Buddy System - Bandom (FOB/Panic!), PG-13, Patrick/Spencer.
Title: Buddy System
Fandom: Bandom (Fall Out Boy and Panic! at the Disco)
Rating: PG-13.
Length: ~2900 words.
Characters/Pairings: Patrick/Spencer.
Disclaimer: Entirely fictional.
Summary: Playing shows solo is one thing. Going to bars solo is something else entirely.
Notes: Written for this prompt at the 2012 Bandom Pretend Dating Festival. Also on AO3 and DW.
Buddy System
Brendon and Dallon don't play gay chicken so much as they play gay charades. Mutually. With a lot of tongue. Patrick hasn't seen this much tongue since...ever, basically, and that's counting years of sharing a bus with Pete.
He waves to the two people in the room who actually notice him - he catches Spencer's eye even though he's laughing so hard tears are streaming down his face - and slips out the back of the venue. (Which is actually the front. It's very confusing.) A couple fans approach, but it's generally a quiet night. He gets on his bus to make sure he's got all his stuff in one place, and he's out again in a half-hour.
On the first night of a Fall Out Boy tour, Pete always dragged the group out to a VIP section of a club after they did fan stuff. Patrick didn't miss the club part much. Or the bar crawls Pete organized at least once a week afterward. Patrick was the kind of guy who liked a beer or a glass of whiskey, a quiet corner, and a walk when things got too wild. Maybe he'd seclude himself with a notebook and a guitar if the mood struck.
So walking to a find a quiet hole-in-the-wall shouldn't feel lonely, should it? It's the kind of thing Patrick does on his own. It's his low-frills solo tour, so there's not going to be DJs and glasses of too-expensive champagne and your bassist jumping all over you. It's a good thing.
But as he gets a glass of on-tap something and a guy crowds closely to Patrick's bar stool, it becomes quickly apparent that grabby bassists have their uses.
"My place is just across the street," the guy says after Patrick yanks back his hand for the third time. "I could show you."
"I said no." It sucks, but Patrick abandons his beer and goes to the other side of the bar to get the bartender's attention. When he does, a big guy from the back comes out and unceremoniously escorts Creeper Dude out the door.
The bartender takes away Patrick's old glass as he stares at it mournfully. "I'll get you another. On the house."
Patrick sighs. "No thanks."
-
A few tour dates down the road, Brendon, Spencer, and Ian all have their heads together next to their bus. Patrick's not inclined to ask what that's about, but he's in the next bus over, so Spencer spots him and jogs over.
"Hey," he says. "I know it's probably not your thing, but Ian has a contact around here, and we were thinking of buying some pot. You in?"
Patrick smiles. "I'm too boring for that."
"You might be a lot of things, Stump, but I don't think boring's one of them."
"Okay, then it's just not my thing," he says. "Thanks, though."
"Any time, dude."
Patrick nods at Ian and Brendon when they make faces in his direction, and when they all run to the street - probably to hail a cab without Zack catching them - Patrick heads back to his bus.
-
It takes another week before Patrick really starts to get itchy. He's not a partying guy, really. But anyone gets sick of a bus after a while, and just because Patrick lasts longer than Pete would doesn't make it any less true.
He's pacing the hallway outside the green room just after his set when Spencer comes out, fiddling with his in-ears. Spencer stops next to him. "Dude, you okay?"
"Fine. Just..."
"Antsy?" When Patrick nods, Spencer asks, "You need to get out after the show?"
"I don't know."
"Come on, when was the last time you went somewhere that wasn't the bus?"
"The first night. But..." Patrick sighs. "I'm not in the mood for creeps."
"Was it a fan?"
Patrick rolls his head on his shoulders. "Just a random jerk in a bar who was three times my size."
"You should take Zack if guys are picking fights. He's a hell of a brawler."
"A fight would've been easier." Patrick's broken up more tiffs between Pete and strangers than he could count on both hands, no matter what his size was. He scrubs his hands over his face. "He just didn't know the word 'no'."
A lot of people would take that kind of excuse as an opening to mock Patrick. Or, worse, to pity him. But Spencer just smiles. "That always happened to Ryan. But there's a pretty easy fix."
"There is?"
"Oh yeah. I'll show you."
