My in Yours [1/2] | Spencer/Brendon | NC-17 | ~ 15 250 words
My in Yours [1/2]
Spencer/Brendon | NC-17 | ~ 15 250 words
Spencer and Brendon at the pornocabin.
So, some of us did a Secret Santa, a while back, and this is my story for enoughoflove. I, uh, hope you haven't grown to hate it! <3
This never would have been written without adellyna. I was fretting about what to write, and she said, 'You're writing Spencer/Brendon? And, what? They're at the cabin?' And I thought, 'Oh my god, I can DO THAT.' Thanks, also, to her and elfiepike for betaing.
And together there
In a shroud of frost, the mountain air
Began to pass from every pane of weathered glass
And I held you closer than anyone would ever get.
-- "We Look Like Giants"
Brendon runs ahead so that he gets first choice of bedroom. He doesn't pick the biggest one, but he picks the one with the wall-length window and the walk-in closet. It's also the room closest to the bathroom.
He waits until the sounds of movement outside his door quiet down before sticking his head outside to try and guess which rooms everyone else has chosen. Which room Spencer has chosen.
There's one room right beside Brendon's; the other two are further down the hall, past the bathroom and the linen closet. He walks to the nearest room and pushes the door open with two fingers.
Spencer's fussing with the zipper on his suitcase.
"It's stuck!" he says, when he looks up and notices Brendon.
"I told'ya you crammed too much shit in there," Brendon says, walking through the doorway.
"Well," Spencer says. "I'm not the one who said we were only allowed to bring one suitcase."
"I wasn't either," Brendon says. "But you know that we're not even going to be bothering to change out of sweatpants by the end of week anyways."
"We'll see," Spencer says. "Hold onto this edge for me?"
--
Brendon was wrong; it only takes them three days before they're all wearing the same outfit to breakfast morning after morning.
--
"So," Ryan says on day six. "Wanna try and make some music?"
"Hey now," Brendon says. He's been playing every single day that they've been there. They've got a totally sweet practice room: mix matched carpets to help muffle the sound, a long rack for all the guitars. Enough space for Spencer to set up his kit without having to yell and remind them to watch his fucking kick drum already.
The space they rented back in Vegas, all those years ago, was maybe a fourth the size of this new room. Spencer had spent most of his time watching them warily as they moved around, convinced that someone was going to trip over the coils and coils of cords and knock over part of his kit. He was a little extreme, especially because in the entire time, Brendon only actually fell onto something three times, and it was usually just the cymbal. Ryan had actually fallen into Spencer's snare once, but Brent had hauled him back before anything had gotten broken.
No one's suffering through the slim-limbed pangs of a growth spurt this time around. There's enough room that they aren't tripping over each other. Brendon's glad that the time between 'then' and 'now' hasn't been so long that he can't appreciate the difference.
"Music that someone would actually pay to listen to on a CD," Ryan says.
Brendon flips him off.
--
(During the stretch of time in Vegas, they go to a lot of shows. Usually the three of them, better still when it's all four. They even plan ahead for Jon's visits so that they have something lined up for every night of his stay.
This time though, three weeks before they leave for the cabin, it's just Spencer and Brendon. Ryan's visiting Keltie, and they're not really at the club to see the show as much as they are there to get out of the house. The band is too loud to be musical, too drunk to have stage presence. It's awkward, almost, to be only two people in a room packed so full of bodies. Spencer doesn't move away when Brendon tucks himself into Spencer's space and settles in for the night.
"We were never this bad," Brendon shouts. Spencer curves in even closer and watches Brendon's mouth as he shapes the words.
They lean against the railings, up on the level above the stage, close enough to look down on the band, but further away from the squirming crush of bodies on the dance floor. Most of the people on this level are on the couches, still crushed together, still squirming. Brendon looks studiously back and forth between Spencer and the band, and tries to block the couple standing beside them out of his peripheral vision. The woman is wearing a tube top, but the man is still sliding fingers under the thin fabric so that he can touch bare skin.
The couple stumbles together, misjudging the distance to the railing, and Brendon is startled into looking at them full on.
