Starry-Eyed Surprise.
Title: Starry-Eyed Surprise.
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: Patrick/Spencer (with some references to Patrick/Pete & underage!Spencer/Ryan)
Word-count: 3022 words.
Summary: Everything is going smoothly for Spencer with the recording of Panic!'s first album, until Pete and Patrick show up unexpectedly to check up on their progress.
Extra credit: vanilla_alia for the opening paragraph. Happy VERY belated birthday, darling!
Prompt: It was good to be touched the way he touched me. Until then, I didn't know how sad I was. Sometimes you don't, because it's just, I don't know, all around. -Everything's Eventual [short story by Stephen King].
This story was written for the peterickfics FIC WAR(!) where I was Rival #2 for ♥ TEAM ROMANCE ♥! We came in second place (also known as "we lost") but angst reeeally brought it, so I'm not ashamed!
The day Patrick showed up with Pete in Maryland to watch his band record, Spencer's hand shook so wretchedly at the former man's unrelenting gaze that even Brent, who notoriously had the least rhythm, cocked an eyebrow in Spencer's direction.
It was certainly a surprise. Spencer had only expected Pete to venture this far into the middle of nowhere to check up on their progress... and Spencer was even fucking that up with his inability to hold a beat. He blamed his heart, pounding in his chest, for screwing with his musical cadence.
Patrick.
Patrick's skin.
Patrick's mouth.
Patrick who had handily convinced Spencer back in LA only a few months prior not to get homesick so quickly, not to quit before things got rolling, that being in a band had its perks. Spencer hadn't taken to things quite as quickly as Ryan had.
Patrick who had convinced him of these things with such certainty by pushing Spencer back into a wall, warm hands on his hips, teeth gently pulling on Spencer's lower lip, breath coming short but even. Practiced, like Patrick knew exactly what effect he had.
Afterwards, Spencer could only think how it was good to be touched the way Patrick had touched him. Until then, he didn't know how sad he'd really been. Sometimes you don't, because it's just, like, all around. And more than anything, he was grateful to Patrick for showing him how he could be happy, that he could really enjoy this.
Patrick. Was here. In mother-fucking Maryland.
###
"How have you been?" Voice low, eyes gazing lower but not glazing over.
"You'd know if you'd called." Spencer didn't mean for it to come out so bitchily, but he couldn't help but be brutally honest around Patrick. Those weren't eyes you lied to.
Patrick physically winced at the acidic tone. The effect was Spencer immediately feeling like he'd kicked in Patrick's sand-castle then stolen his ice cream cone. "I didn't know what to say." A likely excuse. The pause stretched out, broke. "Pete and I..."
Spencer nodded quickly, interrupting the thought; he already knew about things with Pete. Ryan had explained most of it to him on their way home after that weekend in Los Angeles, confessing his role in the grand scheme of things. Ryan was the authority on Pete Wentz. Besides which, Spencer wasn't an idiot. He had already put some of the pieces together. The way Patrick had hesitated (if only for a nanosecond) before kissing Spencer, each time looking over his shoulder, even though they were definitely alone in that dark hallway, that rental car, that men's room stall.
Because of this, Spencer hadn't really expected Patrick to call. Or email. Or text. Or willingly see him for any reason. And when he hadn't heard from Patrick in a month, then two, he thought he'd had it all figured out. Spencer had only really felt guilty about not feeling guilty about letting himself be used, if you could even call it that. Patrick had been trying to help. And technically, it had been pretty innocent; although innocent could've been Spencer's middle name for all the sex he'd gotten in high school. And Ryan didn't count. Patrick's mouth on his, hips grinding... yeah. It had been entirely worth it.
Looking back at Patrick, face open and sheepish, Spencer couldn't even pretend to be angry. Or any less turned on.
###
"I should tell you... I've been having dreams about this," Patrick mumbled against Spencer's neck. "Vivid ones."
Spencer blushed, breathless. "I don't believe you." Patrick's hands were working his belt buckle. "You're just saying that to get me into bed."
Grinning, Patrick made a vague 'look where we are' gesture with his free hand. "You got here on your own, kid." He was mostly right. Except for the kid part. Spencer didn't feel very young right now, and Patrick wasn't even five years older.
