Shimmer | Spencer/Brendon | PG-13 | ~ 7100 words |
Shimmer
Spencer/Brendon | PG-13 | ~ 7100 words
Spencer starts noticing strange things.
Thank you so much to sociofemme and pau494. ♥! Also, thanks to everyone who encouraged me to write this when I rambled about it in the first place.
one.
Brendon is shirtless in the kitchen area of the bus, bopping around to a beat that only he can hear. Spencer walks slowly, making his way up to the kitchen. He only just woke up, and he's sure that his hair is standing in all directions.
Brendon looks to the side, seeing Spencer. He grins then holds up a mug, signalling that he has made a pot of coffee. Spencer smiles gratefully.
Brendon turns, presumably to fetch a cup for Spencer, and Spencer can see this weird kind of-- he doesn't know what it is. This weird kind of shift in the air just at Brendon's back, like light bends differently there.
Spencer rubs the sleep from his eyes.
Brendon sits down at the table, his cup of coffee cradled between his palms, the other cup resting on the table across from him. Spencer slides into the booth, reaching for his mug.
"Thanks," Spencer says. "I really needed this this morning."
--
Tour rolls on in that same way it always does, which is really more of a frantic dash than anything resembling a roll. Spencer wakes and walks with Zack to the venue, taking a stroll around backstage before making his way over to catering. Zack leaves him there, and returns to the bus to try and collect Ryan and Jon.
Brendon's already sitting at one of the tables, Greta and Alex sitting across from him. Spencer piles his plate with toast and scrambled eggs. He eyes the sausages, but since he's going to be sitting at the table with the vegans, he grabs some of the fake-tofu-whatever-it's-meant-to-imitate stuff.
He walks his plate over to the table, then returns to the food station for a drink. He pours two glasses of orange juice, setting one in front of Brendon when he gets back.
Brendon takes a huge swallow, then pours what's left of his Sprite into the glass.
"What's this supposed to be, anyway?" Spencer asks, poking at his tofu.
"Bacon," Greta says, while at the same time Alex says, "Sausage."
--
"Dude, me and Jon came up with the best idea," Ryan says, coming to stand beside Spencer in front of the mirror. The vanities backstage aren't littered with makeup anymore, and Spencer can't say that he misses it. It takes them maybe one-fifth the time to get ready that it used to take, and Spencer never liked the feeling of smeared makeup mixed with sweat and dripping down his neck.
"Will you tie this?" Spencer asks, holding up his headband.
Ryan takes it, and Spencer tries to hold his hair up while Ryan tries to do the same. Their hands end up bumping together.
"Stop it," Ryan says, batting at Spencer's hand. "I've got it."
"Don't tie my hair into the knot," Spencer says.
Spencer doesn't have to look at Ryan to know he's rolling his eyes.
"So, what'd you come up with?" Spencer asks.
Ryan finishes with the hair tie then steps back. Spencer turns around to face him, and Ryan pauses for effect before saying, "A bubble machine."
--
After the show, Ryan calls first shower. Spencer stretches out on the couch while Brendon guzzles bottles of water.
Jon comes to sit beside Spencer. He's close by, but not so much that their sweaty arms are brushing.
Jon asks, "Did Ryan mention to you about the bubbles?"
Spencer looks sideways at Jon. "He did."
Jon rubs his hands on his pants, grinning. "It is the most, most genius of all of our plans," he says. "Of all time."
Brendon comes over. Spencer hopes that it's water flinging from Brendon's hair as he shakes his head around, because a drop of whatever it is lands on Spencer's arm. Spencer doesn't bother to brush it away.
"Bubbles?" Brendon asks.
Jon throws an arm around Brendon's shoulders. Brendon is a wet shivering thing after concerts, vibrating from adrenalin, his clothes soaked all the way through with sweat. They're mostly used to it by now though.
"Bubbles," Jon says, giving Brendon a squeeze then letting go.
Spencer wonders to himself if they could hook up his kick pedal with a bubble blower so that each time he hit the drum, a stream of bubbles shot across the stage. The longer he thinks about it, the more it sounds like the most awesome idea ever, so he suggests it out loud.
"You want to be able to aim it, too?" Brendon asks, his eyes all crinkly around the edges.
"Whoa," Spencer says. "Whoa. Yes I want to be able to aim it. Dude."
Brendon shakes his head, then turns away to reach for another water bottle. Spencer wonders what Brendon has under his shirt that's making it bunch up like that and then blinks because-- no. There wouldn't be anything under Brendon's shirt. Maybe something in the way he has been sweating casts weird shadows under the light or something.
--
Spencer wakes just before sunrise and lies confused in his bunk for long moments before he realizes that the bus has stopped moving, and that's probably what woke him. He rolls over to go back to sleep, the movement hampered by the deadweight of his left leg. Spencer frowns in the dark, trying to wiggle his toes until his muddled brain wakes up enough to figure out that his leg has fallen asleep.
He climbs out of his bunk, awkwardly, hating the hot, thick feeling caused by the loss of circulation. He stands in the aisle and tries to shake sensation back into his foot. It goes tingly first, then sharply painful. He bites the inside of his cheek, making pained faces into the dark.
It takes a long time for his leg to stop hurting and by the time the pain goes away, Spencer is feeling wide awake. He walks to the end of the bus and sits down on a couch. The blinds are up and even though the sun hasn't risen yet, the air outside is starting to light up. He can see the dew from the night starting to meander down the windows, beading together and sliding and stopping in fits and spurts.
Spencer's wearing pyjamas, probably the only member of the band who still has a full set this late into touring. It's colder now that he's out of his bunk, but not enough that he needs a hoodie.
Spencer watches the trails of the water on the glass and thinks that he doesn't mind so much not having someone to call when he wakes up at odd hours. He used to miss Haley the worst at night, but these days, it's hard enough just to remember to keep his phone charged, let alone the impossibility of trying to maintain a long distance relationship.
--
two.
Brendon has folded himself into a ball on the couch. As Spencer walks by, passing through the room on his way back to the bunks, Brendon makes a desperate and pathetic grab for Spencer's leg. He catches Spencer just under his knee, and Spencer stops.
"You're awake," Spencer notes.
Brendon doesn't let go. "Kill me," Brendon rasps. "Kill me now."
Spencer turns, and Brendon lets his hand fall away when Spencer crouches down beside the couch. "You drank too much," Spencer says, but sympathetically, not like he's trying to rub it in. Spencer's feeling a little green himself.
"I didn't even drink that much," Brendon says. He pauses. "It is possible that I have been poisoned."
Spencer grins before working his face into a more solemn expression. "Is that so?"
Brendon nods, but stops quickly, wincing. He touches a hand to his forehead and squints pathetically up at Spencer, saying, "Perhaps someone is trying to get revenge on one of you."
"One of us?" Spencer asks.
Brendon says, "Mh hm. How better to hurt you than to hurt me?"
Spencer lowers himself slowly until he's sitting on the floor. He props his arm up on the couch and rests his head on his forearm. Brendon is wedged as far back on the couch as he can get, so there's room for both of them. Even though they're not touching, Spencer can feel the heat coming off of Brendon's body.
"What do you think we might have done to deserve a punishment so cruel?" Spencer asks.
"I don't even know," Brendon says. He exhales slowly. "It sucks that I have to be the one to suffer, though."
"Try and go back to sleep," Spencer says. "You'll feel better afterward." He fluffs the hair on Brendon's forehead with the tips of his fingers, brushing the skin of Brendon's forehead lightly. "You want me to get you water or something?"
"You want me to throw up?" Brendon asks, groaning. He rolls over until he's lying on his stomach, head pillowed in his arms. "Wake me up if we're stopping for food."
"Weren't you just talking about throwing up?" Spencer asks.
"Hangover food," Brendon says, like he's just stating the obvious.
"You need aspirin?"
"I already took some," Brendon says. "Thanks though."
Spencer pushes himself back to his feet, standing and looking down at Brendon as he tries to remember what he was doing before this. There's light coming in from the window above Brendon, a warm yellow that breaks up the black strips through the cracks in the blinds. Spencer looks down, and it seems like the light is moving over Brendon's back. As Brendon breathes, his ribcage expands and the black bars of shadows shift, but it's more than that, like something is moving in the air just above Brendon's back.
Spencer's fingers twitch, and for a moment he wants to reach out and try to touch whatever he's seeing. Instead, he keeps his hands to himself and steps away from Brendon, leaving him to sleep. It's not like there was anything to touch anyway.
--
three.
Despite Brendon swearing up and down that he was, "never drinking again. Seriously, never," when Jon pulls out a bottle of rum from the fridge and starts passing around glasses, Brendon takes one just like the rest of them.
Spencer likes nights like this, when it's just the four of them huddled together in the back of the bus. They drink and play video games until they've had too much to drink to be much good at the games, then drop the controllers on the floor and move themselves to the couches.
