Happy Halloween (Brendon/Spencer)
TWO kink-bingo entries today! Who knew writer's block could be so productive?
Happy Halloween Bandom | Brendon/Spencer | NC-17 | one-shot | 3090 words
Brendon likes to play dress up. Spencer likes to watch. (crossdressing-lingerie, crossdressing-outfits, manhandling)
For kink-bingo 2009
Happy Halloween
It's almost Halloween.
Brendon's always been a big holiday junkie, but there's something about Halloween in particular that makes him giddy for weeks in advance. Especially since all his brothers and sisters started to have children all over the place and Brendon realised that nephews and nieces were totally valid reasons to be able to go out and trick and treat as a grown up.
Not to mention that there are games to play, more delicious food than even Brendon can eat, piles of candy, pumpkin lanterns that look like E.T. and great costumes.
Brendon kind of loves costumes. In several ways. Maybe even in slightly creepy ways according to some people's definitions, but whatever. There are people out on the Internet who claim to think pretending to be someone's furniture is hot. Wanting to play a little dress-up for your hot-as-burning drummer boyfriend is totally okay. Especially if you have more than half a clue that said boyfriend is likely to really appreciate the gesture.
Brendon has a plan.
***
He dresses up in his old vampire outfit to take his nephews and nieces out to trick and treat, since he doesn't want his family to flip their shit (again) and decide that Brendon is a bad influence with his unorthodox ways. (Brendon still hasn't officially told them about him and Spencer. He's pretty sure everybody knows, because after twenty-two years, Brendon still hasn't got any better at being subtle where his feelings are concerned. But no one's asked about it, so Brendon figures he can put off the telling for a while longer as well.)
He and Spencer are heading back to LA after their separate family dinners, planning to join up with a bunch of people at Pete and Ashlee's house. The flight from Mc Carran to LAX takes approximately forever, and when they get back to their house to drop off their bags and get changed, it's already pretty late.
This is luckily not a problem where parties at Casa Wentz are concerned, however, so Brendon heads upstairs, into his and Spencer's bedroom and digs a bag out of the back of his closet. He takes it into the bathroom, locks the door. From downstairs, he can hear Spencer moving around, probably looking for the Viking helmet Brendon was using to take Halloween pictures of the dogs with before they left for Vegas.
Brendon takes a deep breath and puts the bag on top of the toilet, trying not to think too much about what's inside as he gets into the shower. He soaps up his legs, then his armpits, reaching for the razor he already smuggled in and hid behind the forty thousand bottles of shampoo, and shower gels, and conditioner, and baby oil, and whatever else Spencer likes to use to make his hair and skin a fucking dream to touch.
He bends over, drags the razor carefully over his right ankle. Foam and hair come off, leaving smooth skin underneath. Brendon touches it experimentally, just stroking his fingers up and down, and feels his cock give a happy little twitch in anticipation. He moves the razor again, faster and with more confidence as more hair comes off and he doesn't accidentally cut off his own legs. The calves are tricky, but Brendon is eager and bendy, so it works out all right. He moves higher, over the knees and up his thighs, hesitates a bit at the very top of his legs before deciding that if he's going to do this, he might as well do it right, no matter how freakishly scary it is to actually put a sharp knife-like thing in the immediate vicinity to his most sensitive areas.
He manages to do a respectable bikini shave without cutting himself and breathes out a sigh of relief. The armpits and the tiny bit of hair on his chest goes easier, and soon Brendon is smooth and silky, just like the pink bottle of shaving foam promised him he would be.
He puts down the razor, hurries up to wash his hair and gets out of the shower, drying himself off without looking too much in the mirror. Outside, in their bedroom, Spencer has turned on the TV; Brendon can hear re-runs of Family Guy filter in through the bathroom door.
Time to get ready.
There are two bags in the bigger one. Brendon takes out the smaller of the two and turns it upside down on the counter. Purple lace falls out, thin and sheer and practically weightless. Brendon closes his eyes, runs the material between his fingers. It's fucking perfect.
He starts with the underwear, stepping into them unsteadily and pulling them up with hands that have started to shake a little. They're a girlier version of the boxers he likes to wear, hanging low on his hips but cut higher both in the back and on the sides. Brendon turns around, checks out his ass in the mirror. The lace covers about half of his cheeks, emphasising the curve and hugging his hips. Brendon carefully adjusts himself in the front, pressing his half-hard cock up to rest against his lower stomach without getting caught in the elastic of the waistband. There's more work to do.
