Fic: Work for idol hands, Bob/Spencer, non-gen, adult content.
Title: Work for idol hands
Rating: Sex (for more details see prompt)
Originally for the Bob Bryar What? ficathon and posted over here and I'm finally getting around to reposting to my journal.
Prompt: 35. Bob/Spencer - blowjobs and biting.
Notes: Thanks to Quettaser for betareading. Why yes, I am cheesy enough to use a pun in my title.
Spencer doesn't usually crush on drummers, and that's not what this is either. It's not a crush, it's just pure appreciation. The difference, as he explained to Brendan, is that he would probably still want to follow Bob around and listen to him play and talk to him about rhythm and timing for hours, even if he didn't also want, very much, to blow him.
Bob is on stage with the techs, setting up his kit. He's comfortable, talking quietly with the other techs and then the occasional almost silence when he taps one of the drums and listens. He's distracted and focused, the way of not paying attention to the thing you're concentrating on because it's been absorbed into hands and mind. Careless diligent, his hands making slightly alterations, fingers drumming against the surface or stretching out across the skin of the snare.
There's a chance Spencer is a little fixated. He doesn't think this is entirely unreasonable.
"Spence?" Ryan says from behind him, making him jump. He turns around and Ryan has his arms crossed, one eyebrow slightly raised. Spencer shrugs and rolls his eyes and Ryan shake his head. He doesn't say, "I hope you know what you're doing." But he really doesn't need to.
"I can talk make-up with Gerard Way after the show," Ryan says. If you need some alone time is unspoken, like they're still sharing hotel rooms and any moment of relative privacy has to be fought for.
"Gerard Way," Spencer says, just the way Ryan said it, the way Ryan always says it. Both names and Spencer can practically see the italics. Bold for emphasis. Underlined. He's smiling and it's half at Ryan and half at the situation, a world where they're meeting Gerard Way on a daily basis, where Spencer can actually do something about his thing for Bob Bryar, even if that thing is only getting turned down.
He doesn't even know if he's Bob's type, if Bob has a type. Maybe he likes them taller or shorter, more tattoos and piercings. Breasts. He thinks about bringing this up to Ryan, but Ryan always seems vaguely surprised at the thought that any of his friends would be rejected, as if every time it happens, it's just a remarkably common anomaly. Spencer leans his head in and touches his forehead to Ryan's and then lifts it. "Show," he says.
"Don't pussy out," Ryan says. He pushes at Spencer's shoulder, turning him round to the stage.
Bob is still there, though he's moved to say something to the bass tech. Someone who looks vaguely familiar though Spencer doesn't know if he's met him before, or if it's just that he recognises the type, tattoos and piercings and practicality.
"Hey, can you walk me through your set-up?" Spencer says. "For Black Parade? It's pretty impressive."
"Sure, if you don't think it's-" Bob starts to say, then stops and grins at Spencer, drummer sympathy.
"No," Spencer says, very slowly, like talking to a child or Brendon when he's first woken up. "No, I don't think it's boring." He leaves the "duh" unsaid, but loud.
"Cool," Bob says, nodding and then he gestures at the drums. "Right, well, obviously, we had to adapt the drums from the album a lot, but we still needed the feel, so-"
Spencer nods and tries to look like he's paying attention, like he's interested, which he is, but-Bob Bryar's hands stretch out when he gestures, he shrugs and he has good shoulders, strong shoulders. His lip ring catches the light and Spencer's mouth goes dry. He's really going to do this and god, he's in a position to actually make an idiot of himself with his crush over Bob Bryar and-
"What?" Bob says, and Spencer realises he just laughed.
"Just having a This Is My Life moment," Spencer says.
Bob looks at him, waiting for him to go on and Spencer thinks now, he could just lean forward and tug on that lipring with his teeth and-
Bob sits down before Spencer can actually put that plan in to action and he drums a silent riff on the drums, hand curled around imaginary drumsticks. "Right, so I had to replace the snare when Frank-" he does a gesture that could mean fall or maybe explode and then his hand rests on the floor tom, the other still moving, pointing out slight adjustments and this is it, Spencer thinks. He can practically feel Ryan's eyes burning into his back offstage and if he doesn't do this now, Ryan will be silent in a meaningful way until Bob does.
