WIP dump, part 1/? [bandom, mostly PatD and the Like, I think.]
...there's a dreadful part of my soul which has always longed to be able to say that. But seriously, I need to clear some stuff off my computer at least figuratively, so. :D? These are the at least semi-respectable remains of the first few month's files from my 2010 750words archive.
THESE ARE ALL PRETTY OLD. /disclaimer
(Boy was this ever an exercise in "lol, a journey through my id" and also interesting/helpful in terms of being able to identify some really obvious tics.)
[This was... some kind of fantasy AU with always-a-girl!Ryan and I honestly don't even remember where it was going.]
Things That Make You Go Boom
"Holy shit," Z says, eyes wide.
"...that may have worked a little too well," Ryan admits, the catherine wheels dancing over the river reflecting pinpricks of pink and green in the brown of her irises.
"Stupendous," Tennessee agrees, swinging her legs on the gate she's perched on. Which is easy enough for her to do; she wasn't actually involved in the liberation of said fireworks, and nor are her psychic footprints literally and metaphorically all over them.
"It was one case!" Ryan yelps, still watching, fascinated. "I didn't think it would go on this long!"
"It's awesome," Z says happily, slipping her hand into Ryan's, interlacing their fingers.
"We're so dead," Ryan moans, and then sees the telltale aura of the Watch getting closer to the river. If those fireworks don't quit soon, they're going to be able to investigate who triggered them before the fuses sink, and Ryan... Ryan's on file.
"C'mon," she says, with a trace of real desperation, one that gets through to Z, because she bounces to her feet instantly without a hint of the reluctance she'd been playing up earlier, "we need to get out of here."
* * *
[teenage Ryan/Spencer PWP]
Spencer is too fastidious to roll in the hay. Actually, Ryan can't really blame him - firstly, Spencer would roll his eyes at him for using the word fastidious "SAT words, Ryan," he'd say, and secondly, hay is kind of pokey. And itchy. Actually, it kind of sucks to sit on, and that's with clothes on. Ryan has a good imagination, he can extrapolate quite easily as to what that would be like to have some kind of naked fun time on, and the answer is "uncomfortable".
It's a little disheartening, actually - the roll in the hay thing had to have been a cliche for a reason, and yet Ryan has no real desire to ever actually try it out. Kind of like sex on the beach. Great cocktail, sounds great in theory, pretty attractive to watch (unless it's porn, and then it's- okay, it's porn, so it's sexy, but it also looks fake fake fake and also Ryan's pretty sure that if it's in porn, it's probably not a real beach.) But... not so comfortable. There are some places that Ryan just does not ever want sand, or hay, or any other thing found in nature.
He expresses this thought to Spencer, who just says "don't rubbers get made from a tree?" and that is not helpful. Spencer is a smart ass.
Spencer also has a pretty great ass, though, and Ryan is pretty fond of touching it, so he'll put up with the occasional shit-stirring occasionally, because the payoff is that he also gets into Spencer's pants.
Spencer's pants are a little too tight now - he's been filling out over the summer, growing and also adding muscle - and it makes peeling them off all the more fun. Ryan is a fan.
Spencer's thighs jerk slightly beneath Ryan's touch when he leans in for a kiss, thumbs rubbing along the crease between stomach and leg. His nails dig in just a little, slipping inexorably down towards the perineum, and Spencer stifles a gasp.
"Ryan," he whines, and Ryan busies himself by nipping at the side of Spencer's mouth.
"What?" he asks, and laughs as Spencer flinches. "What?" he asks again at his usual, carrying volume, and Spencer hisses "oh my god, Ryan."
"Your parents aren't home," Ryan says practically, "and there's no one else here. Why not make a bit of noise."
"Um," Spencer says, reddening slightly, "I. I know, it's just. I don't want to get into bad habits? Do you really want my mom busting in here because she hears something weird? Because I don't think I'd ever get it up again in my life if that happens."
"And you're embarrassed," Ryan adds.
Spencer doesn't argue.
"It's just sex," Ryan says, because he doesn't get how Spencer still doesn't get this. "You're meant to be, like, loud and embarrassing or look stupid. It means you're doing it right."
Considering that Spencer was the one who had given Brendon (and Ryan, though he flatters himself he didn't need it really) the talk about how Porn Is Not the Same As Sex, and That's a Bad Precedent, Okay?, it's a little silly that Spencer is overthinking this to the extent he clearly, clearly is, but at the same time, Ryan is pretty sure that Spencer is still holding this perfect, romantic, soft-focus love scene ideal somewhere in his head, and while Ryan doesn't exactly want to stomp that out of him - he likes Spencer the way he is - he also kind of just wants to get down and dirty and really filthy at some point. The kissing is nice but Ryan wants to stick his tongue in Spencer's ass and hinting about it is getting him precisely nowhere.
* * *
[Tortall AU. Jon was one of the Conte princes (but I'm pretty sure we made him the spare), Ryan was sort of in George's position as King of Thieves, always-a-girl!Brendon had run away from the countryside to be a famous musician in Corus (I think she also had Wild magic? idk, we basically picked and chose our Favourite Parts of Formative Childhood Literature.) Always-a-girl!Spencer was, of course, in Alanna's role.
Except it was totally going to end in a very anachronistic OT4, because that is how we roll. And Jon was going to have lots of angst about fancying Spencer even when he still thought she was a guy, and then tell himself that it was just because he somehow Knew, but then he realises he totally wants to bang Ryan as well, and Ryan is definitely a guy; they have gone through enough tavern privies together that Jon is quite sure of that, thank you very much, and so of course Jon reacts in a totally mature way by going out and boning a lot of ladies to make up for it.
He also winds up sleeping with Brendon -- making Ryan crazy with jealous on many levels -- especially since Ryan thinks he's just using her. And that Brendon's going to get a bad reputation. I wish I knew where the rest of this was, we wrote kind of a lot. Although not as much as we did of the Valdemar AU, which, WOW do you ever realise how much you imprinted on something when you can easily bang out MANY THOUSANDS OF WORDS of it without even breaking a sweat and they're all perfectly in tone with the original source. IF SOMEWHAT DISCONCERTING. Heh. /aside
And Brendon has a wild crush on Spencer, too -- again, firstly and (she thinks) appropriately when Spencer's still pretending to be male, and then still when Spencer's revealed to be female. And they totally get justifiably pissed at Ryan and Jon being jerks/overprotective and bond over that a lot. They also have drunken bad decision sex at some point fairly early on. WHY DID I LOSE THAT.
Ryan is pretty protective of Brendon, and everyone thinks they've been sleeping together for years, but they're actually the last two to admit to a mutual attraction, because Ryan's been mooning over Spencer forever - and is at least well enough settled in knowing his preferences to be for both men and women to also have a totally begrudging Thing for Jon.
The following snippet is set after Spencer tells Jon to go fuck himself and takes off for the desert, and Jon is a passive-aggressive jerk to everyone for weeks afterwards until he runs into Brendon in the palace and decides to just make a move. Basically this is just Jon and Brendon having all of the sex. With ALL of the overwrought prose. This is essentially badfic, except for how I'm pretty sure I caught all the typoes. :D?]
* * *
"I'm still not certain this is a good idea," Brendon says, breathless.
"I am reminded," Jon says, pressing a kiss to the curve of her collarbone, his mouth lingering, "of a saying about barn doors, and horses bolting."
"You and your City education," Brendon starts to scold mockingly, and then she inhales sharply.
"You were saying?" Jon asks, quite rhetorically, as his palm cups the thatch of hair between her legs, and his fingertips tease just inside her.
"I," Brendon says vaguely, her nails digging into Jon's biceps, shifting so that he can touch her more easily. "I was clearly not in my right mind, whatever I was saying."
"Mmm-hmm?" Jon says, crooking a finger inside her cunt, his thumb moving unerringly to roll over the sensitive spot above.
"Good idea," Brendon says, a little muzzy, and then as Jon's fingers move expertly over her clit, she adds, "the best idea, oh gods, what was I complaining about?"
"Definitely too late," Jon says, completely focused. His dick is throbbing between his legs, and he'd like nothing better than to roll over and sink inside Brendon, where she's warm and wet and oh, oh so willing; except it seems that what he'd actually like best is to keep touching Brendon, make her give little cries and feel her body shudder and jerk as he brings her pleasure, something that seems oddly more important than his own. He's been attracted to her for an awfully long time, has wanted to kiss and touch and hold her for years now, but he truly would not have expected this turn of events, not in the slightest.
She curves hotly against him as his touch triggers something strong, gasps low and sweet, and before he can even be properly smug about it, she's stretching out on the too-soft mattress, eyes open wide for the first time in quite a while, and looking at him with an expression he last saw on Spencer's cat after she'd gotten into cook's cream.
"Um?" Jon assays, suddenly unsure.
"I'd like something now," Brendon says, and Jon forbears to admit that he just gave her something, possibly even twice.
"I'd like," Brendon asks, and then stops, starts again. "Can I put my mouth on you?"
Jon stares at her, at Brendon's soft pink mouth, full and a little swollen from their kissing earlier. Thinks of the many, many fantasies and dreams he's had to quell with his pillow or a bucket of cold spring water over the years; thoughts of those lovely full lips attached most intimately to his body. Imagines how it would feel.
Jon can't say yes fast enough.
Brendon is good enough not to laugh at him, or at least not to his face, and she's merciful enough to have his trousers unlaced and draped over the corner of the bed in record time. Her hand is on him first, her fingers slightly rougher than most of the women he's known; inevitable result of her musical trade. Spencer's the only other woman he's done this with who he knew well enough to trust entirely, to communicate without words. And he hadn't meant to think of her now, of course, because he's gentleman enough to know how ill-mannered that is towards Brendon, and because even now, it makes him miss Spencer, still. Brendon's hands feel a little like Spencer's on him, though; a sensation that's as confusing as it is arousing.
Jon is very, very careful not to let himself think about how that similarity is probably less to do with the touch of hands that know manual labour, fingers with strength of arms behind them, and more to do with how the person those hands belong to has an unshakeable grip on his heart.
Not thinking about it becomes far, far easier as Brendon ducks forward to wrap her mouth around him. Her hair falls dark and silky over her eyes, the long strands brushing his stomach and thighs, and he feels his skin twitch, compulsively and enjoyably.
Brendon sits up a little more, her tongue curling around the crown of his dick as she pulls off, and laughs, bright and happy and open. "I do hope that ticklishness is a state secret, Jon, I'd hate for someone to use that against you in a duel."
"It's known to very few," he assures her, mock-serious, although there's truth enough in his words. Ryan, Spencer and Brendon are the only ones who know about the spot behind his knee which makes him yelp like an offended goose every time, or the way he has to steel himself before anyone touches his belly, lest he embarrass himself (and the Crown). Thankfully, Brendon bends back to her work almost immediately, and Jon is so well distracted by the overwhelming sweep of warmth and delight in her inexpert (and enthusiastic) ministrations as to not spend any further time analysing just what else exactly all three of them have in common.
He has a sneaking suspicion that, somewhere, the Mother is laughing at him.
Then again, he and Brendon are at least worshipping her properly, although it doesn't do Brendon due honour for him to be thinking philosophically rather than enjoying their time together, and Jon decidedly and joyfully turns his attention wholly to the pleasures of the flesh.
Brendon brings him to completion with her mouth and only giggles a little bit - not that Jon would ever, ever be so crass as to compare experiences with Ryan, but he does rather feel that this is probably a normal reaction - and Jon takes advantage of the lull to lay her back onto her bed, bare as she was born, smiling up at him. A careful wave of his hand sends the candles on the table and windowsill flaring into life, dancing with a flame a little too big and with the faintest tinge of blue. Jon is entranced for a moment at the way the flames reflect and multiply in her eyes, gold and brown and shimmering orange-red.
Brendon looks shy, then, for the first time, as the moment stretches out and Jon does nothing more than admire her, lets his eyes travel from tip to toes.
"Don't you have better things to do?" she asks.
"I want to look at you," he says honestly, and it's this, rather than anything else they've said or done this evening which makes her blush.