Ian brushes by, and Spencer claps a hand on Patrick's arm. "See you after, okay?"
Patrick nods. Spencer grins before he jogs out.
-
The bar looks almost exactly the same as the one from the first night: dark, small, and mostly empty. But Patrick's got Spencer at his shoulder, and instead of going for the stools, they take a table in the corner.
Nothing happens while Patrick gets halfway through his glass beyond occasional tour comments from Spencer, so he finally asks, "Is this your move? Going in pairs?"
Spencer grins and glances behind Patrick's shoulder. "Watch and learn."
A guy passes by on his way from the bathroom, and Spencer shifts his chair closer, bumping their shoulders together. It doesn't seem like much until Spencer leans in and puts a hand over Patrick's, but all he whispers is, "Works like a charm." The guy stays away, but then, it wasn't like he was actually going for them in the first place.
Patrick laughs, just a little dorky, and says, "Genius."
"I thought so." Spencer eases back, but he keeps his chair close. "Usually, the buddy system is enough, but I always kept my hand close for Ryan to grab if he wanted."
"I'm surprised Brendon didn't..."
Patrick finishes his sentence with a hand wave, and Spencer nods, smiling wryly. "Ryan liked to go out by himself when he was writing. Jumpy frontmen don't really aid the creative flow."
"Except when they do."
Spencer shakes his head. "It blows my mind to this day that Fall Out Boy lyrics come from Pete. Getting Brendon to write words for five minutes...we usually have to screw around on the drums before he can settle down enough."
"I did that for my thing," Patrick says, leaning back in his chair. "It's a good way to shut up the negative voices in your head sometimes."
"You get voices?"
"Not like Pete's. But it was easier getting out of bed some days if I knew I had to pull him back. Or push him on, depending on the day. On my own..." Patrick holds up his hands. "I got some of where Pete was coming from, that's for sure."
Spencer nods solemnly. But there's a twinkle in his eye when he pushes forward his glass. "To reinvention, I guess."
Patrick clinks their glasses together.
-
Spencer drags Patrick out again the next night, and they spend half the night yelling over a soccer crowd about the kit they fantasized about as teenagers. Patrick really gets how boring he was when Spencer talks specific specs for his four bass drums, and how many varieties of cymbals he wanted to completely obscure his face from the audience.
"Did you think you were in Spinal Tap or something?" Patrick says after he stops choking on his drink.
"I was a teenager! I just wanted a lot of crap to beat up."
Patrick nods, but he was never that kind of teen. Not really. He would've had to leave the house more, for one.
His train of thought is interrupted when a guy squeezes through the crowd, and...leans on Spencer. His eyes don't focus on anything, particularly not Spencer's glare of death. It's a good glare. He's obviously practiced.
"Go away," Spencer yells when the guy doesn't budge under his shove.
"Or what?"
Patrick smiles sweetly and grabs Spencer's hand. "Or his boyfriend will kick your ass."
Drunk Guy's eyes focus for about five seconds, and he holds his hands up and backs away, tripping on his own feet and hitting other people.
Spencer grins at Patrick and squeezes his hand.
"How did you not get into fights when you did this with Ryan?" Patrick asks just before the crowd jeers about some unfair call.
When the noise dies down enough for Spencer to answer, he shouts, "I told you. Zack's a brawler."
-
They don't go out the next night, since Brendon randomly decided to order enough pizza at the venue to feed an army. It's a hotel night, and the day after's off, so it's basically a chance for everyone to be lazy. Even Brendon and Dallon are quieter than usual.
Except that the quiet lasts exactly as long as it takes Spencer to sit next to Patrick with his pizza, and when Brendon's face lights up, it's all Patrick can do to keep from wincing.
"So," Brendon says, like the word actually has about ten 'o's. "You two have been spending a lot of time together recently."
Spencer's very impressive death glare comes back.
"Two nights is a lot?" Patrick asks, eyebrows furrowing.
"I don't know. What do you think, Spencer?" Obviously, the death glare works as well on Brendon as it did on the jerk in the bar the night before. Which is not at all.
Spencer's cheeks are pink. But then, Patrick's are, too. It gets hot when eleven or twelve guys are crammed into a small room backstage.
"I think I need some air," Spencer says. "Patrick?"
"Oh. Sure."