He puts his hand over Bob's on the floor tom and thinks a moment later that he should have wiped it on his jeans first. Bob turns around to look at him, maybe ask him what's up, and Spencer hopes that it's obvious enough that Bob will either say yes, sure-better still, not say, just *do*-or pretend Spencer hasn't done anything and let them both fake like Spencer didn't, doesn't want something to happen.
What he gets is a slightly surprised expression and Bob's hand tensing slightly. He leaves his own on top of Bob's and doesn't let himself look away, making it clear as he can without having to put it into words. If you're old enough to want to blow someone, you're old enough to actually let them know. As mantras go, it's not especially deep and meaningful, but it's probably true. There's nothing for him to be embarrassed about. If Bob Bryar isn't interested, then he's not interested, and that's nothing for Spencer to be embarrassed about, it's not a judgement on Spencer. Just Bob Bryar's personal taste.
He really wants him to say yes.
"You're. Huh. You're sort of holding my hand," Bob says, tilting his head from side to side as if checking it out from different angles. He doesn't sound angry or anything but considering.
"Yeah," Spencer says. He had a way to lead this into "I really want to blow you" or "Can we fuck?", but he's not quite sure what it was.
"I don't know what counts as normal human contact anymore," Bob says. "The guys..."he shrugs, and Spencer thinks it's a pretty good explanation. "Just to be clear, this is-"
"I don't-" Spencer stops, and his lips are dry enough that he wishes he'd borrowed Brendon's chapstick, but he's starting to get a good feeling and Bob still hasn't moved his hand away. Spencer can feel it, stretch his own hand out on top. "I don't hold hands with every hot drummer from bands I still kind of heroworship I meet. I'm not easy," he says, and yeah, this feels good. He shifts a little and Bob's looking at him and Spencer turns Bob's hand over and drags his thumb across his palm. Bob shivers, barely visible and his fingers curl in and-
Oh. Oh, wow. And this-Fuck, this is, this is actually going to-
Spencer shifts again, jeans getting uncomfortably tight. He's on stage and people are still setting up and he's talking to Bob Bryar and he's hard. His heart is racing, but he feels weirdly settled, patient. Anchored in place by that one point of contact.
"I am," Bob says. "Easy. Sometimes, you know, for the right person." He smiles, wide and easy and he's close enough for Spencer to do more than just touch his hand, but they are still on stage, people at work around them and Ryan probably watching off stage to make sure Spencer doesn't wimp out.
"We should..." Spencer says. He taps his fingers on Bob's hand and says, "I have a room. Changing room, but..." he shrugs. "It'll be empty so..."
Bob nods and he looks a little surprised, and that surprises Spencer, because he has trouble imagining that this doesn't happen to Bob a lot. Maybe not from boys in band current hovering at number two in MTV's video chart, but-
The thing is, Spencer's not vain, but there are photoshoots, magazines, and there's Pete commenting on Spencer's fucking amazing skin and Hayley looking him over in bed and Ryan's casual remarks of how much he envies Spencer's forearms and the fact that Bob Bryar -fucking Bob Bryar!- is looking him over considering and maybe, maybe he should start believing the press. Or Ryan.
He catches Bob as they hit a relatively private bit of backstage, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him. Bob's hands go to his hips automatically and Spencer kisses him. It's still strange, just for a moment, to kiss a guy with a beard. Bob's not giant, but he's still big, bigger than pretty much everyone else Spencer's kissed and he smells like cigarettes and fuck, his shoulders are huge up close and Spencer thinks this might be like kissing him is for Hayley, and that makes him push forward, push Bob against the wall.
Bob takes it for a moment then twists them around so it's Spencer with his back against the poster of some band Spencer should probably know. Spencer finds his waist, slides his hands just under the T-shirt and sweater and spreads his fingers out over skin, feeling warmth, the instant tension and the way Bob's stomach jumps. He smiles against Bob's mouth-smirks, if he's honest- and then does it again, this time a little firmer, less ticklish. Warm, smooth. He can't tell if there are any tattoos, doesn't know if he'd be able to anyway. His elbows bang against the wall when Bob leans in and they're both hard, but it doesn't feel rushed, not just yet, and he feels calm, like he's actually on top of this, instead of about fifteen minutes back still starstruck and disbelieving.