Wait, what's the age of consent in Maryland?
"I'm not joking, though." Patrick's warm mouth found Spencer's again, pushing him backwards slightly with the force of his insistence. Spencer caught himself, stopped himself from falling over by reaching out blindly for the painted metal ladder, grabbing a rung. He'd always known that some part of claiming the lower bunk-bed would pay off somehow, since up until this point, it had only meant enduring Ryan's fitful bed-shaking nightmares. "I knew this was going to happen."
"Cocky."
"No, clairvoyant. At least a little bit. I generally know what, I just don't know when."
Patrick's hand snaked into Spencer's boxers, a low growl in the back of his throat, and all doubts and questions briefly melted. Spencer struggled to get his words in order, force them out between insistent kisses.
"So you aren't worried about... you know." Peter. "Uh, someone walking in?" Spencer thought he'd give Patrick an out, just in case. Technically, everyone else had left to get supper, but there was no reason to pretend that the possibility, however slight, wasn't there.
"They're gone." Shirts lifted up, up, over shoulders and heads. "I know they are." Patrick pushes his hair back, Spencer's eyebrows knitted in concern. "Come on, Spence. I can't relax if you don't," a small, hopeful bite on his collarbone, "and I really want you to relax." Spencer felt himself propelled slowly backwards until his head found pillow. As Patrick's confidence grew, Spencer tried to feel less worried about being a plot device in the saga that was Peter and Patrick, and more humbled by the idea that Patrick may have flown all the way out there just to make out with him, Spencer James Smith V, based on one or two alleged sexy dreams. About him.
The notion left him oddly overcome, although luckily not literally, and it took a full stop from Patrick's steadily-downward assault of bites and kisses along Spencer's rib cage for him to even remember where he was and just exactly was happening. Except, he didn't honestly know what was happening. That was the tricky part.
Patrick, by now wearing little but a puzzled (yet pleased) expression, awkwardly propped himself up on both elbows and looked up into Spencer's vaguely astonished face. "Spence. Hey. Are you alright?"
It took another long moment for Spencer to focus and croak out a reply. "It's not that I'm not completely into this, ‘cause-ugh," he tried to sit up but Patrick was half-kneeling, half-lying between his thighs, pinning him down, "I mean, hi, you're really fucking awesome, Patrick... but all that aside, I also totally like you." Patrick was blushing now, but not conscious of it. "And I don't want to do this if you've got, you know," Spencer's voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, "ulterior motives."
Patrick only chuckled, a reaction more to the gravity Spencer gave the words than the whole situation, but it made Spencer now feel very young and very foolish. A pained look crossed his face, and he began to wriggle out from under Patrick's weight. When Patrick realized his mistake in laughing and moved to kiss him, Spencer considered not allowing it, but then it was slow and deliberate and strangely reassuring, and he just. Couldn't. Help it. "Ugh, fine. You win."
"Mmm," Patrick broke the kiss. "Don't worry, Spence. I want to be here. And besides, I've been waiting for you to say that for awhile as well."
Ugh, damn. "Fucking clairvoyance again?" Spencer growled, disbelief again rising to the surface.
Patrick shrugged as best he could, now raised up on his knees with arms braced on either side of Spencer's shoulders, staring down, unapologetic. "Some of it, maybe."
"That's unfair." Spencer didn't want to pout, he really didn't. Sulky whiners don't get to make out with Patrick Stump. But, still. "It's hard to surprise you if you know everything I'm going to say before I do."
Leaning down to nibble at Spencer's earlobe, Patrick explained in his best gravelly voice. "I only see pieces, and only of one possible future. Nothing is set in stone." He bit a little harder, and Spencer jumped. "There are always surprises waiting around the corner."
"Like what?" Spencer asked, a little breathily.
"Like, in my dream, you didn't let me kiss you again. You got up, you got dressed, and waited in the kitchen for them to bring back supper. You didn't let me touch you again." Patrick slowly let his knees give out, pressing his weight down on Spencer, pushing their bodies together. This wonderful friction, solid and warm, was remarkably convincing. What was it about Patrick that could so easily put someone at ease? "You're still here. So, surprise me, Spence."