Spencer rolls his eyes when Brendon looks back at him, and, with an unspoken agreement, they both walk towards the exit.
They leave by the back door, and wander a few dozen feet before coming to a stop. They're on a backstreet that's not quite hidden enough to be called an alley, and the music floats through the brick walls.
"I think they sound better now," Spencer says, and Brendon nods.
It's midnight, or close to midnight, and around the corner there are laughing voices, a steady stream of foot traffic. It's too soon for there to be much movement out of the club though, and the door they came from stays closed.
Spencer slouches. Even though there's space enough now, Brendon stays close to him, stays near enough that their arms brush when Spencer moves his weight over to his other hip, when Brendon crosses his arms across his chest.
Brendon's not ready to go home yet, but he's not ready to go back into the club yet, either. Spencer seems in no great hurry. Brendon looks over at Spencer and shrugs, just out of nowhere, no real reason that he can think of, and Spencer nods, changing the angle of his head so that he's looking at Brendon differently. Brendon feels like they're communicating something, somehow, he's sure of it, even though he doesn't even know what he means, much less what Spencer means.
He moves so that he's face to face with Spencer instead, looking at him sideways. They're not exactly in the shadows, but they're far enough away from the street that Brendon thinks they might as well be. Something in Spencer's face seems open, something in his posture, patient. Brendon doesn't think about his destination when he starts to lean in. He doesn't have a plan with a finish, just a start. And the start is rocking forward on the balls of his feet and catching Spencer's mouth when Spencer dips to meet him.
Each time they pull away for air, Brendon readies himself to step back entirely. Except that he never has to. They start out standing, touching just with fingertips, with hands, and as Brendon learns the easy heat of Spencer's mouth, they tilt backwards towards the bricks. Spencer's back hits first, and he slumps down until he's just about level with Brendon, easing the strain in his legs by leaning heavily against the wall. Brendon works a thigh between Spencer's bent knees and cups Spencer's hips in his hands, holding them together, pressing them closer.
Spencer's cock presses just to the side of his own, so they each have a thigh, a hip to grind up against. The friction on his cock is raw in an almost diffused way; he can feel sharp spikes of pleasure when something lines up just right, but for the most part it's duller, harder to concentrate on. He thinks he's close, but there's no actual end in sight. Spencer's mouth has gone slack against his, but not sloppy, not wet. Just the soft touch of skin where they're sharing air.
Brendon hopes that there's enough distance between them and the street that the sound of approaching footsteps would warn them before anyone got too close. He's not sure though, not sure if he'd notice, regardless. Spencer's hips move, steady, against his own. Brendon can't contribute to the friction, can't manage more than clinging to Spencer's shoulders and trying not to lose his balance, so instead he kisses down Spencer's jaw. He kisses Spencer's neck, wet but soft, hardly sucking at all. Still, when he pulls away, there are tiny little red marks, tiny little signs that he was there.
He doesn't know why he's pulling away, doesn't know what he wants other than the chance to breathe for a moment, but he gasps, then again, and then tips right into orgasm without noticing that he was nearing the final climb. He shakes, and grabs Spencer frantically. For balance. For the pressure as he rubs his way through the aftershocks. If he's going to come in his pants, in public at that, he's going to enjoy it.
Spencer says, "Jesus fuck, Brendon, did you just--?" before clamping his hands over Brendon's ass and holding him in place. Spencer rocks down, and Brendon's cock is torn between trying to hide from the friction, too much so soon, and jerking back to life. He's half hard again by the time that Spencer goes silent and seizes against him.
"Maybe we should get a cab," Spencer says, "instead of trying to walk home like this."
Spencer's shirttails are just long enough to cover the stain, as long as he holds his hands down at his sides. Brendon's t-shirt and hoodie are both too short, but he peels the hoodie off and holds it in a ball in front of himself.
It's not a long wait for the cab.
Spencer's house is the first stop. They sit quietly in the backseat together. Brendon's tired but alert; he tries to decide if he should say something, but when the cab pulls over in front of Spencer's place, Spencer just passes him a twenty for fare and slips out with a, "Goodnight, Brendon."
