendon," Spencer says, wincing a little when it comes out more whine than anything. Spencer shifts a little and Brendon tightens his legs, the heel of his bare foot brushing against Spencer's balls in the process.
Spencer can't help it, he can't, his hips try to buck forward completely on their own, and then Brendon is laughing into his neck, the fucking asshole. Spencer opens his mouth and he is totally planning on saying something indignant, but what comes out is a truly embarrassingly high-pitched moan when Brendon shifts at the same time, running the arch of his foot over the line of Spencer's cock through his pants. It's more tease than anything, not nearly enough pressure, but Spencer still presses up into it, and Brendon lets go of Spencer's hips, slides his hands forward and settles them low on Spencer's belly beneath his pants and boxers.
Brendon's hands are so close, fingers settling in the hair above Spencer's cock and pressing in, pulling Spencer back against his body. Brendon flexes his foot and Spencer whines a little, hips pressing forward into the glancing friction. Spencer can feel Brendon breathing hot against his neck as Brendon moves his foot again, nudging his toes at the base of Spencer's cock before running them up his length, material catching and dragging. "Yeah?" Brendon asks in Spencer's ear, and that's when Spencer realizes he's panting, harsh breaths that seem too big for the small space. He can't answer, can't draw in enough air, so he just nods and lets his head fall back onto Brendon's shoulder.
It's hot in the trailer, hot and cramped, and he's sweating like crazy but he can't stop trying to press closer to Brendon. Spencer tightens his grip on Brendon's legs, and Brendon shifts a little behind him, curls his other foot tighter around Spencer's knee, and suddenly Spencer can feel how hard Brendon is, his cock pressing into the small of Spencer's back. Spencer doesn't know if he wants to press forward into Brendon's foot and his fingers or backward against his cock. He just knows that he wants to move. He digs his fingers into the soft skin behind Brendon's knees, and it's cheating, but it works, making Brendon's legs unclench, letting Spencer turn around.
Spencer grabs onto Brendon's hips, holds him in place as he turns around and settles back in between Brendon's legs. Brendon is wide-eyed and panting in front of him, and it's dark, but Spencer can see the sweat shining on Brendon's forehead, feel how damp Brendon's hair is when Spencer slides his hands into it. "Hi," he says.
"Yeah," Brendon replies, untangling his hands from Spencer's pants and sliding them around his neck. "Hey."
They both move at the same time, and Brendon's teeth catch Spencer's lip when their mouths meet, a sharp, stinging drag that makes him press in closer and tighten his grip on Brendon's hips. Brendon's legs come back up to wrap around Spencer's hips, and it's better like this, face to face, Brendon pressed so close. The case Brendon's sitting on is pressed against the wall and just a little too low to the ground to be any real help in terms of aligning their hips, and Spencer is almost regretting getting up off the floor until Brendon leans back, pulling Spencer down over him a little in the process and oh. Okay. That'll work.
It's good like this, Brendon kissing him messily, his mouth hot and open under Spencer's, fingers tangled in Spencer's hair while his hips push up. Spencer braces one hand on top of the case, wraps the other around Brendon's waist and hisses when Brendon tightens his legs, when his cock slides along Spencer's through their pants. Brendon nods and nips at Spencer's lower lip, which, yeah, he kind of forgot about kissing for a second there, is more just breathing against Brendon's mouth as he presses their hips together.
Not that Brendon seems to mind. He's clinging to Spencer's neck, his legs are locked around Spencer's waist, crossed at the ankles with his heels digging into the top of Spencer's ass, pushing him closer, pulling him down, and fuck, it feels good. Spencer idly considers trying to get their pants off, but he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to stop the slow slide of his cock against Brendon's. They don't exactly settle into a rhythm, but they work something out, Spencer pressing down while Brendon grinds his hips up, their cocks dragging against each other through their worn sleep pants. Brendon's kissing him deep and wet, and it's overwhelming, so close in the dark like this, where Brendon's all he can feel and hear and smell. Spencer tries to focus, tries to memorize the way Brendon's mouth tastes and the way he smells a little like soap but mostly like salt, the way it feels when Brendon arches under him.
Brendon's making these noises every time their hips meet just right, throaty little gasps that rumble over Spencer's lips and straight down his spine, and he tightens his arm around Brendon's waist, tries to get him closer. It changes the angle so that Spencer's cock is bumping underneath Brendon's balls, pressing in with every stutter of his hips, and Brendon arches even closer and bites down hard on Spencer's lip, toes curling against Spencer's skin. "Fuck," he hisses, pulling back from Spencer's mouth. "Fuck, fuck, how much time do we have left?"
Not enough, and Spencer doesn't want to know, wants to stay right here. "Dunno," Spencer says, kissing at the corner of Brendon's mouth and letting his fingers slide through the sweat that's collecting under his palm on the small of Brendon's back. "Doesn't matter, come on," he says, and hopes Brendon doesn't notice how his voice shakes.
