Live Our Misbehavior, Spencer/Brendon, NC-17
Title: Live Our Misbehavior
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon
Summary: “Do you think I’m a slut,” Brendon says, “Because you’ve been acting kind of really weird since you came on my face.”
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Clearly, clearly, there is a warning for facials.
Author Notes: Title and cut text come from The Arcade Fire’s “Rebellion (Lies),” and also, I AM SO SORRY, it is not my fault, I was peer pressured into this and I have total permission to blame shutyourface for this, SO I AM DOING THAT PREEMPTIVELY. Thanks to the aforementioned shutyourface for being a comma slayer, and to my boo okubyo_kitsune and the lovely notfarfromhome for looking over this for me!
The thing is, and Spencer will fucking swear to this should anyone ever ask, the first time it happened it was a total accident. It wasn’t his fault for coming any more than it was Brendon’s fault for having that fucking mouth, but the fact remained that one day, about two weeks ago, Brendon had been a fucking tease and Spencer had maybe, accidentally, come all over his face.
Things had gotten a little weird after that.
*
He just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Like a compulsion or something. Hello, Brendon, how are you today? I’d like to come on your face. Hey, Brendon, can you pass the ketchup? Can I come on your face? Brendon, you can’t pull off facial hair, you need to shave. And when you’re done, I’m going to come on your face.
It was getting a little distracting.
*
Spencer knows he’s being weird. He won’t even let Brendon fully suck him off anymore. He always pulls out and he knows Brendon is doing that thing where he’s silently freaking out and coming up with the worst possible scenario for the situation. Once when Ryan was late for a bus call, Brendon had been convinced that he’d been kidnapped by a serial killer who was going to mail a piece of Ryan to every venue they played at. Brendon was kind of a weird little dude.
It’s probably better for Brendon to think whatever outlandish thing was in his head than know the truth, though, because Spencer was pretty sure it wasn’t polite to just want to come on someone’s face all the time. He had been raised with manners, okay. Not that his mother had ever set him down and instilled proper etiquette about this particular situation, thank god, but the fact remains. He’s sure that it’s frowned on. By like . . . Ann Landers. And Jesus. Important people. Important people who would deem it unwise for him to come on Brendon’s face.
The problem is that every time he pulls away, slips out of the heat of Brendon’s mouth and into his own hand, Brendon just watches him with big dark eyes, and right before Spencer comes he tilts his head back, like he’s fucking asking for it, and that’s just not fair.
*
They’re in a hotel room in . . . Kentucky? Tennessee? Something like that. Brendon’s got his head pillowed on Spencer’s thigh while they watch Legally Blonde, and if Brendon ever tells Ryan or Jon that Spencer watched Legally Blonde, they are breaking up. Spencer is rubbing lightly at the back of Brendon’s neck when Brendon sits up, looks him in the eye, and says, “Do you think I’m like a slut or something?”
What?
“What?”
“Do you think I’m a slut,” Brendon says, “Because you’ve been acting kind of really weird since you came on my face.”
Spencer maybe chokes on air for a second. It’s not his finest moment.
“I . . . no?”
Brendon drops his eyes a little, picks at a stray thread on the gaudy hotel bedspread. “So in other words, ‘Yes Brendon, you’re a great big ho bag,’ then.”
Spencer has no idea what’s going on.
“I don’t think you’re a slut. Or a bag of hoes.” That last part at least gets a grin out of Brendon, even if he’s still refusing to meet Spencer’s gaze. “I just . . . I’m sorry? It really was an accident.”
“Yeah,” Brendon says, his voice a little strained, “So you keep saying.”
“Bren,” Spencer takes in a deep breath and rakes a hand through his hair. Fuck fuck fuck. “Look,” he says, “I just- I really didn’t mean to. But I keep thinking about . . .” He can’t quite bring himself to finish.
Brendon sits up, his eyes wide, and Spencer is so, so sure that Brendon’s about to hit him or cry or something between the two extremes that’s equally terrible, but Brendon just says, very calmly, “You are a fucking idiot,” and settles back down in his lap to watch as Elle teaches the Bend and Snap.
Huh.
*
Two days later, Spencer’s phone rings in the dressing room right after soundcheck, and the caller ID says it’s Brendon, which is weird, since Brendon is on the side of the room . . . on his phone, staring at Spencer impatiently. Right.