"You-" she starts, and then, "you have your pick of ladies up at the castle, I'm just- ordinary, Jon, there's-"
"Hush," he says, drawing his fingers across her lips quellingly, and then continuing the sweep across her jaw, and then down her neck, lingering with renewed delight over the lovely expanse of her collar, the sweeping planes and swell of her breasts. "Ordinary is the one thing you are not, Brendon haUrie, now be still a moment so I can appreciate you."
She recovers her pertness far faster than almost anyone Jon has ever met, ("Spencer," the traitorous back of his brain mourns, but desists under the pressure of his aesthetic travails) and ducks her head becomingly, looking up at him through her lashes. "Now, then, isn't that just what you were doing a few minutes ago when your hands were right where the Lady gave us our secrets?"
Jon lets his hands drift down in an echo, an illustration, but doesn't deign to give that question an answer.
"You're always so beautiful in your dresses," he muses, nails tracing the outline of a phantom bodice, thumb and forefinger spanning her waist before smoothing down over her hips. "It's a fair treat to see what you look like out of them, too. That lovely skin, all glowing and fresh."
His hands return, somewhat inevitably, to her breasts, cupping them and measuring the weight, the fullness in his hands. Brendon is his friend as well as his love, was a mind he respected long before he recognised the desire to be her lover in truth as well as fantasy, and Jon is terribly afraid that now he's started to touch, he is not going to stop. And he's possibly just a little enraptured.
He runs a finger thoughtfully over one pink-brown nipple, enjoying how it furls tight at his touch, the tip hardening and going erect. He leans in to suck lightly, flattening his tongue against her, teasing pressure to try and encourage her to soften. She moans brokenly as his lips drag at her skin, harder when his tongue flicks at the very tip of her nipple, and her back arches all the more when he pulls away, catching her skin in his mouth and tugging.
"Jon," she gasps, and one hand is twisting restlessly in the bedclothes, the other rubbing over her stomach as if she's uncertain, needs something.
Jon grins charmingly at her and shifts - careful not to crush her with his weight, but leaning over her all the same, their hips aligned and legs tangled.
"Hello," he says, and then ducks his head again to take the other breast in his mouth, subjecting it to the same treatment. His hands move slowly, mapping out the soft borders of her, distracting and soothing all at the same time.
He occupies himself most pleasantly like that for at least a half candle; possibly a little less, because the flame of his ardour is stoked sufficiently high that while he's not going to lose control of his Gift, he's equally none too certain that he didn't give the candles a little more power than required. But his eyes are feasting on Brendon equally if not more than his hands and mouth; he's watched her for years and filling in the unknown stretches of skin, the subtle curve of bone and shadow, the jut of hard-wom muscle and soft downy hair... it's quite, quite addictive.
It takes less time than he expects before he's stirring, wants more, again.
His left hand drifts carefully down over her belly, splays over her pelvis and pushes through the tangle of hair, fingers trailing through her folds and mysteries. "Brendon," he says softly, "may we-? I'd like to try more. But only if you desire it." He thinks he's done a good job in keeping just how badly he wants this out of his voice. If she says no he will of course accept that, and ungrudgingly so, but he's delighted when Brendon simply laughs, a warm delighted sound that invites him into her confidences.
"Oh, yes," Brendon says, and shifts, her thighs parting wider to accomodate him, her hands moving on his back and sides just as restlessly as his had been on her.
"I want you, Jon," she says, and when Jon raises up to kiss her again he can see her eyes are huge and dark, and focused entirely on him.
"Do you have a charm?" he asks, because he loves Brendon but he doesn't want to sire some poor bastard upon her, a diservice to both her and the child.
She twists her fingers in the fine silver chain around her wrist, raises it up so that it's in front of him. "I am well prepared, sir," she says, and there's only a healthy serving of sarcasm in that comment, rather than a heaping; that difference probably due in part to the fact his left hand is yet occupied with teasing her breast, rolling the peak of her nipple between thumb and forefinger until it's pink and hard and must be throbbing.
"Wonderful," Jon breathes, and reaches, makes the mental adjustment to call his Sight and watches as the charm blazes reassuringly before his eyes. It's an especially strong one; silver traced with green and purple both, and the faintest hint of what might be bronze. If he's not mistaken, it's Spencer's work in part, he'd recognise her magic anywhere. The other is painfully familiar, but he can't quite identify it, and is distracted quite rapidly and successfully when Brendon abruptly loses all patience with him and reaches down to guide him into her. They move in an easy rhythm, kissing soft and gasping intermittently, and Jon almost doesn't notice when he comes at least, so swept up he is in the shift of her body, the play of light and shadow in her eyes, the way she holds him close.
He knows he should not, knows that it will doubtless get back to Ryan, and possibly even his own father, but even after this time which he knows can only be explained by this, he falls asleep curled into the down-filled quilt, wrapped around Brendon and wearing a smile on his face that no one has seen in quite some months.
* * *
[Does what it says on the tin, except for how I don't know that I ever wrote the other four.]
Five Times Bob and Spencer Got Arrested (But Weren't Charged):
1. Bob has rules.
Spencer thinks rules are made to be broken.
Okay, Spencer claims to think that, usually when he's showing off, but mostly Spencer is also down with rules. Except for the dumb ones where like how he's not allowed to sleep over at Bob's without permission, or how he has to go to school all the time, even when he's totally finished his homework and knows everything he needs to know, and, jeez, he's a Slayer, okay, it's not like he's going to be going to college, right?
Bob gets this squinty-unhappy expression around the eyes every time Spencer says something like that, so Spencer doesn't say it very often, unless he actively wants to dig at Bob.
But the thing is, Bob has rules. Bob has rules about what's allowed in his car, and when. (Jon is not, when it's that time of the month. 99% of demons, even the friendly ones, are not, either. That's more for reasons that Bob calls ectoplasm and Spencer calls "ooze", though.) Bob has rules about when Spencer has to check in, and how often, and where he's not allowed to patrol, unless it's a life or death situation.
To be fair, when Spencer chased the demon into Caesar's and dusted him in a corner (Quietly! ...sort of. Mostly without attracting attention! And... probably not on security cameras? Shit.), it was definitely a life or death situation. Not Spencer's, exactly - the vamp hadn't even seen him until it was almost too late - but there were a lot of innocent people around, and Spencer wasn't exactly going to sit back and watch.
Unfortuately, when Spencer had thrown the vamp up against a wall to dust him, what he'd actually hit was not so much wall, and more 'slot machine'. And because the someone up there really had it in for Slayers or merely had an extremely odious sense of humour, the damned thing had chosen to take that opportunity to call up a mega-jackpot.
Bells had been ringing, lights had been flashing, Spencer had just stood there breathing hard and somewhat dumbfounded (and, he had to admit to Ryan later, a little tempted - that was a lot of money.) Bob had turned up a few seconds later, wheezing audibly - he was fit, but he'd been chasing Spencer and the vamp for like five blocks, and he was only human - and just in time to wrap his hand around Spencer's wrist and hiss "come on, we have to-"
Which was when casino security turned up.
Conveniently, Spencer and Bob both had ID on them.
Inconveniently, Nevada gambling law still required no one under the age of 20 to be gambling on a casino floor.
Since the casino rent-a-cop wasn't exactly going to be taking "I was chasing down this vampire who was about to take a chunk out of one of your high-rollers" as an excuse, the whole affair turned totally ridiculous pretty fast.
"This is all your fault," Spencer said mournfully, because he was so grounded, again, although he was pretty sure that Bob was going to be able to get him out without necessarily involving his parents. Bob had connections, right?
Unfortunately, Bob's connections definitely didn't extend to the beat cops, and said cops also decided to take Spencer's 'confession' as reasonable cause to arrest Bob as an accessory.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Bob said, but held out his wrists anyway, resigned.
"Oh my god you have so done this before," Spencer breathed, eyes wide.
Bob just glared.
"We are so discussing this later," Spencer said. God, Bob was annoying sometimes. He never told Spencer anything. Spencer conveniently elided from his memory all the times Bob had, in fact, told him things and Spencer hadn't chosen to remember them in time to avoid a whole world of trouble.
"Spencer," Bob started, and Spencer stood up straighter, completely ignoring the cop jabbing him in between the shoulderblades to get him to start walking to the squad car.
"Yes, Bob?"
"Shut up."
"But-" Spencer started, and was then treated to super special glare number seventeen from Bob. This was the one that usually meant Big Time Watcherly Trouble, so Spencer shut it.
"You remember five minutes ago when you got me arrested?"
Spencer opened his mouth to protest the unfairness of that statement, but then remembered super special glare number seventeen and belayed that again.
"Talking isn't working so well for you tonight, I'm just saying. So let's sit tight and wait till we get to the station and I can see if any of the lawyers in town are still talking to me."
Spencer wondered why the lawyers might not be talking to Bob, but since asking that was probably going to get him yelled at - not to mention doubtlessly involve things they shouldn't really talk about in front of the cops - he figured he should probably wait.
The drive to the station was without incident, and Spencer just let himself gaze out the window as the strip flashed by, the faintest hint of dawn trying valiantly to peer over the horizon, although it was fighting a losing battle 24/7 with the neon. Oh well, he figured, at least they hadn't lost too much of the night's patrol to this.
Maybe he'd even be able to beg off school if this took long enough.
Spencer frowned for a second as he tried to remember what he knew about being arrested and realised that it was mostly from TV and therefore probably not accurate, and then decided not to worry about it until they knew. No point him getting his blood pressure all raised until he had to. He sneaked a peek through his eyelashes at Bob, who was dully red around the ears and fidgeting with his cuffs. Okay, yeah, Bob definitely had the blood pressure elevation part of their evening all under control.
Spencer stretched out carefully, eyeing the officers in the front seat to make sure they hadn't realised he was moving, and nudged his foot against Bob's, just hard enough to get his attention.
"Hey," he mouthed, and Bob dredged up a smile, made some sort of eyebrow-and-mouth quirking gesture that Spencer read easily as "it's gonna be okay" and then slumped back against the seat.
"So what you're saying is we don't need to break out of here," Spencer says quietly, because, well. He was prepared! Slayer super strength, and all that. Although- given the way both cops had sat upright and the one in the passenger seat was now turned around and giving Spencer a cop version of a death glare, apparently it wasn't Slayer super quiet.
"Spencer," Bob said again, "shut up."
Spencer shut up.
* * *
...you're not getting the Ryan-and-Spencer as companions to the Doctor snippet because it's short and more importantly EMBARRASSINGLY CLUNKY. I do like the mental image of Ryan and Brendon lying on a bed in an English hotel room, stoned out of their gourds and thinking they're just imagining the prisoner zero thing, though. :D
[girl!Ryan GSF where they pair off occasionally by consent.]
What Spencer and Jon are doing isn't sneaking off, precisely. For one thing, Brendon and Ryan know all about it (actually, Ryan knows far too much, and Brendon started asking for pictures, which was funny rather than inappropriate, but still), and for another, they've had a lot of Boringly Serious Grown Up discussions about boundaries and consent and Being Okay with things, and conveniently it seemed to turn out that pretty much everyone was okay with everything, but inconveniently it also turns out that most hotel rooms only have double beds and you really can't fit more than two people on there without it getting seriously uncomfortable.
And dangerous. Spencer had hit his head on an end table on one memorable occasion, and Ryan still hadn't lived down having to pay for the clock radio she'd sent flying.
They carefully hadn't explained to Zack just exactly how that one had happened. He was probably under the impression it was the casualty of beer pong (which the Academy had cunningly figured out how to play on a bed with bouncy balls; to the detriment of hotels nationwide) or beer generally or possibly even ordinary everyday Ryan clumsiness; they were hoping very very hard that he wasn't actually paying enough attention to have worked out it was because Ryan flails a lot when Brendon is eating her out.
Actually, for a guy who is like 99% gay ("Seventy-five percent!" Brendon corrects, and smacks Spencer's arm) and freely admits he's kind of out of practice doing naked things with girl parts, Brendon has come up to speed fast.
The other reason Jon and Spencer have carte blanche to go off to their own room is because that actually leaves Ryan and Brendon free to 'work on lyrics', which has, on the occasions in which Spencer has walked in lately, been a fairly liberal translation of the phrase involving people's tongues and occasionally words but mostly just an awful lot of sex.
