Bandfic: Closer (Panic! Brendon/Spencer. PG.)
Title: Closer
Author: tigs
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own.
Summary: It feels different when, the moment Ryan sees them, he slams to a halt and says, “Shhh! We don’t want to interrupt Spence and Brendon’s cuddle time!” (~1700 words)
A/N: For a completely unofficial game of cliche bingo I'm playing with amy13. The prompt was cuddling.
i.
The first time it happens, Brendon falls asleep halfway through *Raiders of the Lost Ark*. His head is tipped back, his mouth open, and he’s already sort of, well, *slouched* in Spencer’s direction, so Spencer’s not overly surprised when, ten minutes later, he feels the soft *thud* of Brendon’s head hitting his arm.
They’re alone in Spencer’s family room, or else Spencer might be a little more forceful when he jerks his arm a few times, trying to dislodge Brendon, or make him tip back the other way, towards the pillows, or wake him up enough to get him to move. Despite all of Spencer’s (not very hard) exertions, Brendon doesn’t wake up, and he doesn’t move. No, he just sort of… resettles, so his head is more on Spencer’s shoulder, and he drools a little bit on Spencer’s shirt, and Spencer is *so* never going to let him live this down, *ever*.
But then Brendon wakes up about three minutes before the credits roll, and he twists a little bit, rubbing his eyes and nose against Spencer’s t-shirt, almost like he’s trying to bury himself deeper, and then he seems to realize that he’s actually been sleeping on Spencer and not just a Spencer-shaped pillow.
He freezes and, a long moment later, starts to pull back, and when Spencer looks over at him, he thinks that Brendon’s cheeks look a little more flushed than usual, which is just, no.
So, despite his resolution to tease Brendon about this until they’re pretty much old and gray, he reaches an arm out, pulls Brendon closer again, and then rubs his knuckles through Brendon’s hair in a half-noogie, guaranteed to make Brendon giggle.
Which he does.
And about 30 seconds later, when he *really* pulls away, he’s grinning at Spencer.
Spencer smiles back.
ii.
The next time it happens, they’re in fucking Maryland, and Spencer’s so fucking tired that he stopped being able to see straight about 10 days ago, and they’ve spent most of the day sniping at each other and Spencer’s head hurts like *fuck* and technically it’s not his idea for them to all go their separate ways for the evening, to just *get away* from each other for a few hours, but Brent only beats him to the suggestion by about 30 seconds.
So, for what feels like the first time in three weeks, Spencer’s had three hours to himself: dinner at McDonalds, a walk down to the park a few blocks from their apartment, most of an hour spent in the comic book shop a few blocks beyond that, flipping through the new arrivals, the bins of older issues in their plastic covers, then the longer walk back.
He knows that he’s not the first one back when he hears the tinny sound of the TV through the door of the apartment, but he’s still a little bit surprised when he sees that it’s Brendon who’s curled up on the couch, watching some shitty infomercial.
“It’s this little oven,” Brendon says as Spencer shuts the door. “Or, like, this hotplate thing? I don’t even fucking know. But this lady put cake batter in it, and, like, some candy bar or something? And eight minutes later she had a mini cake with a gooey, melt-y center. And she put eggs into another one and made, like, an omelet in two minutes or something. It looked fucking nasty, though.”
Spencer can imagine.
He’s still standing back by the door-not wary, but after three hours of his own thoughts it feels a little bit like culture shock to be back in the land of the social. Brendon rolls his eyes and then pats the spot on the couch next to him, so Spencer walks over and sits. Well, sprawls, because Brendon may be little, but he can take up more room than anyone Spencer’s met in his life.
“Maybe,” Brendon says, “maybe if we’re really lucky, they’ll have a slicer-dicer up next. Or one of those Nordic Track things. Ooh, or maybe we’ll get the Sham Wow commercial!”
Spencer laughs.
It’s not a slicer-dicer, or a Nordic Track, or a Sham Wow. Instead, it’s a miracle plant grow formula of some sort, and halfway through the first set of testimonials, Brendon’s making up his own, imitating the average house wife from Kansas who just can’t *live* without this product. Halfway through the second demonstration of the power of three drops of this formula, Brendon’s leaning against Spencer, laughing so hard he has tears in his eyes.
Spencer’s known Brendon long enough at this point that it’s natural for him to bring his hand up and ruffle Brendon’s hair.
Brendon doesn’t move away. At least not until Ryan comes tumbling through the door a few minutes later, talking about this gallery that he found, well, somewhere, and there had been this picture, this painting, and fuck, Ryan really wanted it.