Spencer picks up. “Why are you-“
“So, about how you want to come on my face.”
“I- what?”
Someone is going to hear him, he’s just across the room, and Ryan is . . . in the opposite corner, on his phone, and Jon has his headphones on at the other end of the couch that Spencer’s sitting on and, huh.
“I said,” Brendon says in his ear, and Spencer can’t even hear the echo of his actual voice from across the room, just the loud, frantic beating of his own heart. “I said we’re going to talk about how you want to come on my face.”
“Okay?”
“Okay! The thing is, Spence, if you had just said . . .”
Brendon trails off, and Spencer wants so, so badly to raise his head and look at Brendon, but it feels wrong somehow, like if he looks up the moment will be over, he won’t get to find out what’s at the end of that sentence.
“W-what?” Spencer asks, a little shaky. “If I had said, what, what then?”
“Then I would have let you,” Brendon says, and his voice is pitched lower, a little rough around the edges, and before Spencer’s brain can even process that, there’s the harsh beep that signals a disconnected call sounding in his ear. When he looks up a minute later, Brendon is talking to Ryan, gesturing excitedly and playing a guitar lick in the air.
*
Brendon stays on the opposite side of the room right up until they’re ready to go on stage, only brushing by Spencer (close, so close) on his way to the stage. Spencer plays the entire show half-hard and frantic, forcing himself to rein it in and not rush the beat.
*
When Spencer climbs into his bunk after the show, it’s already occupied. Also, Brendon’s pretty naked, as far as naked goes.
“You are seriously,” Brendon says, a second after he attaches himself to Spencer’s mouth, “seriously so stupid.”
Spencer just nods, because he’s starting to get that idea, yes.
Brendon’s mouth moves fast and hot over his, desperate kisses that have Spencer gasping against his lips, sucking Brendon’s tongue into his mouth. Brendon‘s hands are halfway through unbuttoning Spencer’s pants before Spencer even realizes what’s going on and once his zipper is down, Brendon wastes no time in wrapping a hand around Spencer, jerking fast and a little rough. He has to wrench his mouth away from Brendon’s to groan, push out hot air against Brendon’s neck.
“Ask for it,” Brendon says, rough and broken in Spencer’s ear. Spencer flushes with a different kind of heat because he can’t, he can’t just say it like that. Brendon’s hand twists rough and a little vicious over the head of his cock, his teeth scrape Spencer’s ear when he says it again, “Ask for it, Spencer. “
Spencer’s brain is going to explode. “Bren, I-“ Brendon bites down on his ear at the same time he squeezes the base of Spencer’s cock, and fuck, fuck. “Please,” he chokes out, a little desperately, and the word sounds too loud, too real in the dark of the bunk. Brendon’s hand stills completely and he draws back, forcing Spencer to look up, look into Brendon’s face, and oh.
Brendon’s eyes are huge and glassy, all pupil, his mouth bitten red, and he’s panting a little, hot and open, the muscles in his neck and shoulders strained from where he’s reaching down to wrap around Spencer.
“Brendon. . .”
“Ask for it.”
Brendon’s never, ever been this way, never asked anything of Spencer, never been this wild-eyed and rough, and Spencer has to close eyes against it for a second, take a breath.
“Let me,” he says, stuttered and slurred at the same time. “Please, let me do it, let me come on your face.” The last part comes out kind of embarrassingly high and he keeps his eyes squeezed shut, but then Brendon’s hands are on his hips, tugging up and over, getting Spencer on his knees above Brendon’s chest. The bunk is way, way too low for this and he has to bend over almost in half, but he ignores the twinge in his back as soon as Brendon’s lips wrap around his cock and shit.
Brendon’s not fucking around, either, keeping a constant suction that hollows his cheeks out, lapping at the head, and he keeps making these noises in the back of his throat, needy and low. There is no fucking way Spencer is going to last more than, like, a minute here. Just no way. He can feel Brendon’s hips rising off the bed behind him but Brendon grabs Spencer’s hands when he tries to reach back, threads them into his hair, and son of a bitch.
“Bren, c’mon, I’m . . .” Brendon draws back at that, and when Spencer looks down he’s got his head tipped back a little, eyes half-closed and mouth open, his tongue just peeking out, and, okay. The end. Spencer tightens his hands in Brendon’s hair and comes, hard, his cock jerking in front of him, painting stripes across Brendon’s face, his cheeks, his lips, chin, a little in his hair. Brendon’s just . . . just taking it, arching into it, mouth open and panting.