Which was precisely Spencer's cue to grab Patrick's sides and hastily flip them over (one advantage to being roughly the same weight, but definitely taller), because if Spencer was going to do this, he wanted to do it right. And if he'd learned anything from growing up with Ryan Ross as a best friend and mentor, it was how to give a good blowjob. Or at least, an enthusiastic one.
Slipping as quickly and as gracefully as he could to the other end of the short bunk-bed, Spencer tried not to look too over-eager as he reached for the waistband of Patrick's boxers and slid them off, Patrick helpfully lifting his ass off the mattress. As Spencer leaned forward, palming Patrick's thighs, the rickety metal bed frame groaned under their weight and the springs squeaked loudly in protest. Spencer paused, looked up at Patrick. "Is this okay? Are you, y'know, comfortable?"
Patrick opened his eyes and raised himself up on an elbow. "There's kind of a spring poking me in the back." He shifts a little. Making an album in LA with big-label money meant Patrick was no longer accustomed to questionable (read: shitty) mattresses.
"I meant, uh," why was he so incapable of sentences? Spencer blushed. "Like, this," he continued, and then licked a broad stripe up the underside of Patrick's cock. Patrick's eyes, usually crinkled in a smile, went wide then rolled back into his head. His arms began to shake, and Patrick fell back against the mattress, having lost the strength to hold himself up any longer.
"Um, yes. That..." Spencer gripped him with his left hand, sucking the head between his lips. "That's great." Patrick does his best to not buck his hips too far up, too quickly. He pressed his shoulders back deeper into the mattress, pokey springs be damned.
Spencer wasn't perfect at it. It was messy and a little noisy and sometimes he dragged his teeth a little bit, but Patrick didn't hold back with the encouraging moans, and goddamn did Spencer wish he had a tape-recorder, because if the whole band thing doesn't work out, he could still make a mint by selling this veritable sonata to the masses.
Pausing his efforts for a moment, Spencer pulled off and asked "Will they be home soon?"
"I don't fucking know," Patrick mumbled, which is how Spencer learned that Patrick is only conscientious and a worrier when he's not getting close to coming. It's astonishingly sexy in theory, but Spencer still wasn't all that interested in getting walked in on by his band mates and Pete Wentz.
"I thought you were clairvoyant. Shouldn't you know?" Slightly taunting, still disbelieving, but still stroking Patrick with one hand, cock slick with pre-come and saliva.
Patrick didn't reply, just grabbed Spencer by the shoulder and yanked him back up so that he could kiss that smirk away, tasting himself on Spencer's tongue in the process. Spencer tightened his fist, stroked faster, and Patrick's kisses turned biting, then to sucking appreciatively on Spencer's lower lip.
Of course, neither of them knew how soon the others would be back, but they probably didn't have all the time in the world. Patrick hastily pushed Spencer's shorts down his thighs and quickly matched Spencer's rhythm.
Spencer was delirious. He was dreaming. He had to be. Things couldn't be going this well.
Flushed and sweaty, Patrick came into Spencer's hand, and the loud groan that escapes his lips was enough to send Spencer over the edge as well. At least, Spencer likes to tell himself later that that was the reason he came so quickly, and not that it was because he's seventeen and relatively inexperienced. Either way, it was because of Patrick.
Patrick, who had made him feel cheap, sorta used, and then apologized so sweetly.
Patrick, who had first kissed him because Spencer was sad, then because he was angry.
Patrick, who was humming into his ear, stroking his hip, almost purring.
Patrick, who said he could see the future, but it was wrong. He'd changed it.
Patrick.
"We've got to get dressed," he murmured into Spencer's neck, but didn't move.
"I guess so." Spencer didn't budge either, and regardless of any doubts, was quite content to breathe Patrick's air, pressed against him, sticky and warm. Oh, ugh. Very sticky. "Alright, up!" Peeling away, Spencer found his underwear and handed Patrick's to him with a quick kiss.
Patrick, Patrick, Patrick.
What exactly had Spencer gotten himself into?