)
--
"We both have to be playing on expert," Brendon explains again. "If you play on hard, it will just be us beating the co-op on hard again."
"So what?" Spencer says.
"So, now we have to beat it on expert so that we can unlock the new guitar."
"We have enough guitars," Spencer says. "It's not like they change the sound of the song or anything."
"Spencer," Brendon says, disgusted. "That's not the point."
"I'm no good on expert," Spencer says. "You know that."
"We've gotten better at coordinating to get star power," Brendon says. "That will help."
"You could always just stop playing Guitar Hero," Ryan yells from the other room.
"Fuck off," Spencer and Brendon shout at the exact same time before looking at each other and grinning.
"You can't get mad at me when I make us lose," Spencer says.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Brendon says. "You're going to be the bass part anyways. You can't lose with the bass part."
"Hey," Jon says, looking over at them from the dining room. "What are you saying about the bass part?"
"Can't talk, playing now," Brendon says, then presses start.
--
Technically, Brendon's actually spent the most time living on his own out of all of them. It hasn't taught him how to cook, except for a bad habit of putting things into the microwave without laying them on a plate first.
Brendon and Jon are wrestling on the floor of the kitchen for the last frozen lasagna. Ryan comes in, and somehow manages to trip over both of them in such a way that he kicks Brendon in the neck and Jon in the forehead, causing both of them to release each other and pull away to rub at their injuries.
"Ryan," Brendon says. "We are solving our problems like men."
It's technically true, too, because Ryan interrupted before Jon had a chance to pin Brendon, so Brendon hadn't yet had to resort to biting or anything.
"Fighting over a microwavable dinner," Ryan says. "Very savage."
Spencer wanders in as well. "Someone has to cook something," he says. Then, very quickly, "Not it!"
Brendon says it next. He's a youngest child, and he's awesome at that game.
Ryan and Jon end up making a real lasagna for everyone because no one trusts Jon in the kitchen by himself.
--
They keep the cabin pretty tidy. They're all used to sharing space, used to the way that Spencer hates mess involving food, Ryan hates when people touch things that are his, Jon hates not being able to find something, and Brendon hates when instruments are left out.
Still, there's a three-week high pile of laundry in the living room.
Brendon's been tiptoeing around it, adding garments as subtly as he can. He's had to come back and retrieve three things when it turned out that he needed them again and the laundry still wasn't done.
Ryan doesn't mind wearing the same dirty clothes day after day until they start to decay, so not much of the mess is his.
Spencer brought the most, out of all of them, and so he's gone through the most, too. Brendon's still surprised when he walks past the laundry room and finds Spencer inside, sorting through the pile.
"Hi," Brendon says, standing at the door.
Spencer looks up, almost guiltily. The drier buzzes and he opens the door and starts pulling out clean t-shirts.
"Most of this shit is yours," Spencer says. It's a gigantic lie, but Brendon still nods earnestly and holds his arms out for Spencer to pass him a pile of clothes.
"Thank you," Brendon says.
"I had to sneak Ryan's clothes for his room while he was sleeping," Spencer says. "That was just fucking nasty."
Spencer's got a wet smear just under the collar of his t-shirt. It's probably only laundry detergent, but still Brendon says, "I thought you didn't like dirty clothing," and pokes at it.
"Stop it," Spencer says, batting his hands away.
"Unclean!" Brendon says. He lets his hands drop down, but reaches out quickly to catch the bottom hem of Spencer's t-shirt. He starts to pull up, and gets the shirt all the way up to Spencer's chest before Spencer grabs onto his wrists again.
Spencer laughs, tries to push him away, but Brendon holds on tight and says, "It's all dirty." He crowds in on Spencer, turning his head to the side and up as he tries to wrestle the t-shirt over Spencer's head. Spencer doesn't push him away, just tries to pull his hands lower, tries to pull the shirt back down. Brendon's close enough that he can feel the heat coming off of Spencer's bare skin.