Spencer has to close his eyes, has to breathe, his heart feels like it’s about to explode and his chest is tight and painful. When he opens them again, Brendon’s swiping his tongue out, taking what he can reach, and Spencer growls. He didn’t even know he could growl. He pushes his way down Brendon’s body and leans in. His come is cooling a little, and it’s thick, salty and a little bitter, but it’s all over Brendon’s face and he licks and licks over Brendon’s cheeks and into his mouth, kissing him deep so their tongues meet over the taste.
When he pulls away Brendon’s face is screwed up tight, and he’s letting out frantic little whimpers as he thrusts up against Spencer’s hips. His cock is red and heavy, leaking, and Spencer smears some of it down the shaft, starts a fast, steady rhythm that has Brendon thrusting up and moaning helplessly. Five, six, seven, and Brendon’s coming, a choked off moan muffled into his arm as his body bows off the mattress. Spencer strips off his shirt, wipes his hand, Brendon’s thigh, and then they’re just staring at each other, broken breaths and hot gazes in the dark heat of the bunk.
Spencer breaks first.
“Was that, are you, um, ‘kay? Okay?” His voice is gruff, struggling over the words.
Brendon just rolls his eyes.
“Spencer, seriously. Idiot.”
Brendon pulls him down and Spencer twists to shove his jeans all the way off, presses himself halfway over Brendon’s body the way he knows Brendon likes. Brendon’s smiling at him, running a slightly shaky hand through his hair, and Spencer’s voice sticks in his throat at that tight feeling in his chest again. He’s so fucked. “Hey,” he says when he can make words again. “Hey, hey,” and Brendon looks up at him, eyes half-lidded and sleepy, face still flushed and beautiful.
He wants to say . . . a lot of things, thank you and you’re beautiful and I love you and it’s kind of scary, but instead, somehow, what comes out is, “I think you have come in your hair.”
Brendon just stares at him for a second, and oh, shit, shit, and then he’s laughing, pressing his face into Spencer’s chest when it turns kind of manic, gasping in great big breaths.
“Spence,” Brendon says when he catches his breath. “Spencer, I love you, but you’re kind of shit at pillow talk.”
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon
Summary: “Do you think I’m a slut,” Brendon says, “Because you’ve been acting kind of really weird since you came on my face.”
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Clearly, clearly, there is a warning for facials.
Author Notes: Title and cut text come from The Arcade Fire’s “Rebellion (Lies),” and also, I AM SO SORRY, it is not my fault, I was peer pressured into this and I have total permission to blame shutyourface for this, SO I AM DOING THAT PREEMPTIVELY. Thanks to the aforementioned shutyourface for being a comma slayer, and to my boo okubyo_kitsune and the lovely notfarfromhome for looking over this for me!
The thing is, and Spencer will fucking swear to this should anyone ever ask, the first time it happened it was a total accident. It wasn’t his fault for coming any more than it was Brendon’s fault for having that fucking mouth, but the fact remained that one day, about two weeks ago, Brendon had been a fucking tease and Spencer had maybe, accidentally, come all over his face.
Things had gotten a little weird after that.
*
He just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Like a compulsion or something. Hello, Brendon, how are you today? I’d like to come on your face. Hey, Brendon, can you pass the ketchup? Can I come on your face? Brendon, you can’t pull off facial hair, you need to shave. And when you’re done, I’m going to come on your face.
It was getting a little distracting.
*
Spencer knows he’s being weird. He won’t even let Brendon fully suck him off anymore. He always pulls out and he knows Brendon is doing that thing where he’s silently freaking out and coming up with the worst possible scenario for the situation. Once when Ryan was late for a bus call, Brendon had been convinced that he’d been kidnapped by a serial killer who was going to mail a piece of Ryan to every venue they played at. Brendon was kind of a weird little dude.
It’s probably better for Brendon to think whatever outlandish thing was in his head than know the truth, though, because Spencer was pretty sure it wasn’t polite to just want to come on someone’s face all the time. He had been raised with manners, okay. Not that his mother had ever set him down and instilled proper etiquette about this particular situation, thank god, but the fact remains. He’s sure that it’s frowned on. By like . . . Ann Landers. And Jesus. Important people. Important people who would deem it unwise for him to come on Brendon’s face.