###
"So, uh... how long are you guys staying?" Spencer tried his best to sound casual, unaffected. They're both clean, dressed and sitting on the sketchy living room sofa. He'd intentionally sat down with a respectable foot-wide gap between them, then began fidgeting with his long hair, tucking and un-tucking the ends behind his ears. Ryan had insisted that they all grow their hair long, that it would be a good "image" for the band. Spencer thought that it was bullshit, but given that the only one who could cut his hair was Brendon, and that kid should never be allowed near sharp objects, he'd decided to leave it long, even if it did annoy the shit out of him.
Patrick was difficult to read, now that his face was soft (and still a little pink), but at least his eyes weren't burrowing a hole in Spencer's soul. "Two nights, then back to Los Angeles for a few days," he replied, voice quiet, thoughtful. "We'd hang out longer, but you guys should really focus on the album."
Spencer couldn't help but feel a little disappointed-they'd just arrived! But if he knew anything about Patrick Stump, it was that he took recording (his, theirs, anybody's) very seriously. If Spencer knew two anythings, it was the impatience with which Patrick could lick his way into your mouth. Three anythings? Well, Spencer refused to allow himself to continue this line of thinking if he ever wanted to look Patrick in the eye again without groping him shamelessly.
As it was, a hand fell on his knee. "Spence, are you alright with this?"
This? What was this? Given what had happened between them before, Spencer also wouldn't allow himself to think that this was anything more than last time. He wouldn't dare. "Um. Yeah." His voice sounded so damn small.
Patrick grinned. "Awesome." He moved his hand up to Spencer's elbow and tugged. "So, why are you so far away?" Tug, tug. "I can't smell that bad." He tugged a little harder. "Dude, seriously. I thought you said you liked me!"
When he thinks about it later, Spencer isn't sure whether the loud "Huh?!" was just inside his head or if he'd said it out loud, but his dumbfounded expression was apparently telling enough.
Patrick's smile faltered, doubt filled his face. "I thought... don't you?" He released Spencer's arm. "It's not because of Pete, is it? Because I thought that I'd made it pretty clear before that we're both looking to date other people."
Spencer found his voice, but it cracked slightly as he repeated the word slowly. "Date?"
"Yeah, it was his idea for me to come out here with him, really. I had those dreams, and hoped... but he was the one who insisted. And you just can't say "No" to Pete." Patrick looked almost sad now, and Spencer's mind was still struggling to catch up. Date? What? Patrick was still talking, rambling, "I shouldn't have been so presumptuous, I mean, I just assumed that-"
Date! DATE!
Spencer was off the couch and into Patrick's lap faster than either boy could speak another word.
"Sorry, I. Yes! Fucking yes, Patrick."
"Yeah?" Small kisses, confirmation. "I'll call. I'll write. I promise."
"Oh, you'd better." Spencer was smiling against Patrick's warm neck.
"Oho! Is that a threat, Spence? I think I can take you."
"Do you think, or do you know, Mr. I-can-foresee-the-future-sometimes?"
"Dude, I explained this! It doesn’t work that way!"
"Liar! You see nothing!" But Spencer was smiling, teasing, and Patrick couldn’t help but pounce.
Only minutes later, they were found giggling and wrestling on the floor when the rest of the band and Pete walked in with bags filled with groceries (mostly junk). Well, Patrick giggled. He couldn't help it. And Spencer... he was just happy. It wasn't that he felt he was especially unhappy before, 'cause recording an album with his best friends was pretty awesome, but rolling around the living room floor with Patrick had him all rosy-cheeked and feeling giddy and unbelievably lucky.
At least, giddy, until Ryan walked out of the bedroom and frowned down at Spencer, causing his heart to skip a beat. "Spencer," Ryan began in his usual monotone, "why does our room reek of sex?"
Spencer flushed, his mouth opened but no sound came out. Pete laughed for a good ten minutes. Patrick just adjusted the brim of his hat and smiled.
###
"You'll call me when you get to the hotel tonight?" Two days went by much too quickly.
"Yeah," Patrick leaned in for another kiss goodbye. "Don't worry, I won't forget."
"Not worried. I just need to know if I should try to get a room to myself. A little privacy."
"A lot of planning for one little phone call!" But Patrick was smiling innocently up at him, and Spencer waggled his eyebrows. If Patrick knew what he had planned, he pretended not to.
"You know me, Patrick. I'm full of surprises."