(The secret part of sometimes-twosome hookups in a polyamorous relationship is actually that sometimes Jon and Spencer go off together to nap. Spencer is not quite ready to make a deeper commitment to Red Bull in his life, and without that, he's going to be the first to admit that he can't quite keep up with Ryan. Jon probably could, but Jon is a fucking weirdo and doesn't seem to care; Jon likes being hard and Jon likes snuggling, but Jon can also fall asleep before getting off if they've wound up in some kind of epic make out session or whatever. Spencer isn't sure that Jon is human, sometimes, but he's certainly nice to snuggle with. Spencer isn't complaining.)
That being said, Spencer isn't actually looking for a good night's sleep, tonight. Spencer's mostly looking for a nice, uncomplicated, seriously good fuck, and he's been watching Jon ever since they came off stage, itchy for a more than just-friends touch, kind of reluctantly admitting that he wants Jon to hold him down and just take.
Jon is pretty on board with that plan, can by now read Spencer easy as pie when Spencer starts giving him the right signals; a short-hand code they've fallen into around other people, one that's usually innocuous enough to pass but easy enough for them to decode.
Spencer sits next to Jon in the lobby while Zack works out their keys, circles thumb and forefinger around his wrist and squeezes gently. Jon just raises an eyebrow, but chooses not to be a dick about, tilting his head to the side to nod agreement.
He licks his lips, though, hiding a secret little smile, and Spencer doesn't have to be a mind-reader to know that Jon's planning; imagining what he's going to do with Spencer as soon as they have a little privacy, a locked door and not enough insulation between them and the rest of the tour.
Across from them, Ryan and Brendon are off in their own little world, bickering cheerfully, shoving each other every now and then; tiny delicate little digs of fingertip and elbow. It's like watching kittens play; every now and then they'll catch each other with their claws, and then they'll both look surprised because they didn't mean that, and then after enough sulking to restore honor they'll bounce right back to curling up together. It's pretty cute, actually. And they're about to hit the end of a curl-up cycle, Spencer can tell. He's kind of sorry this isn't a big enough hotel to have a king room tonight, actually; Ryan's lazy and warm and easy with it in a way that bodes really well for any type of after-show activity, Spencer kind of wants to watch. Plus, there's that little deep down burn any time he looks at Brendon or Ryan or Jon, the one that says "mine" and wants to hold and touch and play.
But they've made their plans for the evening, and having Jon to himself isn't second-best at all, it's a pleasure and a privilege and Spencer is so, so so over wearing pants.
Thankfully, Zack finally sorts out whatever issue the hotel had been having (to be fair, having like thirty people turn up covered in sweat and with a ridiculous amount of luggage at obscene hours of the morning is frequently a problem in and of itself, but that is thank GOD not Spencer's job) and hands them their keys, along with directions to their rooms and a reminder of when bus call is.
"Good night," Spencer says politely as Jon hustles him towards the elevator.
"You too," Zack says, and then winks, and Spencer possibly goes white because awkward and Zack laughs himself stupid, and so does Jon, that dick, just because he hasn't had quite as much time to put Zack into that weird parent/friend boundary place in his head, god.
"Seriously, you're such a dick," Spencer says to Jon, and Jon just says "yeah, you want me," airily and unconcerned, even in front of all of their crew, but they're teenage guys and they can get away with that kind of thing.
Sometimes the best type of lie is the one that's really the truth, Spencer thinks, but as Jon locks the door behind him, he also thinks that it is in fact far too late in the day for philosophising, and frankly it's going to be a far better use of his time to see just how fast he can get Jon naked.
According to the clock radio blinking red on the end table that Spencer doesn't in fact break, it doesn't take long at all.
Of course, Spencer also doesn't remember to set their alarm for bus call.
Can't have everything.
* * *
[Oh look. More girl on girl hookups with gratuitous pop culture references! :D]
"What do you think?" Spencer asks, twirling carefully. The dress is polka-dotted, fitted, and very new. Spencer is... none too sure.
"I like it," Jon says, running her finger along the neckline appreciatively, tracing the curving expanse of skin exposed.
"That's not really helpful," Spencer complains. "Does it actually look like it fits right?"
"Spence," Jon says, too patient. "Remember who you're talking to, here. I am, like, the least feminine person on this tour, aside from maybe Zack."
"Hey!" Ryan objects, but Brendon just shrugs and keeps playing with his laptop.
"It looks good," Ryan confirms, and Spencer glares at her reflection again, twisting to look over her shoulder, checking the drape.
"You look hot," Jon assures her, but then sort of ruins the compliment (or so Spencer would have her believe) by adding, "but then, you look hot in jeans, too, so."
"Yes," Ryan says dryly, to no one in particular, but with a significant amount of volume. "Because Jon is absolutely the most discriminating person when it comes to Spencer and clothes."
"Shut up!" Jon says, stung.
Spencer giggles, at last. "He's got a point, Jon. You're not picky."
"I like you better without clothes on," Jon mutters. "You don't give me so much lip then, either."
"Just tongue," Brendon says, earning a cushion thrown by both Jon and Spencer.
"No more Bring It On," Ryan says, "seriously. I have had it with the quotes."
"Who said Spirit Fingers on stage last night?" Spencer asks Jon, tapping her forefinger against her chin as if she's trying to provoke a memory. "Wasn't there some mention of that?"
"Yeah," Jon says, "I think it was some scrawny guy-" "Hey!" Ryan says again, "-with a guitar and no moral high ground to speak of, yeah."
"You suck," Ryan says, and pretends to storm out, though if Jon knows him, he's probably just going to go grab a snack and then curl up with his book or iPod somewhere anyway, until he gets bored enough to want to come back and hang out again.
"You wish, Ross," Spencer yells after him.
"Hey, no, mine," Jon says, and wraps an arm around Spencer's waist, drawing her near. Jon doesn't pull the possessive thing very often, but Spencer does kind of like it when she does, even when she's not being terribly serious right now.
"I do really like the dress," Jon says softly. "You look amazing. Seriously, if I looked half that good, I'd-" except she cuts off there, because Spencer has given her a very firm punch to the upper arm, and this time it's Jon's turn to yelp "hey!"
"You're going to look seriously hot as well, Jon," Spencer says, glaring as if that's going to make Jon more inclined to believe her. Jon is going to look passable; Jon can pull off passable, and that's about as much effort as Jon really wants to go to, anyway.
"Seriously, girls in tuxes? Totally hot. And those pants fit you really, really well. Like... turn around on stage, and no one's even going to be looking at Brendon."
"Hey!" Brendon objects, but very quietly, and he's totally ignored by both of them.
"Seriously," Spencer goes on, "I don't even know how I'm going to play, with you there being all distracting."
Jon raises an eyebrow. "Really, now."
Spencer grins.
(Brendon rolls his eyes. He's been through this round before.)
"Maybe," Spencer says, sliding closer to Jon, and playing with the short strands of hair that don't stay tucked behind her ears where they're meant to. "Maybe we should... go relax for a while first. Stop worrying about costumes and all that shit. And... take the edge off?" She grins, quick and predatory, thoroughly focused on Jon.
"Or," Jon drawls, eyes hot, "you could keep that costume on. Just for a bit." She hooks her index finger in the neckline of Spencer's dress and tugs it out, going up on her toes to peek in.
"What are you doing?" Spencer says, mildly outraged, although Jon genuinely can't tell if it's more about the possible damage to the dress or the fact that she's totally ogling her goodies. ...maybe Ryan had a point about Bring It On after all.
"Just checking everything's where it's meant to be," Jon says. "Isn't that the point of a dress rehearsal?"
"I'd be a bit fucking worried if those had moved," Spencer says, rolling her own eyes.
"I think I should probably do some kind of hands on inspection, though," Jon argues, stepping closer, so she's just inside Spencer's personal space, her toes nudging between Spencer's heels, hips mere inches away. She leans in a little, raises her palms up to smooth over the fabric of the dress, cupping Spencer's breasts in her hands, shamelessly groping her.
"Hi," Jon says, and leans in for a kiss.
"I get it," Spencer mutters against her mouth, and then bites Jon's lower lip, because she can. "You're just in this for the boob-grabbing."
"Well, they are spectacular tits," Jon says, and "I'm right here," Brendon says, before agreeing with Jon anyway, because he might be mostly gay, but he has eyes.
"I'm not gonna lie," Spencer says, "I'm feeling pretty objectified right now."
Jon grins.
"Want to come back to my bunk and work on that some more?"
"You're so lucky I know what you look like naked," Spencer says, taking Jon's hand anyway. "Your pickup lines are terrible, you would never get laid if you weren't so fucking good at the actual sex part."
"Everyone knows what you two look like naked," Brendon points out helpfully from the couch, and then adds, "and by the way, that was like a mile over the too much information line."
"I'll get Zack to make sure your passport gets stamped," Spencer calls back, and then Jon's yanking at her zipper, and Spencer has to save her from herself, the upshot of which is that Jon doesn't actually get around to listening to see if Brendon had any witty repartee to come back with there. If she doesn't hear about it it probably means they win, right?
* * *
[And then there's the awkward meta one where Hey Monday find fandom and find it both hilarious and illuminating.]
"Dude," Mike says, "dude, you have to see this."
Alex leans out of his bunk, one hand curled around the side to keep him steady in case some idiot driving in front of them brakes suddenly or whatever.
"What are you looking at?" he asks, craning his neck to try to see Mike's laptop screen.
"There's, like. This art. Stuff."
"No one wants to see your porn, Mike," Jersey yells from his bunk, where he has the curtain drawn still and hasn't actually shown his face all morning.
"I want to see his porn," Cassadee says, and swings her feet out of her bunk, bouncing over to Mike.
Mike slams his laptop closed in a hurry, and looks vaguely sheepish.
"Uh, no, it's not really that interesting-" he start, and Alex sits up. This is actually getting interesting. Mike is normally shameless, and Cassadee being technically a girl has never actually been an issue before. He's normally the most forthright about treating her like one of his bros, which is probably not always a good thing, knowing Mike.
"Really," Cassadee says, grinning, and snatches the laptop out of Mike's hands, and rolling into Alex's bunk.
"Defend my honor, dude," she says, and hides behind him while Mike tries to grab his computer back. Alex fends him off, using his feet to keep him back - freakish monkey arms and all - mostly because he just wants to see what's going to happen.
"I'll pull your hair," Mike tries to threaten, "come on, jerk-ass, let me get my stuff! Cass! Give it!"
"Nuh-uh," Cassadee says, and then adds, "it's so cute how you think that closing it was going to make it go away. Learn to clear your browser history, man."
"I am ashamed of nothing," Mike says, and wow, that is a lie, because he redoubles his efforts to get around Alex. Alex is actually struggling a bit now, more because he's laughing himself stupid and it's kind of hard to coordinate that with doing bunk kung fu.
"Oh my god," Cassadee shrieks, and Mike gets around Alex then, because Alex is wincing, because fucking ow, that was both loud and right in his ear.
"What?" Alex asks, suddenly actively curious. Something that makes Cassadee hit a high C has to be pertty impressive.
"Dude," Mike says, and then sighs, because the cat is certainly out of the metaphorical bag by now. "Okay, fine. You remember how Pete warned us that some fans are... really creative?"
Alex doesn't remember that so much as a warning as a "hey, dudes, don't google yourselves, unless you are really fucking drunk, okay?" and then Pete laughing hysterically and Alex making a private vow to not, because anything that makes Pete Wentz laugh that hard is not something he needs to see. Not sober, anyway.
Mike opens the laptop up again and sits down on the bed beside them both, angling it so Alex can see. Alex feels his eyes widen.
"That's- that's- oh my god. Where is my hand??"
"Um," Mike says, starting to crack up, "I think it's meant to be in Elliot's ass?"
"There is no way that would work," Alex says, stumbling over his words a little, because holy shit. He's pretty sure he would remember something like his band having, like, a five person orgy or something, but this looks practically fucking photo-realistic. The internet is really, really scary.
