Put life on hold
Comment-fic for harriet_vane, who needed Spencer/Brendon cuddles.
As if the rest of it weren’t enough, the coffeemaker clogs up because he forgot to put a filter in, the grounds get everywhere, the glass pot shatters when he tries to shake the grounds out into the sink, and oh yeah, there’s no coffee. Fucking Ryan always finishes the pot and never starts a new one, and he never turns off the burner, either, so it smells like burnt plastic. Fucking fantastic.
Spencer kicks the cabinet under the sink, and stubs his toe.
The door slams open - slams, because it’s Brendon, who has never learned to be gentle with doors - and Brendon trips his way up the steps into the kitchenette.
“Hey, Spence,” he says, breathing hard and grinning, which means that the case of Capri Sun and bag of Skittles he started the afternoon with have probably already met their end. “We’re making a movie, like we did with Brian and Amanda. This one’s going to be better, though. It’s going to be epic. You have to be in it, we want you to be the villain. Super-villain, even. You’re going to try to foil Jon.”
Spencer dumps the soggy coffee grounds he’s managed to sweep up into the trash bin, and then curses Jon and his half-assed cleaning attempts because there’s no liner in the bin. He picks it up and starts trying to scoop the mess back out into the cracked carcass of the coffee pot, because if he just leaves it, that shit will stink the place up in a matter of hours. It’s been warm lately, so the bus is already pretty rank.
“Ryan’s got this idea of, like, a superhero action tragedy, he’s going to be Jon’s sidekick and they’re going to save the city in distress. Motion City, get it? The guys have already agreed to be the townspeople, we’re using that hall backstage as our set. The one with the weird windows, remember? I wanted to be the villain, but Ryan insists, he says it has to be you, man. We’re in need. It wouldn’t be a film without you, you’re our best man.”
Spencer considers telling Brendon to fuck off, but in the end it’s not really worth the effort. Most times if you let Brendon talk himself out, you’re off the hook, but it’s harder when he wants something. Especially something he’s this excited about. Then he pulls out the fucking puppy-dog eyes.
“The Hush Sound are going to be your minions, so that you really come off as an overlord. They’re pros from the last shoot, so we thought they deserved - okay, well, they demanded - a bigger part. Greta’s going to be your sexy arch-villainess, she’s got these boots…”
Spencer gives up on making another pot of coffee - the pot’s broken, anyway, and he’s not even in the mood anymore - and slumps down on the floor between the couch and the cabinet. It’s quiet for a few seconds after that, so Spencer assumes Brendon finally realized he’s not really listening. He can’t be sure, because he has his eyes closed, and his head buried in his hands.
There’s a tentative touch at his knee, the fluttering brush of contact that means Brendon wants to touch but has finally been trained to respect Spencer’s personal boundaries. “Spence?” Brendon asks, and that’s hesitant, too. “You okay, man?”
Spencer inhales, exhales, and can’t think of a different answer. “No.”
“Oh.” There’s a pause, and then some scuffling, and his cramped haven is abruptly invaded by a wriggling body that shouldn’t be able to fit with him in this space. Spencer raises his head to give Brendon a fuck-off, but when he looks up Brendon’s pulled out the eyes, alert and sympathetic.
“Want to talk about it?” Brendon asks solemnly, and Jesus, Ryan’s got him conditioned well.
“No,” Spencer says firmly.
“Okay,” Brendon agrees, and then doesn’t leave. Spencer waits a few minutes, but Brendon just sits there, arms wrapped around his knees, squished into a corner barely big enough for either one of them.
“It’s just shit,” Spencer says finally, even though he still doesn’t want to talk about it, really. “I’m having a shitty fucking day and we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere and I want…”
He stops that one before it comes out, because what he misses is home, and he’s not sure where he means, or who. He just doesn’t want to be here today.
Brendon doesn’t push him, though. He just nods, sets his chin on his hands, and doesn’t go away. Spencer’s beginning to not mind so much.
They sit there for a while, and eventually Brendon does that thing he does - it’s like some sort of superpower, Spencer’s never been able to figure out how he does it - where he doesn’t intrude on your personal space, and then he’s suddenly all over it. Spencer has an arm around him and Brendon’s fingers in his hair and Brendon’s head in his lap, and he has no idea when Brendon moved or why Spencer let him do it.
His eyes are scratchy, and his throat feels rough when he clears it. “Hey,” he says, awkwardly patting the back of Brendon’s head. “Don’t you have to go make a movie?”
Brendon shrugs. “It’ll wait,” he says. “I’d rather be here.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says, and when Brendon does that thing again and somehow ends up draped over his lap with both arms around his neck, he just closes his eyes and breathes.