He flicks his tongue over Bob's lipring, tugs it into his mouth, feels Bob Bryar groan and it hits him, right then like a sledgehammer to the skull what he's doing, who he's doing it with, and he shudders, has to bite his tongue and concentrate on not embarrassing himself.
Bob pulls back, smiling a little and Spencer can't tell if noticed Spencer's reaction, because he just says, "Yeah, you said you had some place in mind?"
Spencer nods, steps back and puts his hands in his pockets, trying to get himself under control. "Yeah, our changing room, it's just back there." He leads the way, not touching Bob, careful to stay in front so he doesn't get distracted, so he can get some control of himself. It's not like he's planning a three week stay in a honeymoon suite, but he doesn't want to blow this, embarrass himself by coming too quickly in a corridor where he knows, because life works like that, Brendon or Frank would find them.
They get to the room which is, thankfully, empty. Spencer opens the door, waves Bob in and then closes it, locking it behind him. Bob looks around, curious. "Huh."
"What?" Spencer looks at the room, chairs, acoustic guitar and Ryan's second favourite bass, a few random T-shirts and cereal packets.
His arms are sort of crossed, one hand on his elbow, and he raises an eyebrow, cocks his lips so the gesture looks more challenging, more confident. Bob's fingers drum against his thigh and Spencer's mouth is dry. He's-he didn't think this through enough, but if he just steps forward, kisses Bob again, then that won't matter.
He does, pressing Bob against the line of the dressing table, getting his hands back on his sides, sliding and pushing up the sweatshirt and T at once, sliding down to sit on the chair so he can see the skin, see his hands go across it. Bob bends his head down to keep kissing him, one hand resting on the dressing table. It must be awkward, but Bob doesn't seem to mind. Experience must count for something, because Bob makes it seem so easy, and there's his mouth, that ring, and Spencer bites down on it,
"I want-" he says at the same time as Bob says, "Let me-" and then slides down to his knees. For a moment, a single insane moment, Spencer wants to say, "No wait, I wanted to..." And then he realises what a stupid, stupid thing that is to even say, and Bob Bryar is unzipping his jeans, spreading Spencer's knees apart so he can position himself better between them. It's-oh, fuck, it's just as hot as he ever imagined and he bites his lip and flashes back to being seventeen and lying on Ryan's bed, looking up at his My Chem poster while Ryan talked about how great their new album was. He groans and then Bob looks up, smiles and strokes one hand on Spencer's thigh.
Bob opens his mouth like he's going to say something, then closes it and Spencer says, "So, please-" And tries to shift his legs wider apart. Bob's hand moves up, strokes his dick through his boxers and Spencer's hips jerk forward before he can stop them. Bob does it again and Spencer groans.
"Thin walls," Bob says, like a warning. His hand flexes on Spencer's knee and Spencer thinks, strong fingers, and then, what?
"No-one's--" Spencer starts to say, but naturally, just as he says it, he hears laughter, someone coming down the corridor. He looks at Bob, wondering if he's serious or what the best way to say "I really don't care" is, but he settles for rolling his eyes and saying, "I spend most of my time on a bus with curtains for privacy." It comes out bitchier than he meant it, gritted teeth, so he spreads his legs a little wider, "Not concerned about that right now, you know?" Trying to make it sound apologetic.
Bob looks up at him and smiles, the one that was already familiar before Spencer ever met him in person and Spencer says, "Jesus, please." And one hand drops to Bob's face, traces the line of his cheek, bristles of his beard, and then Bob does. One hand on the base of Spencer's dick, one still pushing Spencer's knee back, and then Bob's mouth is on the head and oh, fuck, his *mouth*.
Spencer throws one hand over his mouth to muffle his groan, His free hand grabs at the edge of the make-up table behind him and he tries not to jerk forward, to be good. He's trying to keep it quiet, quiet, and then-"Oh, god." It's not working so he bites down, teeth catching on the edge of his hand, and tries to focus on that and not the feel of Bob's mouth, his lipring, weird-good roughness of the feel of his beard on the inside of Spencer's thighs.