The problem is that every time he pulls away, slips out of the heat of Brendon’s mouth and into his own hand, Brendon just watches him with big dark eyes, and right before Spencer comes he tilts his head back, like he’s fucking asking for it, and that’s just not fair.
*
They’re in a hotel room in . . . Kentucky? Tennessee? Something like that. Brendon’s got his head pillowed on Spencer’s thigh while they watch Legally Blonde, and if Brendon ever tells Ryan or Jon that Spencer watched Legally Blonde, they are breaking up. Spencer is rubbing lightly at the back of Brendon’s neck when Brendon sits up, looks him in the eye, and says, “Do you think I’m like a slut or something?”
What?
“What?”
“Do you think I’m a slut,” Brendon says, “Because you’ve been acting kind of really weird since you came on my face.”
Spencer maybe chokes on air for a second. It’s not his finest moment.
“I . . . no?”
Brendon drops his eyes a little, picks at a stray thread on the gaudy hotel bedspread. “So in other words, ‘Yes Brendon, you’re a great big ho bag,’ then.”
Spencer has no idea what’s going on.
“I don’t think you’re a slut. Or a bag of hoes.” That last part at least gets a grin out of Brendon, even if he’s still refusing to meet Spencer’s gaze. “I just . . . I’m sorry? It really was an accident.”
“Yeah,” Brendon says, his voice a little strained, “So you keep saying.”
“Bren,” Spencer takes in a deep breath and rakes a hand through his hair. Fuck fuck fuck. “Look,” he says, “I just- I really didn’t mean to. But I keep thinking about . . .” He can’t quite bring himself to finish.
Brendon sits up, his eyes wide, and Spencer is so, so sure that Brendon’s about to hit him or cry or something between the two extremes that’s equally terrible, but Brendon just says, very calmly, “You are a fucking idiot,” and settles back down in his lap to watch as Elle teaches the Bend and Snap.
Huh.
*
Two days later, Spencer’s phone rings in the dressing room right after soundcheck, and the caller ID says it’s Brendon, which is weird, since Brendon is on the side of the room . . . on his phone, staring at Spencer impatiently. Right.
Spencer picks up. “Why are you-“
“So, about how you want to come on my face.”
“I- what?”
Someone is going to hear him, he’s just across the room, and Ryan is . . . in the opposite corner, on his phone, and Jon has his headphones on at the other end of the couch that Spencer’s sitting on and, huh.
“I said,” Brendon says in his ear, and Spencer can’t even hear the echo of his actual voice from across the room, just the loud, frantic beating of his own heart. “I said we’re going to talk about how you want to come on my face.”
“Okay?”
“Okay! The thing is, Spence, if you had just said . . .”
Brendon trails off, and Spencer wants so, so badly to raise his head and look at Brendon, but it feels wrong somehow, like if he looks up the moment will be over, he won’t get to find out what’s at the end of that sentence.
“W-what?” Spencer asks, a little shaky. “If I had said, what, what then?”
“Then I would have let you,” Brendon says, and his voice is pitched lower, a little rough around the edges, and before Spencer’s brain can even process that, there’s the harsh beep that signals a disconnected call sounding in his ear. When he looks up a minute later, Brendon is talking to Ryan, gesturing excitedly and playing a guitar lick in the air.
*
Brendon stays on the opposite side of the room right up until they’re ready to go on stage, only brushing by Spencer (close, so close) on his way to the stage. Spencer plays the entire show half-hard and frantic, forcing himself to rein it in and not rush the beat.
*
When Spencer climbs into his bunk after the show, it’s already occupied. Also, Brendon’s pretty naked, as far as naked goes.
“You are seriously,” Brendon says, a second after he attaches himself to Spencer’s mouth, “seriously so stupid.”
Spencer just nods, because he’s starting to get that idea, yes.
Brendon’s mouth moves fast and hot over his, desperate kisses that have Spencer gasping against his lips, sucking Brendon’s tongue into his mouth. Brendon‘s hands are halfway through unbuttoning Spencer’s pants before Spencer even realizes what’s going on and once his zipper is down, Brendon wastes no time in wrapping a hand around Spencer, jerking fast and a little rough. He has to wrench his mouth away from Brendon’s to groan, push out hot air against Brendon’s neck.