As if the rest of it weren’t enough, the coffeemaker clogs up because he forgot to put a filter in, the grounds get everywhere, the glass pot shatters when he tries to shake the grounds out into the sink, and oh yeah, there’s no coffee. Fucking Ryan always finishes the pot and never starts a new one, and he never turns off the burner, either, so it smells like burnt plastic. Fucking fantastic.
Spencer kicks the cabinet under the sink, and stubs his toe.
The door slams open - slams, because it’s Brendon, who has never learned to be gentle with doors - and Brendon trips his way up the steps into the kitchenette.
“Hey, Spence,” he says, breathing hard and grinning, which means that the case of Capri Sun and bag of Skittles he started the afternoon with have probably already met their end. “We’re making a movie, like we did with Brian and Amanda. This one’s going to be better, though. It’s going to be epic. You have to be in it, we want you to be the villain. Super-villain, even. You’re going to try to foil Jon.”
Spencer dumps the soggy coffee grounds he’s managed to sweep up into the trash bin, and then curses Jon and his half-assed cleaning attempts because there’s no liner in the bin. He picks it up and starts trying to scoop the mess back out into the cracked carcass of the coffee pot, because if he just leaves it, that shit will stink the place up in a matter of hours. It’s been warm lately, so the bus is already pretty rank.
“Ryan’s got this idea of, like, a superhero action tragedy, he’s going to be Jon’s sidekick and they’re going to save the city in distress. Motion City, get it? The guys have already agreed to be the townspeople, we’re using that hall backstage as our set. The one with the weird windows, remember? I wanted to be the villain, but Ryan insists, he says it has to be you, man. We’re in need. It wouldn’t be a film without you, you’re our best man.”
Spencer considers telling Brendon to fuck off, but in the end it’s not really worth the effort. Most times if you let Brendon talk himself out, you’re off the hook, but it’s harder when he wants something. Especially something he’s this excited about. Then he pulls out the fucking puppy-dog eyes.
“The Hush Sound are going to be your minions, so that you really come off as an overlord. They’re pros from the last shoot, so we thought they deserved - okay, well, they demanded - a bigger part. Greta’s going to be your sexy arch-villainess, she’s got these boots…”
Spencer gives up on making another pot of coffee - the pot’s broken, anyway, and he’s not even in the mood anymore - and slumps down on the floor between the couch and the cabinet. It’s quiet for a few seconds after that, so Spencer assumes Brendon finally realized he’s not really listening. He can’t be sure, because he has his eyes closed, and his head buried in his hands.
There’s a tentative touch at his knee, the fluttering brush of contact that means Brendon wants to touch but has finally been trained to respect Spencer’s personal boundaries. “Spence?” Brendon asks, and that’s hesitant, too. “You okay, man?”
Spencer inhales, exhales, and can’t think of a different answer. “No.”
“Oh.” There’s a pause, and then some scuffling, and his cramped haven is abruptly invaded by a wriggling body that shouldn’t be able to fit with him in this space. Spencer raises his head to give Brendon a fuck-off, but when he looks up Brendon’s pulled out the eyes, alert and sympathetic.
“Want to talk about it?” Brendon asks solemnly, and Jesus, Ryan’s got him conditioned well.
“No,” Spencer says firmly.
“Okay,” Brendon agrees, and then doesn’t leave. Spencer waits a few minutes, but Brendon just sits there, arms wrapped around his knees, squished into a corner barely big enough for either one of them.
“It’s just shit,” Spencer says finally, even though he still doesn’t want to talk about it, really. “I’m having a shitty fucking day and we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere and I want…”
He stops that one before it comes out, because what he misses is home, and he’s not sure where he means, or who. He just doesn’t want to be here today.
Brendon doesn’t push him, though. He just nods, sets his chin on his hands, and doesn’t go away. Spencer’s beginning to not mind so much.
They sit there for a while, and eventually Brendon does that thing he does - it’s like some sort of superpower, Spencer’s never been able to figure out how he does it - where he doesn’t intrude on your personal space, and then he’s suddenly all over it. Spencer has an arm around him and Brendon’s fingers in his hair and Brendon’s head in his lap, and he has no idea when Brendon moved or why Spencer let him do it.
His eyes are scratchy, and his throat feels rough when he clears it. “Hey,” he says, awkwardly patting the back of Brendon’s head. “Don’t you have to go make a movie?”
Brendon shrugs. “It’ll wait,” he says. “I’d rather be here.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says, and when Brendon does that thing again and somehow ends up draped over his lap with both arms around his neck, he just closes his eyes and breathes.