###
See original comments here (although the post may be locked due to the rating.)
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: Patrick/Spencer (with some references to Patrick/Pete & underage!Spencer/Ryan)
Word-count: 3022 words.
Summary: Everything is going smoothly for Spencer with the recording of Panic!'s first album, until Pete and Patrick show up unexpectedly to check up on their progress.
Extra credit: vanilla_alia for the opening paragraph. Happy VERY belated birthday, darling!
Prompt: It was good to be touched the way he touched me. Until then, I didn't know how sad I was. Sometimes you don't, because it's just, I don't know, all around. -Everything's Eventual [short story by Stephen King].
This story was written for the peterickfics FIC WAR(!) where I was Rival #2 for ♥ TEAM ROMANCE ♥! We came in second place (also known as "we lost") but angst reeeally brought it, so I'm not ashamed!
The day Patrick showed up with Pete in Maryland to watch his band record, Spencer's hand shook so wretchedly at the former man's unrelenting gaze that even Brent, who notoriously had the least rhythm, cocked an eyebrow in Spencer's direction.
It was certainly a surprise. Spencer had only expected Pete to venture this far into the middle of nowhere to check up on their progress... and Spencer was even fucking that up with his inability to hold a beat. He blamed his heart, pounding in his chest, for screwing with his musical cadence.
Patrick.
Patrick's skin.
Patrick's mouth.
Patrick who had handily convinced Spencer back in LA only a few months prior not to get homesick so quickly, not to quit before things got rolling, that being in a band had its perks. Spencer hadn't taken to things quite as quickly as Ryan had.
Patrick who had convinced him of these things with such certainty by pushing Spencer back into a wall, warm hands on his hips, teeth gently pulling on Spencer's lower lip, breath coming short but even. Practiced, like Patrick knew exactly what effect he had.
Afterwards, Spencer could only think how it was good to be touched the way Patrick had touched him. Until then, he didn't know how sad he'd really been. Sometimes you don't, because it's just, like, all around. And more than anything, he was grateful to Patrick for showing him how he could be happy, that he could really enjoy this.
Patrick. Was here. In mother-fucking Maryland.
###
"How have you been?" Voice low, eyes gazing lower but not glazing over.
"You'd know if you'd called." Spencer didn't mean for it to come out so bitchily, but he couldn't help but be brutally honest around Patrick. Those weren't eyes you lied to.
Patrick physically winced at the acidic tone. The effect was Spencer immediately feeling like he'd kicked in Patrick's sand-castle then stolen his ice cream cone. "I didn't know what to say." A likely excuse. The pause stretched out, broke. "Pete and I..."
Spencer nodded quickly, interrupting the thought; he already knew about things with Pete. Ryan had explained most of it to him on their way home after that weekend in Los Angeles, confessing his role in the grand scheme of things. Ryan was the authority on Pete Wentz. Besides which, Spencer wasn't an idiot. He had already put some of the pieces together. The way Patrick had hesitated (if only for a nanosecond) before kissing Spencer, each time looking over his shoulder, even though they were definitely alone in that dark hallway, that rental car, that men's room stall.
Because of this, Spencer hadn't really expected Patrick to call. Or email. Or text. Or willingly see him for any reason. And when he hadn't heard from Patrick in a month, then two, he thought he'd had it all figured out. Spencer had only really felt guilty about not feeling guilty about letting himself be used, if you could even call it that. Patrick had been trying to help. And technically, it had been pretty innocent; although innocent could've been Spencer's middle name for all the sex he'd gotten in high school. And Ryan didn't count. Patrick's mouth on his, hips grinding... yeah. It had been entirely worth it.
Looking back at Patrick, face open and sheepish, Spencer couldn't even pretend to be angry. Or any less turned on.
###
"I should tell you... I've been having dreams about this," Patrick mumbled against Spencer's neck. "Vivid ones."
Spencer blushed, breathless. "I don't believe you." Patrick's hands were working his belt buckle. "You're just saying that to get me into bed."
Grinning, Patrick made a vague 'look where we are' gesture with his free hand. "You got here on your own, kid." He was mostly right. Except for the kid part. Spencer didn't feel very young right now, and Patrick wasn't even five years older.