...and, okay, maybe a little hot. He probably shouldn't be thinking about how grabbing Mike's ass wouldn't actually be that bad. That's the sort of thought which is definitely meant to be solely for his alone times.
Hopefully that's not showing on his face, though. Mostly Cassadee has gone past the initial shock and is well into laughing hysterically, too, clutching at Mike for support.
"Our fans are awesome," Cassadee says, "talk about how you love me now."
"Oh my god I can't believe you said that," Alex says, feeling a reluctant smile tug at his lips.
"My tits look awesome in this picture," Cass says, tilting her head to look more closely.
"I hate to break it to you," Alex says, giving in to the urge to shove closer, his knee digging into Mike's thigh, warm through the ridiculous basketball shorts he insists on wearing as pajamas. "But I don't think those are your tits."
"Well, of course not," Cassadee says, rolling her eyes. "No one's boobs point that way without surgery."
"How do you know that?" Mike asks, looking possibly too interested.
"Porn," Cassadee says matter-of-factly. "Also, girls talk. Also, you know, those times I've had sex with them."
"You've had sex with porn stars?" Alex asks, incredulously. That doesn't sound... safe.
"You've had sex with girls?" Mike asks, zeroing in on what's possibly more important.
"You are not going to think about me when you're jerking off," Cassadee says, and it's more like an order.
"Please tell me you had sex with Vicky-T," Mike says, and he is clearly not listening.
"Would you guys please stop talking about having sex?" Elliot yells.
"Why are you in Jersey's bunk?" Alex demands, because wait, what?
"Why is Elliot in Jersey's bunk?" Alex asks Mike, brows drawing together.
"Uh," Mike says, looking shifty. "When a rhythm section love each other very, very much..."
Alex's eyes widen, totally without his consent. "Elliot and Jersey are fucking??"
Elliot sticks his head out from the curtain, looking kind of pissed off. "We were trying to. But someone can't keep his mouth shut."
"You were actually having sex right now?" Cassadee asks. "Can I watch?"
"Oh my god, no," Elliot says and withdraws hurriedly. Alex can hear some muttering behind the curtain, and what sounds like Jersey laughing.
"This has been such an illuminating evening," Cassadee says, making herself at home on Alex's bunk and staring kind of fixedly at the unmoving curtain over Jersey's. "I feel like I know you all so much better now. Biblically, even." She snickers. "Seriously, Mike, how did you even find that?"
"Uh," Mike says, and adds, "so, Elliot and Jersey, yeah, I totally walked in on them yesterday. My EYES, man."
"Wow, he is so not answering the question," Cassadee says, and then grabs the laptop again.
"Ow, friction burn, dude," Mike complains, and looks weirdly nervous.
Cassadee types for a second, and then looks confused. Almost... conflicted, maybe.
"Um. Right. Hey, I'm going to go see when we're stopping next, I need chocolate. Or twizzlers."
Alex bites his lip. That was weird. Like, on the scale of things he's found out this evening, not at all the weirdest thing ever, but still kind of sketchy.
"Dude, why did Cass bail so fast?" Surely Mike's porn can't be that bad. He's shown them double-fisting videos before and they've all just laughed themselves stupid at the bad tans and ridiculous acting.
"Uh," Mike says, and then slumps back against the side of the bunk. "Fine, you're going to find out anyway. So, um. Cassadee knows how to find the search terms, I guess?"
He shoves the laptop at Alex, who feels his eyebrows climb even higher. Holy shit. Forget Panic at the Disco, this is the gayest band ever. "Why were you searching Mike/Alex fanfiction??"
* * *
[I may have actually posted this one before? But if not, I actually like this one a lot still. It's probably the closest to being a full and complete story, actually.]
"Mrph," Spencer mumbles into the pillow, and tries to roll away from Brendon's prodding fingers. "MRPH!" he tries again, with greater pitch and emphasis, but Brendon is unwavering in his attempts, Brendon is unshakeable and persistent and really really annoying.
Also really really naked.
Wait.
What?
"Brendon?" Spencer squeaks, actually squeaks, but he has a damn good excuse, he's, like, a half foot away from Brendon's dick, which is a good foot closer than he would normally be, especially with Brendon just hanging out there, shooting the breeze. Oh god.
"It's FIVE AM," Spencer says, a little wildly, repeating a mental chorus of don't stare at Brendon's dick, don't stare at Brendon's dick, his eyes are up there! and hoping like hell he doesn't get the verbal/mental thing mixed up.
"It's nine," Brendon corrects, and sits down on the edge of Spencer's bed, looking at him seriously.
On the up side, Brendon's dick is no longer right there in Spencer's face.
On the down side, his naked ass is now sitting on Spencer's sheets and probably so are... other parts. The only balls Spencer is okay with touching his sheets are his own, and maybe Johnny Depp circa 2003, but since no one has exactly invented time travel yet, that leaves, yep, just Spencer.
"Why are you naked?" he asks, not really expecting an answer.
Frankly, it's Brendon, and while it's not exactly the first thing you expect to see of a morning, it's also not exactly unprecedented, and it's not like Spencer hasn't seen every bit of Brendon at one point or another.
Just usually there's a tour bus or an equally naked girl or vaguely embarrassed looking boy or, on one absolutely hilarious and only mildly awkward occasion, a Shane holding his camera very, very carefully over his groin, with an expression that promised pain and retribution and the distribution of some very reputation-damaging pictures if anyone had taken it upon themselves to ask just what might be on his memory stick.
Jon and Spencer had laughed themselves very nearly literally sick over that one, and Regan had started texting asking them for pictures, so it was pretty clearly an open secret and one everyone was okay with, so Spencer felt pretty good about being amused rather than concerned.
That being said, this was their house, and they'd been back from tour for like a week, which should mean that Brendon had actually done some laundry, so there was that excuse for bare-assery out the window as well.
"Dude," Brendon says, not seeming to realise anything out of the ordinary is going on anyway, which is just typical and Spencer is going to actually get a fucking chalk board or something and write up some house rules, and "wear pants any time you are in someone else's space, ESPECIALLY THEIR BEDROOM" is going to be right up there at number one, even above "don't fucking use the hand towel to dry the dog bowl, fucker".
"I need your help," he says, and Spencer blanches, because he's read far too many sex advice columns on the road, and there are only so many things Brendon could need his help with if he's naked, and Spencer would rather Brendon just go to the emergency room, frankly, even if it does wind up on buzznet somehow and they get asked about it in interviews forever.
"What did you DO?" Spencer asks, and maybe he's a little shrill. Whatever, it is not his fault.
"I'm not sure how to tell you this," Brendon says, and Spencer upgrades that worry to involving the big screen tv (why didn't Spencer block the cinemax? it's not like he watches it himself. Much.), or possibly his really expensive set of kitchen utensils, or something on fire, and sits up.
"I don't have any pants," Brendon says, and Spencer feels his mouth drop open, because that was very definitely the last thing he would've expected.
"How do you-?" he starts, and Brendon looks a little ashamed but mostly kind of amused.
"I might have... lost a bet?" Brendon starts, and Spencer is not buying it.
"Brendon," he growls, and Brendon ducks his chin, and then looks up at Spencer through his eyelashes, and Spencer is not going to fall for that, he's not.
"Okay," Brendon sighs, his shoulders slumping, and Spencer catches himself a split second before he reaches out to pat Brendon's arm comfortingly, god, he is such an easy mark.
"Spill," Spencer says, mentally planning how much time he'll have to spend doing laundry before he goes to meet Ryan for lunch, because Brendon's ass is still on his sheets and Spencer is still not down with that.
"So Shane and Regan maybe dared me to do something and I kind of didn't listen too closely to the forfeit."
"Oh my god," Spencer says, and rolls over, because if he hides in his pillow Brendon might go away, or at least he might come back with coffee.
"So I need to borrow some pants while I go over to their place to get mine back," Brendon says brightly, and Spencer gives the "oh my god" another try.
"Why- how did they even GET all of your pants?" Spencer asks, immediately wishing he hadn't.
"I was kind of tied up at the time," Brendon explains, and Spencer is finding religion at an accelerated rate here.
"Okay," Spencer says, screwing up his face, and shoving at Brendon's hip, because if nothing else he can't get up either while Brendon is sitting there, "fine, you can have my old jeans, and I don't need them back, just go have your kinky sex games over at Shane's house where they belong."
He rolls out of bed and digs through the dresser, finds an old pair of jeans that hopefully won't be too ridiculous on Brendon, and then tosses a belt to him as an afterthought, as well.
"No jocks?" Brendon asks, sounding a little put out, and Spencer thunks his head onto to top of the dresser.
"No!" he yelps, and then adds, "I don't want the jeans back, by the way. You can't give them to Zack to put on eBay, either."
"I am hurt," Brendon says solemnly.
"I know," Spencer says, pulling on his own jeans, and maliciously selecting his favourite t-shirt to go on top. Brendon can drive over to Shane's house topless, it serves him right. Besides, it's not like Brendon really cares. Brendon is probably only borrowing pants to save himself from a possible public indecency charge. "You're hurt by my casual and excellent grasp of your character."
"You are a terrible man," Brendon tells him, "thanks for the pants, dude, gotta run."
"Have fun and please don't tell me about it ever," Spencer says, and starts stripping his bed while Brendon bounds down the stairs to look for his shoes and his car keys, possibly in that order.
"Hey Spence," Brendon yells, and Spencer comes out to the landing, his arms full of sheets and leans over to listen.
"Shane's gonna be so pissed that I managed to get into your pants without even having to promise you sexual favours, I am winning this bet SO HARD," he crows, and then sprints out the door.
"What?" Spencer asks the empty hallway, because he's not sure what just happened here but he thinks it might've been Brendon playing him, and when he shamelessly busts into Brendon's room to find an entire wardrobe still filled with all of Brendon's trousers - and underwear, that asshole - it's pretty clear that, yeah, that's exactly what it was.
"Ahahahahahahaa" reads the text message he gets from Shane and Ryan both, ten minutes later, "you are so fucking gullible when youre asleep bro", and Spencer just mentally files that away for appropriate vengeance later, while carefully picking up all of Brendon's trousers and hiding them under the sofa where hopefully Boba and Dylan won't get at them, but if they do it's technically Brendon's fault anyway. Frankly, if Brendon's going to pull something like this he really should've seen the comeback coming.
* * *
Jon and Ryan are total dicks, Spencer and Brendon agree, after they get shut out of the 21-and-over birthday party. Total. Dicks.
Jon makes it up to them later with a dime bag of really good weed, but Spencer's been growing up lately and deciding that he's not going to make his life decisions under the influence, even of really good pot, and also that he's not going to be bought that easily, so he pouts for at least five minutes longer, and lets Jon just dangle.
He almost breaks when Jon busts out the puppy-dog eyes and lets his lower lip pout out, but Spencer has withstood Ryan in his blackest glooms and Zack pre-coffee and post-fangirl, and frankly, he can take it.
Plus, he knows from experience if he sticks it out, Jon will eventually actually break and start offering head massages, and Spencer might not be cheap, but he is kind of easy.
His cunning plan works perfectly, and Brendon actually looks a little miffed when Jon heaves a gusty sigh and jabs at Spencer's hip until he shifts round so his back is to Jon, sitting on the floor so Jon can reach him from the couch.
"mmm," Spencer says blissfully as Jon's fingers start to work their way through his hair, pressing and rubbing and scratching behind his ears.
"I feel like I may have been set up," Jon says conversationally, and,
"Fuck you, I earned this," Spencer retorts, and squints one eye open to keep an eye on the clock on the VCR. Jon promised him ten minutes and he's going to get every second of that, thank you very much.
"Me next," Brendon says, weirdly insistent, and Jon just shrugs - Spencer feels his hands lift for a second - and says "sure, fine. You better take this out of Ryan's ass as well, though, since he went along with it. Also, I will point out again that it was Pete's idea."
"And Pete is also an asshole," Spencer says logically, only half meaning it, "but he is also our boss, so we can't actually make him suffer. So carry on, minion." Jon's hands seem to falter for a second, but he resumes the massage almost immediately, and Spencer just slumps back, almost boneless, and lets Jon's knees dig into his shoulderblades.