It is a little less stuffy in the hall, although they have to squeeze against the wall to let the last stragglers finish putting away the set pieces. They're normally done by now, but the lax leaving time means that people who don't want pizza can go even slower.
"Sorry about that," Spencer says.
"It's okay. What was he even..." Patrick shakes his head. "Never mind. I probably don't want to know."
"No, you should know. Or he's going to keep being an asshole until I say something."
Patrick nods and takes a bite of his pizza. He's familiar with that technique. Except...he swallows hard. "Wait. Isn't that the kind of thing your friends do when you're into someone?"
"Maybe. Yes."
"Oh." He lowers his food and shifts on his feet. "Did you really do the boyfriend thing with Ryan?"
"I did. You can ask anyone."
"But it was a line this time?"
Spencer sighs and bonks his head against the cinderblock wall. He waits until one of the roadies pushes a cart past, and then he says, "No line. I only figured out last night that I was actually feeling something, and then I only made the mistake of asking Brendon if you were completely straight this morning."
As the knots disappear from his stomach, Patrick wants to say that Spencer could've asked him. Because, well. He could. But it's not exactly the easiest thing in the world, either.
What he finally says is, "I'm not. For the record."
They stand in silence as laughter erupts from the green room, and for a split second, Patrick wishes he was in there instead, watching whatever ridiculous thing Brendon and Dallon are doing this time. But then Spencer turns to him and smiles, and he can't help but grin back.
"Good to know," Spencer says.
-
When they go up to Patrick's hotel room, Patrick's mentally ticking off what they have in common. Drums. Music in general. Bandmates with few boundaries and too much energy. Pete in general, actually.
But when Patrick shoves Spencer against the back of his hotel room door and rolls up on his toes to kiss him, it turns out they don't actually go quite the same way in bed. He half-expected Spencer to want to haul him around; it wouldn't be the first time someone used his size that way. But Spencer goes with it, closing his eyes with a hum as their mouths come together. When he grabs Patrick's waist and runs his hands up and down his sides, it's not aggressive. It's appreciative.
They pull away from each other breathlessly to take off their clothes, and Patrick smiles. Yeah. It's much better to not match on this one.
"I don't know about you," Patrick says, walking up to unbutton Spencer's jeans for him. Spencer just watches, blue eyes as big and dark as Patrick's ever seen them. "But I think I might want to take this slow."
"Yeah?" Spencer's breath hitches when Patrick's hand wraps around his dick.
Patrick strokes very slowly and says, "Yeah. Can't overdo it on our off day, you know."
Spencer's hands clench, and he gives Patrick a very dirty smile. It's Patrick's turn for his breath to hitch and for his own jeans to feel too tight.
"Our day off's tomorrow," Spencer says. "We can overdo it tonight."
Patrick's just about to agree when he ruins the whole thing by yawning. He pulls his hand back and says, "Sorry, I'm..." and then he can't finish the sentence because he's yawning again.
And of course, yawning's contagious, so Spencer's yawning, too. "Oh, come on. I haven't gotten laid in forever."
"I'll be fine once I lay down."
It ends up being a total lie, and Patrick knows it, but when he sinks into the pillows, Spencer looks just as glad to be doing it. "God," Spencer says. "A bed that doesn't move."
Patrick's asleep before he can so much as reach over to turn the lamp off.
-
The nice thing about being kind of short is that, even in bed with a taller guy, a California King is big enough to sprawl in. It means less accidental spooning, sure. But it also means that, when there's a loud knock on the door, Patrick doesn't hit Spencer in the face when he jerks awake in surprise. Spencer mutters a little and burrows into his side of the sheets, but when the knock comes again, he doesn't so much as twitch.
Patrick sighs and grabs for a pair of pants. It's his hotel room, anyway.
Still, when he opens the door and sees Brendon, Dallon, Ian, and a sleepy-looking Zack standing on the other side, he regrets every charitable instinct in his body.
"Is Spencer in there?" Brendon asks, eyes wide. "He didn't come back to our room last night."
"Uh."
Spencer's voice from the other room - Patrick got a bigger setup, thanks to interviews the day before - saves him from answering. "You know exactly where I was, asshole!"