Ryan drains what's left in his glass, then makes a face. "We really should have mixed this with something," he says.
"We've got glasses," Jon says. "What more do you want? It's like you think we're still part of civilization or something."
"It's like I think you bought the cheap rum or something," Ryan says, rolling his eyes.
Brendon has a Red Bull in one hand and his glass of rum in the other. He alternates sips between the two of them.
"Is that any good?" Spencer asks, slouched low on the couch, sitting beside Brendon.
"Not really," Brendon says. "If it were vodka we could mix them, but I'm not loving this with the rum. You wanna try?" He holds out the can.
Spencer squints at it, then takes it from Brendon, draining it in one long drink before passing the can back.
Brendon glares at him.
"I'm out of rum," Spencer says, pointing to where his empty glass is lying on the floor.
Brendon holds his own glass closer to his chest. "I'm not falling for that twice," he says.
Spencer hums, then slouches even further down until his chin is resting on his chest. He clasps his hands on his belly.
--
They finish the bottle and Jon pulls out his acoustic, passing it back and forth with Ryan. Brendon is busy drooling onto Spencer's thigh, or he'd probably be singing along. Instead, Ryan strums and Jon hums softly, and Spencer's eyes slowly drift shut until he's asleep as well.
--
He doesn't think he sleeps for long because when he wakes, he can hear Jon and Ryan moving around further off on the bus; they're not in bed yet. Brendon is still lying down, his head on Spencer's thigh and his arm trailing off the couch to brush against Spencer's calf. He must wake up as well, because when Spencer shifts, Brendon immediately sits up, scooting down the couch to make room for Spencer. Spencer reaches up his arms to stretch, then settles again.
"I'm all warm right now," Spencer asks.
"Yeah?"
Spencer nods. "You're warm," Spencer says. "All the time." He rubs Brendon's elbow, and Brendon is warm, even through the layer of his shirt.
Brendon shrugs.
"You're always warm, and you make the light move differently sometimes," Spencer says. He squints at Brendon. "And, right now you're like, you're like making light." He reaches out and grabs Brendon's hand, lifting it up and holding it up to his face. "Your skin is." Spencer lifts up his own hand, holding it out and comparing the two. "My skin doesn't look like that. Why is your skin making light?" Spencer asks, looking up at Brendon. Brendon's face is totally making light, too.
Brendon pulls his hand back, laughing awkwardly. "Pretty drunk tonight, Spence?" he asks. Which, yeah, Spencer is pretty drunk, but Brendon's the one making light with his skin.
"My skin doesn't look like that," Spencer repeats.
"I'm going to go get you a glass of water," Brendon says, pushing off the couch and scurrying away. The room is totally a little darker now that Brendon's gone.
--
Spencer wakes up and the curtain of his bunk is firmly closed. There's a wet cloth on his forehead, which has warmed now to the temperature of his skin. He stretches his hand out and bumps the bottle of aspirin off his pillow. He chases it down the mattress and fusses with the cap until he manages to get three pills into his palm.
--
The next time he wakes up, the cloth is cold again.
--
four.
Spencer always waits until the last minute to get ready for the shows, and today he's running behind. He expects that the dressing room will be empty, that the guys will be in the rec room playing hacky sack, but when he throws the door open, Brendon is standing in the middle of the room. He's shirtless and bumping around as he tries to convince his pants up over the curve of his ass so that he can button them.
Spencer steps inside, closing the door behind himself, saying, "You're late, too."
Brendon directs his bouncing in a circle, turning to face Spencer. "Oh, hey!" he says. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
"Make sure you're not cutting off circulation to anything important," Spencer says, patting his own chest as he tries to decide if he's going to put on a new t-shirt or just find a vest to go with the one he's wearing right now. "Are you going out with Ryan and Jon after the show?" He bends over, grabbing for a blue cloth that he thinks might be a cleanish vest.
"Why?" Brendon asks.
Spencer straightens, and starts to say, "If you weren't, I was thinking we could--" when he stops, standing frozen and staring at Brendon.
Brendon waits for a moment, then shifts uncomfortably. "What?"
Spencer blinks, then blinks again, then rushes towards Brendon, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around. "Dude, what the fuck?" Spencer asks. Brendon has fucking wings sprouting out of his back. They're dark blue with lighter trails-- like veins or something, what the fuck?-- running down. The lighter lines catch the light differently, shimmering more purple than blue. Spencer reaches out to touch, when Brendon jerks away, yanking his arm out of Spencer's grip and taking several steps backwards.
"What?" Brendon asks.
"What do you mean what? Because-- what?" Spencer gestures wildly. "You have wings."
Brendon goes bright red, then all the blood drains and he swallows. His voice is unsteady when he asks, "You can, ah, you can see them?"
"Of course I can see them," Spencer says. "You have wings coming out of your back. Wings! Why do you have wings?"
Right now, he can see the tops of Brendon's wings over his shoulders. The wings keep shifting, even as Brendon stands totally still, like they're fluttering. Spencer wants to turn Brendon around again so that he can get a closer look. He wonders if Brendon can control their movement.
Brendon crosses his arms, hunching in on himself and chewing on the inside of his cheek. Before he has the chance to explain, the door opens behind Spencer and Zack says, "Guys! Five minutes. Spence, you're not putting a bow in your hair today?"
"Hair tie," Spencer says, automatically. Then, he does a double-take, looking back and forth between Brendon and Zack. Brendon is still shirtless and still winged, but Zack isn't reacting at all. "Does he already know?" Spencer asks.
Brendon shakes his head slightly. Spencer keeps jerking his head back and forth between the two of them, but Zack still hasn't reacted, except for looking more and more confused. Brendon's jaw is getting tighter and tighter, so instead of pushing it, Spencer just says, "I found the vest I was looking for," and lifts up his hand, showing it to Zack.
"I'm proud of you," Zack says.
Brendon grabs his shirt and walks to the bathroom. When he comes out, he's fully dressed. Spencer can see the way the ends of his wings are trailing from underneath the tails of his shirt. They look longer now that they're limp and dangling instead of all stretched out.
Brendon isn't as pale anymore; there are spots of color high on his cheekbones. They've got a show to play though, so instead of saying anything, Spencer just wraps a headband around his head and knots it, following behind Zack and in front of Brendon as they walk next door to where Ryan and Jon are waiting.
--
After the show, Jon grabs the first shower. "You coming with us tonight?" Ryan asks, sipping from a plastic cup.
"Me and Brendon are going to have an awesome hotel party, actually," Spencer says, looking over at Brendon, who pointedly does not look back.
--
"So," Spencer says, folding his arms and staring at Brendon.
Brendon says, "So." Their bags are thrown onto the hotel floor.
"I thought it was a good show," Spencer says. "The crowd was really stoked and everyone seemed really on. Oh hey, and also, apparently you have wings now."
Brendon winces. "The wings aren't actually new," he offers. "So it's not, um. 'Now'." He reaches up and scratches the back of his neck.
"Oh, right," Spencer says agreeably. "They're not new; you've always had wings. Brendon! Is this some kind of weird joke?"
"Yes," Brendon says, nodding. "Ha. Ha. Ha, guess what, I'm a fairy, ha ha." He scowls.
Spencer snorts. Brendon glares even harder, so Spencer clears his throat. "You're a fairy?"
"Just a little bit," Brendon says. "Like, great-great-great-Grandma, little bit." Brendon lifts up his hand and pinches his thumb and first finger together, squinting at Spencer through the gap. "Very little bit."
Spencer nods. "So, that's where you got your brown eyes and also your wings?"
Brendon shrugs. "Yes?"
"Oh."
Brendon shuffles over and sits down on one of the beds, so Spencer follows, sitting across from Brendon on the other bed.
"They're very pretty," Spencer offers.
"Shut up, I hate you," Brendon says, but he's grinning a little.
"What?" Spencer asks. "Is that some kind of fairy code? You're not supposed to talk about another dude's wings?"
Brendon flips Spencer off. "This is why humans aren't supposed to be able to see them."
Spencer lifts a hand, prompting Brendon to continue.
"I guess, like, there's some kind of fairy magic, Spencer, stop laughing or I'm not going to tell you any more." Brendon stops, glowering.
Spencer lifts his hand and mimes zipping his lips.
Brendon sighs before starting again. "I guess," he says, staring at Spencer pointedly. Spencer stays silent. "I guess that humans and fairies didn't get along too well, so there's some kind of, like a spell or something that made it so that humans can't see fairies. Or, you know," Brendon gestures behind himself. "The fairy parts."
"Huh," Spencer says. "Is it fairy parts, plural, for you?"
Brendon shakes his head. "Not really. One of my sisters sort of, not steals, but, you know? Other people's dreams. Like, when she sleeps, she sees their dreams. That was embarrassing when I was a teenager, let me tell you. It kind of comes and goes. My nephew can kind of hover in the air right now, but we're pretty sure that his wings aren't going to keep growing with his body, so he won't be able to for much longer. When I was a kid, I never really needed to sleep, but now..."