* * *
This entry also posted at dreamwidth.
comments/ view comments at dreamwidth.
THESE ARE ALL PRETTY OLD. /disclaimer
(Boy was this ever an exercise in "lol, a journey through my id" and also interesting/helpful in terms of being able to identify some really obvious tics.)
[This was... some kind of fantasy AU with always-a-girl!Ryan and I honestly don't even remember where it was going.]
Things That Make You Go Boom
"Holy shit," Z says, eyes wide.
"...that may have worked a little too well," Ryan admits, the catherine wheels dancing over the river reflecting pinpricks of pink and green in the brown of her irises.
"Stupendous," Tennessee agrees, swinging her legs on the gate she's perched on. Which is easy enough for her to do; she wasn't actually involved in the liberation of said fireworks, and nor are her psychic footprints literally and metaphorically all over them.
"It was one case!" Ryan yelps, still watching, fascinated. "I didn't think it would go on this long!"
"It's awesome," Z says happily, slipping her hand into Ryan's, interlacing their fingers.
"We're so dead," Ryan moans, and then sees the telltale aura of the Watch getting closer to the river. If those fireworks don't quit soon, they're going to be able to investigate who triggered them before the fuses sink, and Ryan... Ryan's on file.
"C'mon," she says, with a trace of real desperation, one that gets through to Z, because she bounces to her feet instantly without a hint of the reluctance she'd been playing up earlier, "we need to get out of here."
* * *
[teenage Ryan/Spencer PWP]
Spencer is too fastidious to roll in the hay. Actually, Ryan can't really blame him - firstly, Spencer would roll his eyes at him for using the word fastidious "SAT words, Ryan," he'd say, and secondly, hay is kind of pokey. And itchy. Actually, it kind of sucks to sit on, and that's with clothes on. Ryan has a good imagination, he can extrapolate quite easily as to what that would be like to have some kind of naked fun time on, and the answer is "uncomfortable".
It's a little disheartening, actually - the roll in the hay thing had to have been a cliche for a reason, and yet Ryan has no real desire to ever actually try it out. Kind of like sex on the beach. Great cocktail, sounds great in theory, pretty attractive to watch (unless it's porn, and then it's- okay, it's porn, so it's sexy, but it also looks fake fake fake and also Ryan's pretty sure that if it's in porn, it's probably not a real beach.) But... not so comfortable. There are some places that Ryan just does not ever want sand, or hay, or any other thing found in nature.
He expresses this thought to Spencer, who just says "don't rubbers get made from a tree?" and that is not helpful. Spencer is a smart ass.
Spencer also has a pretty great ass, though, and Ryan is pretty fond of touching it, so he'll put up with the occasional shit-stirring occasionally, because the payoff is that he also gets into Spencer's pants.
Spencer's pants are a little too tight now - he's been filling out over the summer, growing and also adding muscle - and it makes peeling them off all the more fun. Ryan is a fan.
Spencer's thighs jerk slightly beneath Ryan's touch when he leans in for a kiss, thumbs rubbing along the crease between stomach and leg. His nails dig in just a little, slipping inexorably down towards the perineum, and Spencer stifles a gasp.
"Ryan," he whines, and Ryan busies himself by nipping at the side of Spencer's mouth.
"What?" he asks, and laughs as Spencer flinches. "What?" he asks again at his usual, carrying volume, and Spencer hisses "oh my god, Ryan."
"Your parents aren't home," Ryan says practically, "and there's no one else here. Why not make a bit of noise."
"Um," Spencer says, reddening slightly, "I. I know, it's just. I don't want to get into bad habits? Do you really want my mom busting in here because she hears something weird? Because I don't think I'd ever get it up again in my life if that happens."
"And you're embarrassed," Ryan adds.
Spencer doesn't argue.
"It's just sex," Ryan says, because he doesn't get how Spencer still doesn't get this. "You're meant to be, like, loud and embarrassing or look stupid. It means you're doing it right."
Considering that Spencer was the one who had given Brendon (and Ryan, though he flatters himself he didn't need it really) the talk about how Porn Is Not the Same As Sex, and That's a Bad Precedent, Okay?, it's a little silly that Spencer is overthinking this to the extent he clearly, clearly is, but at the same time, Ryan is pretty sure that Spencer is still holding this perfect, romantic, soft-focus love scene ideal somewhere in his head, and while Ryan doesn't exactly want to stomp that out of him - he likes Spencer the way he is - he also kind of just wants to get down and dirty and really filthy at some point. The kissing is nice but Ryan wants to stick his tongue in Spencer's ass and hinting about it is getting him precisely nowhere.
* * *
[Tortall AU. Jon was one of the Conte princes (but I'm pretty sure we made him the spare), Ryan was sort of in George's position as King of Thieves, always-a-girl!Brendon had run away from the countryside to be a famous musician in Corus (I think she also had Wild magic? idk, we basically picked and chose our Favourite Parts of Formative Childhood Literature.) Always-a-girl!Spencer was, of course, in Alanna's role.
Except it was totally going to end in a very anachronistic OT4, because that is how we roll. And Jon was going to have lots of angst about fancying Spencer even when he still thought she was a guy, and then tell himself that it was just because he somehow Knew, but then he realises he totally wants to bang Ryan as well, and Ryan is definitely a guy; they have gone through enough tavern privies together that Jon is quite sure of that, thank you very much, and so of course Jon reacts in a totally mature way by going out and boning a lot of ladies to make up for it.
He also winds up sleeping with Brendon -- making Ryan crazy with jealous on many levels -- especially since Ryan thinks he's just using her. And that Brendon's going to get a bad reputation. I wish I knew where the rest of this was, we wrote kind of a lot. Although not as much as we did of the Valdemar AU, which, WOW do you ever realise how much you imprinted on something when you can easily bang out MANY THOUSANDS OF WORDS of it without even breaking a sweat and they're all perfectly in tone with the original source. IF SOMEWHAT DISCONCERTING. Heh. /aside
And Brendon has a wild crush on Spencer, too -- again, firstly and (she thinks) appropriately when Spencer's still pretending to be male, and then still when Spencer's revealed to be female. And they totally get justifiably pissed at Ryan and Jon being jerks/overprotective and bond over that a lot. They also have drunken bad decision sex at some point fairly early on. WHY DID I LOSE THAT.
Ryan is pretty protective of Brendon, and everyone thinks they've been sleeping together for years, but they're actually the last two to admit to a mutual attraction, because Ryan's been mooning over Spencer forever - and is at least well enough settled in knowing his preferences to be for both men and women to also have a totally begrudging Thing for Jon.
The following snippet is set after Spencer tells Jon to go fuck himself and takes off for the desert, and Jon is a passive-aggressive jerk to everyone for weeks afterwards until he runs into Brendon in the palace and decides to just make a move. Basically this is just Jon and Brendon having all of the sex. With ALL of the overwrought prose. This is essentially badfic, except for how I'm pretty sure I caught all the typoes. :D?]
* * *
"I'm still not certain this is a good idea," Brendon says, breathless.
"I am reminded," Jon says, pressing a kiss to the curve of her collarbone, his mouth lingering, "of a saying about barn doors, and horses bolting."
"You and your City education," Brendon starts to scold mockingly, and then she inhales sharply.
"You were saying?" Jon asks, quite rhetorically, as his palm cups the thatch of hair between her legs, and his fingertips tease just inside her.
"I," Brendon says vaguely, her nails digging into Jon's biceps, shifting so that he can touch her more easily. "I was clearly not in my right mind, whatever I was saying."
"Mmm-hmm?" Jon says, crooking a finger inside her cunt, his thumb moving unerringly to roll over the sensitive spot above.
"Good idea," Brendon says, a little muzzy, and then as Jon's fingers move expertly over her clit, she adds, "the best idea, oh gods, what was I complaining about?"
"Definitely too late," Jon says, completely focused. His dick is throbbing between his legs, and he'd like nothing better than to roll over and sink inside Brendon, where she's warm and wet and oh, oh so willing; except it seems that what he'd actually like best is to keep touching Brendon, make her give little cries and feel her body shudder and jerk as he brings her pleasure, something that seems oddly more important than his own. He's been attracted to her for an awfully long time, has wanted to kiss and touch and hold her for years now, but he truly would not have expected this turn of events, not in the slightest.
She curves hotly against him as his touch triggers something strong, gasps low and sweet, and before he can even be properly smug about it, she's stretching out on the too-soft mattress, eyes open wide for the first time in quite a while, and looking at him with an expression he last saw on Spencer's cat after she'd gotten into cook's cream.
"Um?" Jon assays, suddenly unsure.
"I'd like something now," Brendon says, and Jon forbears to admit that he just gave her something, possibly even twice.
"I'd like," Brendon asks, and then stops, starts again. "Can I put my mouth on you?"
Jon stares at her, at Brendon's soft pink mouth, full and a little swollen from their kissing earlier. Thinks of the many, many fantasies and dreams he's had to quell with his pillow or a bucket of cold spring water over the years; thoughts of those lovely full lips attached most intimately to his body. Imagines how it would feel.
Jon can't say yes fast enough.
Brendon is good enough not to laugh at him, or at least not to his face, and she's merciful enough to have his trousers unlaced and draped over the corner of the bed in record time. Her hand is on him first, her fingers slightly rougher than most of the women he's known; inevitable result of her musical trade. Spencer's the only other woman he's done this with who he knew well enough to trust entirely, to communicate without words. And he hadn't meant to think of her now, of course, because he's gentleman enough to know how ill-mannered that is towards Brendon, and because even now, it makes him miss Spencer, still. Brendon's hands feel a little like Spencer's on him, though; a sensation that's as confusing as it is arousing.
Jon is very, very careful not to let himself think about how that similarity is probably less to do with the touch of hands that know manual labour, fingers with strength of arms behind them, and more to do with how the person those hands belong to has an unshakeable grip on his heart.
Not thinking about it becomes far, far easier as Brendon ducks forward to wrap her mouth around him. Her hair falls dark and silky over her eyes, the long strands brushing his stomach and thighs, and he feels his skin twitch, compulsively and enjoyably.
Brendon sits up a little more, her tongue curling around the crown of his dick as she pulls off, and laughs, bright and happy and open. "I do hope that ticklishness is a state secret, Jon, I'd hate for someone to use that against you in a duel."
"It's known to very few," he assures her, mock-serious, although there's truth enough in his words. Ryan, Spencer and Brendon are the only ones who know about the spot behind his knee which makes him yelp like an offended goose every time, or the way he has to steel himself before anyone touches his belly, lest he embarrass himself (and the Crown). Thankfully, Brendon bends back to her work almost immediately, and Jon is so well distracted by the overwhelming sweep of warmth and delight in her inexpert (and enthusiastic) ministrations as to not spend any further time analysing just what else exactly all three of them have in common.
He has a sneaking suspicion that, somewhere, the Mother is laughing at him.
Then again, he and Brendon are at least worshipping her properly, although it doesn't do Brendon due honour for him to be thinking philosophically rather than enjoying their time together, and Jon decidedly and joyfully turns his attention wholly to the pleasures of the flesh.
Brendon brings him to completion with her mouth and only giggles a little bit - not that Jon would ever, ever be so crass as to compare experiences with Ryan, but he does rather feel that this is probably a normal reaction - and Jon takes advantage of the lull to lay her back onto her bed, bare as she was born, smiling up at him. A careful wave of his hand sends the candles on the table and windowsill flaring into life, dancing with a flame a little too big and with the faintest tinge of blue. Jon is entranced for a moment at the way the flames reflect and multiply in her eyes, gold and brown and shimmering orange-red.
Brendon looks shy, then, for the first time, as the moment stretches out and Jon does nothing more than admire her, lets his eyes travel from tip to toes.
"Don't you have better things to do?" she asks.
"I want to look at you," he says honestly, and it's this, rather than anything else they've said or done this evening which makes her blush.