Ian snorts as Brendon's serious face expression cracks, and Zack rolls his eyes when Brendon adjusts his glasses and looks dramatically at his phone. "Oh, my! A text saying Spencer wasn't coming back! How did I ever miss this?"
"Do you have a real reason to be here?" Patrick says with his thick just-woke-up voice. He shouldn't be feeling warm and tingly nostalgia in his chest. Pete usually understood the sanctity of sleep, even if he wasn't the one getting it. But nostalgia's good. It's probably best if Patrick doesn't murder the band he's opening for, anyway.
"We're doing lunch and the skating park a few blocks over," Zack says as Brendon stifles a giggle behind his hand. "You interested?"
Spencer appears at Patrick's side, and he spares Patrick a sleepy-looking smile before saying, "Go away."
"Remember!" Dallon says cheerfully as Spencer closes the door. "Wrap it up!"
Patrick holds his breath until he hears the voices of the guys disappear down the hall, and Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose. "Remind me why I tour with those guys?"
"Fame? Fortune? Creative expression?"
Spencer opens his eyes, and Patrick's breath catches for an entirely different reason. The dark hair and light eyes combo really works for Spencer.
"And hot openers," Spencer says, leaning down.
They kiss again, and it's better than it was the night before, even if Patrick still has to bite back a bit of a yawn. It gets even better when Spencer drops to his knees and looks up, questioning.
Patrick laughs and blushes just a little. "Please do."
-
They eat lunch in the cafe downstairs. It's actually three in the afternoon by the time they make it down, so it could technically be dinner, but it's the first meal of the day, and Patrick always likes to split the difference.
Of course, he just wanted to order room service, but Spencer said, "I've got an idea", and he'd left before Patrick could object.
The cafe's sunny and full of people, despite the fact that it isn't a rush time. It doesn't matter much to Patrick - no one seems to recognize them, and this isn't the kind of place where drunk people forget boundaries - until he puts down his menu and Spencer grabs his hand. Not in a creepy way, or even a startling way; he makes sure to be very slow and obvious so Patrick can figure it out and pull away if he wants. Patrick doesn't.
"Keeping away all the creeps?" Patrick asks.
Spencer rubs his thumb on the back of Patrick's hand. "Nah. I just wanted to."
Fandom: Bandom (Fall Out Boy and Panic! at the Disco)
Rating: PG-13.
Length: ~2900 words.
Characters/Pairings: Patrick/Spencer.
Disclaimer: Entirely fictional.
Summary: Playing shows solo is one thing. Going to bars solo is something else entirely.
Notes: Written for this prompt at the 2012 Bandom Pretend Dating Festival. Also on AO3 and DW.
Buddy System
Brendon and Dallon don't play gay chicken so much as they play gay charades. Mutually. With a lot of tongue. Patrick hasn't seen this much tongue since...ever, basically, and that's counting years of sharing a bus with Pete.
He waves to the two people in the room who actually notice him - he catches Spencer's eye even though he's laughing so hard tears are streaming down his face - and slips out the back of the venue. (Which is actually the front. It's very confusing.) A couple fans approach, but it's generally a quiet night. He gets on his bus to make sure he's got all his stuff in one place, and he's out again in a half-hour.
On the first night of a Fall Out Boy tour, Pete always dragged the group out to a VIP section of a club after they did fan stuff. Patrick didn't miss the club part much. Or the bar crawls Pete organized at least once a week afterward. Patrick was the kind of guy who liked a beer or a glass of whiskey, a quiet corner, and a walk when things got too wild. Maybe he'd seclude himself with a notebook and a guitar if the mood struck.
So walking to a find a quiet hole-in-the-wall shouldn't feel lonely, should it? It's the kind of thing Patrick does on his own. It's his low-frills solo tour, so there's not going to be DJs and glasses of too-expensive champagne and your bassist jumping all over you. It's a good thing.
But as he gets a glass of on-tap something and a guy crowds closely to Patrick's bar stool, it becomes quickly apparent that grabby bassists have their uses.
"My place is just across the street," the guy says after Patrick yanks back his hand for the third time. "I could show you."
"I said no." It sucks, but Patrick abandons his beer and goes to the other side of the bar to get the bartender's attention. When he does, a big guy from the back comes out and unceremoniously escorts Creeper Dude out the door.