“Ask for it,” Brendon says, rough and broken in Spencer’s ear. Spencer flushes with a different kind of heat because he can’t, he can’t just say it like that. Brendon’s hand twists rough and a little vicious over the head of his cock, his teeth scrape Spencer’s ear when he says it again, “Ask for it, Spencer. “
Spencer’s brain is going to explode. “Bren, I-“ Brendon bites down on his ear at the same time he squeezes the base of Spencer’s cock, and fuck, fuck. “Please,” he chokes out, a little desperately, and the word sounds too loud, too real in the dark of the bunk. Brendon’s hand stills completely and he draws back, forcing Spencer to look up, look into Brendon’s face, and oh.
Brendon’s eyes are huge and glassy, all pupil, his mouth bitten red, and he’s panting a little, hot and open, the muscles in his neck and shoulders strained from where he’s reaching down to wrap around Spencer.
“Brendon. . .”
“Ask for it.”
Brendon’s never, ever been this way, never asked anything of Spencer, never been this wild-eyed and rough, and Spencer has to close eyes against it for a second, take a breath.
“Let me,” he says, stuttered and slurred at the same time. “Please, let me do it, let me come on your face.” The last part comes out kind of embarrassingly high and he keeps his eyes squeezed shut, but then Brendon’s hands are on his hips, tugging up and over, getting Spencer on his knees above Brendon’s chest. The bunk is way, way too low for this and he has to bend over almost in half, but he ignores the twinge in his back as soon as Brendon’s lips wrap around his cock and shit.
Brendon’s not fucking around, either, keeping a constant suction that hollows his cheeks out, lapping at the head, and he keeps making these noises in the back of his throat, needy and low. There is no fucking way Spencer is going to last more than, like, a minute here. Just no way. He can feel Brendon’s hips rising off the bed behind him but Brendon grabs Spencer’s hands when he tries to reach back, threads them into his hair, and son of a bitch.
“Bren, c’mon, I’m . . .” Brendon draws back at that, and when Spencer looks down he’s got his head tipped back a little, eyes half-closed and mouth open, his tongue just peeking out, and, okay. The end. Spencer tightens his hands in Brendon’s hair and comes, hard, his cock jerking in front of him, painting stripes across Brendon’s face, his cheeks, his lips, chin, a little in his hair. Brendon’s just . . . just taking it, arching into it, mouth open and panting.
Spencer has to close his eyes, has to breathe, his heart feels like it’s about to explode and his chest is tight and painful. When he opens them again, Brendon’s swiping his tongue out, taking what he can reach, and Spencer growls. He didn’t even know he could growl. He pushes his way down Brendon’s body and leans in. His come is cooling a little, and it’s thick, salty and a little bitter, but it’s all over Brendon’s face and he licks and licks over Brendon’s cheeks and into his mouth, kissing him deep so their tongues meet over the taste.
When he pulls away Brendon’s face is screwed up tight, and he’s letting out frantic little whimpers as he thrusts up against Spencer’s hips. His cock is red and heavy, leaking, and Spencer smears some of it down the shaft, starts a fast, steady rhythm that has Brendon thrusting up and moaning helplessly. Five, six, seven, and Brendon’s coming, a choked off moan muffled into his arm as his body bows off the mattress. Spencer strips off his shirt, wipes his hand, Brendon’s thigh, and then they’re just staring at each other, broken breaths and hot gazes in the dark heat of the bunk.
Spencer breaks first.
“Was that, are you, um, ‘kay? Okay?” His voice is gruff, struggling over the words.
Brendon just rolls his eyes.
“Spencer, seriously. Idiot.”
Brendon pulls him down and Spencer twists to shove his jeans all the way off, presses himself halfway over Brendon’s body the way he knows Brendon likes. Brendon’s smiling at him, running a slightly shaky hand through his hair, and Spencer’s voice sticks in his throat at that tight feeling in his chest again. He’s so fucked. “Hey,” he says when he can make words again. “Hey, hey,” and Brendon looks up at him, eyes half-lidded and sleepy, face still flushed and beautiful.
He wants to say . . . a lot of things, thank you and you’re beautiful and I love you and it’s kind of scary, but instead, somehow, what comes out is, “I think you have come in your hair.”
Brendon just stares at him for a second, and oh, shit, shit, and then he’s laughing, pressing his face into Spencer’s chest when it turns kind of manic, gasping in great big breaths.
“Spence,” Brendon says when he catches his breath. “Spencer, I love you, but you’re kind of shit at pillow talk.”