Wait, what's the age of consent in Maryland?
"I'm not joking, though." Patrick's warm mouth found Spencer's again, pushing him backwards slightly with the force of his insistence. Spencer caught himself, stopped himself from falling over by reaching out blindly for the painted metal ladder, grabbing a rung. He'd always known that some part of claiming the lower bunk-bed would pay off somehow, since up until this point, it had only meant enduring Ryan's fitful bed-shaking nightmares. "I knew this was going to happen."
"Cocky."
"No, clairvoyant. At least a little bit. I generally know what, I just don't know when."
Patrick's hand snaked into Spencer's boxers, a low growl in the back of his throat, and all doubts and questions briefly melted. Spencer struggled to get his words in order, force them out between insistent kisses.
"So you aren't worried about... you know." Peter. "Uh, someone walking in?" Spencer thought he'd give Patrick an out, just in case. Technically, everyone else had left to get supper, but there was no reason to pretend that the possibility, however slight, wasn't there.
"They're gone." Shirts lifted up, up, over shoulders and heads. "I know they are." Patrick pushes his hair back, Spencer's eyebrows knitted in concern. "Come on, Spence. I can't relax if you don't," a small, hopeful bite on his collarbone, "and I really want you to relax." Spencer felt himself propelled slowly backwards until his head found pillow. As Patrick's confidence grew, Spencer tried to feel less worried about being a plot device in the saga that was Peter and Patrick, and more humbled by the idea that Patrick may have flown all the way out there just to make out with him, Spencer James Smith V, based on one or two alleged sexy dreams. About him.
The notion left him oddly overcome, although luckily not literally, and it took a full stop from Patrick's steadily-downward assault of bites and kisses along Spencer's rib cage for him to even remember where he was and just exactly was happening. Except, he didn't honestly know what was happening. That was the tricky part.
Patrick, by now wearing little but a puzzled (yet pleased) expression, awkwardly propped himself up on both elbows and looked up into Spencer's vaguely astonished face. "Spence. Hey. Are you alright?"
It took another long moment for Spencer to focus and croak out a reply. "It's not that I'm not completely into this, ‘cause-ugh," he tried to sit up but Patrick was half-kneeling, half-lying between his thighs, pinning him down, "I mean, hi, you're really fucking awesome, Patrick... but all that aside, I also totally like you." Patrick was blushing now, but not conscious of it. "And I don't want to do this if you've got, you know," Spencer's voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, "ulterior motives."
Patrick only chuckled, a reaction more to the gravity Spencer gave the words than the whole situation, but it made Spencer now feel very young and very foolish. A pained look crossed his face, and he began to wriggle out from under Patrick's weight. When Patrick realized his mistake in laughing and moved to kiss him, Spencer considered not allowing it, but then it was slow and deliberate and strangely reassuring, and he just. Couldn't. Help it. "Ugh, fine. You win."
"Mmm," Patrick broke the kiss. "Don't worry, Spence. I want to be here. And besides, I've been waiting for you to say that for awhile as well."
Ugh, damn. "Fucking clairvoyance again?" Spencer growled, disbelief again rising to the surface.
Patrick shrugged as best he could, now raised up on his knees with arms braced on either side of Spencer's shoulders, staring down, unapologetic. "Some of it, maybe."
"That's unfair." Spencer didn't want to pout, he really didn't. Sulky whiners don't get to make out with Patrick Stump. But, still. "It's hard to surprise you if you know everything I'm going to say before I do."
Leaning down to nibble at Spencer's earlobe, Patrick explained in his best gravelly voice. "I only see pieces, and only of one possible future. Nothing is set in stone." He bit a little harder, and Spencer jumped. "There are always surprises waiting around the corner."
"Like what?" Spencer asked, a little breathily.
"Like, in my dream, you didn't let me kiss you again. You got up, you got dressed, and waited in the kitchen for them to bring back supper. You didn't let me touch you again." Patrick slowly let his knees give out, pressing his weight down on Spencer, pushing their bodies together. This wonderful friction, solid and warm, was remarkably convincing. What was it about Patrick that could so easily put someone at ease? "You're still here. So, surprise me, Spence."