The bartender takes away Patrick's old glass as he stares at it mournfully. "I'll get you another. On the house."
Patrick sighs. "No thanks."
-
A few tour dates down the road, Brendon, Spencer, and Ian all have their heads together next to their bus. Patrick's not inclined to ask what that's about, but he's in the next bus over, so Spencer spots him and jogs over.
"Hey," he says. "I know it's probably not your thing, but Ian has a contact around here, and we were thinking of buying some pot. You in?"
Patrick smiles. "I'm too boring for that."
"You might be a lot of things, Stump, but I don't think boring's one of them."
"Okay, then it's just not my thing," he says. "Thanks, though."
"Any time, dude."
Patrick nods at Ian and Brendon when they make faces in his direction, and when they all run to the street - probably to hail a cab without Zack catching them - Patrick heads back to his bus.
-
It takes another week before Patrick really starts to get itchy. He's not a partying guy, really. But anyone gets sick of a bus after a while, and just because Patrick lasts longer than Pete would doesn't make it any less true.
He's pacing the hallway outside the green room just after his set when Spencer comes out, fiddling with his in-ears. Spencer stops next to him. "Dude, you okay?"
"Fine. Just..."
"Antsy?" When Patrick nods, Spencer asks, "You need to get out after the show?"
"I don't know."
"Come on, when was the last time you went somewhere that wasn't the bus?"
"The first night. But..." Patrick sighs. "I'm not in the mood for creeps."
"Was it a fan?"
Patrick rolls his head on his shoulders. "Just a random jerk in a bar who was three times my size."
"You should take Zack if guys are picking fights. He's a hell of a brawler."
"A fight would've been easier." Patrick's broken up more tiffs between Pete and strangers than he could count on both hands, no matter what his size was. He scrubs his hands over his face. "He just didn't know the word 'no'."
A lot of people would take that kind of excuse as an opening to mock Patrick. Or, worse, to pity him. But Spencer just smiles. "That always happened to Ryan. But there's a pretty easy fix."
"There is?"
"Oh yeah. I'll show you."
Ian brushes by, and Spencer claps a hand on Patrick's arm. "See you after, okay?"
Patrick nods. Spencer grins before he jogs out.
-
The bar looks almost exactly the same as the one from the first night: dark, small, and mostly empty. But Patrick's got Spencer at his shoulder, and instead of going for the stools, they take a table in the corner.
Nothing happens while Patrick gets halfway through his glass beyond occasional tour comments from Spencer, so he finally asks, "Is this your move? Going in pairs?"
Spencer grins and glances behind Patrick's shoulder. "Watch and learn."
A guy passes by on his way from the bathroom, and Spencer shifts his chair closer, bumping their shoulders together. It doesn't seem like much until Spencer leans in and puts a hand over Patrick's, but all he whispers is, "Works like a charm." The guy stays away, but then, it wasn't like he was actually going for them in the first place.
Patrick laughs, just a little dorky, and says, "Genius."
"I thought so." Spencer eases back, but he keeps his chair close. "Usually, the buddy system is enough, but I always kept my hand close for Ryan to grab if he wanted."
"I'm surprised Brendon didn't..."
Patrick finishes his sentence with a hand wave, and Spencer nods, smiling wryly. "Ryan liked to go out by himself when he was writing. Jumpy frontmen don't really aid the creative flow."
"Except when they do."
Spencer shakes his head. "It blows my mind to this day that Fall Out Boy lyrics come from Pete. Getting Brendon to write words for five minutes...we usually have to screw around on the drums before he can settle down enough."
"I did that for my thing," Patrick says, leaning back in his chair. "It's a good way to shut up the negative voices in your head sometimes."
"You get voices?"
"Not like Pete's. But it was easier getting out of bed some days if I knew I had to pull him back. Or push him on, depending on the day. On my own..." Patrick holds up his hands. "I got some of where Pete was coming from, that's for sure."
Spencer nods solemnly. But there's a twinkle in his eye when he pushes forward his glass. "To reinvention, I guess."
Patrick clinks their glasses together.
-
Spencer drags Patrick out again the next night, and they spend half the night yelling over a soccer crowd about the kit they fantasized about as teenagers. Patrick really gets how boring he was when Spencer talks specific specs for his four bass drums, and how many varieties of cymbals he wanted to completely obscure his face from the audience.
