Fic: Squeezed Into Narrow Spaces, A Spencer & Ryan Beffie Ficlet Thinger (Spencer/Brendon)
Uhhh, I wrote? And, umm, it's a bandom ficlet thingy. IDEK!
Fic: Squeezed Into Narrow Spaces, A Spencer & Ryan Beffie Ficlet Thinger (Spencer/Brendon)
Rating: G
Word count: ~1000
Summary/Notes: Spencer still makes Ryan-shaped accomodations from time to time. IDEK, y'all. I'm not a writer. This just...happened? Thanks to kyasurin for the quick once over!
It doesn't happen as often as it used to, but Spencer still makes Ryan-shaped accommodations from time to time. Like today.
Today, Spencer goes to the grocery store. He grabs bread and milk and Brendon's Capri Suns, even though he knows he'll hear the crinkle-crinkle at two in the morning and find empty silver packets under the bed the next time he does laundry. Wandering down the snacks-and-beer aisle, he picks up Corona for himself and pretzel rods for Ryan.
Just like that.
Even though it's been eleven months since Ryan was at Brendon and Spencer's house in Venice.
He does a double take and considers the bag in his hands, remembering back to the summer he and Ryan spent spying on the forty-something go-go dancer who'd moved in just as school ended. They spent every day of those glorious ten weeks lounging on the sun-scorched grass, glasses of ice-cold lemonade and a bowl of Chex mix between them.
Gina, (”more like GY-NA,” Ryan would smirk) would work on her tan every day, oblivious to her admirers on the other side of a privacy fence with a two boards missing. Naturally, she had to avoid tan lines and thus sunbathed naked.
”Not good show,” Ryan would say, snickering as he fished the pretzel rods out of the bowl.
Spencer would laugh and shove a handful of pretzel-less party mix in his mouth.
Smiling to himself, he puts the bag of snacks in his basket and heads to the checkout.
***
On his way home, Spencer stops by Pages, his favorite independent book store. Kat, the owner, is sitting on a stool, bare feet on the counter and flipping through a well-worn copy of A Clockwork Orange when he walks in. She greets him with her usual smile and a wave.
He heads over to the magazines, grabbing The Bark for Brendon (he mentioned something about an article on training dogs to surf last night), Modern Drummer for himself, and the latest New Yorker for Ryan.
Again, he pauses, remembering their first tour. Ryan was moody. Then again, everyone was moody three weeks into the tour.
”Moody and malodorous,” Ryan drawled from the third row seat he had to himself.
“Malodorous?” Spencer asked, looking up from the text he was sending.
Ryan held up his copy of the New Yorker. “Malodorous. It means smelly, fetid. Brendon's feet.”
“Hey!” Brendon shouted incredulously from the driver's seat.
The van did smell worse when Brendon stopped wearing shoes. Ryan referred to it as “Mal the Odorous” until they sold it after their last small clubs tour.
Spencer finds himself tucking the New Yorker in with his other selections and taking them up to Kat at the counter.
***
That night, Brendon suggests pizza for dinner. So, Spencer grabs the phone and calls Tony's. He orders a bacon-sausage-mushroom for Brendon and a half pepperoni, half ham and pineapple for himself. Without thinking, he asks for light sauce. Ryan doesn't like pizza sauce that much, especially with pineapple.
”It just goes against the natural order of things, Spence,” Ryan exclaims. “Tomatoes and pineapple do not belong together!”
“Doesn't it all end up in the same place?” Spencer asks, not bothering to conceal his amusement.
“Maybe, but it doesn't start there,” Ryan counters, serious expression pasted on.
Ginger comes through just then to make sure they've ordered the pizzas. “The girls' friends will be here any minute. I can't thank you both enough for helping with this sleepover.”
Ryan smiles politely, “Of course, Miss Ginger.”
Spencer sticks his tongue out behind his mother's back, crossing his eyes at Ryan's sickly sweet answer. He hadn't volunteered to help with ten eight-year-old girls. But, his mom promised he could have Ryan over to keep him company and that they'd order pizza for dinner.
The promise of his best friend and pizza had sold him and at least he and Ryan wouldn't have to play princess tea party like they did last year for the girls' seventh birthday.
Brendon finds him smiling like an idiot after he's ordered. Hooking his chin over Spencer's shoulder, he snakes his arms around his waist and says, “If I'd known ordering pizza made you that happy, we'd have pizza every single night!”
Spencer grunts, turns and pecks a kiss on Brendon's nose before slipping free. When they sit down to eat (right out of the box, in front of the television), Brendon wrinkles his nose at Spencer's lack of sauce.
***
After dinner, they watch some ridiculous movie on Lifetime. He doesn't really know why or how they get sucked in, but two and a half hours later, he peels himself off the sofa and heads toward the bedroom.
He doesn't realize he's tired until he slips between the cool sheets and drifts off just after his head hits the pillow. A while later, he's not sure how long he's been out, he rouses to the sound of slurping and crinkling. With a groan, he reaches behind himself and finds Brendon's free hand. Spencer hears the empty Capri Sun packet hit the night stand and then drop to the floor even as Brendon rolls over and spoons up behind him.
“You should call him,” Brendon murmurs in his ear.
“What do you mean?” Spencer mumbles into the pillow.
“Light sauce, pretzel rods, and a copy of the New Yorker. You miss your best friend. Call him in the morning,” Brendon says, snuggling closer and drifting off.
Spencer smiles into the darkness. Yeah he thinks as he closes his eyes.