"You still hardly ever sleep," Spencer says.
"None of us have time to sleep," Brendon points out. "Still, I sleep more than I used to."
"Could you ever fly?" Spencer asks.
Brendon shakes his head sadly. "My wings are all, you know--" Brendon raises his hand, then drops his wrist, flopping his hand around loosely. "Not too sturdy."
"So, you've always had wings?" Spencer says. "And we just couldn't see?"
Brendon nods. "That's how that myth about changelings came," he says. "The woman wouldn't know that the guy was a fairy, and then all of the sudden she has a baby with wings or strangely colored eyes or whatever. It's not that someone stole her real baby; that was just, you know. What her baby was like."
"How come I'm the only one who can see them?" Spencer asks.
Brendon shrugs and mumbles something about how the magic is complicated.
--
five.
Brendon having wings turns out to make very little impact. It's not some secret that Spencer has to keep for him. Brendon will stand shirtless in front of the others, will wander around and it will look to Spencer as if Brendon is going to whack Ryan with his wing, but the contact is never made. Jon will sit down right beside Brendon, right on top of the end of Brendon's wing, but Brendon can stand right up, his wing sliding free as if there was no weight on top of it.
Spencer is more careful though, watching before he sits down and moving aside to give Brendon room.
Pretty much the only thing that changes for Spencer is that he now understands why Brendon is so bound and determined to be as naked as possible, whenever possible. It must suck to have to keep a shirt over his wings all the time.
Except that it starts to get warmer, and "How does this work?" Spencer asks, fingering the sleeve of Brendon's t-shirt then reaching back towards Brendon's wing, out in the open, not smushed under the fabric. Brendon angles his body away, just a subtle shift, before Spencer can make contact. "Is that an especially human-like shirt that doesn't know your wings exist?"
Brendon raises his eyebrows in confusion before chuckling. "Oh," he says. "No, I just--" He pulls his t-shirt off and holds it up, showing Spencer the slits in the back. Spencer reaches out and pokes his finger through one of them. "Just the magic of scissors," Brendon says.
"Huh," Spencer says. They're sitting in the back lounge together, watching Transformers. Jon's on his phone and Ryan's in his bunk reading. Spencer's seen the movie so many times that he knows it off by heart, but sometimes it's nice just to watch something with no surprises.
Brendon tosses his t-shirt on the floor instead of putting it back on. They're sitting side by side, but there's some distance between them on the couch.
Brendon scoots forward, until he's just at the edge of the couch, then, staring straight ahead the whole time, he stretches his wings out slowly. He spends most of his time with his wings floating down his back, almost like an incandescent cape. It's different to see them stretched out, and Spencer watches out of the corner of his eye, not drawing attention to himself. He doesn't know if Brendon is self-conscious about the wings, but normally Brendon spends a lot of time pretending like they're not there.
Brendon lifts his wings and gives a little flap. Spencer sneezes, then sneezes again.
"Sorry," Brendon says, holding his wings still.
Spencer rubs his nose, blinking. There's this shimmery purple stuff floating through the air.
"Brendon," he asks slowly. "Do your wings make sparkle powder?"
"No!" Brendon says. "It's just dust. You know, like how there's oil to protect human skin? There's dust to protect fairy wings."
Brendon gives his wings a little shake, sending another cloud of dust into the air. Spencer reaches out, trying to catch some in his palm. He raises his hand in front of his face and inspects it. The dust is so sheer that he can't see much of anything, just the faint purple tint on his skin that shimmers when it catches the light.
"I think Ryan had eyeshadow like this," Spencer says, grinning at Brendon.
Brendon scoffs, then shakes his wings again. When the dust finally settles, the whole room smells like rain water.
--
six.
Spencer sits on the bed, squinting at the floor. He's tired, but in the way where his eyes are heavy, not the way that his body will be settling anytime soon. Brendon comes out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. He pulls a pair of boxers out of his suitcase, and after slipping them on, rubs the towel over his head, ruffling up his hair. He tosses it so that it lands somewhere in the vicinity of the door to the bathroom.
Spencer can tell that his wings are wet because there are dark blue beads clinging to the edges, the dust mixed with water. Spencer wonders how the water from the shower didn't just wash it away altogether.
"Shower's yours," Brendon says. Even though they all rinsed off at the venue, no one ever passes up the chance for a long shower on hotel nights. Water pressure is a rare and glorious thing.
As Spencer passes Brendon, he slows down. He reaches out and catches one of the drops as the water drips off Brendon's wing. He raises his hand again, wanting to collect the water clinging to the edges, fascinated by the way the water has turned the normally purple powder into a blue as dark as the rest of Brendon's wings.
Before he makes contact, Brendon steps away.
"Is it not-- Should I not touch them?" Spencer asks.
"Humans can't," Brendon says. "You know that; you've seen what happens when Ryan or Jon sit on them or whatever."
"I thought it would be different for me," Spencer says. "Since I can see them."
Brendon shakes his head. "It-- No, it won't be," he says in a tight voice. "And, I don't want, I mean. It's just a really weird, cold feeling when people's hands pass through. It kind of creeps me out."
"Okay," Spencer says, holding up his hands and stepping back. "They just look cool when they're wet."
Brendon nods, looking down at the ground, and Spencer walks to the shower.
He turns the water hot and washes his hair for a long time, rubbing the shampoo through his hair and then massaging his scalp, rubbing until his head gets all tingly. He turns off the shower, trims his beard, and brushes his teeth. When he finally walks out of the bathroom, he's clean and relaxed.
Brendon sits cross-legged on the bed, his wings stretched behind himself.
Spencer sits on the opposite bed and tries to see if the blue water that drips from his wings is coloring the bed. He wonders if it will stain, or if it will just dry into dust that can be brushed away.
Brendon keeps moving his wings, fanning them slowly through the air.
Spencer watches, while trying not to make it obvious that he's watching, the movement. Water drips down Brendon's back and runs in between his shoulder blades, down the stretch of skin that separates the two wings.
Spencer's only wearing boxers himself, stretched out on top of the covers while he waits for his skin to go from damp and pink to smooth and dry. He stretches his hands up, clasping his hands behind his head and closes his eyes, listening to the low sounds on the television in the background.
When he opens them again, he catches Brendon turning away. Spencer wonders what he was looking at.
--
seven.
It's not a bad interview, not exactly. It's more that they were running late after being caught in traffic, and it's difficult to explain why they got rid of the exclamation mark and to discuss whether or not they're consciously ripping off The Beatles when none of them have eaten.
The woman asks what it's like to be single on the road, looking pointedly at Brendon, even though he's not the only single member of the band anymore.
Brendon talks about being too busy to get into much trouble and laughs awkwardly.
A car is waiting outside to take Ryan and Jon to the radio interview, while Spencer and Brendon get picked up to do something for a magazine. They get to the studio and there still isn't any food and they get asked the same questions over again. The interviewer is younger this time, and she's leaning in close, shoving the mike at Brendon's face. Brendon doesn't edge back, but his laugh gets increasingly stilted. Spencer can see that the woman is sitting on Brendon's wing, putting more and more weight on it as she leans in even closer.
--
They get back to the bus before Ryan and Jon, and Brendon storms off to the back lounge, slamming the door behind himself.
Spencer leaves him alone, but when Zack comes with sandwiches, Spencer carries Brendon's back to him.
In the back lounge, Brendon has thrown his shirt on the floor. He's pacing around the room, his wings flapping angrily. There's dust everywhere and the room smells like moss.
"Food," Spencer says, holding up the sandwich. He sets it on the low table then walks to the couch, pointedly leaving Brendon alone as he tears into his own sandwich. It's not hard to ignore Brendon while Spencer's eating the best fucking sandwich that has ever been made in the history of the universe.
Eventually, Brendon picks up his sandwich, carrying it with him as he paces around the room. He eats the whole thing then throws himself face first onto the couch opposite Spencer.
"I hate doing press," he mutters into the cushion.
"Yup," Spencer says. He sits quietly, just keeping Brendon company until Brendon stops squirming around, his wings flapping restlessly.
Brendon relaxes into the couch, turning his face towards Spencer. "I'm feeling a little bit better now," he says.
He pushes himself up, wincing as he looks around the room.
"I made a mess," he says. The room is coated in a fine layer of sheer lavender dust. "Lucky no one can see that," Brendon says. He turns to Spencer, then his eyes widen. "Shit, Spence, sorry."
Spencer looks down and he can see that his arms are covered in dust, presumably the rest of his body as well. "'s okay," Spencer says, shaking off his arms. "It's all soft. It's like that body powder that my mom uses."
Brendon crosses the room, stands in front of Spencer and tries to help him brush the dust from his shoulders. He brushes his fingers over Spencer's face, runs his fingers through his hair. "It's kind of hard to get out," Brendon says. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Spencer says again. "Like you said, no one else can see. It's all over you, too."