He picks up the second item: a matching camisole in some kind of silk blend with the same type of lace as on the panties down the front and along the bottom hem. It stretches a little as Brendon pulls it on, re-adjusting itself to follow the smallest curve. There's some kind of stitching on one side, pulling at the material to emphasise the waist. Brendon stares at himself in the mirror. It's even better than he remembered.
He gets the garter belt on and pulls the stockings from their box. He rolls them on carefully, the way he's seen their dancers do on tour, praying that he won't rip the thin fabric with a nail or something. Getting the clasps to actually hold onto the stockings is harder, and it takes him at least ten minutes of bending himself into awkward angles before it finally works. By then, Spencer has called for him to hurry the fuck up three times. Brendon gives himself another once-over in the mirror and kind of doesn't care.
He takes out the second bag, carefully picking up the garment inside and smoothing it out with his fingers. It's a short white dress, low-cut in a v down the front, with a starched collar and short, puffed sleeves. It opens with little white buttons down the front, all the way from cleavage to the hem of the skirt, and Brendon slips it on with little difficulty, does up the buttons with trembling hands.
It fits like a glove. As it should, seeing as Brendon had it custom made for his exact measurements. He fastens the last button, puts on the little hat that came with the dress and steps into a pair of medium-heeled pumps.
Putting on make-up goes quickly, just a little bit of eyeliner and some gloss on the lips, same as he usually wears when he and Spencer go out. Costume aside, Brendon doesn't want to look too much like a girl. There's a difference between crossdressing and drag in his head, one being about underlining gender through contrast, the other about creating the illusion of a switch. Brendon and Spencer are both fans of the first version.
“Come on, Bren, Jesus!” Spencer calls from the other side of the wall. “It's one-thirty. The party will seriously be over before we get there at this rate.”
Brendon takes a last look in the mirror, meets his own, slightly nervous smile.
Showtime.
***
“You ready to go?”
Spencer looks up from where he's lying on the bed, and his entire face slackens in shock. Brendon puts a hand on his hip, leans on it a little, emphasising the curve. Spencer visibly swallows.
Brendon walks slowly through the room, careful not to stumble in his heels, letting his hips roll with the movements they way Amanda taught him back on tour, a lifetime ago. He reaches the door, opens it, looks back at Spencer who is still frozen on the bed, dressed half-heartedly in a quickly put-together Viking costume.
“You coming?”
He makes it about half-way down the hallway before Spencer catches up with him, pressing Brendon roughly into a wall and kissing him like they've been away from each other for weeks. Brendon moans into his mouth, grabbing one of Spencer's hands and putting it against the inside of his thigh, guiding Spencer's fingers up until he reaches lace.
“Fuck, Bren, are you trying to kill me?” Spencer whispers, hitching up the short skirt of Brendon's outfit with both hands, feeling his way across the garter belt and down to the edge of the stockings.
Brendon breaks the kiss, pushes Spencer's hands away and smooths down the skirt. “That would make me a pretty bad nurse, don't you think?” he says, grinning. “So, party?”
“Not a fucking chance,” Spencer says, pushing Brendon back against the wall and capturing his lips in another bruising kiss. “Bedroom. Right the fuck now.”
Brendon lets himself be distracted for a while, because, Jesus, Spencer is hot as hell when he gets like this-worked up past the point of caring how they get into each other's pants as long as it happens within the next couple of seconds. Spencer puts both hands on Brendon's waist, lifting him up so that Brendon will be able to wrap his legs around him and let Spencer fuck him through the wall.
Brendon wiggles free, regains his footing and breaks the kiss, pushing Spencer off.
“I have a better idea.”
“Yeah?” Spencer asks, grabbing Brendon's wrist this time, capturing them behind his back as he uses his other hand to tilt Brendon's head to the side, giving himself better access to drag his teeth down the side of his neck. “What's that?”
“First,” Brendon says, groaning low in his throat as Spencer starts sucking at the sensitive spot right below his ear, “we're going to Pete and Ashlee's party.” He pulls his hands free and uses the momentum of Spencer losing balance for half a second to inverse their positions and push Spencer's back against the wall. He leans in, kissing Spencer deep and dirty, letting one hand drop to Spencer's crotch.