Which was precisely Spencer's cue to grab Patrick's sides and hastily flip them over (one advantage to being roughly the same weight, but definitely taller), because if Spencer was going to do this, he wanted to do it right. And if he'd learned anything from growing up with Ryan Ross as a best friend and mentor, it was how to give a good blowjob. Or at least, an enthusiastic one.
Slipping as quickly and as gracefully as he could to the other end of the short bunk-bed, Spencer tried not to look too over-eager as he reached for the waistband of Patrick's boxers and slid them off, Patrick helpfully lifting his ass off the mattress. As Spencer leaned forward, palming Patrick's thighs, the rickety metal bed frame groaned under their weight and the springs squeaked loudly in protest. Spencer paused, looked up at Patrick. "Is this okay? Are you, y'know, comfortable?"
Patrick opened his eyes and raised himself up on an elbow. "There's kind of a spring poking me in the back." He shifts a little. Making an album in LA with big-label money meant Patrick was no longer accustomed to questionable (read: shitty) mattresses.
"I meant, uh," why was he so incapable of sentences? Spencer blushed. "Like, this," he continued, and then licked a broad stripe up the underside of Patrick's cock. Patrick's eyes, usually crinkled in a smile, went wide then rolled back into his head. His arms began to shake, and Patrick fell back against the mattress, having lost the strength to hold himself up any longer.
"Um, yes. That..." Spencer gripped him with his left hand, sucking the head between his lips. "That's great." Patrick does his best to not buck his hips too far up, too quickly. He pressed his shoulders back deeper into the mattress, pokey springs be damned.
Spencer wasn't perfect at it. It was messy and a little noisy and sometimes he dragged his teeth a little bit, but Patrick didn't hold back with the encouraging moans, and goddamn did Spencer wish he had a tape-recorder, because if the whole band thing doesn't work out, he could still make a mint by selling this veritable sonata to the masses.
Pausing his efforts for a moment, Spencer pulled off and asked "Will they be home soon?"
"I don't fucking know," Patrick mumbled, which is how Spencer learned that Patrick is only conscientious and a worrier when he's not getting close to coming. It's astonishingly sexy in theory, but Spencer still wasn't all that interested in getting walked in on by his band mates and Pete Wentz.
"I thought you were clairvoyant. Shouldn't you know?" Slightly taunting, still disbelieving, but still stroking Patrick with one hand, cock slick with pre-come and saliva.
Patrick didn't reply, just grabbed Spencer by the shoulder and yanked him back up so that he could kiss that smirk away, tasting himself on Spencer's tongue in the process. Spencer tightened his fist, stroked faster, and Patrick's kisses turned biting, then to sucking appreciatively on Spencer's lower lip.
Of course, neither of them knew how soon the others would be back, but they probably didn't have all the time in the world. Patrick hastily pushed Spencer's shorts down his thighs and quickly matched Spencer's rhythm.
Spencer was delirious. He was dreaming. He had to be. Things couldn't be going this well.
Flushed and sweaty, Patrick came into Spencer's hand, and the loud groan that escapes his lips was enough to send Spencer over the edge as well. At least, Spencer likes to tell himself later that that was the reason he came so quickly, and not that it was because he's seventeen and relatively inexperienced. Either way, it was because of Patrick.
Patrick, who had made him feel cheap, sorta used, and then apologized so sweetly.
Patrick, who had first kissed him because Spencer was sad, then because he was angry.
Patrick, who was humming into his ear, stroking his hip, almost purring.
Patrick, who said he could see the future, but it was wrong. He'd changed it.
Patrick.
"We've got to get dressed," he murmured into Spencer's neck, but didn't move.
"I guess so." Spencer didn't budge either, and regardless of any doubts, was quite content to breathe Patrick's air, pressed against him, sticky and warm. Oh, ugh. Very sticky. "Alright, up!" Peeling away, Spencer found his underwear and handed Patrick's to him with a quick kiss.
Patrick, Patrick, Patrick.
What exactly had Spencer gotten himself into?