“Well when we’re rich and famous you can come back and buy it!” Brendon says, most of the way back to his own side of the couch, and Ryan says, “Yeah, I am totally going to do that.”
iii.
After the fifth time, Spencer stops counting.
Because after Maryland they’re basically living on top of each other in a van, heads on shoulders, knees in stomachs, dirty socks and CDs and empty bags of chips and half-full soda bottles under foot.
And after the van, they move onto a bus, which is, well.
It has more places to escape in, yes, but their crap is still spread out over every available surface, and Spencer’s maybe forgotten that his space is not also Brendon’s and Ryan’s and Jon’s. They have no problems sitting on top of each other, draping legs over each other’s laps, sitting so close that elbows, hips, and knees are pressed together. Spencer’s even used to waking up on the couch with Ryan’s feet in his face, or Jon’s ankles tangled with his.
It’s not even that unusual for Spencer to wake up on the couch in the morning with Brendon asleep against his chest, his hand burrowed between Spencer’s back and the cushions, holding himself in place. Or for one of Spencer’s arms to be draped over Brendon’s torso, or for his other hand to be resting on Brendon’s head, fingers carding through his short, dark hair, occasionally twisting strands of it together.
It feels a little different, though, the morning Ryan and Jon come stumbling into the lounge, loud and giggly. It feels different when, the moment Ryan sees them, he slams to a halt and says, “Shhh! We don’t want to interrupt Spence and Brendon’s cuddle time!”
Spencer glares, of course, and he would tell them to fuck off, except Brendon’s still asleep, and he.
Well.
Yeah.
iv.
So. The cuddling. It hasn’t been a big deal, and it hasn’t been a big deal, and it hasn’t been a big deal, and then all of a sudden, it feels like a big fucking deal. Spencer wants to blame Ryan, because he was the one to actually call it ‘cuddle time’, since despite the fact that Spencer long ago gave up the notion of a personal space bubble when he relates to his band, there’s a difference between living on top of each other and, you know, cuddling.
Which is apparently what Spencer and Brendon have been doing. And maybe more often than Spencer realized, because when they watched movies in the back lounge, he totally hadn’t thought anything of it when Brendon leaned a head on his shoulder, and he hadn’t pushed Brendon away when he sat halfway on top of Spencer, and the times when Spencer had woken up with his head on Brendon’s thigh, he hadn’t felt weird about it at all.
Except for the fact that when he thinks about it now, he totally does. Which, Spencer guesses, does make it a big deal, because all of a sudden he’s hyper aware of where Brendon is in relation to Spencer’s own space, and maybe he doesn’t sit next to Brendon as often anymore, and maybe he actually pinches himself awake so that he doesn’t wake up draped across Brendon, and maybe when Brendon falls asleep on Spencer’s shoulder, he sits stiff and still until Brendon blinks his eyes open again.
It takes him about a week to notice that Jon is frowning at him in a way that Spencer knows means he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong, and Ryan’s actually moved onto glaring just a bit.
It takes two days longer than that for Spencer to realize that Brendon’s no longer sitting quite so close, and that Brendon’s not falling asleep during movies either, and that maybe he’s not laughing quite as much as he had been two weeks before, and-
Ryan’s the one to corner Spencer.
“You’re being an idiot,” he says. Then, when Spencer tries to look clueless, he says, “Did you think we didn’t know? Really? Jon and I aren’t fucking *stupid*, Spence.”
And Spencer wants to say that there was nothing to know, really, but, well, Spencer’s not stupid either.
v.
So later that day, Spencer finds Brendon sitting on the couch in the back lounge, watching one of the *Die Hard*s and Spencer stands there awkwardly, looking at Brendon until Brendon looks up at him.
Brendon’s expression is halfway closed off, which makes Spencer wince, so then he says, “I’m an idiot.” Explanation, apology.
It takes a moment, but then Brendon nods and he pats the spot on the couch beside him. Spencer moves slowly, but then he sits, closer to Brendon than he has in days, and it feels natural to lean against Brendon’s shoulder.
It feels better when Brendon puts his arm around him, when Spencer lets his head drop against Brendon’s. He shifts, scooting downwards until he’s more comfortable, and he may or may not make a contented sort of humming noise when Brendon’s fingers come up to play with Spencer’s hair.
Spencer doesn’t notice when his eyes drift shut, but sometime later, he thinks he hears Ryan and Jon joining them in the lounge. He thinks he hears muted laughter. He thinks he hears Ryan say something about cuddle time, but Brendon says, “Shut up, Ross,” and Spencer maybe, most of the way asleep, smiles.