Spencer groans, pressing his hips forward, into the touch. Brendon strokes him a few times through the loose pants, moves his mouth to play with Spencer's ear.
“Then I want you to watch me.”
He pulls away, gives Spencer's cock a last squeeze and escapes down the stairs. He puts on a jacket, doesn't zip it up, picks up his keys and walks out to Spencer's car, getting into the passenger seat.
Spencer shows up a couple of minutes later, sliding into the driver's seat like nothing is out of the ordinary, giving Brendon a pleasant smile.
Brendon crosses his legs, causing the skirt to ride up a little and one purple garter to come into view.
Spencer turns the key and speeds out of the driveway.
***
“Dance with me.”
Brendon is having the time of his life. Not only has Spencer not been able to take his eyes off him for more than a second since they arrived, but everyone else is watching them as well. Brendon thrives on the attention, makes sure to play it up. Right now, that means sliding his arms around Spencer's waist from behind and pressing him steadily into the kitchen counter, letting Spencer feel every inch of Brendon's erection as he drags it against Spencer's ass.
Spencer lets out a shaky breath and nods. Brendon takes his hand, leads him to the dance floor. There's a bluesy kind of song playing, slow and dirty, perfect for Brendon to grind up against Spencer to.
He does, loving the way the heels make him a few inches taller, allowing them to line up just right. Spencer's hands splay possessively across Brendon's lower back, pressing him closer. Brendon rolls his hips.
“My feet hurt.”
He whispers the words into Spencer's neck, rolls his hips again. Spencer's gives a low moan, tightening his grip.
“I think you should take me home,” Brendon continues, underlining each words with a slow grind. “Right the fuck now.” He smiles against the skin of Spencer's neck, presses a kiss right below his jawline. “Pretty please?”
Spencer practically carries him off the floor.
***
Any kind of control Spencer's displayed since Brendon stepped out of the bathroom dressed in a nurse's uniform vanishes the second they get through the front door. They stumble through the living room, kissing desperately, shedding piece after piece of Spencer's clothing until he's pressing Brendon back against the railing of the stairs, six feet of pale, naked skin sliding against the smooth cotton of Brendon's outfit.
Spencer reaches down, grabs one of Brendon's thighs, pushing his legs apart. He thrusts forward slowly, blunt head of his cock sliding easily against purple lace, pulling ragged breaths from Spencer's throat and making Brendon wish he could simultaneously get Spencer to fuck him into next week and somehow make the stage they're at now go on forever.
Fucking wins. It's barely even a contest.
They manage to make their way up the stairs, crashing into each other repeatedly during the short journey down the hallway. Brendon moans when Spencer grabs hold of his thigh again and just lifts him up, carrying him the last few feet into their bedroom and throwing him down on the bed.
Brendon looks up, painfully aware of the way his cock is denting the front of his uniform. He moves his hips back and forth, feels the sensitive skin rub against the lace of the panties.
Holy shit.
“How do you want it?” Spencer says, pulling the sheets down and getting to his knees in the middle of the bed. “Anything special? Because, fuck, I just want to move you around and have you everywhere right now.
Brendon nods, getting to his knees as well, kissing Spencer, deep and fast. Spencer moves his hands to the row of buttons down Brendon's front, popping them slowly with unsteady hands.
“Hard and rough,” Brendon murmurs in his ear as Spencer slides the dress off Brendon's shoulders and throws it to the floor. “I want to really feel it.”
Spencer obeys without a word, pushing Brendon down into the mattress and spreading his legs, pulling one up to rest against his shoulder and bending Brendon nearly in half. Brendon moans as Spencer kisses his way roughly down his leg, reaching the first clasp of the garter belt and gets it open with his teeth. He drags his mouth over to the other side, beard adding to the friction of the lace in a way that makes Brendon's vision black out a little. Spencer moves his hands around to grab Brendon's ass, digging his fingers in right beneath the edge of the panties.
Brendon arcs up. Spencer's mouth meets him, tongue coming out to press wetly against where Brendon's cock is straining against the thin fabric. The other two clasps snap, loud in the middle of panted breaths, and Spencer pulls away, sliding the stockings off and biting lightly into the side of Brendon's calf.
Brendon is so hard he's afraid to move. Every drag of the lace against his dick is pushing him closer to the edge, taunting him. Spencer bites his way back down the inside of his thighs, hands holding his legs wide apart, spreading Brendon open, and Brendon fists his hands in the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to as Spencer gives his cock another slow lick through the lace, pulling a ragged moan from Brendon's throat.