"You-" she starts, and then, "you have your pick of ladies up at the castle, I'm just- ordinary, Jon, there's-"
"Hush," he says, drawing his fingers across her lips quellingly, and then continuing the sweep across her jaw, and then down her neck, lingering with renewed delight over the lovely expanse of her collar, the sweeping planes and swell of her breasts. "Ordinary is the one thing you are not, Brendon haUrie, now be still a moment so I can appreciate you."
She recovers her pertness far faster than almost anyone Jon has ever met, ("Spencer," the traitorous back of his brain mourns, but desists under the pressure of his aesthetic travails) and ducks her head becomingly, looking up at him through her lashes. "Now, then, isn't that just what you were doing a few minutes ago when your hands were right where the Lady gave us our secrets?"
Jon lets his hands drift down in an echo, an illustration, but doesn't deign to give that question an answer.
"You're always so beautiful in your dresses," he muses, nails tracing the outline of a phantom bodice, thumb and forefinger spanning her waist before smoothing down over her hips. "It's a fair treat to see what you look like out of them, too. That lovely skin, all glowing and fresh."
His hands return, somewhat inevitably, to her breasts, cupping them and measuring the weight, the fullness in his hands. Brendon is his friend as well as his love, was a mind he respected long before he recognised the desire to be her lover in truth as well as fantasy, and Jon is terribly afraid that now he's started to touch, he is not going to stop. And he's possibly just a little enraptured.
He runs a finger thoughtfully over one pink-brown nipple, enjoying how it furls tight at his touch, the tip hardening and going erect. He leans in to suck lightly, flattening his tongue against her, teasing pressure to try and encourage her to soften. She moans brokenly as his lips drag at her skin, harder when his tongue flicks at the very tip of her nipple, and her back arches all the more when he pulls away, catching her skin in his mouth and tugging.
"Jon," she gasps, and one hand is twisting restlessly in the bedclothes, the other rubbing over her stomach as if she's uncertain, needs something.
Jon grins charmingly at her and shifts - careful not to crush her with his weight, but leaning over her all the same, their hips aligned and legs tangled.
"Hello," he says, and then ducks his head again to take the other breast in his mouth, subjecting it to the same treatment. His hands move slowly, mapping out the soft borders of her, distracting and soothing all at the same time.
He occupies himself most pleasantly like that for at least a half candle; possibly a little less, because the flame of his ardour is stoked sufficiently high that while he's not going to lose control of his Gift, he's equally none too certain that he didn't give the candles a little more power than required. But his eyes are feasting on Brendon equally if not more than his hands and mouth; he's watched her for years and filling in the unknown stretches of skin, the subtle curve of bone and shadow, the jut of hard-wom muscle and soft downy hair... it's quite, quite addictive.
It takes less time than he expects before he's stirring, wants more, again.
His left hand drifts carefully down over her belly, splays over her pelvis and pushes through the tangle of hair, fingers trailing through her folds and mysteries. "Brendon," he says softly, "may we-? I'd like to try more. But only if you desire it." He thinks he's done a good job in keeping just how badly he wants this out of his voice. If she says no he will of course accept that, and ungrudgingly so, but he's delighted when Brendon simply laughs, a warm delighted sound that invites him into her confidences.
"Oh, yes," Brendon says, and shifts, her thighs parting wider to accomodate him, her hands moving on his back and sides just as restlessly as his had been on her.
"I want you, Jon," she says, and when Jon raises up to kiss her again he can see her eyes are huge and dark, and focused entirely on him.
"Do you have a charm?" he asks, because he loves Brendon but he doesn't want to sire some poor bastard upon her, a diservice to both her and the child.
She twists her fingers in the fine silver chain around her wrist, raises it up so that it's in front of him. "I am well prepared, sir," she says, and there's only a healthy serving of sarcasm in that comment, rather than a heaping; that difference probably due in part to the fact his left hand is yet occupied with teasing her breast, rolling the peak of her nipple between thumb and forefinger until it's pink and hard and must be throbbing.
"Wonderful," Jon breathes, and reaches, makes the mental adjustment to call his Sight and watches as the charm blazes reassuringly before his eyes. It's an especially strong one; silver traced with green and purple both, and the faintest hint of what might be bronze. If he's not mistaken, it's Spencer's work in part, he'd recognise her magic anywhere. The other is painfully familiar, but he can't quite identify it, and is distracted quite rapidly and successfully when Brendon abruptly loses all patience with him and reaches down to guide him into her. They move in an easy rhythm, kissing soft and gasping intermittently, and Jon almost doesn't notice when he comes at least, so swept up he is in the shift of her body, the play of light and shadow in her eyes, the way she holds him close.
He knows he should not, knows that it will doubtless get back to Ryan, and possibly even his own father, but even after this time which he knows can only be explained by this, he falls asleep curled into the down-filled quilt, wrapped around Brendon and wearing a smile on his face that no one has seen in quite some months.
* * *
[Does what it says on the tin, except for how I don't know that I ever wrote the other four.]
Five Times Bob and Spencer Got Arrested (But Weren't Charged):
1. Bob has rules.
Spencer thinks rules are made to be broken.
Okay, Spencer claims to think that, usually when he's showing off, but mostly Spencer is also down with rules. Except for the dumb ones where like how he's not allowed to sleep over at Bob's without permission, or how he has to go to school all the time, even when he's totally finished his homework and knows everything he needs to know, and, jeez, he's a Slayer, okay, it's not like he's going to be going to college, right?
Bob gets this squinty-unhappy expression around the eyes every time Spencer says something like that, so Spencer doesn't say it very often, unless he actively wants to dig at Bob.
But the thing is, Bob has rules. Bob has rules about what's allowed in his car, and when. (Jon is not, when it's that time of the month. 99% of demons, even the friendly ones, are not, either. That's more for reasons that Bob calls ectoplasm and Spencer calls "ooze", though.) Bob has rules about when Spencer has to check in, and how often, and where he's not allowed to patrol, unless it's a life or death situation.
To be fair, when Spencer chased the demon into Caesar's and dusted him in a corner (Quietly! ...sort of. Mostly without attracting attention! And... probably not on security cameras? Shit.), it was definitely a life or death situation. Not Spencer's, exactly - the vamp hadn't even seen him until it was almost too late - but there were a lot of innocent people around, and Spencer wasn't exactly going to sit back and watch.
Unfortuately, when Spencer had thrown the vamp up against a wall to dust him, what he'd actually hit was not so much wall, and more 'slot machine'. And because the someone up there really had it in for Slayers or merely had an extremely odious sense of humour, the damned thing had chosen to take that opportunity to call up a mega-jackpot.
Bells had been ringing, lights had been flashing, Spencer had just stood there breathing hard and somewhat dumbfounded (and, he had to admit to Ryan later, a little tempted - that was a lot of money.) Bob had turned up a few seconds later, wheezing audibly - he was fit, but he'd been chasing Spencer and the vamp for like five blocks, and he was only human - and just in time to wrap his hand around Spencer's wrist and hiss "come on, we have to-"
Which was when casino security turned up.
Conveniently, Spencer and Bob both had ID on them.
Inconveniently, Nevada gambling law still required no one under the age of 20 to be gambling on a casino floor.
Since the casino rent-a-cop wasn't exactly going to be taking "I was chasing down this vampire who was about to take a chunk out of one of your high-rollers" as an excuse, the whole affair turned totally ridiculous pretty fast.
"This is all your fault," Spencer said mournfully, because he was so grounded, again, although he was pretty sure that Bob was going to be able to get him out without necessarily involving his parents. Bob had connections, right?
Unfortunately, Bob's connections definitely didn't extend to the beat cops, and said cops also decided to take Spencer's 'confession' as reasonable cause to arrest Bob as an accessory.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Bob said, but held out his wrists anyway, resigned.
"Oh my god you have so done this before," Spencer breathed, eyes wide.
Bob just glared.
"We are so discussing this later," Spencer said. God, Bob was annoying sometimes. He never told Spencer anything. Spencer conveniently elided from his memory all the times Bob had, in fact, told him things and Spencer hadn't chosen to remember them in time to avoid a whole world of trouble.
"Spencer," Bob started, and Spencer stood up straighter, completely ignoring the cop jabbing him in between the shoulderblades to get him to start walking to the squad car.
"Yes, Bob?"
"Shut up."
"But-" Spencer started, and was then treated to super special glare number seventeen from Bob. This was the one that usually meant Big Time Watcherly Trouble, so Spencer shut it.
"You remember five minutes ago when you got me arrested?"
Spencer opened his mouth to protest the unfairness of that statement, but then remembered super special glare number seventeen and belayed that again.
"Talking isn't working so well for you tonight, I'm just saying. So let's sit tight and wait till we get to the station and I can see if any of the lawyers in town are still talking to me."
Spencer wondered why the lawyers might not be talking to Bob, but since asking that was probably going to get him yelled at - not to mention doubtlessly involve things they shouldn't really talk about in front of the cops - he figured he should probably wait.
The drive to the station was without incident, and Spencer just let himself gaze out the window as the strip flashed by, the faintest hint of dawn trying valiantly to peer over the horizon, although it was fighting a losing battle 24/7 with the neon. Oh well, he figured, at least they hadn't lost too much of the night's patrol to this.
Maybe he'd even be able to beg off school if this took long enough.
Spencer frowned for a second as he tried to remember what he knew about being arrested and realised that it was mostly from TV and therefore probably not accurate, and then decided not to worry about it until they knew. No point him getting his blood pressure all raised until he had to. He sneaked a peek through his eyelashes at Bob, who was dully red around the ears and fidgeting with his cuffs. Okay, yeah, Bob definitely had the blood pressure elevation part of their evening all under control.
Spencer stretched out carefully, eyeing the officers in the front seat to make sure they hadn't realised he was moving, and nudged his foot against Bob's, just hard enough to get his attention.
"Hey," he mouthed, and Bob dredged up a smile, made some sort of eyebrow-and-mouth quirking gesture that Spencer read easily as "it's gonna be okay" and then slumped back against the seat.
"So what you're saying is we don't need to break out of here," Spencer says quietly, because, well. He was prepared! Slayer super strength, and all that. Although- given the way both cops had sat upright and the one in the passenger seat was now turned around and giving Spencer a cop version of a death glare, apparently it wasn't Slayer super quiet.
"Spencer," Bob said again, "shut up."
Spencer shut up.
* * *
...you're not getting the Ryan-and-Spencer as companions to the Doctor snippet because it's short and more importantly EMBARRASSINGLY CLUNKY. I do like the mental image of Ryan and Brendon lying on a bed in an English hotel room, stoned out of their gourds and thinking they're just imagining the prisoner zero thing, though. :D
[girl!Ryan GSF where they pair off occasionally by consent.]
What Spencer and Jon are doing isn't sneaking off, precisely. For one thing, Brendon and Ryan know all about it (actually, Ryan knows far too much, and Brendon started asking for pictures, which was funny rather than inappropriate, but still), and for another, they've had a lot of Boringly Serious Grown Up discussions about boundaries and consent and Being Okay with things, and conveniently it seemed to turn out that pretty much everyone was okay with everything, but inconveniently it also turns out that most hotel rooms only have double beds and you really can't fit more than two people on there without it getting seriously uncomfortable.
And dangerous. Spencer had hit his head on an end table on one memorable occasion, and Ryan still hadn't lived down having to pay for the clock radio she'd sent flying.
They carefully hadn't explained to Zack just exactly how that one had happened. He was probably under the impression it was the casualty of beer pong (which the Academy had cunningly figured out how to play on a bed with bouncy balls; to the detriment of hotels nationwide) or beer generally or possibly even ordinary everyday Ryan clumsiness; they were hoping very very hard that he wasn't actually paying enough attention to have worked out it was because Ryan flails a lot when Brendon is eating her out.
Actually, for a guy who is like 99% gay ("Seventy-five percent!" Brendon corrects, and smacks Spencer's arm) and freely admits he's kind of out of practice doing naked things with girl parts, Brendon has come up to speed fast.
The other reason Jon and Spencer have carte blanche to go off to their own room is because that actually leaves Ryan and Brendon free to 'work on lyrics', which has, on the occasions in which Spencer has walked in lately, been a fairly liberal translation of the phrase involving people's tongues and occasionally words but mostly just an awful lot of sex.