Brendon looks down, then shakes his head wildly, causing another cloud of dust to fly up. "Yup," Brendon says, and he and Spencer watch as the cloud slowly sinks down to settle on the floor.
Spencer lifts his arms up, inspecting his bare skin. The dust just barely tints his skin, mostly just giving his arms this sort of gleam. "Shiny," Spencer says. "Too bad we can't bottle your fairy glitter."
"Stop calling it that," Brendon says, smacking Spencer on the arm. "Just for that, I get to pick the movie."
Spencer sighs dramatically. "Fine."
--
eight.
Everyone is on the Hush Sound and Phantom Planet's bus, which is pretty stupid considering that's already the most crammed bus.
Ryan is sitting beside Alex, playing an acoustic while Alex plucks something out on the mandolin he just bought. Spencer and Jon are helping by adding their commentary.
The song finishes, and Jon makes hands at the guitar until Ryan passes it over. Spencer looks around the bus, and realizes that he can't see Brendon anywhere.
Brendon isn't outside, either, so Spencer walks back to Panic's bus. He finds Brendon sitting in the back lounge, watching TV, his phone beside him on the couch.
"What's up?" Spencer asks, walking over and sitting down beside Brendon on the couch.
"Oh, my sister called," Brendon says, tilting his head to where is phone is lying. "I went outside to take the call and then I ended up wandering back to the bus."
Spencer nods. "How's she doing?"
"Good," Brendon says. "It was my nephew's birthday this weekend."
"Did you remember?" Spencer asks.
"Yeah," Brendon says. "I sent a present and I called and stuff on the day. She had the birthday party for him tonight, so she was just calling to complain about the other parents." Brendon shakes his head.
"I can't even imagine my sisters having kids," Spencer says.
"They're still in high school," Brendon says. "It'll probably be a while yet."
Brendon picks up his phone and spins it around, holding it between his thumb and first finger. He sighs, looking down at his hands.
"Homesick?" Spencer asks, leaning over to bump his shoulder against Brendon's.
Brendon nods, looking down at his hands. "That's the only part of touring that gets to me," Brendon says. "We miss everything back home."
Spencer nods. He sits quietly with Brendon for a few minutes before saying, "C'mon, let's get back to the party. Alex bought a mandolin and I bet he'll let you try it if you ask nicely."
"Yeah?" Brendon says. He sighs again, then puts his phone back into his pocket.
"I'll even help you find some vodka to mix with your Red Bull," Spencer says, standing, then offering a hand to Brendon.
"Twist my arm," Brendon says, and when he smiles, it looks genuine.
--
nine.
The air conditioning on the bus is better than in the venue, so Spencer stays behind when the other three wander off. Spencer would rather be cool than have the chance to stretch his legs.
It isn't long before Brendon drags himself back, his shirt clinging to his sweaty body.
"I shouldn't've left," he pants.
Spencer rolls his eyes, then ducks as Brendon's sweaty t-shirt comes flying toward his head.
Brendon joins Spencer on the couch, looking forward at the DVD that's playing.
"You manage any sleep last night?" Spencer asks.
"A little," Brendon says. The air conditioning is working all right now, but it was hot through the night. Brendon already runs at a hotter body temperature than the rest of them and Spencer knows that Brendon spent more time wandering the bus to try and find a breeze than he did sleeping.
Brendon leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and his chin on his palms. Spencer leans back, and glances sideways at Brendon. Brendon's wings aren't stretched out all the way, but there's something of a tension in them anyway. Spencer reaches out without thinking about it, presses a thumb to the v where Brendon's wings join with his back, just like he used to press his fingers to Brendon's neck before all this business with the wings, when Brendon would sit hunched over and Spencer could see the tension in the spine.
He touches Brendon's bare skin, then drags his thumb up along the base of one wing, smooth and soft, and Brendon shivers so violently that Spencer can feel it not only where he's touching Brendon with his hand, but also where their thighs brush, side by side on the couch. Spencer recoils, and says, "Sorry, does that hurt?"
Brendon takes a breath and Spencer watches the way it stretches his skin across the bottom of his ribcage, the only place that Spencer's view isn't obstructed by the wings. Brendon mutters something, his voice sounding thick and far away. He turns his head and looks back over his shoulder.
"I was just surprised," Brendon says, more clearly this time. "It doesn't usually feel like that."
Spencer reaches out again, touching along the bottom of the wing then pulling his hand up, keeping the contact feather-light.
"I thought you said that people couldn't touch your wings," Spencer says, dragging his fingers through a long streak of shimmery purple.
"You can feel them?" Brendon asks, his voice wavering.
"Yeah," Spencer says, giving the tiniest poke with his fingertip. "Can you feel my hand?"
Brendon nods, with jerky movements of his head.
"Is this part fragile?" Spencer asks, brushing his fingers along the middle section of one outstretched wing. It's soft and smooth and just a little cooler than Brendon's skin temperature normally is, but still warmer than the tips of Spencer's fingers.
"I don't... know," Brendon says. His voice is raw and he says, "Maybe if you, if you, you could just, I think." Spencer can feel the way he's shaking, the way the wings tremble under Spencer's touch.
Brendon reaches back for Spencer's hand, groping awkwardly until he catches Spencer's wrist. He guides it back down to the edge of his wing, holding Spencer's open hand just under then shaking his wing, purposefully this time, so that dust falls down into Spencer's palm. Spencer rubs his hand across the lower curve where most of the dust collects until his hand is covered, then spreads his hand out over the stretch of Brendon's wing again. He touches Brendon's skin and the dust smoothes the way so that Spencer can stroke gently, making Brendon jerk, his head dropping down as his back arches.
Brendon is still sweaty from being outside, and Spencer can see the way his hair sticks to the back of his neck. Spencer slides his hand up, following the curve of Brendon's wing until he gets to the part where it joins to Brendon's back. The skin here is thick and smooth and he runs his thumbnail in a line, a soft scrape. Brendon's lower back arches, pushing his wings out and toward Spencer's hand. Spencer does it again, and Brendon jumps off the couch, leaping to his feet.
Spencer's hand is still outstretched. He wasn't done touching and he wants Brendon back within reach, but before he has to voice the complaint, Brendon turns around, pushing Spencer further back onto the couch and climbing into his lap, kneeling on the couch, his thighs spread to bracket Spencer's body. Spencer's hands fly to Brendon's lower back, his fingers spread and digging into the bare skin. He moves his hands up until he's cupping just under the base of Brendon's wings.
Brendon leans in, rubbing their noses together. He leans his forehead onto Spencer's then pulls far enough away that Spencer can see his face.
"There's, um. With the--" Brendon takes a deep breath. He speaks quietly and says, "With the fairy magic. To protect us, the way it, the way it works is that, ah. Humans can't see the fairy parts unless the fairy feels-- Unless I feel--" he takes another breath, looking at Spencer quickly.
Spencer adjusts his hold to pull Brendon closer.
"And then the humans aren't able to, they can't touch unless they feel-- You couldn't touch them unless you felt," Brendon whispers, looking down. He's flushed now, and he looks shy, somehow, like even after everything he still thinks there's a chance he might have it wrong.
He finishes, "Unless you feel the same," his voice raising at the end to turn it into something of a question. Spencer leans in, tilting his head and nosing at Brendon's cheek until Brendon raises up and he can get to his lips.
Brendon kisses carefully, but when Spencer slides his hands up the rest of the way up, brushing his thumbs over the base of Brendon's wings and rubbing slow circles, Brendon surges forward, his body rolling as he arches and grinds down.
Spencer can feel Brendon's wings moving, fluttering as Brendon wiggles around, trying to fit their bodies as close together as possible. Spencer spreads his legs a little, rocking up to meet Brendon as best he can. He sucks on Brendon's tongue and wonders how long they have before Ryan and Jon come to seek refuge from the heat. Probably not long enough.
Their mouths part gradually; Spencer keeps leaning forward for quick kisses and Brendon's hips keep moving, grinding in a circle.
When Spencer finally opens his eyes again, the air around them is a shimmery purple and smells like honeysuckles. Spencer blinks slowly, watches the dust catch the light, watches Brendon's mouth when he bites his lip.
Brendon's hands slide from Spencer's shoulders, brushing carefully over Spencer's cheeks. Brendon runs his thumb over the bottom line of Spencer's lip, touching just lightly, and Spencer shivers.
"I'm covered in your fairy glitter," Spencer says, closing his eyes and lifting his face as more of the dust floats down.
"Yeah," Brendon says, and when Spencer opens his eyes, he can see Brendon grinning.
--
Brendon's dripping with sweat before the third song finishes, his shirt soaked through. He comes back and stands in front of Spencer's kit, grabbing a new bottle of water between songs. He bounces away, his wings fluttering as he dances back up to his mic stand. Spencer looks down as he counts off the next song, smiles when he sees his arms shimmering a sheer purple under the stage lights.