“Get on top.”
Brendon's arms and legs aren't really functioning anymore, but it hardly matters since Spencer grabs one of his legs and just flips him over, manhandling Brendon on top of him in a way that is really too hot to handle in the wrecked state Brendon is in, Jesus fucking Christ.
Spencer reaches into the bedside drawer, gets a bottle of lube out and slicks up a couple of fingers. Brendon lifts his hips, waiting for Spencer to lean over and push the panties down his legs.
Spencer doesn't.
God.
The fingers dance along the edge of the lace before dipping inside, getting the material wet with lube and making it cling to the curve of Brendon's ass. Spencer uses one hand to push the material aside a bit while the other one works Brendon open, and Brendon does his best to concentrate on breathing, hips beginning to subconsciously ride Spencer's fingers as he tries to hold himself back.
Spencer stretches him for another couple of minutes-right to the point where Brendon is sure he's actually going to go insane-and then slicks up quickly, pushing inside in one, deep stroke.
Brendon fucking keens.
Spencer doesn't give him any time to recover, putting his hands on Brendon's hips and setting a fast, hard rhythm that Brendon does his best to pick up. Spencer's hands slide higher, in beneath the thin fabric of the camisole, feeling out the skin underneath as his thrusts become harder, more erratic.
Thank fucking God.
He doesn't even need to touch himself, just lean forward a bit, just enough so that the front of the panties tightens around his dick and the lace moves back a little. He comes with a shout, feeling wetness spread over his cock, seeping through the fabric where Spencer's hand comes up to stroke him through it.
Spencer comes inside him seconds later, pushing deep one last time and stilling with a groan, wrapping both arms around Brendon's back to keep them locked tightly together. Brendon collapses against Spencer's chest, squirming back and forth until Spencer reaches down and pulls the camisole over his head. The panties go next, pulled down Brendon's shaky legs and thrown in the same direction as the other clothes before Spencer pulls Brendon close again, kissing him deeply.
They drift off in a mess of sleepy kisses and tangled limbs, smiling into each other's mouths as their bodies start to melt together.
Happy fucking Halloween.
THE END
Other stories here.
Happy Halloween Bandom | Brendon/Spencer | NC-17 | one-shot | 3090 words
Brendon likes to play dress up. Spencer likes to watch. (crossdressing-lingerie, crossdressing-outfits, manhandling)
For kink-bingo 2009
Happy Halloween
It's almost Halloween.
Brendon's always been a big holiday junkie, but there's something about Halloween in particular that makes him giddy for weeks in advance. Especially since all his brothers and sisters started to have children all over the place and Brendon realised that nephews and nieces were totally valid reasons to be able to go out and trick and treat as a grown up.
Not to mention that there are games to play, more delicious food than even Brendon can eat, piles of candy, pumpkin lanterns that look like E.T. and great costumes.
Brendon kind of loves costumes. In several ways. Maybe even in slightly creepy ways according to some people's definitions, but whatever. There are people out on the Internet who claim to think pretending to be someone's furniture is hot. Wanting to play a little dress-up for your hot-as-burning drummer boyfriend is totally okay. Especially if you have more than half a clue that said boyfriend is likely to really appreciate the gesture.
Brendon has a plan.
***
He dresses up in his old vampire outfit to take his nephews and nieces out to trick and treat, since he doesn't want his family to flip their shit (again) and decide that Brendon is a bad influence with his unorthodox ways. (Brendon still hasn't officially told them about him and Spencer. He's pretty sure everybody knows, because after twenty-two years, Brendon still hasn't got any better at being subtle where his feelings are concerned. But no one's asked about it, so Brendon figures he can put off the telling for a while longer as well.)
He and Spencer are heading back to LA after their separate family dinners, planning to join up with a bunch of people at Pete and Ashlee's house. The flight from Mc Carran to LAX takes approximately forever, and when they get back to their house to drop off their bags and get changed, it's already pretty late.
This is luckily not a problem where parties at Casa Wentz are concerned, however, so Brendon heads upstairs, into his and Spencer's bedroom and digs a bag out of the back of his closet. He takes it into the bathroom, locks the door. From downstairs, he can hear Spencer moving around, probably looking for the Viking helmet Brendon was using to take Halloween pictures of the dogs with before they left for Vegas.