(The secret part of sometimes-twosome hookups in a polyamorous relationship is actually that sometimes Jon and Spencer go off together to nap. Spencer is not quite ready to make a deeper commitment to Red Bull in his life, and without that, he's going to be the first to admit that he can't quite keep up with Ryan. Jon probably could, but Jon is a fucking weirdo and doesn't seem to care; Jon likes being hard and Jon likes snuggling, but Jon can also fall asleep before getting off if they've wound up in some kind of epic make out session or whatever. Spencer isn't sure that Jon is human, sometimes, but he's certainly nice to snuggle with. Spencer isn't complaining.)
That being said, Spencer isn't actually looking for a good night's sleep, tonight. Spencer's mostly looking for a nice, uncomplicated, seriously good fuck, and he's been watching Jon ever since they came off stage, itchy for a more than just-friends touch, kind of reluctantly admitting that he wants Jon to hold him down and just take.
Jon is pretty on board with that plan, can by now read Spencer easy as pie when Spencer starts giving him the right signals; a short-hand code they've fallen into around other people, one that's usually innocuous enough to pass but easy enough for them to decode.
Spencer sits next to Jon in the lobby while Zack works out their keys, circles thumb and forefinger around his wrist and squeezes gently. Jon just raises an eyebrow, but chooses not to be a dick about, tilting his head to the side to nod agreement.
He licks his lips, though, hiding a secret little smile, and Spencer doesn't have to be a mind-reader to know that Jon's planning; imagining what he's going to do with Spencer as soon as they have a little privacy, a locked door and not enough insulation between them and the rest of the tour.
Across from them, Ryan and Brendon are off in their own little world, bickering cheerfully, shoving each other every now and then; tiny delicate little digs of fingertip and elbow. It's like watching kittens play; every now and then they'll catch each other with their claws, and then they'll both look surprised because they didn't mean that, and then after enough sulking to restore honor they'll bounce right back to curling up together. It's pretty cute, actually. And they're about to hit the end of a curl-up cycle, Spencer can tell. He's kind of sorry this isn't a big enough hotel to have a king room tonight, actually; Ryan's lazy and warm and easy with it in a way that bodes really well for any type of after-show activity, Spencer kind of wants to watch. Plus, there's that little deep down burn any time he looks at Brendon or Ryan or Jon, the one that says "mine" and wants to hold and touch and play.
But they've made their plans for the evening, and having Jon to himself isn't second-best at all, it's a pleasure and a privilege and Spencer is so, so so over wearing pants.
Thankfully, Zack finally sorts out whatever issue the hotel had been having (to be fair, having like thirty people turn up covered in sweat and with a ridiculous amount of luggage at obscene hours of the morning is frequently a problem in and of itself, but that is thank GOD not Spencer's job) and hands them their keys, along with directions to their rooms and a reminder of when bus call is.
"Good night," Spencer says politely as Jon hustles him towards the elevator.
"You too," Zack says, and then winks, and Spencer possibly goes white because awkward and Zack laughs himself stupid, and so does Jon, that dick, just because he hasn't had quite as much time to put Zack into that weird parent/friend boundary place in his head, god.
"Seriously, you're such a dick," Spencer says to Jon, and Jon just says "yeah, you want me," airily and unconcerned, even in front of all of their crew, but they're teenage guys and they can get away with that kind of thing.
Sometimes the best type of lie is the one that's really the truth, Spencer thinks, but as Jon locks the door behind him, he also thinks that it is in fact far too late in the day for philosophising, and frankly it's going to be a far better use of his time to see just how fast he can get Jon naked.
According to the clock radio blinking red on the end table that Spencer doesn't in fact break, it doesn't take long at all.
Of course, Spencer also doesn't remember to set their alarm for bus call.
Can't have everything.
* * *
[Oh look. More girl on girl hookups with gratuitous pop culture references! :D]
"What do you think?" Spencer asks, twirling carefully. The dress is polka-dotted, fitted, and very new. Spencer is... none too sure.
"I like it," Jon says, running her finger along the neckline appreciatively, tracing the curving expanse of skin exposed.
"That's not really helpful," Spencer complains. "Does it actually look like it fits right?"
"Spence," Jon says, too patient. "Remember who you're talking to, here. I am, like, the least feminine person on this tour, aside from maybe Zack."
"Hey!" Ryan objects, but Brendon just shrugs and keeps playing with his laptop.
"It looks good," Ryan confirms, and Spencer glares at her reflection again, twisting to look over her shoulder, checking the drape.
"You look hot," Jon assures her, but then sort of ruins the compliment (or so Spencer would have her believe) by adding, "but then, you look hot in jeans, too, so."
"Yes," Ryan says dryly, to no one in particular, but with a significant amount of volume. "Because Jon is absolutely the most discriminating person when it comes to Spencer and clothes."
"Shut up!" Jon says, stung.
Spencer giggles, at last. "He's got a point, Jon. You're not picky."
"I like you better without clothes on," Jon mutters. "You don't give me so much lip then, either."
"Just tongue," Brendon says, earning a cushion thrown by both Jon and Spencer.
"No more Bring It On," Ryan says, "seriously. I have had it with the quotes."
"Who said Spirit Fingers on stage last night?" Spencer asks Jon, tapping her forefinger against her chin as if she's trying to provoke a memory. "Wasn't there some mention of that?"
"Yeah," Jon says, "I think it was some scrawny guy-" "Hey!" Ryan says again, "-with a guitar and no moral high ground to speak of, yeah."
"You suck," Ryan says, and pretends to storm out, though if Jon knows him, he's probably just going to go grab a snack and then curl up with his book or iPod somewhere anyway, until he gets bored enough to want to come back and hang out again.
"You wish, Ross," Spencer yells after him.
"Hey, no, mine," Jon says, and wraps an arm around Spencer's waist, drawing her near. Jon doesn't pull the possessive thing very often, but Spencer does kind of like it when she does, even when she's not being terribly serious right now.
"I do really like the dress," Jon says softly. "You look amazing. Seriously, if I looked half that good, I'd-" except she cuts off there, because Spencer has given her a very firm punch to the upper arm, and this time it's Jon's turn to yelp "hey!"
"You're going to look seriously hot as well, Jon," Spencer says, glaring as if that's going to make Jon more inclined to believe her. Jon is going to look passable; Jon can pull off passable, and that's about as much effort as Jon really wants to go to, anyway.
"Seriously, girls in tuxes? Totally hot. And those pants fit you really, really well. Like... turn around on stage, and no one's even going to be looking at Brendon."
"Hey!" Brendon objects, but very quietly, and he's totally ignored by both of them.
"Seriously," Spencer goes on, "I don't even know how I'm going to play, with you there being all distracting."
Jon raises an eyebrow. "Really, now."
Spencer grins.
(Brendon rolls his eyes. He's been through this round before.)
"Maybe," Spencer says, sliding closer to Jon, and playing with the short strands of hair that don't stay tucked behind her ears where they're meant to. "Maybe we should... go relax for a while first. Stop worrying about costumes and all that shit. And... take the edge off?" She grins, quick and predatory, thoroughly focused on Jon.
"Or," Jon drawls, eyes hot, "you could keep that costume on. Just for a bit." She hooks her index finger in the neckline of Spencer's dress and tugs it out, going up on her toes to peek in.
"What are you doing?" Spencer says, mildly outraged, although Jon genuinely can't tell if it's more about the possible damage to the dress or the fact that she's totally ogling her goodies. ...maybe Ryan had a point about Bring It On after all.
"Just checking everything's where it's meant to be," Jon says. "Isn't that the point of a dress rehearsal?"
"I'd be a bit fucking worried if those had moved," Spencer says, rolling her own eyes.
"I think I should probably do some kind of hands on inspection, though," Jon argues, stepping closer, so she's just inside Spencer's personal space, her toes nudging between Spencer's heels, hips mere inches away. She leans in a little, raises her palms up to smooth over the fabric of the dress, cupping Spencer's breasts in her hands, shamelessly groping her.
"Hi," Jon says, and leans in for a kiss.
"I get it," Spencer mutters against her mouth, and then bites Jon's lower lip, because she can. "You're just in this for the boob-grabbing."
"Well, they are spectacular tits," Jon says, and "I'm right here," Brendon says, before agreeing with Jon anyway, because he might be mostly gay, but he has eyes.
"I'm not gonna lie," Spencer says, "I'm feeling pretty objectified right now."
Jon grins.
"Want to come back to my bunk and work on that some more?"
"You're so lucky I know what you look like naked," Spencer says, taking Jon's hand anyway. "Your pickup lines are terrible, you would never get laid if you weren't so fucking good at the actual sex part."
"Everyone knows what you two look like naked," Brendon points out helpfully from the couch, and then adds, "and by the way, that was like a mile over the too much information line."
"I'll get Zack to make sure your passport gets stamped," Spencer calls back, and then Jon's yanking at her zipper, and Spencer has to save her from herself, the upshot of which is that Jon doesn't actually get around to listening to see if Brendon had any witty repartee to come back with there. If she doesn't hear about it it probably means they win, right?
* * *
[And then there's the awkward meta one where Hey Monday find fandom and find it both hilarious and illuminating.]
"Dude," Mike says, "dude, you have to see this."
Alex leans out of his bunk, one hand curled around the side to keep him steady in case some idiot driving in front of them brakes suddenly or whatever.
"What are you looking at?" he asks, craning his neck to try to see Mike's laptop screen.
"There's, like. This art. Stuff."
"No one wants to see your porn, Mike," Jersey yells from his bunk, where he has the curtain drawn still and hasn't actually shown his face all morning.
"I want to see his porn," Cassadee says, and swings her feet out of her bunk, bouncing over to Mike.
Mike slams his laptop closed in a hurry, and looks vaguely sheepish.
"Uh, no, it's not really that interesting-" he start, and Alex sits up. This is actually getting interesting. Mike is normally shameless, and Cassadee being technically a girl has never actually been an issue before. He's normally the most forthright about treating her like one of his bros, which is probably not always a good thing, knowing Mike.
"Really," Cassadee says, grinning, and snatches the laptop out of Mike's hands, and rolling into Alex's bunk.
"Defend my honor, dude," she says, and hides behind him while Mike tries to grab his computer back. Alex fends him off, using his feet to keep him back - freakish monkey arms and all - mostly because he just wants to see what's going to happen.
"I'll pull your hair," Mike tries to threaten, "come on, jerk-ass, let me get my stuff! Cass! Give it!"
"Nuh-uh," Cassadee says, and then adds, "it's so cute how you think that closing it was going to make it go away. Learn to clear your browser history, man."
"I am ashamed of nothing," Mike says, and wow, that is a lie, because he redoubles his efforts to get around Alex. Alex is actually struggling a bit now, more because he's laughing himself stupid and it's kind of hard to coordinate that with doing bunk kung fu.
"Oh my god," Cassadee shrieks, and Mike gets around Alex then, because Alex is wincing, because fucking ow, that was both loud and right in his ear.
"What?" Alex asks, suddenly actively curious. Something that makes Cassadee hit a high C has to be pertty impressive.
"Dude," Mike says, and then sighs, because the cat is certainly out of the metaphorical bag by now. "Okay, fine. You remember how Pete warned us that some fans are... really creative?"
Alex doesn't remember that so much as a warning as a "hey, dudes, don't google yourselves, unless you are really fucking drunk, okay?" and then Pete laughing hysterically and Alex making a private vow to not, because anything that makes Pete Wentz laugh that hard is not something he needs to see. Not sober, anyway.
Mike opens the laptop up again and sits down on the bed beside them both, angling it so Alex can see. Alex feels his eyes widen.
"That's- that's- oh my god. Where is my hand??"
"Um," Mike says, starting to crack up, "I think it's meant to be in Elliot's ass?"
"There is no way that would work," Alex says, stumbling over his words a little, because holy shit. He's pretty sure he would remember something like his band having, like, a five person orgy or something, but this looks practically fucking photo-realistic. The internet is really, really scary.
...and, okay, maybe a little hot. He probably shouldn't be thinking about how grabbing Mike's ass wouldn't actually be that bad. That's the sort of thought which is definitely meant to be solely for his alone times.