Spencer breathes heavily. His shirt is stuck up around his armpits, but he's not tugging with as much force as he started with. Brendon leaves his fingers twisted into the fabric, but drops one of his thumbs to brush over Spencer's chest. He moves his hand a little further out, so that when he does it again, his thumb brushes over one of Spencer's nipples. Spencer's nipple hardens, especially when Brendon does it again, his touch still feather-light, Spencer's skin raising in small goosebumps.
"Are you cold?" Brendon asks. He lets go of Spencer's t-shirt with one hand, still holding it up and away with the other. He presses his hand flat to Spencer's chest, drags his palm over Spencer's breastbone, drags the tip of his finger in a circle around Spencer's nipple.
Spencer releases his wrist, and pulls his t-shirt up and away; he stands shirtless in front of Brendon. Brendon kisses a line from the center of his throat across his collarbones. He sets his teeth into the fleshy curve of Spencer's shoulder, but doesn't bite down. Spencer holds still. Where Brendon's palm is still pressed flat across Spencer's chest, he can feel the steady rhythm of Spencer's heart, maybe a little faster now than it was when he started.
Brendon drops slowly to his knees and rubs his cheek along Spencer's stomach. The muscles jerk under Spencer's skin and he says, "You're prickly; that tickles."
Brendon does it again, a little bit harder, then rubs the tip of his nose over the skin instead. Spencer smells like soap and detergent, or maybe that's just the air in the room around them, because when Brendon moves lower, pressing his forehead just at Spencer's belly button, the skin starts to smell less like clean, more like boy.
Spencer's cock is hard, jutting out his sweats. Brendon is just starting to drop his head, to nose along the line of his cock instead of the line of his hipbones, when Ryan hollers, "Spencer! Where did you put my fucking clothes?!"
Brendon jumps back quickly, even though it's obvious from the echo in Ryan's voice that he's at the other side of the cabin.
Spencer pulls his t-shirt on, and takes a deep breath. He cups his hand to Brendon's neck, just quickly, as he walks to the door to the laundry room. Brendon rises back to his feet and ducks around Spencer while Spencer stands in the door and shouts, "They rotted away into nothingness!"
--
Ryan and Spencer show him and Jon the lyrics to three songs. They're mostly completely written, and they spend the next four days trying to come up with melodies. There's an easy balance between the four of them, a kind of camaraderie.
Brendon enjoys the peace, the balance, but knows it means that they're not actually making any progress.
--
Brendon goes into town by himself. He finds a tiny store full of wood-carved items. He wanders through homemade rocking chairs, little end tables, and finds a shelf full of wooden boxes. He buys four, all with tops carved to look like a blanket of leaves, and sneaks them out of the trunk of the car. He puts a little wooden pipe in Ryan's, a wooden shot glass into Jon's, even though he's pretty sure that neither will actually work. He's tempted to put a condom into Spencer's, but he just leaves it empty.
He leaves the boxes on everyone's pillows and gets back two quick hugs, and a slap on the ass from Jon.
--
It's closer to morning than to night. They're all usually still awake now, but tonight, Spencer and Brendon have the TV and Ryan and Jon are up in their rooms. Brendon and Spencer lie spooned together on the couch. And if it took some inventive wiggling to get them that way, Brendon's never going to admit it.
Spencer lies on his back, and Brendon holds himself up with a hand to his cheek so that he can see the TV over Spencer's chest.
For all Brendon's maneuvering, once they're lying together, he can't actually manage to get comfortable. Lying beside someone always seems like a good idea inside Brendon's head (or at least a good first step), but as usual, once he gets there, he can't stop moving, twisting, readjusting. He feels slightly trapped between the back of the couch and Spencer's body, and, just because there isn't the room to do so, has a random and intense desire to stretch both his arms out straight.
One of his hands is trapped underneath his body. He's only been lying like this for a matter of minutes, but he's starting to feel pins and needles. He tries moving his fingers, tries fisting them then stretching out his hand. He wonders if there's room for him to roll onto his back as well, if it's too soon after settling to try and completely reposition their bodies into something more comfortable. Maybe he would prefer to be on the outside of the couch.
"Oh my god stop moving," Spencer says. "You're terrible at this."
"Sorry," Brendon says, freezing completely.