***
Spencer still makes those accommodations for Ryan. Brendon makes them for Spencer.
Fic: Squeezed Into Narrow Spaces, A Spencer & Ryan Beffie Ficlet Thinger (Spencer/Brendon)
Rating: G
Word count: ~1000
Summary/Notes: Spencer still makes Ryan-shaped accomodations from time to time. IDEK, y'all. I'm not a writer. This just...happened? Thanks to kyasurin for the quick once over!
It doesn't happen as often as it used to, but Spencer still makes Ryan-shaped accommodations from time to time. Like today.
Today, Spencer goes to the grocery store. He grabs bread and milk and Brendon's Capri Suns, even though he knows he'll hear the crinkle-crinkle at two in the morning and find empty silver packets under the bed the next time he does laundry. Wandering down the snacks-and-beer aisle, he picks up Corona for himself and pretzel rods for Ryan.
Just like that.
Even though it's been eleven months since Ryan was at Brendon and Spencer's house in Venice.
He does a double take and considers the bag in his hands, remembering back to the summer he and Ryan spent spying on the forty-something go-go dancer who'd moved in just as school ended. They spent every day of those glorious ten weeks lounging on the sun-scorched grass, glasses of ice-cold lemonade and a bowl of Chex mix between them.
Gina, (”more like GY-NA,” Ryan would smirk) would work on her tan every day, oblivious to her admirers on the other side of a privacy fence with a two boards missing. Naturally, she had to avoid tan lines and thus sunbathed naked.
”Not good show,” Ryan would say, snickering as he fished the pretzel rods out of the bowl.
Spencer would laugh and shove a handful of pretzel-less party mix in his mouth.
Smiling to himself, he puts the bag of snacks in his basket and heads to the checkout.
***
On his way home, Spencer stops by Pages, his favorite independent book store. Kat, the owner, is sitting on a stool, bare feet on the counter and flipping through a well-worn copy of A Clockwork Orange when he walks in. She greets him with her usual smile and a wave.
He heads over to the magazines, grabbing The Bark for Brendon (he mentioned something about an article on training dogs to surf last night), Modern Drummer for himself, and the latest New Yorker for Ryan.
Again, he pauses, remembering their first tour. Ryan was moody. Then again, everyone was moody three weeks into the tour.
”Moody and malodorous,” Ryan drawled from the third row seat he had to himself.
“Malodorous?” Spencer asked, looking up from the text he was sending.
Ryan held up his copy of the New Yorker. “Malodorous. It means smelly, fetid. Brendon's feet.”
“Hey!” Brendon shouted incredulously from the driver's seat.
The van did smell worse when Brendon stopped wearing shoes. Ryan referred to it as “Mal the Odorous” until they sold it after their last small clubs tour.
Spencer finds himself tucking the New Yorker in with his other selections and taking them up to Kat at the counter.
***
That night, Brendon suggests pizza for dinner. So, Spencer grabs the phone and calls Tony's. He orders a bacon-sausage-mushroom for Brendon and a half pepperoni, half ham and pineapple for himself. Without thinking, he asks for light sauce. Ryan doesn't like pizza sauce that much, especially with pineapple.
”It just goes against the natural order of things, Spence,” Ryan exclaims. “Tomatoes and pineapple do not belong together!”
“Doesn't it all end up in the same place?” Spencer asks, not bothering to conceal his amusement.
“Maybe, but it doesn't start there,” Ryan counters, serious expression pasted on.
Ginger comes through just then to make sure they've ordered the pizzas. “The girls' friends will be here any minute. I can't thank you both enough for helping with this sleepover.”
Ryan smiles politely, “Of course, Miss Ginger.”
Spencer sticks his tongue out behind his mother's back, crossing his eyes at Ryan's sickly sweet answer. He hadn't volunteered to help with ten eight-year-old girls. But, his mom promised he could have Ryan over to keep him company and that they'd order pizza for dinner.
The promise of his best friend and pizza had sold him and at least he and Ryan wouldn't have to play princess tea party like they did last year for the girls' seventh birthday.
Brendon finds him smiling like an idiot after he's ordered. Hooking his chin over Spencer's shoulder, he snakes his arms around his waist and says, “If I'd known ordering pizza made you that happy, we'd have pizza every single night!”
Spencer grunts, turns and pecks a kiss on Brendon's nose before slipping free. When they sit down to eat (right out of the box, in front of the television), Brendon wrinkles his nose at Spencer's lack of sauce.
***
After dinner, they watch some ridiculous movie on Lifetime. He doesn't really know why or how they get sucked in, but two and a half hours later, he peels himself off the sofa and heads toward the bedroom.
He doesn't realize he's tired until he slips between the cool sheets and drifts off just after his head hits the pillow. A while later, he's not sure how long he's been out, he rouses to the sound of slurping and crinkling. With a groan, he reaches behind himself and finds Brendon's free hand. Spencer hears the empty Capri Sun packet hit the night stand and then drop to the floor even as Brendon rolls over and spoons up behind him.
“You should call him,” Brendon murmurs in his ear.
“What do you mean?” Spencer mumbles into the pillow.
“Light sauce, pretzel rods, and a copy of the New Yorker. You miss your best friend. Call him in the morning,” Brendon says, snuggling closer and drifting off.
Spencer smiles into the darkness. Yeah he thinks as he closes his eyes.
***
Spencer still makes those accommodations for Ryan. Brendon makes them for Spencer.