Author: tigs
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own.
Summary: It feels different when, the moment Ryan sees them, he slams to a halt and says, “Shhh! We don’t want to interrupt Spence and Brendon’s cuddle time!” (~1700 words)
A/N: For a completely unofficial game of cliche bingo I'm playing with amy13. The prompt was cuddling.
i.
The first time it happens, Brendon falls asleep halfway through *Raiders of the Lost Ark*. His head is tipped back, his mouth open, and he’s already sort of, well, *slouched* in Spencer’s direction, so Spencer’s not overly surprised when, ten minutes later, he feels the soft *thud* of Brendon’s head hitting his arm.
They’re alone in Spencer’s family room, or else Spencer might be a little more forceful when he jerks his arm a few times, trying to dislodge Brendon, or make him tip back the other way, towards the pillows, or wake him up enough to get him to move. Despite all of Spencer’s (not very hard) exertions, Brendon doesn’t wake up, and he doesn’t move. No, he just sort of… resettles, so his head is more on Spencer’s shoulder, and he drools a little bit on Spencer’s shirt, and Spencer is *so* never going to let him live this down, *ever*.
But then Brendon wakes up about three minutes before the credits roll, and he twists a little bit, rubbing his eyes and nose against Spencer’s t-shirt, almost like he’s trying to bury himself deeper, and then he seems to realize that he’s actually been sleeping on Spencer and not just a Spencer-shaped pillow.
He freezes and, a long moment later, starts to pull back, and when Spencer looks over at him, he thinks that Brendon’s cheeks look a little more flushed than usual, which is just, no.
So, despite his resolution to tease Brendon about this until they’re pretty much old and gray, he reaches an arm out, pulls Brendon closer again, and then rubs his knuckles through Brendon’s hair in a half-noogie, guaranteed to make Brendon giggle.
Which he does.
And about 30 seconds later, when he *really* pulls away, he’s grinning at Spencer.
Spencer smiles back.
ii.
The next time it happens, they’re in fucking Maryland, and Spencer’s so fucking tired that he stopped being able to see straight about 10 days ago, and they’ve spent most of the day sniping at each other and Spencer’s head hurts like *fuck* and technically it’s not his idea for them to all go their separate ways for the evening, to just *get away* from each other for a few hours, but Brent only beats him to the suggestion by about 30 seconds.
So, for what feels like the first time in three weeks, Spencer’s had three hours to himself: dinner at McDonalds, a walk down to the park a few blocks from their apartment, most of an hour spent in the comic book shop a few blocks beyond that, flipping through the new arrivals, the bins of older issues in their plastic covers, then the longer walk back.
He knows that he’s not the first one back when he hears the tinny sound of the TV through the door of the apartment, but he’s still a little bit surprised when he sees that it’s Brendon who’s curled up on the couch, watching some shitty infomercial.
“It’s this little oven,” Brendon says as Spencer shuts the door. “Or, like, this hotplate thing? I don’t even fucking know. But this lady put cake batter in it, and, like, some candy bar or something? And eight minutes later she had a mini cake with a gooey, melt-y center. And she put eggs into another one and made, like, an omelet in two minutes or something. It looked fucking nasty, though.”
Spencer can imagine.
He’s still standing back by the door-not wary, but after three hours of his own thoughts it feels a little bit like culture shock to be back in the land of the social. Brendon rolls his eyes and then pats the spot on the couch next to him, so Spencer walks over and sits. Well, sprawls, because Brendon may be little, but he can take up more room than anyone Spencer’s met in his life.
“Maybe,” Brendon says, “maybe if we’re really lucky, they’ll have a slicer-dicer up next. Or one of those Nordic Track things. Ooh, or maybe we’ll get the Sham Wow commercial!”
Spencer laughs.
It’s not a slicer-dicer, or a Nordic Track, or a Sham Wow. Instead, it’s a miracle plant grow formula of some sort, and halfway through the first set of testimonials, Brendon’s making up his own, imitating the average house wife from Kansas who just can’t *live* without this product. Halfway through the second demonstration of the power of three drops of this formula, Brendon’s leaning against Spencer, laughing so hard he has tears in his eyes.
Spencer’s known Brendon long enough at this point that it’s natural for him to bring his hand up and ruffle Brendon’s hair.
Brendon doesn’t move away. At least not until Ryan comes tumbling through the door a few minutes later, talking about this gallery that he found, well, somewhere, and there had been this picture, this painting, and fuck, Ryan really wanted it.