It's not a surprise that Bob is good at this, that Spencer is trying to keep his eyes focussed on the Jimi Hendrix poster on the wall opposite, because if he looks down, it'll be over, just like that, and then Bob moves his hand and Spencer feels the back of the chair hit the table and tries to warn Bob, looking down and seeing his cock disappearing inside Bob *Bryar's* mouth, and then he's coming,
His eyes are closed and he's still breathing hard when he comes back to himself to the sound of Bob getting to his feet, standing between Spencer's thighs. Spencer opens his eyes and finds Bob's. He's smiling, amused but not in a bad way. Spencer's hand is still in his mouth and he's aware, vaguely, that he probably looks strange, orgasm-stupid, and that it really doesn't matter.
"Hey, ouch," Bob says, catching Spencer's hand in his own and turning it to look at the tooth marks. "You almost drew blood."
"Uh, yeah?" Spencer says. He looks at his hand and it takes a moment to register what he's seeing. Hand, his, bitemarks. Bob's fingers against it, which is, yeah, it's still too soon for him to focus on that, but he makes a note to think about it later. He curls his fingers in, bringing Bob's with them and then he looks up. Bob's mouth is red, wet and used and his eyes are dark and Spencer's brain starts ticking over well enough for him to say, "Hey, can I-" And pushes himself up to kiss Bob, pulling his hand out of Bob's loose grip and finding the front of his jeans.
The angle's awkward at first and Bob has to step back a bit, half twist around so he's leaning against the make-up table, Spencer pushing against him. Spencer catches himself in the reflection, just at the edges where Bob's body isn't blocking him. He's not vain, not into camcorders or mirrors, but he could make an exception for this. Bob's hips buck up against Spencer's palm and Spencer unzips them, find's Bob's cock and grips it. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Bob's shoulder, looking down. He wants to see this, his hand moving on Bob's cock, commit it to memory. It's a shame, almost, that there's no camera or CCTV so he could have a record of this, proof that it actually happened.
He feels Bob's hand on his face, pushing Spencer's chin up and his kisses him, hard enough that Spencer wonders if the lipring will imprint and then Bob kisses harder and Spencer feels it against his teeth and Bob's coming in Spencer's hands, against his stomach. He wipes his hand on his T-shirt -it's wrecked already.
Spencer's smiling. He feels it across his face before he sees it in the mirror. Bob's leaning against him, panting until he pushes away a little, not enough for Spencer to let go of his arm
"Sorry," Bob says, breathing hard and gesturing at Spencer's T-shirt.
"It's okay," Spencer says, then corrects himself. "It's good, it's-" he laughs and shrugs together. "Better than good, really."
"Your shirt-" Bob says.
"It's my changing room," Spencer says. " I can just steal something from Jon-" he runs through what they've got and starts to laugh. "Ryan's still got, he bought his My Chem T-shirt from when we saw you in 2004."
Bob looks at him for a second and says, "Yeah, that's just-" He shrugs. "Uh, you know. Kind of weird to think about,"
Spencer smiles, shrugs and says, "If it helps, he won't wear it out here. They only had larges left and Ryan's..."
"Not?" Bob says. He pushes Spencer back enough to get out and Spencer realises he's still holding Bob's arm. He lets go, regretfully, and almost doesn't say anything else, but he can hear Ryan's voice in his head, telling Spencer not to be an idiot, so he opens his mouth and says, "After the show? Are you...?" He shrugs and leans against the make-up table, trying to look attractive and appealing, not clingy. Bob's eyes glance at his stomach, the pretty-much ruined T-shirt and Spencer's still open jeans.
"Yeah, I can be," Bob says. "If you're-"
"No, I'm-that sounds good. Great, even," Spencer adds. "So I guess I'll-"
"Yeah. Yes," Bob says, with this weirdly formal cadence, even though he's smiling, and then looking down, almost like he's shy. "I'm looking forward to it."
"Good." Spencer says, then looks down himself, just for a second.