###
"So, uh... how long are you guys staying?" Spencer tried his best to sound casual, unaffected. They're both clean, dressed and sitting on the sketchy living room sofa. He'd intentionally sat down with a respectable foot-wide gap between them, then began fidgeting with his long hair, tucking and un-tucking the ends behind his ears. Ryan had insisted that they all grow their hair long, that it would be a good "image" for the band. Spencer thought that it was bullshit, but given that the only one who could cut his hair was Brendon, and that kid should never be allowed near sharp objects, he'd decided to leave it long, even if it did annoy the shit out of him.
Patrick was difficult to read, now that his face was soft (and still a little pink), but at least his eyes weren't burrowing a hole in Spencer's soul. "Two nights, then back to Los Angeles for a few days," he replied, voice quiet, thoughtful. "We'd hang out longer, but you guys should really focus on the album."
Spencer couldn't help but feel a little disappointed-they'd just arrived! But if he knew anything about Patrick Stump, it was that he took recording (his, theirs, anybody's) very seriously. If Spencer knew two anythings, it was the impatience with which Patrick could lick his way into your mouth. Three anythings? Well, Spencer refused to allow himself to continue this line of thinking if he ever wanted to look Patrick in the eye again without groping him shamelessly.
As it was, a hand fell on his knee. "Spence, are you alright with this?"
This? What was this? Given what had happened between them before, Spencer also wouldn't allow himself to think that this was anything more than last time. He wouldn't dare. "Um. Yeah." His voice sounded so damn small.
Patrick grinned. "Awesome." He moved his hand up to Spencer's elbow and tugged. "So, why are you so far away?" Tug, tug. "I can't smell that bad." He tugged a little harder. "Dude, seriously. I thought you said you liked me!"
When he thinks about it later, Spencer isn't sure whether the loud "Huh?!" was just inside his head or if he'd said it out loud, but his dumbfounded expression was apparently telling enough.
Patrick's smile faltered, doubt filled his face. "I thought... don't you?" He released Spencer's arm. "It's not because of Pete, is it? Because I thought that I'd made it pretty clear before that we're both looking to date other people."
Spencer found his voice, but it cracked slightly as he repeated the word slowly. "Date?"
"Yeah, it was his idea for me to come out here with him, really. I had those dreams, and hoped... but he was the one who insisted. And you just can't say "No" to Pete." Patrick looked almost sad now, and Spencer's mind was still struggling to catch up. Date? What? Patrick was still talking, rambling, "I shouldn't have been so presumptuous, I mean, I just assumed that-"
Date! DATE!
Spencer was off the couch and into Patrick's lap faster than either boy could speak another word.
"Sorry, I. Yes! Fucking yes, Patrick."
"Yeah?" Small kisses, confirmation. "I'll call. I'll write. I promise."
"Oh, you'd better." Spencer was smiling against Patrick's warm neck.
"Oho! Is that a threat, Spence? I think I can take you."
"Do you think, or do you know, Mr. I-can-foresee-the-future-sometimes?"
"Dude, I explained this! It doesn’t work that way!"
"Liar! You see nothing!" But Spencer was smiling, teasing, and Patrick couldn’t help but pounce.
Only minutes later, they were found giggling and wrestling on the floor when the rest of the band and Pete walked in with bags filled with groceries (mostly junk). Well, Patrick giggled. He couldn't help it. And Spencer... he was just happy. It wasn't that he felt he was especially unhappy before, 'cause recording an album with his best friends was pretty awesome, but rolling around the living room floor with Patrick had him all rosy-cheeked and feeling giddy and unbelievably lucky.
At least, giddy, until Ryan walked out of the bedroom and frowned down at Spencer, causing his heart to skip a beat. "Spencer," Ryan began in his usual monotone, "why does our room reek of sex?"
Spencer flushed, his mouth opened but no sound came out. Pete laughed for a good ten minutes. Patrick just adjusted the brim of his hat and smiled.
###
"You'll call me when you get to the hotel tonight?" Two days went by much too quickly.
"Yeah," Patrick leaned in for another kiss goodbye. "Don't worry, I won't forget."
"Not worried. I just need to know if I should try to get a room to myself. A little privacy."
"A lot of planning for one little phone call!" But Patrick was smiling innocently up at him, and Spencer waggled his eyebrows. If Patrick knew what he had planned, he pretended not to.
"You know me, Patrick. I'm full of surprises."
###
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