Brendon takes a deep breath and puts the bag on top of the toilet, trying not to think too much about what's inside as he gets into the shower. He soaps up his legs, then his armpits, reaching for the razor he already smuggled in and hid behind the forty thousand bottles of shampoo, and shower gels, and conditioner, and baby oil, and whatever else Spencer likes to use to make his hair and skin a fucking dream to touch.
He bends over, drags the razor carefully over his right ankle. Foam and hair come off, leaving smooth skin underneath. Brendon touches it experimentally, just stroking his fingers up and down, and feels his cock give a happy little twitch in anticipation. He moves the razor again, faster and with more confidence as more hair comes off and he doesn't accidentally cut off his own legs. The calves are tricky, but Brendon is eager and bendy, so it works out all right. He moves higher, over the knees and up his thighs, hesitates a bit at the very top of his legs before deciding that if he's going to do this, he might as well do it right, no matter how freakishly scary it is to actually put a sharp knife-like thing in the immediate vicinity to his most sensitive areas.
He manages to do a respectable bikini shave without cutting himself and breathes out a sigh of relief. The armpits and the tiny bit of hair on his chest goes easier, and soon Brendon is smooth and silky, just like the pink bottle of shaving foam promised him he would be.
He puts down the razor, hurries up to wash his hair and gets out of the shower, drying himself off without looking too much in the mirror. Outside, in their bedroom, Spencer has turned on the TV; Brendon can hear re-runs of Family Guy filter in through the bathroom door.
Time to get ready.
There are two bags in the bigger one. Brendon takes out the smaller of the two and turns it upside down on the counter. Purple lace falls out, thin and sheer and practically weightless. Brendon closes his eyes, runs the material between his fingers. It's fucking perfect.
He starts with the underwear, stepping into them unsteadily and pulling them up with hands that have started to shake a little. They're a girlier version of the boxers he likes to wear, hanging low on his hips but cut higher both in the back and on the sides. Brendon turns around, checks out his ass in the mirror. The lace covers about half of his cheeks, emphasising the curve and hugging his hips. Brendon carefully adjusts himself in the front, pressing his half-hard cock up to rest against his lower stomach without getting caught in the elastic of the waistband. There's more work to do.
He picks up the second item: a matching camisole in some kind of silk blend with the same type of lace as on the panties down the front and along the bottom hem. It stretches a little as Brendon pulls it on, re-adjusting itself to follow the smallest curve. There's some kind of stitching on one side, pulling at the material to emphasise the waist. Brendon stares at himself in the mirror. It's even better than he remembered.
He gets the garter belt on and pulls the stockings from their box. He rolls them on carefully, the way he's seen their dancers do on tour, praying that he won't rip the thin fabric with a nail or something. Getting the clasps to actually hold onto the stockings is harder, and it takes him at least ten minutes of bending himself into awkward angles before it finally works. By then, Spencer has called for him to hurry the fuck up three times. Brendon gives himself another once-over in the mirror and kind of doesn't care.
He takes out the second bag, carefully picking up the garment inside and smoothing it out with his fingers. It's a short white dress, low-cut in a v down the front, with a starched collar and short, puffed sleeves. It opens with little white buttons down the front, all the way from cleavage to the hem of the skirt, and Brendon slips it on with little difficulty, does up the buttons with trembling hands.
It fits like a glove. As it should, seeing as Brendon had it custom made for his exact measurements. He fastens the last button, puts on the little hat that came with the dress and steps into a pair of medium-heeled pumps.
Putting on make-up goes quickly, just a little bit of eyeliner and some gloss on the lips, same as he usually wears when he and Spencer go out. Costume aside, Brendon doesn't want to look too much like a girl. There's a difference between crossdressing and drag in his head, one being about underlining gender through contrast, the other about creating the illusion of a switch. Brendon and Spencer are both fans of the first version.
“Come on, Bren, Jesus!” Spencer calls from the other side of the wall. “It's one-thirty. The party will seriously be over before we get there at this rate.”
Brendon takes a last look in the mirror, meets his own, slightly nervous smile.
Showtime.
***
“You ready to go?”
Spencer looks up from where he's lying on the bed, and his entire face slackens in shock. Brendon puts a hand on his hip, leans on it a little, emphasising the curve. Spencer visibly swallows.