"You're like. Like a sprint-runner. But, about cuddling. You can't hack it with the long-distances."
"What?" Brendon says.
"Unless you're sleeping, you can only manage to stay still with someone else for about three minutes," Spencer says.
"Sorry," Brendon says. "It's just. My hand's falling asleep."
"Oh, it is not," Spencer says, but, he still rolls. He still lies mostly on his back, but he puts an arm underneath Brendon's neck so that Brendon can get both of his hands up to rest on his stomach, and still have enough space for the two of them on the couch.
Spencer's arm bends back at the elbow so that his hand is doubled back and resting just above Brendon's head. Brendon can feel where the tips of Spencer's fingers brush his hair. Spencer is warm and solid, sprawling, but not taking up space in such a way that Brendon feels crowded. Spencer spends a lot of time like that: sprawling. He slouches and leans and spreads out and relaxes in. He fiddles, sometimes. Not as badly as Ryan does, not a constant movement, his hands fluttering back and forth between his knees his hair his face his cuticles. Spencer usually just moves his hands, always with some kind of beat, a rhythm that Brendon can find if he concentrates.
Spencer's not moving now, just breathing deeply. His neck isn't turned, so he's probably not watching the movie anymore. Brendon wonders if he's going to fall asleep, if Brendon will be able to fall asleep too, if he's going to be stuck here all night, worried about moving and waking Spencer, but not comfortable enough to drift off himself.
"Seriously stop it," Spencer says.
"I wasn't even moving," Brendon says.
"If you don't like cuddling, you should stop snuggling up to people all the time." Spencer sounds so stern and serious when he says it that Brendon grins and lets out a little laugh through his nose.
"What?" Spencer asks, low and slow, turning his head so that most of the word lands on Brendon's neck. "What what what?"
Spencer yawns, and presses his cheek against the side of Brendon's head. He wraps his other arm across Brendon's chest, tightens and rolls at the same time, so that by the time they've settled again, Brendon has been rolled almost all the way onto his side, with Spencer pressed flat along the curve of his back.
Spencer's hard, but when Brendon wiggles back, Spencer says, "Hmm, stop that," and yawns into Brendon's hair.
Brendon is definitely trapped now, stuck between the back of the couch and Spencer. He's warm, the couch cushions are soft, and Spencer has fitted them together well. Brendon wonders if they'll be able to sleep through the night like this, if someone will find them in the morning. There's no blind to cover the skylight, so chances are the early light of morning will wake them before anyone else gets out of bed. Brendon wonders if Spencer will go back to his own room for more sleep after that, if they'll walk back together, or it Spencer will just roll up and away when he wakes.
"Next time we try this," Spencer says, "I'm going to fuck you first, until you can't think anymore."
Brendon's skin prickles; he's hyper-aware of the places that Spencer touches him.
"Hmm?" Spencer says, even though Brendon didn't say anything out loud. He's still breathing slow and steady, but the arm thrown across Brendon's chest pulls back just enough that Spencer's hand can smooth down Brendon's stomach.
Brendon's cock is pushing up against the soft material of his sweatpants. The heel of Spencer's hand drifts down to bump up against the head of his dick. He stretches out his hand and lets it rest over the ridge of Brendon's cock. He fits his hand over the bulge, just a pressure, not enough movement for there to be any friction through the material of Brendon's sweats.
Spencer's breathing still hasn't changed, but Brendon alternates between holding his breath and trying to gasp air in quietly through his nose. Spencer's thumb stretches out, brushing over the skin about the waistband. Spencer hooks it around the elastic and starts to pull down. If Brendon pushes his hips back, then up, he could push his cock into Spencer's hand with nothing between them. Brendon is just starting to push back (Spencer's cock digs into his ass and finally, finally, there's a hitch in his breathing), when the floorboards creek, and, "Awww," Jon says, as he walks into the room. "Look at the snuggle bunnies."
Spencer gives one tiny little squeeze with his hand before pulling away entirely. He rolls all the way over until he rests on his stomach, head tilted up towards Jon. "Are you here to steal the TV from us?" Spencer asks.
"Steal?" Jon says. "Steal? I can't come and join in the watching of a communal movie without it being stealing?"