"Great," Bob corrects.
End.
Rating: Sex (for more details see prompt)
Originally for the Bob Bryar What? ficathon and posted over here and I'm finally getting around to reposting to my journal.
Prompt: 35. Bob/Spencer - blowjobs and biting.
Notes: Thanks to Quettaser for betareading. Why yes, I am cheesy enough to use a pun in my title.
Spencer doesn't usually crush on drummers, and that's not what this is either. It's not a crush, it's just pure appreciation. The difference, as he explained to Brendan, is that he would probably still want to follow Bob around and listen to him play and talk to him about rhythm and timing for hours, even if he didn't also want, very much, to blow him.
Bob is on stage with the techs, setting up his kit. He's comfortable, talking quietly with the other techs and then the occasional almost silence when he taps one of the drums and listens. He's distracted and focused, the way of not paying attention to the thing you're concentrating on because it's been absorbed into hands and mind. Careless diligent, his hands making slightly alterations, fingers drumming against the surface or stretching out across the skin of the snare.
There's a chance Spencer is a little fixated. He doesn't think this is entirely unreasonable.
"Spence?" Ryan says from behind him, making him jump. He turns around and Ryan has his arms crossed, one eyebrow slightly raised. Spencer shrugs and rolls his eyes and Ryan shake his head. He doesn't say, "I hope you know what you're doing." But he really doesn't need to.
"I can talk make-up with Gerard Way after the show," Ryan says. If you need some alone time is unspoken, like they're still sharing hotel rooms and any moment of relative privacy has to be fought for.
"Gerard Way," Spencer says, just the way Ryan said it, the way Ryan always says it. Both names and Spencer can practically see the italics. Bold for emphasis. Underlined. He's smiling and it's half at Ryan and half at the situation, a world where they're meeting Gerard Way on a daily basis, where Spencer can actually do something about his thing for Bob Bryar, even if that thing is only getting turned down.
He doesn't even know if he's Bob's type, if Bob has a type. Maybe he likes them taller or shorter, more tattoos and piercings. Breasts. He thinks about bringing this up to Ryan, but Ryan always seems vaguely surprised at the thought that any of his friends would be rejected, as if every time it happens, it's just a remarkably common anomaly. Spencer leans his head in and touches his forehead to Ryan's and then lifts it. "Show," he says.
"Don't pussy out," Ryan says. He pushes at Spencer's shoulder, turning him round to the stage.
Bob is still there, though he's moved to say something to the bass tech. Someone who looks vaguely familiar though Spencer doesn't know if he's met him before, or if it's just that he recognises the type, tattoos and piercings and practicality.
"Hey, can you walk me through your set-up?" Spencer says. "For Black Parade? It's pretty impressive."
"Sure, if you don't think it's-" Bob starts to say, then stops and grins at Spencer, drummer sympathy.
"No," Spencer says, very slowly, like talking to a child or Brendon when he's first woken up. "No, I don't think it's boring." He leaves the "duh" unsaid, but loud.
"Cool," Bob says, nodding and then he gestures at the drums. "Right, well, obviously, we had to adapt the drums from the album a lot, but we still needed the feel, so-"
Spencer nods and tries to look like he's paying attention, like he's interested, which he is, but-Bob Bryar's hands stretch out when he gestures, he shrugs and he has good shoulders, strong shoulders. His lip ring catches the light and Spencer's mouth goes dry. He's really going to do this and god, he's in a position to actually make an idiot of himself with his crush over Bob Bryar and-
"What?" Bob says, and Spencer realises he just laughed.
"Just having a This Is My Life moment," Spencer says.
Bob looks at him, waiting for him to go on and Spencer thinks now, he could just lean forward and tug on that lipring with his teeth and-
Bob sits down before Spencer can actually put that plan in to action and he drums a silent riff on the drums, hand curled around imaginary drumsticks. "Right, so I had to replace the snare when Frank-" he does a gesture that could mean fall or maybe explode and then his hand rests on the floor tom, the other still moving, pointing out slight adjustments and this is it, Spencer thinks. He can practically feel Ryan's eyes burning into his back offstage and if he doesn't do this now, Ryan will be silent in a meaningful way until Bob does.