Brendon walks slowly through the room, careful not to stumble in his heels, letting his hips roll with the movements they way Amanda taught him back on tour, a lifetime ago. He reaches the door, opens it, looks back at Spencer who is still frozen on the bed, dressed half-heartedly in a quickly put-together Viking costume.
“You coming?”
He makes it about half-way down the hallway before Spencer catches up with him, pressing Brendon roughly into a wall and kissing him like they've been away from each other for weeks. Brendon moans into his mouth, grabbing one of Spencer's hands and putting it against the inside of his thigh, guiding Spencer's fingers up until he reaches lace.
“Fuck, Bren, are you trying to kill me?” Spencer whispers, hitching up the short skirt of Brendon's outfit with both hands, feeling his way across the garter belt and down to the edge of the stockings.
Brendon breaks the kiss, pushes Spencer's hands away and smooths down the skirt. “That would make me a pretty bad nurse, don't you think?” he says, grinning. “So, party?”
“Not a fucking chance,” Spencer says, pushing Brendon back against the wall and capturing his lips in another bruising kiss. “Bedroom. Right the fuck now.”
Brendon lets himself be distracted for a while, because, Jesus, Spencer is hot as hell when he gets like this-worked up past the point of caring how they get into each other's pants as long as it happens within the next couple of seconds. Spencer puts both hands on Brendon's waist, lifting him up so that Brendon will be able to wrap his legs around him and let Spencer fuck him through the wall.
Brendon wiggles free, regains his footing and breaks the kiss, pushing Spencer off.
“I have a better idea.”
“Yeah?” Spencer asks, grabbing Brendon's wrist this time, capturing them behind his back as he uses his other hand to tilt Brendon's head to the side, giving himself better access to drag his teeth down the side of his neck. “What's that?”
“First,” Brendon says, groaning low in his throat as Spencer starts sucking at the sensitive spot right below his ear, “we're going to Pete and Ashlee's party.” He pulls his hands free and uses the momentum of Spencer losing balance for half a second to inverse their positions and push Spencer's back against the wall. He leans in, kissing Spencer deep and dirty, letting one hand drop to Spencer's crotch.
Spencer groans, pressing his hips forward, into the touch. Brendon strokes him a few times through the loose pants, moves his mouth to play with Spencer's ear.
“Then I want you to watch me.”
He pulls away, gives Spencer's cock a last squeeze and escapes down the stairs. He puts on a jacket, doesn't zip it up, picks up his keys and walks out to Spencer's car, getting into the passenger seat.
Spencer shows up a couple of minutes later, sliding into the driver's seat like nothing is out of the ordinary, giving Brendon a pleasant smile.
Brendon crosses his legs, causing the skirt to ride up a little and one purple garter to come into view.
Spencer turns the key and speeds out of the driveway.
***
“Dance with me.”
Brendon is having the time of his life. Not only has Spencer not been able to take his eyes off him for more than a second since they arrived, but everyone else is watching them as well. Brendon thrives on the attention, makes sure to play it up. Right now, that means sliding his arms around Spencer's waist from behind and pressing him steadily into the kitchen counter, letting Spencer feel every inch of Brendon's erection as he drags it against Spencer's ass.
Spencer lets out a shaky breath and nods. Brendon takes his hand, leads him to the dance floor. There's a bluesy kind of song playing, slow and dirty, perfect for Brendon to grind up against Spencer to.
He does, loving the way the heels make him a few inches taller, allowing them to line up just right. Spencer's hands splay possessively across Brendon's lower back, pressing him closer. Brendon rolls his hips.
“My feet hurt.”
He whispers the words into Spencer's neck, rolls his hips again. Spencer's gives a low moan, tightening his grip.
“I think you should take me home,” Brendon continues, underlining each words with a slow grind. “Right the fuck now.” He smiles against the skin of Spencer's neck, presses a kiss right below his jawline. “Pretty please?”
Spencer practically carries him off the floor.
***
Any kind of control Spencer's displayed since Brendon stepped out of the bathroom dressed in a nurse's uniform vanishes the second they get through the front door. They stumble through the living room, kissing desperately, shedding piece after piece of Spencer's clothing until he's pressing Brendon back against the railing of the stairs, six feet of pale, naked skin sliding against the smooth cotton of Brendon's outfit.