“Well when we’re rich and famous you can come back and buy it!” Brendon says, most of the way back to his own side of the couch, and Ryan says, “Yeah, I am totally going to do that.”
iii.
After the fifth time, Spencer stops counting.
Because after Maryland they’re basically living on top of each other in a van, heads on shoulders, knees in stomachs, dirty socks and CDs and empty bags of chips and half-full soda bottles under foot.
And after the van, they move onto a bus, which is, well.
It has more places to escape in, yes, but their crap is still spread out over every available surface, and Spencer’s maybe forgotten that his space is not also Brendon’s and Ryan’s and Jon’s. They have no problems sitting on top of each other, draping legs over each other’s laps, sitting so close that elbows, hips, and knees are pressed together. Spencer’s even used to waking up on the couch with Ryan’s feet in his face, or Jon’s ankles tangled with his.
It’s not even that unusual for Spencer to wake up on the couch in the morning with Brendon asleep against his chest, his hand burrowed between Spencer’s back and the cushions, holding himself in place. Or for one of Spencer’s arms to be draped over Brendon’s torso, or for his other hand to be resting on Brendon’s head, fingers carding through his short, dark hair, occasionally twisting strands of it together.
It feels a little different, though, the morning Ryan and Jon come stumbling into the lounge, loud and giggly. It feels different when, the moment Ryan sees them, he slams to a halt and says, “Shhh! We don’t want to interrupt Spence and Brendon’s cuddle time!”
Spencer glares, of course, and he would tell them to fuck off, except Brendon’s still asleep, and he.
Well.
Yeah.
iv.
So. The cuddling. It hasn’t been a big deal, and it hasn’t been a big deal, and it hasn’t been a big deal, and then all of a sudden, it feels like a big fucking deal. Spencer wants to blame Ryan, because he was the one to actually call it ‘cuddle time’, since despite the fact that Spencer long ago gave up the notion of a personal space bubble when he relates to his band, there’s a difference between living on top of each other and, you know, cuddling.
Which is apparently what Spencer and Brendon have been doing. And maybe more often than Spencer realized, because when they watched movies in the back lounge, he totally hadn’t thought anything of it when Brendon leaned a head on his shoulder, and he hadn’t pushed Brendon away when he sat halfway on top of Spencer, and the times when Spencer had woken up with his head on Brendon’s thigh, he hadn’t felt weird about it at all.
Except for the fact that when he thinks about it now, he totally does. Which, Spencer guesses, does make it a big deal, because all of a sudden he’s hyper aware of where Brendon is in relation to Spencer’s own space, and maybe he doesn’t sit next to Brendon as often anymore, and maybe he actually pinches himself awake so that he doesn’t wake up draped across Brendon, and maybe when Brendon falls asleep on Spencer’s shoulder, he sits stiff and still until Brendon blinks his eyes open again.
It takes him about a week to notice that Jon is frowning at him in a way that Spencer knows means he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong, and Ryan’s actually moved onto glaring just a bit.
It takes two days longer than that for Spencer to realize that Brendon’s no longer sitting quite so close, and that Brendon’s not falling asleep during movies either, and that maybe he’s not laughing quite as much as he had been two weeks before, and-
Ryan’s the one to corner Spencer.
“You’re being an idiot,” he says. Then, when Spencer tries to look clueless, he says, “Did you think we didn’t know? Really? Jon and I aren’t fucking *stupid*, Spence.”
And Spencer wants to say that there was nothing to know, really, but, well, Spencer’s not stupid either.
v.
So later that day, Spencer finds Brendon sitting on the couch in the back lounge, watching one of the *Die Hard*s and Spencer stands there awkwardly, looking at Brendon until Brendon looks up at him.
Brendon’s expression is halfway closed off, which makes Spencer wince, so then he says, “I’m an idiot.” Explanation, apology.
It takes a moment, but then Brendon nods and he pats the spot on the couch beside him. Spencer moves slowly, but then he sits, closer to Brendon than he has in days, and it feels natural to lean against Brendon’s shoulder.
It feels better when Brendon puts his arm around him, when Spencer lets his head drop against Brendon’s. He shifts, scooting downwards until he’s more comfortable, and he may or may not make a contented sort of humming noise when Brendon’s fingers come up to play with Spencer’s hair.
Spencer doesn’t notice when his eyes drift shut, but sometime later, he thinks he hears Ryan and Jon joining them in the lounge. He thinks he hears muted laughter. He thinks he hears Ryan say something about cuddle time, but Brendon says, “Shut up, Ross,” and Spencer maybe, most of the way asleep, smiles.