He puts his hand over Bob's on the floor tom and thinks a moment later that he should have wiped it on his jeans first. Bob turns around to look at him, maybe ask him what's up, and Spencer hopes that it's obvious enough that Bob will either say yes, sure-better still, not say, just *do*-or pretend Spencer hasn't done anything and let them both fake like Spencer didn't, doesn't want something to happen.
What he gets is a slightly surprised expression and Bob's hand tensing slightly. He leaves his own on top of Bob's and doesn't let himself look away, making it clear as he can without having to put it into words. If you're old enough to want to blow someone, you're old enough to actually let them know. As mantras go, it's not especially deep and meaningful, but it's probably true. There's nothing for him to be embarrassed about. If Bob Bryar isn't interested, then he's not interested, and that's nothing for Spencer to be embarrassed about, it's not a judgement on Spencer. Just Bob Bryar's personal taste.
He really wants him to say yes.
"You're. Huh. You're sort of holding my hand," Bob says, tilting his head from side to side as if checking it out from different angles. He doesn't sound angry or anything but considering.
"Yeah," Spencer says. He had a way to lead this into "I really want to blow you" or "Can we fuck?", but he's not quite sure what it was.
"I don't know what counts as normal human contact anymore," Bob says. "The guys..."he shrugs, and Spencer thinks it's a pretty good explanation. "Just to be clear, this is-"
"I don't-" Spencer stops, and his lips are dry enough that he wishes he'd borrowed Brendon's chapstick, but he's starting to get a good feeling and Bob still hasn't moved his hand away. Spencer can feel it, stretch his own hand out on top. "I don't hold hands with every hot drummer from bands I still kind of heroworship I meet. I'm not easy," he says, and yeah, this feels good. He shifts a little and Bob's looking at him and Spencer turns Bob's hand over and drags his thumb across his palm. Bob shivers, barely visible and his fingers curl in and-
Oh. Oh, wow. And this-Fuck, this is, this is actually going to-
Spencer shifts again, jeans getting uncomfortably tight. He's on stage and people are still setting up and he's talking to Bob Bryar and he's hard. His heart is racing, but he feels weirdly settled, patient. Anchored in place by that one point of contact.
"I am," Bob says. "Easy. Sometimes, you know, for the right person." He smiles, wide and easy and he's close enough for Spencer to do more than just touch his hand, but they are still on stage, people at work around them and Ryan probably watching off stage to make sure Spencer doesn't wimp out.
"We should..." Spencer says. He taps his fingers on Bob's hand and says, "I have a room. Changing room, but..." he shrugs. "It'll be empty so..."
Bob nods and he looks a little surprised, and that surprises Spencer, because he has trouble imagining that this doesn't happen to Bob a lot. Maybe not from boys in band current hovering at number two in MTV's video chart, but-
The thing is, Spencer's not vain, but there are photoshoots, magazines, and there's Pete commenting on Spencer's fucking amazing skin and Hayley looking him over in bed and Ryan's casual remarks of how much he envies Spencer's forearms and the fact that Bob Bryar -fucking Bob Bryar!- is looking him over considering and maybe, maybe he should start believing the press. Or Ryan.
He catches Bob as they hit a relatively private bit of backstage, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him. Bob's hands go to his hips automatically and Spencer kisses him. It's still strange, just for a moment, to kiss a guy with a beard. Bob's not giant, but he's still big, bigger than pretty much everyone else Spencer's kissed and he smells like cigarettes and fuck, his shoulders are huge up close and Spencer thinks this might be like kissing him is for Hayley, and that makes him push forward, push Bob against the wall.
Bob takes it for a moment then twists them around so it's Spencer with his back against the poster of some band Spencer should probably know. Spencer finds his waist, slides his hands just under the T-shirt and sweater and spreads his fingers out over skin, feeling warmth, the instant tension and the way Bob's stomach jumps. He smiles against Bob's mouth-smirks, if he's honest- and then does it again, this time a little firmer, less ticklish. Warm, smooth. He can't tell if there are any tattoos, doesn't know if he'd be able to anyway. His elbows bang against the wall when Bob leans in and they're both hard, but it doesn't feel rushed, not just yet, and he feels calm, like he's actually on top of this, instead of about fifteen minutes back still starstruck and disbelieving.
