Pocket Sized Sun (G)
Title: Pocket Sized Sun
Author: justthismorning
Rating: G
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Word Count: 680
Summary: Third in the Tiny Dancer series. Spencer comes home to find Brendon moving into his bedroom
First | Second
Spencer came home from work to find Brendon in his bedroom, shifting the things around on Spencer’s bedside table.
“Help?” Brendon said as he leaned his entire body against the alarm clock and only moved it an eighth of an inch. Brendon had a pile of tiny things spread around the base of the lamp - including the penlight that Spencer thought he had lost over a month ago.
“What are you doing?”
Brendon gave another mighty shove and this time failed to make any difference at all. Spencer nudged the clock to the left with his thumb.
“I’m moving in,” Brendon panted, from this doubled over position with his hands on his knees and his head hanging low in exhaustion. “I sleep on your pillow every night anyway.”
Spencer blinked. “You…you what?”
Brendon looked up through his bangs. He was wearing a thin white t-shirt. His pink hoodie was tossed to the side where he’d apparently abandoned it when the work became too strenuous for him. “I sleep here?”
And ok, that’s what Brendon had said the first time. He studied the little cluster of things Brendon had piled on the table. They did kind of look like an improvised bedroom set, complete with a half-sized wooden match box painted with colourful swirls and flowers and a little plastic Barbie mirror that may or may not have snuck into Spencer’s stuff when he’d moved out of his parents’ house.
Brendon shuffled his feet. “Uh, you don’t mind, do you?”
“Um,” was all Spencer could say. His brain was still kind of stuck on the idea that Brendon maybe slept right beside him, and that if he wasn’t, you know, doll-sized, it’d be kind of hot. As it was, well, Spencer was maybe feeling a little flustered.
“Oh,” Brendon said and his face fell. “I can go back to my place, I guess.” He seemed to shrink a little as he gathered up his hoodie with trembling hands and tugged his arms through the sleeves. Brendon was gathering Spencer’s stolen penlight awkwardly in his arms when it dawned on Spencer that Brendon thought he was being kicked out, that Spencer wanted him to go back to the little nest in the wall that Brendon had told him about one night over cookies (or cookie crumbs) and milk.
“No!”
Brendon stopped and when he looked up with rounded, nervous eyes, Spencer caught sight of what might be the beginning of tears.
“I mean,” Spencer said. “I mean. You can, you can stay? I mean, yeah, you can. Please.” Brendon’s lip quivered and he shuffled back on forth in his bright green shoes. “I want you to stay.”
Brendon might have whimpered, but the sound was eaten up by the ticking of the clock. “Are you sure?”
Spencer stared at him. He kind of wanted to hug him, but without the risk of crushing him to death, which totally wasn’t fair anyway. Instead, he held out his hand for Brendon to scramble onto, and then curled his index finger upward so Brendon could cling in their closest approximation of cuddles (it was Brendon that called it cuddles, once when he’d done it during P.S. I Love You. Spencer hadn’t disagreed, although he had wanted to point out that cuddles usually included reciprocation).
“Spencer Smith,” Brendon said with his face pressed against the pad of Spencer’s finger. “I think I love you.”
And yeah, Spencer kind of loved Brendon back didn’t he? He was letting Brendon move into his bedroom. He was letting him sleep on his pillo-. Oh wait. “Brendon,” Spencer said and waited for Brendon to lift his face from where it was nestled into Spencer’s finger. “You sleep on my pillow? And you’ve never told me?”
Brendon nodded and grinned, and fell into a seating position with his legs on either side of Spencer’s fingers so that he was wrapped completely around it. “Yes,” he said, happily.
Spencer’s heart stuttered. “Brendon,” he breathed. “I could have rolled over.” Brendon didn’t move. “Brendon. I could have crushed you.”
Brendon just sighed into Spencer’s skin. “I trust you,” he said softly.
Author: justthismorning
Rating: G
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Word Count: 680
Summary: Third in the Tiny Dancer series. Spencer comes home to find Brendon moving into his bedroom
First | Second
Spencer came home from work to find Brendon in his bedroom, shifting the things around on Spencer’s bedside table.
“Help?” Brendon said as he leaned his entire body against the alarm clock and only moved it an eighth of an inch. Brendon had a pile of tiny things spread around the base of the lamp - including the penlight that Spencer thought he had lost over a month ago.
“What are you doing?”
Brendon gave another mighty shove and this time failed to make any difference at all. Spencer nudged the clock to the left with his thumb.
“I’m moving in,” Brendon panted, from this doubled over position with his hands on his knees and his head hanging low in exhaustion. “I sleep on your pillow every night anyway.”
Spencer blinked. “You…you what?”
Brendon looked up through his bangs. He was wearing a thin white t-shirt. His pink hoodie was tossed to the side where he’d apparently abandoned it when the work became too strenuous for him. “I sleep here?”
And ok, that’s what Brendon had said the first time. He studied the little cluster of things Brendon had piled on the table. They did kind of look like an improvised bedroom set, complete with a half-sized wooden match box painted with colourful swirls and flowers and a little plastic Barbie mirror that may or may not have snuck into Spencer’s stuff when he’d moved out of his parents’ house.
Brendon shuffled his feet. “Uh, you don’t mind, do you?”
“Um,” was all Spencer could say. His brain was still kind of stuck on the idea that Brendon maybe slept right beside him, and that if he wasn’t, you know, doll-sized, it’d be kind of hot. As it was, well, Spencer was maybe feeling a little flustered.
“Oh,” Brendon said and his face fell. “I can go back to my place, I guess.” He seemed to shrink a little as he gathered up his hoodie with trembling hands and tugged his arms through the sleeves. Brendon was gathering Spencer’s stolen penlight awkwardly in his arms when it dawned on Spencer that Brendon thought he was being kicked out, that Spencer wanted him to go back to the little nest in the wall that Brendon had told him about one night over cookies (or cookie crumbs) and milk.
“No!”
Brendon stopped and when he looked up with rounded, nervous eyes, Spencer caught sight of what might be the beginning of tears.
“I mean,” Spencer said. “I mean. You can, you can stay? I mean, yeah, you can. Please.” Brendon’s lip quivered and he shuffled back on forth in his bright green shoes. “I want you to stay.”
Brendon might have whimpered, but the sound was eaten up by the ticking of the clock. “Are you sure?”
Spencer stared at him. He kind of wanted to hug him, but without the risk of crushing him to death, which totally wasn’t fair anyway. Instead, he held out his hand for Brendon to scramble onto, and then curled his index finger upward so Brendon could cling in their closest approximation of cuddles (it was Brendon that called it cuddles, once when he’d done it during P.S. I Love You. Spencer hadn’t disagreed, although he had wanted to point out that cuddles usually included reciprocation).
“Spencer Smith,” Brendon said with his face pressed against the pad of Spencer’s finger. “I think I love you.”
And yeah, Spencer kind of loved Brendon back didn’t he? He was letting Brendon move into his bedroom. He was letting him sleep on his pillo-. Oh wait. “Brendon,” Spencer said and waited for Brendon to lift his face from where it was nestled into Spencer’s finger. “You sleep on my pillow? And you’ve never told me?”
Brendon nodded and grinned, and fell into a seating position with his legs on either side of Spencer’s fingers so that he was wrapped completely around it. “Yes,” he said, happily.
Spencer’s heart stuttered. “Brendon,” he breathed. “I could have rolled over.” Brendon didn’t move. “Brendon. I could have crushed you.”
Brendon just sighed into Spencer’s skin. “I trust you,” he said softly.