Spencer/Brendon | PG-13 | ~ 7100 words
Spencer starts noticing strange things.
Thank you so much to sociofemme and pau494. ♥! Also, thanks to everyone who encouraged me to write this when I rambled about it in the first place.
one.
Brendon is shirtless in the kitchen area of the bus, bopping around to a beat that only he can hear. Spencer walks slowly, making his way up to the kitchen. He only just woke up, and he's sure that his hair is standing in all directions.
Brendon looks to the side, seeing Spencer. He grins then holds up a mug, signalling that he has made a pot of coffee. Spencer smiles gratefully.
Brendon turns, presumably to fetch a cup for Spencer, and Spencer can see this weird kind of-- he doesn't know what it is. This weird kind of shift in the air just at Brendon's back, like light bends differently there.
Spencer rubs the sleep from his eyes.
Brendon sits down at the table, his cup of coffee cradled between his palms, the other cup resting on the table across from him. Spencer slides into the booth, reaching for his mug.
"Thanks," Spencer says. "I really needed this this morning."
--
Tour rolls on in that same way it always does, which is really more of a frantic dash than anything resembling a roll. Spencer wakes and walks with Zack to the venue, taking a stroll around backstage before making his way over to catering. Zack leaves him there, and returns to the bus to try and collect Ryan and Jon.
Brendon's already sitting at one of the tables, Greta and Alex sitting across from him. Spencer piles his plate with toast and scrambled eggs. He eyes the sausages, but since he's going to be sitting at the table with the vegans, he grabs some of the fake-tofu-whatever-it's-meant-to-imitate stuff.
He walks his plate over to the table, then returns to the food station for a drink. He pours two glasses of orange juice, setting one in front of Brendon when he gets back.
Brendon takes a huge swallow, then pours what's left of his Sprite into the glass.
"What's this supposed to be, anyway?" Spencer asks, poking at his tofu.
"Bacon," Greta says, while at the same time Alex says, "Sausage."
--
"Dude, me and Jon came up with the best idea," Ryan says, coming to stand beside Spencer in front of the mirror. The vanities backstage aren't littered with makeup anymore, and Spencer can't say that he misses it. It takes them maybe one-fifth the time to get ready that it used to take, and Spencer never liked the feeling of smeared makeup mixed with sweat and dripping down his neck.
"Will you tie this?" Spencer asks, holding up his headband.
Ryan takes it, and Spencer tries to hold his hair up while Ryan tries to do the same. Their hands end up bumping together.
"Stop it," Ryan says, batting at Spencer's hand. "I've got it."
"Don't tie my hair into the knot," Spencer says.
Spencer doesn't have to look at Ryan to know he's rolling his eyes.
"So, what'd you come up with?" Spencer asks.
Ryan finishes with the hair tie then steps back. Spencer turns around to face him, and Ryan pauses for effect before saying, "A bubble machine."
--
After the show, Ryan calls first shower. Spencer stretches out on the couch while Brendon guzzles bottles of water.
Jon comes to sit beside Spencer. He's close by, but not so much that their sweaty arms are brushing.
Jon asks, "Did Ryan mention to you about the bubbles?"
Spencer looks sideways at Jon. "He did."
Jon rubs his hands on his pants, grinning. "It is the most, most genius of all of our plans," he says. "Of all time."
Brendon comes over. Spencer hopes that it's water flinging from Brendon's hair as he shakes his head around, because a drop of whatever it is lands on Spencer's arm. Spencer doesn't bother to brush it away.
"Bubbles?" Brendon asks.
Jon throws an arm around Brendon's shoulders. Brendon is a wet shivering thing after concerts, vibrating from adrenalin, his clothes soaked all the way through with sweat. They're mostly used to it by now though.
"Bubbles," Jon says, giving Brendon a squeeze then letting go.
Spencer wonders to himself if they could hook up his kick pedal with a bubble blower so that each time he hit the drum, a stream of bubbles shot across the stage. The longer he thinks about it, the more it sounds like the most awesome idea ever, so he suggests it out loud.
"You want to be able to aim it, too?" Brendon asks, his eyes all crinkly around the edges.
"Whoa," Spencer says. "Whoa. Yes I want to be able to aim it. Dude."
Brendon shakes his head, then turns away to reach for another water bottle. Spencer wonders what Brendon has under his shirt that's making it bunch up like that and then blinks because-- no. There wouldn't be anything under Brendon's shirt. Maybe something in the way he has been sweating casts weird shadows under the light or something.
--
Spencer wakes just before sunrise and lies confused in his bunk for long moments before he realizes that the bus has stopped moving, and that's probably what woke him. He rolls over to go back to sleep, the movement hampered by the deadweight of his left leg. Spencer frowns in the dark, trying to wiggle his toes until his muddled brain wakes up enough to figure out that his leg has fallen asleep.
He climbs out of his bunk, awkwardly, hating the hot, thick feeling caused by the loss of circulation. He stands in the aisle and tries to shake sensation back into his foot. It goes tingly first, then sharply painful. He bites the inside of his cheek, making pained faces into the dark.
It takes a long time for his leg to stop hurting and by the time the pain goes away, Spencer is feeling wide awake. He walks to the end of the bus and sits down on a couch. The blinds are up and even though the sun hasn't risen yet, the air outside is starting to light up. He can see the dew from the night starting to meander down the windows, beading together and sliding and stopping in fits and spurts.
Spencer's wearing pyjamas, probably the only member of the band who still has a full set this late into touring. It's colder now that he's out of his bunk, but not enough that he needs a hoodie.
Spencer watches the trails of the water on the glass and thinks that he doesn't mind so much not having someone to call when he wakes up at odd hours. He used to miss Haley the worst at night, but these days, it's hard enough just to remember to keep his phone charged, let alone the impossibility of trying to maintain a long distance relationship.
--
two.
Brendon has folded himself into a ball on the couch. As Spencer walks by, passing through the room on his way back to the bunks, Brendon makes a desperate and pathetic grab for Spencer's leg. He catches Spencer just under his knee, and Spencer stops.
"You're awake," Spencer notes.
Brendon doesn't let go. "Kill me," Brendon rasps. "Kill me now."
Spencer turns, and Brendon lets his hand fall away when Spencer crouches down beside the couch. "You drank too much," Spencer says, but sympathetically, not like he's trying to rub it in. Spencer's feeling a little green himself.
"I didn't even drink that much," Brendon says. He pauses. "It is possible that I have been poisoned."
Spencer grins before working his face into a more solemn expression. "Is that so?"
Brendon nods, but stops quickly, wincing. He touches a hand to his forehead and squints pathetically up at Spencer, saying, "Perhaps someone is trying to get revenge on one of you."
"One of us?" Spencer asks.
Brendon says, "Mh hm. How better to hurt you than to hurt me?"
Spencer lowers himself slowly until he's sitting on the floor. He props his arm up on the couch and rests his head on his forearm. Brendon is wedged as far back on the couch as he can get, so there's room for both of them. Even though they're not touching, Spencer can feel the heat coming off of Brendon's body.
"What do you think we might have done to deserve a punishment so cruel?" Spencer asks.
"I don't even know," Brendon says. He exhales slowly. "It sucks that I have to be the one to suffer, though."
"Try and go back to sleep," Spencer says. "You'll feel better afterward." He fluffs the hair on Brendon's forehead with the tips of his fingers, brushing the skin of Brendon's forehead lightly. "You want me to get you water or something?"
"You want me to throw up?" Brendon asks, groaning. He rolls over until he's lying on his stomach, head pillowed in his arms. "Wake me up if we're stopping for food."
"Weren't you just talking about throwing up?" Spencer asks.
"Hangover food," Brendon says, like he's just stating the obvious.
"You need aspirin?"
"I already took some," Brendon says. "Thanks though."
Spencer pushes himself back to his feet, standing and looking down at Brendon as he tries to remember what he was doing before this. There's light coming in from the window above Brendon, a warm yellow that breaks up the black strips through the cracks in the blinds. Spencer looks down, and it seems like the light is moving over Brendon's back. As Brendon breathes, his ribcage expands and the black bars of shadows shift, but it's more than that, like something is moving in the air just above Brendon's back.
Spencer's fingers twitch, and for a moment he wants to reach out and try to touch whatever he's seeing. Instead, he keeps his hands to himself and steps away from Brendon, leaving him to sleep. It's not like there was anything to touch anyway.
--
three.
Despite Brendon swearing up and down that he was, "never drinking again. Seriously, never," when Jon pulls out a bottle of rum from the fridge and starts passing around glasses, Brendon takes one just like the rest of them.
Spencer likes nights like this, when it's just the four of them huddled together in the back of the bus. They drink and play video games until they've had too much to drink to be much good at the games, then drop the controllers on the floor and move themselves to the couches.
Ryan drains what's left in his glass, then makes a face. "We really should have mixed this with something," he says.