"Did you think you were in Spinal Tap or something?" Patrick says after he stops choking on his drink.
"I was a teenager! I just wanted a lot of crap to beat up."
Patrick nods, but he was never that kind of teen. Not really. He would've had to leave the house more, for one.
His train of thought is interrupted when a guy squeezes through the crowd, and...leans on Spencer. His eyes don't focus on anything, particularly not Spencer's glare of death. It's a good glare. He's obviously practiced.
"Go away," Spencer yells when the guy doesn't budge under his shove.
"Or what?"
Patrick smiles sweetly and grabs Spencer's hand. "Or his boyfriend will kick your ass."
Drunk Guy's eyes focus for about five seconds, and he holds his hands up and backs away, tripping on his own feet and hitting other people.
Spencer grins at Patrick and squeezes his hand.
"How did you not get into fights when you did this with Ryan?" Patrick asks just before the crowd jeers about some unfair call.
When the noise dies down enough for Spencer to answer, he shouts, "I told you. Zack's a brawler."
-
They don't go out the next night, since Brendon randomly decided to order enough pizza at the venue to feed an army. It's a hotel night, and the day after's off, so it's basically a chance for everyone to be lazy. Even Brendon and Dallon are quieter than usual.
Except that the quiet lasts exactly as long as it takes Spencer to sit next to Patrick with his pizza, and when Brendon's face lights up, it's all Patrick can do to keep from wincing.
"So," Brendon says, like the word actually has about ten 'o's. "You two have been spending a lot of time together recently."
Spencer's very impressive death glare comes back.
"Two nights is a lot?" Patrick asks, eyebrows furrowing.
"I don't know. What do you think, Spencer?" Obviously, the death glare works as well on Brendon as it did on the jerk in the bar the night before. Which is not at all.
Spencer's cheeks are pink. But then, Patrick's are, too. It gets hot when eleven or twelve guys are crammed into a small room backstage.
"I think I need some air," Spencer says. "Patrick?"
"Oh. Sure."
It is a little less stuffy in the hall, although they have to squeeze against the wall to let the last stragglers finish putting away the set pieces. They're normally done by now, but the lax leaving time means that people who don't want pizza can go even slower.
"Sorry about that," Spencer says.
"It's okay. What was he even..." Patrick shakes his head. "Never mind. I probably don't want to know."
"No, you should know. Or he's going to keep being an asshole until I say something."
Patrick nods and takes a bite of his pizza. He's familiar with that technique. Except...he swallows hard. "Wait. Isn't that the kind of thing your friends do when you're into someone?"
"Maybe. Yes."
"Oh." He lowers his food and shifts on his feet. "Did you really do the boyfriend thing with Ryan?"
"I did. You can ask anyone."
"But it was a line this time?"
Spencer sighs and bonks his head against the cinderblock wall. He waits until one of the roadies pushes a cart past, and then he says, "No line. I only figured out last night that I was actually feeling something, and then I only made the mistake of asking Brendon if you were completely straight this morning."
As the knots disappear from his stomach, Patrick wants to say that Spencer could've asked him. Because, well. He could. But it's not exactly the easiest thing in the world, either.
What he finally says is, "I'm not. For the record."
They stand in silence as laughter erupts from the green room, and for a split second, Patrick wishes he was in there instead, watching whatever ridiculous thing Brendon and Dallon are doing this time. But then Spencer turns to him and smiles, and he can't help but grin back.
"Good to know," Spencer says.
-
When they go up to Patrick's hotel room, Patrick's mentally ticking off what they have in common. Drums. Music in general. Bandmates with few boundaries and too much energy. Pete in general, actually.
But when Patrick shoves Spencer against the back of his hotel room door and rolls up on his toes to kiss him, it turns out they don't actually go quite the same way in bed. He half-expected Spencer to want to haul him around; it wouldn't be the first time someone used his size that way. But Spencer goes with it, closing his eyes with a hum as their mouths come together. When he grabs Patrick's waist and runs his hands up and down his sides, it's not aggressive. It's appreciative.
They pull away from each other breathlessly to take off their clothes, and Patrick smiles. Yeah. It's much better to not match on this one.