He flicks his tongue over Bob's lipring, tugs it into his mouth, feels Bob Bryar groan and it hits him, right then like a sledgehammer to the skull what he's doing, who he's doing it with, and he shudders, has to bite his tongue and concentrate on not embarrassing himself.
Bob pulls back, smiling a little and Spencer can't tell if noticed Spencer's reaction, because he just says, "Yeah, you said you had some place in mind?"
Spencer nods, steps back and puts his hands in his pockets, trying to get himself under control. "Yeah, our changing room, it's just back there." He leads the way, not touching Bob, careful to stay in front so he doesn't get distracted, so he can get some control of himself. It's not like he's planning a three week stay in a honeymoon suite, but he doesn't want to blow this, embarrass himself by coming too quickly in a corridor where he knows, because life works like that, Brendon or Frank would find them.
They get to the room which is, thankfully, empty. Spencer opens the door, waves Bob in and then closes it, locking it behind him. Bob looks around, curious. "Huh."
"What?" Spencer looks at the room, chairs, acoustic guitar and Ryan's second favourite bass, a few random T-shirts and cereal packets.
His arms are sort of crossed, one hand on his elbow, and he raises an eyebrow, cocks his lips so the gesture looks more challenging, more confident. Bob's fingers drum against his thigh and Spencer's mouth is dry. He's-he didn't think this through enough, but if he just steps forward, kisses Bob again, then that won't matter.
He does, pressing Bob against the line of the dressing table, getting his hands back on his sides, sliding and pushing up the sweatshirt and T at once, sliding down to sit on the chair so he can see the skin, see his hands go across it. Bob bends his head down to keep kissing him, one hand resting on the dressing table. It must be awkward, but Bob doesn't seem to mind. Experience must count for something, because Bob makes it seem so easy, and there's his mouth, that ring, and Spencer bites down on it,
"I want-" he says at the same time as Bob says, "Let me-" and then slides down to his knees. For a moment, a single insane moment, Spencer wants to say, "No wait, I wanted to..." And then he realises what a stupid, stupid thing that is to even say, and Bob Bryar is unzipping his jeans, spreading Spencer's knees apart so he can position himself better between them. It's-oh, fuck, it's just as hot as he ever imagined and he bites his lip and flashes back to being seventeen and lying on Ryan's bed, looking up at his My Chem poster while Ryan talked about how great their new album was. He groans and then Bob looks up, smiles and strokes one hand on Spencer's thigh.
Bob opens his mouth like he's going to say something, then closes it and Spencer says, "So, please-" And tries to shift his legs wider apart. Bob's hand moves up, strokes his dick through his boxers and Spencer's hips jerk forward before he can stop them. Bob does it again and Spencer groans.
"Thin walls," Bob says, like a warning. His hand flexes on Spencer's knee and Spencer thinks, strong fingers, and then, what?
"No-one's--" Spencer starts to say, but naturally, just as he says it, he hears laughter, someone coming down the corridor. He looks at Bob, wondering if he's serious or what the best way to say "I really don't care" is, but he settles for rolling his eyes and saying, "I spend most of my time on a bus with curtains for privacy." It comes out bitchier than he meant it, gritted teeth, so he spreads his legs a little wider, "Not concerned about that right now, you know?" Trying to make it sound apologetic.
Bob looks up at him and smiles, the one that was already familiar before Spencer ever met him in person and Spencer says, "Jesus, please." And one hand drops to Bob's face, traces the line of his cheek, bristles of his beard, and then Bob does. One hand on the base of Spencer's dick, one still pushing Spencer's knee back, and then Bob's mouth is on the head and oh, fuck, his *mouth*.
Spencer throws one hand over his mouth to muffle his groan, His free hand grabs at the edge of the make-up table behind him and he tries not to jerk forward, to be good. He's trying to keep it quiet, quiet, and then-"Oh, god." It's not working so he bites down, teeth catching on the edge of his hand, and tries to focus on that and not the feel of Bob's mouth, his lipring, weird-good roughness of the feel of his beard on the inside of Spencer's thighs.