Spencer reaches down, grabs one of Brendon's thighs, pushing his legs apart. He thrusts forward slowly, blunt head of his cock sliding easily against purple lace, pulling ragged breaths from Spencer's throat and making Brendon wish he could simultaneously get Spencer to fuck him into next week and somehow make the stage they're at now go on forever.
Fucking wins. It's barely even a contest.
They manage to make their way up the stairs, crashing into each other repeatedly during the short journey down the hallway. Brendon moans when Spencer grabs hold of his thigh again and just lifts him up, carrying him the last few feet into their bedroom and throwing him down on the bed.
Brendon looks up, painfully aware of the way his cock is denting the front of his uniform. He moves his hips back and forth, feels the sensitive skin rub against the lace of the panties.
Holy shit.
“How do you want it?” Spencer says, pulling the sheets down and getting to his knees in the middle of the bed. “Anything special? Because, fuck, I just want to move you around and have you everywhere right now.
Brendon nods, getting to his knees as well, kissing Spencer, deep and fast. Spencer moves his hands to the row of buttons down Brendon's front, popping them slowly with unsteady hands.
“Hard and rough,” Brendon murmurs in his ear as Spencer slides the dress off Brendon's shoulders and throws it to the floor. “I want to really feel it.”
Spencer obeys without a word, pushing Brendon down into the mattress and spreading his legs, pulling one up to rest against his shoulder and bending Brendon nearly in half. Brendon moans as Spencer kisses his way roughly down his leg, reaching the first clasp of the garter belt and gets it open with his teeth. He drags his mouth over to the other side, beard adding to the friction of the lace in a way that makes Brendon's vision black out a little. Spencer moves his hands around to grab Brendon's ass, digging his fingers in right beneath the edge of the panties.
Brendon arcs up. Spencer's mouth meets him, tongue coming out to press wetly against where Brendon's cock is straining against the thin fabric. The other two clasps snap, loud in the middle of panted breaths, and Spencer pulls away, sliding the stockings off and biting lightly into the side of Brendon's calf.
Brendon is so hard he's afraid to move. Every drag of the lace against his dick is pushing him closer to the edge, taunting him. Spencer bites his way back down the inside of his thighs, hands holding his legs wide apart, spreading Brendon open, and Brendon fists his hands in the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to as Spencer gives his cock another slow lick through the lace, pulling a ragged moan from Brendon's throat.
“Get on top.”
Brendon's arms and legs aren't really functioning anymore, but it hardly matters since Spencer grabs one of his legs and just flips him over, manhandling Brendon on top of him in a way that is really too hot to handle in the wrecked state Brendon is in, Jesus fucking Christ.
Spencer reaches into the bedside drawer, gets a bottle of lube out and slicks up a couple of fingers. Brendon lifts his hips, waiting for Spencer to lean over and push the panties down his legs.
Spencer doesn't.
God.
The fingers dance along the edge of the lace before dipping inside, getting the material wet with lube and making it cling to the curve of Brendon's ass. Spencer uses one hand to push the material aside a bit while the other one works Brendon open, and Brendon does his best to concentrate on breathing, hips beginning to subconsciously ride Spencer's fingers as he tries to hold himself back.
Spencer stretches him for another couple of minutes-right to the point where Brendon is sure he's actually going to go insane-and then slicks up quickly, pushing inside in one, deep stroke.
Brendon fucking keens.
Spencer doesn't give him any time to recover, putting his hands on Brendon's hips and setting a fast, hard rhythm that Brendon does his best to pick up. Spencer's hands slide higher, in beneath the thin fabric of the camisole, feeling out the skin underneath as his thrusts become harder, more erratic.
Thank fucking God.
He doesn't even need to touch himself, just lean forward a bit, just enough so that the front of the panties tightens around his dick and the lace moves back a little. He comes with a shout, feeling wetness spread over his cock, seeping through the fabric where Spencer's hand comes up to stroke him through it.
Spencer comes inside him seconds later, pushing deep one last time and stilling with a groan, wrapping both arms around Brendon's back to keep them locked tightly together. Brendon collapses against Spencer's chest, squirming back and forth until Spencer reaches down and pulls the camisole over his head. The panties go next, pulled down Brendon's shaky legs and thrown in the same direction as the other clothes before Spencer pulls Brendon close again, kissing him deeply.
They drift off in a mess of sleepy kisses and tangled limbs, smiling into each other's mouths as their bodies start to melt together.
Happy fucking Halloween.
THE END
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