"I don't know about you," Patrick says, walking up to unbutton Spencer's jeans for him. Spencer just watches, blue eyes as big and dark as Patrick's ever seen them. "But I think I might want to take this slow."
"Yeah?" Spencer's breath hitches when Patrick's hand wraps around his dick.
Patrick strokes very slowly and says, "Yeah. Can't overdo it on our off day, you know."
Spencer's hands clench, and he gives Patrick a very dirty smile. It's Patrick's turn for his breath to hitch and for his own jeans to feel too tight.
"Our day off's tomorrow," Spencer says. "We can overdo it tonight."
Patrick's just about to agree when he ruins the whole thing by yawning. He pulls his hand back and says, "Sorry, I'm..." and then he can't finish the sentence because he's yawning again.
And of course, yawning's contagious, so Spencer's yawning, too. "Oh, come on. I haven't gotten laid in forever."
"I'll be fine once I lay down."
It ends up being a total lie, and Patrick knows it, but when he sinks into the pillows, Spencer looks just as glad to be doing it. "God," Spencer says. "A bed that doesn't move."
Patrick's asleep before he can so much as reach over to turn the lamp off.
-
The nice thing about being kind of short is that, even in bed with a taller guy, a California King is big enough to sprawl in. It means less accidental spooning, sure. But it also means that, when there's a loud knock on the door, Patrick doesn't hit Spencer in the face when he jerks awake in surprise. Spencer mutters a little and burrows into his side of the sheets, but when the knock comes again, he doesn't so much as twitch.
Patrick sighs and grabs for a pair of pants. It's his hotel room, anyway.
Still, when he opens the door and sees Brendon, Dallon, Ian, and a sleepy-looking Zack standing on the other side, he regrets every charitable instinct in his body.
"Is Spencer in there?" Brendon asks, eyes wide. "He didn't come back to our room last night."
"Uh."
Spencer's voice from the other room - Patrick got a bigger setup, thanks to interviews the day before - saves him from answering. "You know exactly where I was, asshole!"
Ian snorts as Brendon's serious face expression cracks, and Zack rolls his eyes when Brendon adjusts his glasses and looks dramatically at his phone. "Oh, my! A text saying Spencer wasn't coming back! How did I ever miss this?"
"Do you have a real reason to be here?" Patrick says with his thick just-woke-up voice. He shouldn't be feeling warm and tingly nostalgia in his chest. Pete usually understood the sanctity of sleep, even if he wasn't the one getting it. But nostalgia's good. It's probably best if Patrick doesn't murder the band he's opening for, anyway.
"We're doing lunch and the skating park a few blocks over," Zack says as Brendon stifles a giggle behind his hand. "You interested?"
Spencer appears at Patrick's side, and he spares Patrick a sleepy-looking smile before saying, "Go away."
"Remember!" Dallon says cheerfully as Spencer closes the door. "Wrap it up!"
Patrick holds his breath until he hears the voices of the guys disappear down the hall, and Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose. "Remind me why I tour with those guys?"
"Fame? Fortune? Creative expression?"
Spencer opens his eyes, and Patrick's breath catches for an entirely different reason. The dark hair and light eyes combo really works for Spencer.
"And hot openers," Spencer says, leaning down.
They kiss again, and it's better than it was the night before, even if Patrick still has to bite back a bit of a yawn. It gets even better when Spencer drops to his knees and looks up, questioning.
Patrick laughs and blushes just a little. "Please do."
-
They eat lunch in the cafe downstairs. It's actually three in the afternoon by the time they make it down, so it could technically be dinner, but it's the first meal of the day, and Patrick always likes to split the difference.
Of course, he just wanted to order room service, but Spencer said, "I've got an idea", and he'd left before Patrick could object.
The cafe's sunny and full of people, despite the fact that it isn't a rush time. It doesn't matter much to Patrick - no one seems to recognize them, and this isn't the kind of place where drunk people forget boundaries - until he puts down his menu and Spencer grabs his hand. Not in a creepy way, or even a startling way; he makes sure to be very slow and obvious so Patrick can figure it out and pull away if he wants. Patrick doesn't.
"Keeping away all the creeps?" Patrick asks.
Spencer rubs his thumb on the back of Patrick's hand. "Nah. I just wanted to."