"Nope," Spencer says.
"Well, then," Jon says. "All your movie are belong to me."
Brendon reaches down and tucks his cock up under the waistband of his sweats. They're loose around his hips, and his t-shirt is short, so he's careful, careful when he sits up and climbs gingerly over Spencer.
"I've already seen the ending," he says, walking quickly to the doorway and hiding behind the door frame when he turns back and says, "Night, guys."
--
Brendon goes to bed and lies on his back in the dark. He can hear when Spencer returns to his own room, much, much later. Brendon's hard, still. Brendon stays hard, his hand curled around his cock, not moving, just holding onto bare skin underneath his pajama bottoms.
He toyed with the idea of leaving his door open, of giving some indication to Spencer that he was waiting, but. He doesn't even know if he is waiting.
The walls are thin, and he can hear, faintly, Spencer moving around his room. He hears the thump of a drawer closing, a little bang when Spencer opens the door to his closet. Brendon's been in the same room with Spencer when he's getting ready for bed before, but Spencer never follows a routine, never goes through any particular series of steps before turning in. For a while, when his hands were getting especially callused, he tried to put on the hand cream Ryan bought him before bed. Always before bed, because he said it made him smell like a girl, and that maybe Ryan was okay with that, but he wasn't.
Brendon wonders if he still does that. He wonders if Spencer's rubbing his hands together, if maybe he put too much on so he's wiping off the extra on his forearms, maybe his neck. Brendon has seen him rubbing cream on his neck before, back when he was still shaving occasionally, and they all thought that they desperately needed to put aftershave lotion on afterwards. Brendon found some stuff that smells really good, so he still puts it on, even now that he's all stubbly. Spencer probably wouldn't though; Spencer likes to use things they way they are intended to be used.
Brendon lies still, trying to hear what Spencer's doing, but it's quiet.
He rubs his thumb in light circles around the head of his cock, and surprises himself when his cock actually gives a little jump of appreciation. He makes a loose fist, jerks weakly. The skin is soft, his hand rough and dry. Maybe he could borrow some of Spencer's hand cream.
Brendon licks his palm, strokes once, licks again. Then again. When he's slick enough, he starts tugging gently, holding his hips still so that the bed doesn't rock and squeak. He thinks about Spencer coming in, and kicks the blankets away. Spencer wouldn't knock, would just push the door open. There would be enough light from the hallway that he'd be able to see Brendon, to see what Brendon's doing. Brendon spreads his legs a little, and reaches down to cup his balls. Spencer would close the door, but he'd turn on the light, and Brendon would know that he wanted to watch, so he wouldn't stop. Spencer would come closer, would maybe even sit on the end of the bed. The way that Brendon's legs are spread, Spencer would be able to see everything. Spencer wouldn't touch himself. He'd sit there, fully clothed, and watch Brendon, naked and panting a little bit now. Spencer wouldn't say anything, wouldn't tell Brendon how to touch himself, or what he thought about what he was seeing, although. God.
Brendon gets distracted thinking about Spencer telling him things he wants to do, gets distracted thinking about mouths and hands that aren't his own, and pretty soon, he's not really thinking about Spencer in particular, just hard, and tight, and heat, and skin, and the bouncing breasts of that girl in the porno, when the guy took her from behind, the feeling of entering someone for the first time, tight and overwhelming, the sight of someone of their knees for him. How it felt to be on his knees for Spencer. And then he's back to thinking about Spencer. Spencer who's right next door to him, and even though he's not actually there watching, maybe he can hear Brendon, maybe he's listening. Maybe Brendon's hips are moving, even though he's trying to hold them still, making the mattress rub against the wall, and maybe Spencer knows exactly what he's doing, and maybe Spencer's touching himself too, and Brendon comes.
He closes his eyes tight, and works himself through it. It takes him a long minute to come down, and when he reaches for a tissue, he has to wipe all the way up his chest, down across his hips where he spilled over his fist. He's a little sticky still, a few spots of wetness still lingering when he smooths his hand over his chest, reaching for his pajama bottoms, twisted up underneath his thighs. He pulls them back on and rolls over, even though he knows that he might be getting the sheets dirty.