"We've got glasses," Jon says. "What more do you want? It's like you think we're still part of civilization or something."
"It's like I think you bought the cheap rum or something," Ryan says, rolling his eyes.
Brendon has a Red Bull in one hand and his glass of rum in the other. He alternates sips between the two of them.
"Is that any good?" Spencer asks, slouched low on the couch, sitting beside Brendon.
"Not really," Brendon says. "If it were vodka we could mix them, but I'm not loving this with the rum. You wanna try?" He holds out the can.
Spencer squints at it, then takes it from Brendon, draining it in one long drink before passing the can back.
Brendon glares at him.
"I'm out of rum," Spencer says, pointing to where his empty glass is lying on the floor.
Brendon holds his own glass closer to his chest. "I'm not falling for that twice," he says.
Spencer hums, then slouches even further down until his chin is resting on his chest. He clasps his hands on his belly.
--
They finish the bottle and Jon pulls out his acoustic, passing it back and forth with Ryan. Brendon is busy drooling onto Spencer's thigh, or he'd probably be singing along. Instead, Ryan strums and Jon hums softly, and Spencer's eyes slowly drift shut until he's asleep as well.
--
He doesn't think he sleeps for long because when he wakes, he can hear Jon and Ryan moving around further off on the bus; they're not in bed yet. Brendon is still lying down, his head on Spencer's thigh and his arm trailing off the couch to brush against Spencer's calf. He must wake up as well, because when Spencer shifts, Brendon immediately sits up, scooting down the couch to make room for Spencer. Spencer reaches up his arms to stretch, then settles again.
"I'm all warm right now," Spencer asks.
"Yeah?"
Spencer nods. "You're warm," Spencer says. "All the time." He rubs Brendon's elbow, and Brendon is warm, even through the layer of his shirt.
Brendon shrugs.
"You're always warm, and you make the light move differently sometimes," Spencer says. He squints at Brendon. "And, right now you're like, you're like making light." He reaches out and grabs Brendon's hand, lifting it up and holding it up to his face. "Your skin is." Spencer lifts up his own hand, holding it out and comparing the two. "My skin doesn't look like that. Why is your skin making light?" Spencer asks, looking up at Brendon. Brendon's face is totally making light, too.
Brendon pulls his hand back, laughing awkwardly. "Pretty drunk tonight, Spence?" he asks. Which, yeah, Spencer is pretty drunk, but Brendon's the one making light with his skin.
"My skin doesn't look like that," Spencer repeats.
"I'm going to go get you a glass of water," Brendon says, pushing off the couch and scurrying away. The room is totally a little darker now that Brendon's gone.
--
Spencer wakes up and the curtain of his bunk is firmly closed. There's a wet cloth on his forehead, which has warmed now to the temperature of his skin. He stretches his hand out and bumps the bottle of aspirin off his pillow. He chases it down the mattress and fusses with the cap until he manages to get three pills into his palm.
--
The next time he wakes up, the cloth is cold again.
--
four.
Spencer always waits until the last minute to get ready for the shows, and today he's running behind. He expects that the dressing room will be empty, that the guys will be in the rec room playing hacky sack, but when he throws the door open, Brendon is standing in the middle of the room. He's shirtless and bumping around as he tries to convince his pants up over the curve of his ass so that he can button them.
Spencer steps inside, closing the door behind himself, saying, "You're late, too."
Brendon directs his bouncing in a circle, turning to face Spencer. "Oh, hey!" he says. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
"Make sure you're not cutting off circulation to anything important," Spencer says, patting his own chest as he tries to decide if he's going to put on a new t-shirt or just find a vest to go with the one he's wearing right now. "Are you going out with Ryan and Jon after the show?" He bends over, grabbing for a blue cloth that he thinks might be a cleanish vest.
"Why?" Brendon asks.
Spencer straightens, and starts to say, "If you weren't, I was thinking we could--" when he stops, standing frozen and staring at Brendon.
Brendon waits for a moment, then shifts uncomfortably. "What?"
Spencer blinks, then blinks again, then rushes towards Brendon, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around. "Dude, what the fuck?" Spencer asks. Brendon has fucking wings sprouting out of his back. They're dark blue with lighter trails-- like veins or something, what the fuck?-- running down. The lighter lines catch the light differently, shimmering more purple than blue. Spencer reaches out to touch, when Brendon jerks away, yanking his arm out of Spencer's grip and taking several steps backwards.
"What?" Brendon asks.
"What do you mean what? Because-- what?" Spencer gestures wildly. "You have wings."
Brendon goes bright red, then all the blood drains and he swallows. His voice is unsteady when he asks, "You can, ah, you can see them?"
"Of course I can see them," Spencer says. "You have wings coming out of your back. Wings! Why do you have wings?"
Right now, he can see the tops of Brendon's wings over his shoulders. The wings keep shifting, even as Brendon stands totally still, like they're fluttering. Spencer wants to turn Brendon around again so that he can get a closer look. He wonders if Brendon can control their movement.
Brendon crosses his arms, hunching in on himself and chewing on the inside of his cheek. Before he has the chance to explain, the door opens behind Spencer and Zack says, "Guys! Five minutes. Spence, you're not putting a bow in your hair today?"
"Hair tie," Spencer says, automatically. Then, he does a double-take, looking back and forth between Brendon and Zack. Brendon is still shirtless and still winged, but Zack isn't reacting at all. "Does he already know?" Spencer asks.
Brendon shakes his head slightly. Spencer keeps jerking his head back and forth between the two of them, but Zack still hasn't reacted, except for looking more and more confused. Brendon's jaw is getting tighter and tighter, so instead of pushing it, Spencer just says, "I found the vest I was looking for," and lifts up his hand, showing it to Zack.
"I'm proud of you," Zack says.
Brendon grabs his shirt and walks to the bathroom. When he comes out, he's fully dressed. Spencer can see the way the ends of his wings are trailing from underneath the tails of his shirt. They look longer now that they're limp and dangling instead of all stretched out.
Brendon isn't as pale anymore; there are spots of color high on his cheekbones. They've got a show to play though, so instead of saying anything, Spencer just wraps a headband around his head and knots it, following behind Zack and in front of Brendon as they walk next door to where Ryan and Jon are waiting.
--
After the show, Jon grabs the first shower. "You coming with us tonight?" Ryan asks, sipping from a plastic cup.
"Me and Brendon are going to have an awesome hotel party, actually," Spencer says, looking over at Brendon, who pointedly does not look back.
--
"So," Spencer says, folding his arms and staring at Brendon.
Brendon says, "So." Their bags are thrown onto the hotel floor.
"I thought it was a good show," Spencer says. "The crowd was really stoked and everyone seemed really on. Oh hey, and also, apparently you have wings now."
Brendon winces. "The wings aren't actually new," he offers. "So it's not, um. 'Now'." He reaches up and scratches the back of his neck.
"Oh, right," Spencer says agreeably. "They're not new; you've always had wings. Brendon! Is this some kind of weird joke?"
"Yes," Brendon says, nodding. "Ha. Ha. Ha, guess what, I'm a fairy, ha ha." He scowls.
Spencer snorts. Brendon glares even harder, so Spencer clears his throat. "You're a fairy?"
"Just a little bit," Brendon says. "Like, great-great-great-Grandma, little bit." Brendon lifts up his hand and pinches his thumb and first finger together, squinting at Spencer through the gap. "Very little bit."
Spencer nods. "So, that's where you got your brown eyes and also your wings?"
Brendon shrugs. "Yes?"
"Oh."
Brendon shuffles over and sits down on one of the beds, so Spencer follows, sitting across from Brendon on the other bed.
"They're very pretty," Spencer offers.
"Shut up, I hate you," Brendon says, but he's grinning a little.
"What?" Spencer asks. "Is that some kind of fairy code? You're not supposed to talk about another dude's wings?"
Brendon flips Spencer off. "This is why humans aren't supposed to be able to see them."
Spencer lifts a hand, prompting Brendon to continue.
"I guess, like, there's some kind of fairy magic, Spencer, stop laughing or I'm not going to tell you any more." Brendon stops, glowering.
Spencer lifts his hand and mimes zipping his lips.
Brendon sighs before starting again. "I guess," he says, staring at Spencer pointedly. Spencer stays silent. "I guess that humans and fairies didn't get along too well, so there's some kind of, like a spell or something that made it so that humans can't see fairies. Or, you know," Brendon gestures behind himself. "The fairy parts."
"Huh," Spencer says. "Is it fairy parts, plural, for you?"
Brendon shakes his head. "Not really. One of my sisters sort of, not steals, but, you know? Other people's dreams. Like, when she sleeps, she sees their dreams. That was embarrassing when I was a teenager, let me tell you. It kind of comes and goes. My nephew can kind of hover in the air right now, but we're pretty sure that his wings aren't going to keep growing with his body, so he won't be able to for much longer. When I was a kid, I never really needed to sleep, but now..."