It's not a surprise that Bob is good at this, that Spencer is trying to keep his eyes focussed on the Jimi Hendrix poster on the wall opposite, because if he looks down, it'll be over, just like that, and then Bob moves his hand and Spencer feels the back of the chair hit the table and tries to warn Bob, looking down and seeing his cock disappearing inside Bob *Bryar's* mouth, and then he's coming,
His eyes are closed and he's still breathing hard when he comes back to himself to the sound of Bob getting to his feet, standing between Spencer's thighs. Spencer opens his eyes and finds Bob's. He's smiling, amused but not in a bad way. Spencer's hand is still in his mouth and he's aware, vaguely, that he probably looks strange, orgasm-stupid, and that it really doesn't matter.
"Hey, ouch," Bob says, catching Spencer's hand in his own and turning it to look at the tooth marks. "You almost drew blood."
"Uh, yeah?" Spencer says. He looks at his hand and it takes a moment to register what he's seeing. Hand, his, bitemarks. Bob's fingers against it, which is, yeah, it's still too soon for him to focus on that, but he makes a note to think about it later. He curls his fingers in, bringing Bob's with them and then he looks up. Bob's mouth is red, wet and used and his eyes are dark and Spencer's brain starts ticking over well enough for him to say, "Hey, can I-" And pushes himself up to kiss Bob, pulling his hand out of Bob's loose grip and finding the front of his jeans.
The angle's awkward at first and Bob has to step back a bit, half twist around so he's leaning against the make-up table, Spencer pushing against him. Spencer catches himself in the reflection, just at the edges where Bob's body isn't blocking him. He's not vain, not into camcorders or mirrors, but he could make an exception for this. Bob's hips buck up against Spencer's palm and Spencer unzips them, find's Bob's cock and grips it. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Bob's shoulder, looking down. He wants to see this, his hand moving on Bob's cock, commit it to memory. It's a shame, almost, that there's no camera or CCTV so he could have a record of this, proof that it actually happened.
He feels Bob's hand on his face, pushing Spencer's chin up and his kisses him, hard enough that Spencer wonders if the lipring will imprint and then Bob kisses harder and Spencer feels it against his teeth and Bob's coming in Spencer's hands, against his stomach. He wipes his hand on his T-shirt -it's wrecked already.
Spencer's smiling. He feels it across his face before he sees it in the mirror. Bob's leaning against him, panting until he pushes away a little, not enough for Spencer to let go of his arm
"Sorry," Bob says, breathing hard and gesturing at Spencer's T-shirt.
"It's okay," Spencer says, then corrects himself. "It's good, it's-" he laughs and shrugs together. "Better than good, really."
"Your shirt-" Bob says.
"It's my changing room," Spencer says. " I can just steal something from Jon-" he runs through what they've got and starts to laugh. "Ryan's still got, he bought his My Chem T-shirt from when we saw you in 2004."
Bob looks at him for a second and says, "Yeah, that's just-" He shrugs. "Uh, you know. Kind of weird to think about,"
Spencer smiles, shrugs and says, "If it helps, he won't wear it out here. They only had larges left and Ryan's..."
"Not?" Bob says. He pushes Spencer back enough to get out and Spencer realises he's still holding Bob's arm. He lets go, regretfully, and almost doesn't say anything else, but he can hear Ryan's voice in his head, telling Spencer not to be an idiot, so he opens his mouth and says, "After the show? Are you...?" He shrugs and leans against the make-up table, trying to look attractive and appealing, not clingy. Bob's eyes glance at his stomach, the pretty-much ruined T-shirt and Spencer's still open jeans.
"Yeah, I can be," Bob says. "If you're-"
"No, I'm-that sounds good. Great, even," Spencer adds. "So I guess I'll-"
"Yeah. Yes," Bob says, with this weirdly formal cadence, even though he's smiling, and then looking down, almost like he's shy. "I'm looking forward to it."
"Good." Spencer says, then looks down himself, just for a second.
"Great," Bob corrects.
End.