"But we were supposed to--" Brendon pulls back a little farther and Spencer groans, lets his lips slide down Brendon's throat as he moves. "You know," Brendon says, miming a hilariously half-hearted blowjob that Spencer barely catches in the corner of his eye. "We had plans," Brendon says, even as he tilts his head back and lets Spencer skim his teeth along Brendon's collarbone, kiss at the hollow of his throat.
Spencer's phone chirps loudly from the floor, cutting sharp and sudden in the quiet darkness of the room. Fuck.
"That's not good, is it?" Brendon asks, and Spencer shakes his head slightly, can feel Brendon's pulse where it pumps beneath his lips, can taste the sweat on Brendon's skin and smell his fading deodorant.
"Fifteen minutes," Spencer says into Brendon's neck. "Fifteen minutes until bus call," and Spencer can feel Brendon tense beneath him.
"Fuck," Brendon says, trying to pull away, "Fucking shit," but Spencer just tightens his arm around Brendon's waist, because fifteen minutes is fifteen minutes and Spencer can work with that if he has to.
"No," he says, lifting his head and picking Brendon's eyes out of the dark. "No, come on," he says, and thrusts down sharply, watching Brendon's face as his eyes fall shut and his mouth falls slack. Brendon tightens his hands in Spencer's hair, twined almost painfully tight as he rocks back up. "Yeah?" Spencer asks, skimming his lips over the bridge of Brendon's nose. "This?"
"This, this, yeah," Brendon says, dropping one of his arms to wrap tight around Spencer's shoulders, to pull himself closer. Spencer tries to find Brendon's mouth in the dark but Brendon shakes his head and buries his face into Spencer's shoulder so he can get as close as he can, his hips tilting up so that Spencer's cock is pressing in, rubbing into the space between Brendon's cock and one thigh on each thrust and fuck. "This," Brendon says into his skin, "This, please, come on," and he's babbling, but Spencer knows the feeling.
Spencer's so fucking close, and Brendon's thighs are trembling against Spencer's hips, and he could slip his hand between their bodies, speed things along, but he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to let go of Brendon squirming in his arms and panting against his shoulder. He speeds his hips up instead, flexing the hand he has braced against the case. His arm is burning from holding them both up, but he doesn't care, just locks his elbow and presses down against Brendon's body, hips snapping.
He hears his phone again, last-last call, almost drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. "Spence," Brendon says, voice tight, hips grinding up frantically, "is that time, do we--"
Spencer cuts him off, sliding his hand down to grip at Brendon's ass, to try to pull him even closer. "Come on," he urges, ignoring Brendon's question. "We can, we have time, look at me," because it suddenly seems important, that he see Brendon again before they have to go back, back to the rush of people and road. "Look, come on." And when Brendon raises his head from Spencer's shoulder, Spencer finds his mouth on instinct, kisses him hard and deep in time with the thrust of his hips.
Spencer can feel himself tensing up, and he pulls back, just enough room to move his lips as he says, "Brendon, Bren--" and his voice is high and a little helpless as his hips snap forward, his cock twitching against Brendon's as he comes. Brendon groans against Spencer's lips, his hips still jerking forward, pressing in against Spencer's sensitive cock, and he grits his teeth, tightens his hold on Brendon's ass and says, "C'mon. Brendon."
"Yeah," Brendon says, voice cracked and raw, "Yeah, yes, Spence," and his entire body shudders forward as he comes, teeth clicking against Spencer's as he lets out a high noise into Spencer's mouth. Brendon's entire body is still shaking a little, and Spencer presses their foreheads together, lets go of Brendon's ass, settles him back down fully onto the case so he can run his hand up and down Brendon's damp back, keeping him close while they both come down. "Fuck," Brendon says after a minute or so.
"Yeah," Spencer replies, pulling back reluctantly, shaking out his aching arm and grimacing at the wet slide of his cock in his underwear.
Brendon laughs softly, and Spencer scowls at him before holding his hand out, helping Brendon down. "Yeah, okay," Brendon says once he's back on his feet, looking sadly down at his stained shorts. "It's possible we didn't think this all the way through."
"No kidding, genius," Spencer says, bending over to fumble on the floor for his phone and their shirts. "Told you this was a stupid idea."
"My idea was flawless," Brendon says, taking his shirt from Spencer and pulling it on. "Your execution sucks."
"Your mom sucks," Spencer says automatically as his phone goes off in his hand, wincing as soon as it's out of his mouth. Brendon has never been able to take a mom joke. "And look at that, have to go, no time for arguing, come on," he says as he pushes Brendon forward.
"Asshole," Brendon mumbles as he crawls his way over an amp to get to the doors of the trailer.
"Heard that," Spencer says as he drops to the floor behind Brendon.
"I don't care." Brendon says, but he steps forward when Spencer grabs at his wrist and lets Spencer twine their fingers together, lets Spencer kiss him soft and quick. "I still think you're an asshole," he says when Spencer pulls back, but he's grinning, bright in the dark, and he doesn't let go of Spencer's hand.