"You still hardly ever sleep," Spencer says.
"None of us have time to sleep," Brendon points out. "Still, I sleep more than I used to."
"Could you ever fly?" Spencer asks.
Brendon shakes his head sadly. "My wings are all, you know--" Brendon raises his hand, then drops his wrist, flopping his hand around loosely. "Not too sturdy."
"So, you've always had wings?" Spencer says. "And we just couldn't see?"
Brendon nods. "That's how that myth about changelings came," he says. "The woman wouldn't know that the guy was a fairy, and then all of the sudden she has a baby with wings or strangely colored eyes or whatever. It's not that someone stole her real baby; that was just, you know. What her baby was like."
"How come I'm the only one who can see them?" Spencer asks.
Brendon shrugs and mumbles something about how the magic is complicated.
--
five.
Brendon having wings turns out to make very little impact. It's not some secret that Spencer has to keep for him. Brendon will stand shirtless in front of the others, will wander around and it will look to Spencer as if Brendon is going to whack Ryan with his wing, but the contact is never made. Jon will sit down right beside Brendon, right on top of the end of Brendon's wing, but Brendon can stand right up, his wing sliding free as if there was no weight on top of it.
Spencer is more careful though, watching before he sits down and moving aside to give Brendon room.
Pretty much the only thing that changes for Spencer is that he now understands why Brendon is so bound and determined to be as naked as possible, whenever possible. It must suck to have to keep a shirt over his wings all the time.
Except that it starts to get warmer, and "How does this work?" Spencer asks, fingering the sleeve of Brendon's t-shirt then reaching back towards Brendon's wing, out in the open, not smushed under the fabric. Brendon angles his body away, just a subtle shift, before Spencer can make contact. "Is that an especially human-like shirt that doesn't know your wings exist?"
Brendon raises his eyebrows in confusion before chuckling. "Oh," he says. "No, I just--" He pulls his t-shirt off and holds it up, showing Spencer the slits in the back. Spencer reaches out and pokes his finger through one of them. "Just the magic of scissors," Brendon says.
"Huh," Spencer says. They're sitting in the back lounge together, watching Transformers. Jon's on his phone and Ryan's in his bunk reading. Spencer's seen the movie so many times that he knows it off by heart, but sometimes it's nice just to watch something with no surprises.
Brendon tosses his t-shirt on the floor instead of putting it back on. They're sitting side by side, but there's some distance between them on the couch.
Brendon scoots forward, until he's just at the edge of the couch, then, staring straight ahead the whole time, he stretches his wings out slowly. He spends most of his time with his wings floating down his back, almost like an incandescent cape. It's different to see them stretched out, and Spencer watches out of the corner of his eye, not drawing attention to himself. He doesn't know if Brendon is self-conscious about the wings, but normally Brendon spends a lot of time pretending like they're not there.
Brendon lifts his wings and gives a little flap. Spencer sneezes, then sneezes again.
"Sorry," Brendon says, holding his wings still.
Spencer rubs his nose, blinking. There's this shimmery purple stuff floating through the air.
"Brendon," he asks slowly. "Do your wings make sparkle powder?"
"No!" Brendon says. "It's just dust. You know, like how there's oil to protect human skin? There's dust to protect fairy wings."
Brendon gives his wings a little shake, sending another cloud of dust into the air. Spencer reaches out, trying to catch some in his palm. He raises his hand in front of his face and inspects it. The dust is so sheer that he can't see much of anything, just the faint purple tint on his skin that shimmers when it catches the light.
"I think Ryan had eyeshadow like this," Spencer says, grinning at Brendon.
Brendon scoffs, then shakes his wings again. When the dust finally settles, the whole room smells like rain water.
--
six.
Spencer sits on the bed, squinting at the floor. He's tired, but in the way where his eyes are heavy, not the way that his body will be settling anytime soon. Brendon comes out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. He pulls a pair of boxers out of his suitcase, and after slipping them on, rubs the towel over his head, ruffling up his hair. He tosses it so that it lands somewhere in the vicinity of the door to the bathroom.
Spencer can tell that his wings are wet because there are dark blue beads clinging to the edges, the dust mixed with water. Spencer wonders how the water from the shower didn't just wash it away altogether.
"Shower's yours," Brendon says. Even though they all rinsed off at the venue, no one ever passes up the chance for a long shower on hotel nights. Water pressure is a rare and glorious thing.
As Spencer passes Brendon, he slows down. He reaches out and catches one of the drops as the water drips off Brendon's wing. He raises his hand again, wanting to collect the water clinging to the edges, fascinated by the way the water has turned the normally purple powder into a blue as dark as the rest of Brendon's wings.
Before he makes contact, Brendon steps away.
"Is it not-- Should I not touch them?" Spencer asks.
"Humans can't," Brendon says. "You know that; you've seen what happens when Ryan or Jon sit on them or whatever."
"I thought it would be different for me," Spencer says. "Since I can see them."
Brendon shakes his head. "It-- No, it won't be," he says in a tight voice. "And, I don't want, I mean. It's just a really weird, cold feeling when people's hands pass through. It kind of creeps me out."
"Okay," Spencer says, holding up his hands and stepping back. "They just look cool when they're wet."
Brendon nods, looking down at the ground, and Spencer walks to the shower.
He turns the water hot and washes his hair for a long time, rubbing the shampoo through his hair and then massaging his scalp, rubbing until his head gets all tingly. He turns off the shower, trims his beard, and brushes his teeth. When he finally walks out of the bathroom, he's clean and relaxed.
Brendon sits cross-legged on the bed, his wings stretched behind himself.
Spencer sits on the opposite bed and tries to see if the blue water that drips from his wings is coloring the bed. He wonders if it will stain, or if it will just dry into dust that can be brushed away.
Brendon keeps moving his wings, fanning them slowly through the air.
Spencer watches, while trying not to make it obvious that he's watching, the movement. Water drips down Brendon's back and runs in between his shoulder blades, down the stretch of skin that separates the two wings.
Spencer's only wearing boxers himself, stretched out on top of the covers while he waits for his skin to go from damp and pink to smooth and dry. He stretches his hands up, clasping his hands behind his head and closes his eyes, listening to the low sounds on the television in the background.
When he opens them again, he catches Brendon turning away. Spencer wonders what he was looking at.
--
seven.
It's not a bad interview, not exactly. It's more that they were running late after being caught in traffic, and it's difficult to explain why they got rid of the exclamation mark and to discuss whether or not they're consciously ripping off The Beatles when none of them have eaten.
The woman asks what it's like to be single on the road, looking pointedly at Brendon, even though he's not the only single member of the band anymore.
Brendon talks about being too busy to get into much trouble and laughs awkwardly.
A car is waiting outside to take Ryan and Jon to the radio interview, while Spencer and Brendon get picked up to do something for a magazine. They get to the studio and there still isn't any food and they get asked the same questions over again. The interviewer is younger this time, and she's leaning in close, shoving the mike at Brendon's face. Brendon doesn't edge back, but his laugh gets increasingly stilted. Spencer can see that the woman is sitting on Brendon's wing, putting more and more weight on it as she leans in even closer.
--
They get back to the bus before Ryan and Jon, and Brendon storms off to the back lounge, slamming the door behind himself.
Spencer leaves him alone, but when Zack comes with sandwiches, Spencer carries Brendon's back to him.
In the back lounge, Brendon has thrown his shirt on the floor. He's pacing around the room, his wings flapping angrily. There's dust everywhere and the room smells like moss.
"Food," Spencer says, holding up the sandwich. He sets it on the low table then walks to the couch, pointedly leaving Brendon alone as he tears into his own sandwich. It's not hard to ignore Brendon while Spencer's eating the best fucking sandwich that has ever been made in the history of the universe.
Eventually, Brendon picks up his sandwich, carrying it with him as he paces around the room. He eats the whole thing then throws himself face first onto the couch opposite Spencer.
"I hate doing press," he mutters into the cushion.
"Yup," Spencer says. He sits quietly, just keeping Brendon company until Brendon stops squirming around, his wings flapping restlessly.
Brendon relaxes into the couch, turning his face towards Spencer. "I'm feeling a little bit better now," he says.
He pushes himself up, wincing as he looks around the room.
"I made a mess," he says. The room is coated in a fine layer of sheer lavender dust. "Lucky no one can see that," Brendon says. He turns to Spencer, then his eyes widen. "Shit, Spence, sorry."
Spencer looks down and he can see that his arms are covered in dust, presumably the rest of his body as well. "'s okay," Spencer says, shaking off his arms. "It's all soft. It's like that body powder that my mom uses."
Brendon crosses the room, stands in front of Spencer and tries to help him brush the dust from his shoulders. He brushes his fingers over Spencer's face, runs his fingers through his hair. "It's kind of hard to get out," Brendon says. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Spencer says again. "Like you said, no one else can see. It's all over you, too."