Hopefully that's not showing on his face, though. Mostly Cassadee has gone past the initial shock and is well into laughing hysterically, too, clutching at Mike for support.
"Our fans are awesome," Cassadee says, "talk about how you love me now."
"Oh my god I can't believe you said that," Alex says, feeling a reluctant smile tug at his lips.
"My tits look awesome in this picture," Cass says, tilting her head to look more closely.
"I hate to break it to you," Alex says, giving in to the urge to shove closer, his knee digging into Mike's thigh, warm through the ridiculous basketball shorts he insists on wearing as pajamas. "But I don't think those are your tits."
"Well, of course not," Cassadee says, rolling her eyes. "No one's boobs point that way without surgery."
"How do you know that?" Mike asks, looking possibly too interested.
"Porn," Cassadee says matter-of-factly. "Also, girls talk. Also, you know, those times I've had sex with them."
"You've had sex with porn stars?" Alex asks, incredulously. That doesn't sound... safe.
"You've had sex with girls?" Mike asks, zeroing in on what's possibly more important.
"You are not going to think about me when you're jerking off," Cassadee says, and it's more like an order.
"Please tell me you had sex with Vicky-T," Mike says, and he is clearly not listening.
"Would you guys please stop talking about having sex?" Elliot yells.
"Why are you in Jersey's bunk?" Alex demands, because wait, what?
"Why is Elliot in Jersey's bunk?" Alex asks Mike, brows drawing together.
"Uh," Mike says, looking shifty. "When a rhythm section love each other very, very much..."
Alex's eyes widen, totally without his consent. "Elliot and Jersey are fucking??"
Elliot sticks his head out from the curtain, looking kind of pissed off. "We were trying to. But someone can't keep his mouth shut."
"You were actually having sex right now?" Cassadee asks. "Can I watch?"
"Oh my god, no," Elliot says and withdraws hurriedly. Alex can hear some muttering behind the curtain, and what sounds like Jersey laughing.
"This has been such an illuminating evening," Cassadee says, making herself at home on Alex's bunk and staring kind of fixedly at the unmoving curtain over Jersey's. "I feel like I know you all so much better now. Biblically, even." She snickers. "Seriously, Mike, how did you even find that?"
"Uh," Mike says, and adds, "so, Elliot and Jersey, yeah, I totally walked in on them yesterday. My EYES, man."
"Wow, he is so not answering the question," Cassadee says, and then grabs the laptop again.
"Ow, friction burn, dude," Mike complains, and looks weirdly nervous.
Cassadee types for a second, and then looks confused. Almost... conflicted, maybe.
"Um. Right. Hey, I'm going to go see when we're stopping next, I need chocolate. Or twizzlers."
Alex bites his lip. That was weird. Like, on the scale of things he's found out this evening, not at all the weirdest thing ever, but still kind of sketchy.
"Dude, why did Cass bail so fast?" Surely Mike's porn can't be that bad. He's shown them double-fisting videos before and they've all just laughed themselves stupid at the bad tans and ridiculous acting.
"Uh," Mike says, and then slumps back against the side of the bunk. "Fine, you're going to find out anyway. So, um. Cassadee knows how to find the search terms, I guess?"
He shoves the laptop at Alex, who feels his eyebrows climb even higher. Holy shit. Forget Panic at the Disco, this is the gayest band ever. "Why were you searching Mike/Alex fanfiction??"
* * *
[I may have actually posted this one before? But if not, I actually like this one a lot still. It's probably the closest to being a full and complete story, actually.]
"Mrph," Spencer mumbles into the pillow, and tries to roll away from Brendon's prodding fingers. "MRPH!" he tries again, with greater pitch and emphasis, but Brendon is unwavering in his attempts, Brendon is unshakeable and persistent and really really annoying.
Also really really naked.
Wait.
What?
"Brendon?" Spencer squeaks, actually squeaks, but he has a damn good excuse, he's, like, a half foot away from Brendon's dick, which is a good foot closer than he would normally be, especially with Brendon just hanging out there, shooting the breeze. Oh god.
"It's FIVE AM," Spencer says, a little wildly, repeating a mental chorus of don't stare at Brendon's dick, don't stare at Brendon's dick, his eyes are up there! and hoping like hell he doesn't get the verbal/mental thing mixed up.
"It's nine," Brendon corrects, and sits down on the edge of Spencer's bed, looking at him seriously.
On the up side, Brendon's dick is no longer right there in Spencer's face.
On the down side, his naked ass is now sitting on Spencer's sheets and probably so are... other parts. The only balls Spencer is okay with touching his sheets are his own, and maybe Johnny Depp circa 2003, but since no one has exactly invented time travel yet, that leaves, yep, just Spencer.
"Why are you naked?" he asks, not really expecting an answer.
Frankly, it's Brendon, and while it's not exactly the first thing you expect to see of a morning, it's also not exactly unprecedented, and it's not like Spencer hasn't seen every bit of Brendon at one point or another.
Just usually there's a tour bus or an equally naked girl or vaguely embarrassed looking boy or, on one absolutely hilarious and only mildly awkward occasion, a Shane holding his camera very, very carefully over his groin, with an expression that promised pain and retribution and the distribution of some very reputation-damaging pictures if anyone had taken it upon themselves to ask just what might be on his memory stick.
Jon and Spencer had laughed themselves very nearly literally sick over that one, and Regan had started texting asking them for pictures, so it was pretty clearly an open secret and one everyone was okay with, so Spencer felt pretty good about being amused rather than concerned.
That being said, this was their house, and they'd been back from tour for like a week, which should mean that Brendon had actually done some laundry, so there was that excuse for bare-assery out the window as well.
"Dude," Brendon says, not seeming to realise anything out of the ordinary is going on anyway, which is just typical and Spencer is going to actually get a fucking chalk board or something and write up some house rules, and "wear pants any time you are in someone else's space, ESPECIALLY THEIR BEDROOM" is going to be right up there at number one, even above "don't fucking use the hand towel to dry the dog bowl, fucker".
"I need your help," he says, and Spencer blanches, because he's read far too many sex advice columns on the road, and there are only so many things Brendon could need his help with if he's naked, and Spencer would rather Brendon just go to the emergency room, frankly, even if it does wind up on buzznet somehow and they get asked about it in interviews forever.
"What did you DO?" Spencer asks, and maybe he's a little shrill. Whatever, it is not his fault.
"I'm not sure how to tell you this," Brendon says, and Spencer upgrades that worry to involving the big screen tv (why didn't Spencer block the cinemax? it's not like he watches it himself. Much.), or possibly his really expensive set of kitchen utensils, or something on fire, and sits up.
"I don't have any pants," Brendon says, and Spencer feels his mouth drop open, because that was very definitely the last thing he would've expected.
"How do you-?" he starts, and Brendon looks a little ashamed but mostly kind of amused.
"I might have... lost a bet?" Brendon starts, and Spencer is not buying it.
"Brendon," he growls, and Brendon ducks his chin, and then looks up at Spencer through his eyelashes, and Spencer is not going to fall for that, he's not.
"Okay," Brendon sighs, his shoulders slumping, and Spencer catches himself a split second before he reaches out to pat Brendon's arm comfortingly, god, he is such an easy mark.
"Spill," Spencer says, mentally planning how much time he'll have to spend doing laundry before he goes to meet Ryan for lunch, because Brendon's ass is still on his sheets and Spencer is still not down with that.
"So Shane and Regan maybe dared me to do something and I kind of didn't listen too closely to the forfeit."
"Oh my god," Spencer says, and rolls over, because if he hides in his pillow Brendon might go away, or at least he might come back with coffee.
"So I need to borrow some pants while I go over to their place to get mine back," Brendon says brightly, and Spencer gives the "oh my god" another try.
"Why- how did they even GET all of your pants?" Spencer asks, immediately wishing he hadn't.
"I was kind of tied up at the time," Brendon explains, and Spencer is finding religion at an accelerated rate here.
"Okay," Spencer says, screwing up his face, and shoving at Brendon's hip, because if nothing else he can't get up either while Brendon is sitting there, "fine, you can have my old jeans, and I don't need them back, just go have your kinky sex games over at Shane's house where they belong."
He rolls out of bed and digs through the dresser, finds an old pair of jeans that hopefully won't be too ridiculous on Brendon, and then tosses a belt to him as an afterthought, as well.
"No jocks?" Brendon asks, sounding a little put out, and Spencer thunks his head onto to top of the dresser.
"No!" he yelps, and then adds, "I don't want the jeans back, by the way. You can't give them to Zack to put on eBay, either."
"I am hurt," Brendon says solemnly.
"I know," Spencer says, pulling on his own jeans, and maliciously selecting his favourite t-shirt to go on top. Brendon can drive over to Shane's house topless, it serves him right. Besides, it's not like Brendon really cares. Brendon is probably only borrowing pants to save himself from a possible public indecency charge. "You're hurt by my casual and excellent grasp of your character."
"You are a terrible man," Brendon tells him, "thanks for the pants, dude, gotta run."
"Have fun and please don't tell me about it ever," Spencer says, and starts stripping his bed while Brendon bounds down the stairs to look for his shoes and his car keys, possibly in that order.
"Hey Spence," Brendon yells, and Spencer comes out to the landing, his arms full of sheets and leans over to listen.
"Shane's gonna be so pissed that I managed to get into your pants without even having to promise you sexual favours, I am winning this bet SO HARD," he crows, and then sprints out the door.
"What?" Spencer asks the empty hallway, because he's not sure what just happened here but he thinks it might've been Brendon playing him, and when he shamelessly busts into Brendon's room to find an entire wardrobe still filled with all of Brendon's trousers - and underwear, that asshole - it's pretty clear that, yeah, that's exactly what it was.
"Ahahahahahahaa" reads the text message he gets from Shane and Ryan both, ten minutes later, "you are so fucking gullible when youre asleep bro", and Spencer just mentally files that away for appropriate vengeance later, while carefully picking up all of Brendon's trousers and hiding them under the sofa where hopefully Boba and Dylan won't get at them, but if they do it's technically Brendon's fault anyway. Frankly, if Brendon's going to pull something like this he really should've seen the comeback coming.
* * *
Jon and Ryan are total dicks, Spencer and Brendon agree, after they get shut out of the 21-and-over birthday party. Total. Dicks.
Jon makes it up to them later with a dime bag of really good weed, but Spencer's been growing up lately and deciding that he's not going to make his life decisions under the influence, even of really good pot, and also that he's not going to be bought that easily, so he pouts for at least five minutes longer, and lets Jon just dangle.
He almost breaks when Jon busts out the puppy-dog eyes and lets his lower lip pout out, but Spencer has withstood Ryan in his blackest glooms and Zack pre-coffee and post-fangirl, and frankly, he can take it.
Plus, he knows from experience if he sticks it out, Jon will eventually actually break and start offering head massages, and Spencer might not be cheap, but he is kind of easy.
His cunning plan works perfectly, and Brendon actually looks a little miffed when Jon heaves a gusty sigh and jabs at Spencer's hip until he shifts round so his back is to Jon, sitting on the floor so Jon can reach him from the couch.
"mmm," Spencer says blissfully as Jon's fingers start to work their way through his hair, pressing and rubbing and scratching behind his ears.
"I feel like I may have been set up," Jon says conversationally, and,
"Fuck you, I earned this," Spencer retorts, and squints one eye open to keep an eye on the clock on the VCR. Jon promised him ten minutes and he's going to get every second of that, thank you very much.
"Me next," Brendon says, weirdly insistent, and Jon just shrugs - Spencer feels his hands lift for a second - and says "sure, fine. You better take this out of Ryan's ass as well, though, since he went along with it. Also, I will point out again that it was Pete's idea."
"And Pete is also an asshole," Spencer says logically, only half meaning it, "but he is also our boss, so we can't actually make him suffer. So carry on, minion." Jon's hands seem to falter for a second, but he resumes the massage almost immediately, and Spencer just slumps back, almost boneless, and lets Jon's knees dig into his shoulderblades.
* * *
This entry also posted at dreamwidth.
comments/ view comments at dreamwidth.