Brendon looks down, then shakes his head wildly, causing another cloud of dust to fly up. "Yup," Brendon says, and he and Spencer watch as the cloud slowly sinks down to settle on the floor.
Spencer lifts his arms up, inspecting his bare skin. The dust just barely tints his skin, mostly just giving his arms this sort of gleam. "Shiny," Spencer says. "Too bad we can't bottle your fairy glitter."
"Stop calling it that," Brendon says, smacking Spencer on the arm. "Just for that, I get to pick the movie."
Spencer sighs dramatically. "Fine."
--
eight.
Everyone is on the Hush Sound and Phantom Planet's bus, which is pretty stupid considering that's already the most crammed bus.
Ryan is sitting beside Alex, playing an acoustic while Alex plucks something out on the mandolin he just bought. Spencer and Jon are helping by adding their commentary.
The song finishes, and Jon makes hands at the guitar until Ryan passes it over. Spencer looks around the bus, and realizes that he can't see Brendon anywhere.
Brendon isn't outside, either, so Spencer walks back to Panic's bus. He finds Brendon sitting in the back lounge, watching TV, his phone beside him on the couch.
"What's up?" Spencer asks, walking over and sitting down beside Brendon on the couch.
"Oh, my sister called," Brendon says, tilting his head to where is phone is lying. "I went outside to take the call and then I ended up wandering back to the bus."
Spencer nods. "How's she doing?"
"Good," Brendon says. "It was my nephew's birthday this weekend."
"Did you remember?" Spencer asks.
"Yeah," Brendon says. "I sent a present and I called and stuff on the day. She had the birthday party for him tonight, so she was just calling to complain about the other parents." Brendon shakes his head.
"I can't even imagine my sisters having kids," Spencer says.
"They're still in high school," Brendon says. "It'll probably be a while yet."
Brendon picks up his phone and spins it around, holding it between his thumb and first finger. He sighs, looking down at his hands.
"Homesick?" Spencer asks, leaning over to bump his shoulder against Brendon's.
Brendon nods, looking down at his hands. "That's the only part of touring that gets to me," Brendon says. "We miss everything back home."
Spencer nods. He sits quietly with Brendon for a few minutes before saying, "C'mon, let's get back to the party. Alex bought a mandolin and I bet he'll let you try it if you ask nicely."
"Yeah?" Brendon says. He sighs again, then puts his phone back into his pocket.
"I'll even help you find some vodka to mix with your Red Bull," Spencer says, standing, then offering a hand to Brendon.
"Twist my arm," Brendon says, and when he smiles, it looks genuine.
--
nine.
The air conditioning on the bus is better than in the venue, so Spencer stays behind when the other three wander off. Spencer would rather be cool than have the chance to stretch his legs.
It isn't long before Brendon drags himself back, his shirt clinging to his sweaty body.
"I shouldn't've left," he pants.
Spencer rolls his eyes, then ducks as Brendon's sweaty t-shirt comes flying toward his head.
Brendon joins Spencer on the couch, looking forward at the DVD that's playing.
"You manage any sleep last night?" Spencer asks.
"A little," Brendon says. The air conditioning is working all right now, but it was hot through the night. Brendon already runs at a hotter body temperature than the rest of them and Spencer knows that Brendon spent more time wandering the bus to try and find a breeze than he did sleeping.
Brendon leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and his chin on his palms. Spencer leans back, and glances sideways at Brendon. Brendon's wings aren't stretched out all the way, but there's something of a tension in them anyway. Spencer reaches out without thinking about it, presses a thumb to the v where Brendon's wings join with his back, just like he used to press his fingers to Brendon's neck before all this business with the wings, when Brendon would sit hunched over and Spencer could see the tension in the spine.
He touches Brendon's bare skin, then drags his thumb up along the base of one wing, smooth and soft, and Brendon shivers so violently that Spencer can feel it not only where he's touching Brendon with his hand, but also where their thighs brush, side by side on the couch. Spencer recoils, and says, "Sorry, does that hurt?"
Brendon takes a breath and Spencer watches the way it stretches his skin across the bottom of his ribcage, the only place that Spencer's view isn't obstructed by the wings. Brendon mutters something, his voice sounding thick and far away. He turns his head and looks back over his shoulder.
"I was just surprised," Brendon says, more clearly this time. "It doesn't usually feel like that."
Spencer reaches out again, touching along the bottom of the wing then pulling his hand up, keeping the contact feather-light.
"I thought you said that people couldn't touch your wings," Spencer says, dragging his fingers through a long streak of shimmery purple.
"You can feel them?" Brendon asks, his voice wavering.
"Yeah," Spencer says, giving the tiniest poke with his fingertip. "Can you feel my hand?"
Brendon nods, with jerky movements of his head.
"Is this part fragile?" Spencer asks, brushing his fingers along the middle section of one outstretched wing. It's soft and smooth and just a little cooler than Brendon's skin temperature normally is, but still warmer than the tips of Spencer's fingers.
"I don't... know," Brendon says. His voice is raw and he says, "Maybe if you, if you, you could just, I think." Spencer can feel the way he's shaking, the way the wings tremble under Spencer's touch.
Brendon reaches back for Spencer's hand, groping awkwardly until he catches Spencer's wrist. He guides it back down to the edge of his wing, holding Spencer's open hand just under then shaking his wing, purposefully this time, so that dust falls down into Spencer's palm. Spencer rubs his hand across the lower curve where most of the dust collects until his hand is covered, then spreads his hand out over the stretch of Brendon's wing again. He touches Brendon's skin and the dust smoothes the way so that Spencer can stroke gently, making Brendon jerk, his head dropping down as his back arches.
Brendon is still sweaty from being outside, and Spencer can see the way his hair sticks to the back of his neck. Spencer slides his hand up, following the curve of Brendon's wing until he gets to the part where it joins to Brendon's back. The skin here is thick and smooth and he runs his thumbnail in a line, a soft scrape. Brendon's lower back arches, pushing his wings out and toward Spencer's hand. Spencer does it again, and Brendon jumps off the couch, leaping to his feet.
Spencer's hand is still outstretched. He wasn't done touching and he wants Brendon back within reach, but before he has to voice the complaint, Brendon turns around, pushing Spencer further back onto the couch and climbing into his lap, kneeling on the couch, his thighs spread to bracket Spencer's body. Spencer's hands fly to Brendon's lower back, his fingers spread and digging into the bare skin. He moves his hands up until he's cupping just under the base of Brendon's wings.
Brendon leans in, rubbing their noses together. He leans his forehead onto Spencer's then pulls far enough away that Spencer can see his face.
"There's, um. With the--" Brendon takes a deep breath. He speaks quietly and says, "With the fairy magic. To protect us, the way it, the way it works is that, ah. Humans can't see the fairy parts unless the fairy feels-- Unless I feel--" he takes another breath, looking at Spencer quickly.
Spencer adjusts his hold to pull Brendon closer.
"And then the humans aren't able to, they can't touch unless they feel-- You couldn't touch them unless you felt," Brendon whispers, looking down. He's flushed now, and he looks shy, somehow, like even after everything he still thinks there's a chance he might have it wrong.
He finishes, "Unless you feel the same," his voice raising at the end to turn it into something of a question. Spencer leans in, tilting his head and nosing at Brendon's cheek until Brendon raises up and he can get to his lips.
Brendon kisses carefully, but when Spencer slides his hands up the rest of the way up, brushing his thumbs over the base of Brendon's wings and rubbing slow circles, Brendon surges forward, his body rolling as he arches and grinds down.
Spencer can feel Brendon's wings moving, fluttering as Brendon wiggles around, trying to fit their bodies as close together as possible. Spencer spreads his legs a little, rocking up to meet Brendon as best he can. He sucks on Brendon's tongue and wonders how long they have before Ryan and Jon come to seek refuge from the heat. Probably not long enough.
Their mouths part gradually; Spencer keeps leaning forward for quick kisses and Brendon's hips keep moving, grinding in a circle.
When Spencer finally opens his eyes again, the air around them is a shimmery purple and smells like honeysuckles. Spencer blinks slowly, watches the dust catch the light, watches Brendon's mouth when he bites his lip.
Brendon's hands slide from Spencer's shoulders, brushing carefully over Spencer's cheeks. Brendon runs his thumb over the bottom line of Spencer's lip, touching just lightly, and Spencer shivers.
"I'm covered in your fairy glitter," Spencer says, closing his eyes and lifting his face as more of the dust floats down.
"Yeah," Brendon says, and when Spencer opens his eyes, he can see Brendon grinning.
--
Brendon's dripping with sweat before the third song finishes, his shirt soaked through. He comes back and stands in front of Spencer's kit, grabbing a new bottle of water between songs. He bounces away, his wings fluttering as he dances back up to his mic stand. Spencer looks down as he counts off the next song, smiles when he sees his arms shimmering a sheer purple under the stage lights.