It's not like he's sharing the bed with anyone, anyway.
--
Brendon convinces everyone to go for a hike, and actually manages to diffuse blame when he gets them all completely lost. Hobo is tiny, tiny, tiny, but Ryan still tries to bring her on all of their walks, even though it just means that he has to carry her.
"Promise me that you'll never get a dog carrier," Spencer says. They all stand and wait while Ryan attempts to tuck his shirt into his pants, and his dog into his shirt.
"Hmm?" Ryan says. He winces, and pulls the puppy free, rubbing at a small scratch on his stomach. "She can just go in my backpack; I don't need a special carrier."
"Ryan," Jon says, and then trails off. He pats Ryan on the shoulder. "Ryan."
"I'm pretty sure that the cabin is downhill?" Brendon offers, and they all start walking again.
--
Brendon finds Spencer in the practice room, by himself. He sits on top of a table, on top of one of Ryan's notebooks, and watches Spencer play. Of all of them, Spencer's the best at actually practicing exercises, not just the trickier parts for their songs like Ryan does. Spencer is practicing rolls on the snare right now, and Brendon wants to press his mouth to Spencer's wrist. He wants to suck on his pulse point, and lick over the little hollow just under the bone, and maybe bite along the fleshy base of his thumb.
Spencer looks up at him, and there's no way that he can know what Brendon's thinking, so Brendon just blinks and smiles brightly at him.
Spencer finishes, stands and walks over to Brendon, so Brendon hops off the table. It's unfair, because Spencer kept growing, even after Brendon stopped, and he managed to fill out. He's wider through the shoulders now, but Brendon's even a little bit smaller than Spencer was before. Brendon's tempted to hop back up onto the table, to make use of the extra little bit of height.
Spencer is sweating, just a little bit. Brendon isn't at all, but he'd like to be.
Spencer leans in, letting his erection push up against Brendon's side and says, "I'm not starting anything where we can get interrupted. Not again. So, you can stop looking at me like that," and pulls away.
He tosses his sticks into the pile of broken ones and walks out of the room.
Brendon swallows, follows behind him.
--
(The first guy who blows Brendon is named Bobby. He's not a groupie, exactly, because he's there to see The Academy Is..., not to see Panic!. Brendon can't bring himself to attempt to return the favor, can't the next time either.
The first guy that Brendon actually ends up going down on is Tom. Neither of them tell Jon about that whole-- situation. Brendon's not very good at first. It takes him a little while but he does get the hang of it. Brendon's a quick learner when he's drunk and lonely.
Tom's nice about it, and kind of hot as fuck, and when he ends up with William for real (not like however he and Brendon were together), even though they were over, Brendon misses him. Brendon still misses him, sometimes. But just when he lets himself think about it.
)
--
Ryan can think while Spencer pounds away on his drums, but Jon can't. Brendon can't really think while Spencer plays either, but it's not because of the noise.
They're trying to work through the bridge to a new song, and everyone's working out their own part. They're each off doing their own things when Jon grits out, "I can't fucking--" and Ryan says, "Hey, Spence, can you go get us all water bottles?"
"I have to figure out my part too," Spencer says, but he leaves without making a fuss.
He takes his time coming back. Brendon picks up a spare bass and sits down with Jon and together they work out something while Ryan strums chords quietly at the other side of the room.
When Spencer returns, he drops a water bottle into Ryan's hands, and chucks one over to Jon. Jon catches it just before it hits him in the head.
Jon passes his water bottle to Brendon and crawls over to where Spencer's standing. He grabs onto Spencer's ankle and says, "I'm sorry your drums are so noisy."
"Oh my god," Spencer says, trying to kick him away with his free foot. "That's not even an apology."
Jon clings on and Spencer has to grab onto his shoulders to avoid losing his balance.
"Fine," Jon says. "I'm sorry that you're so good at banging on shit until it makes lots of noise." He grins up at Spencer and rubs his bearded cheek over Spencer's knee.
"That's better," Spencer says, poking Jon in the forehead.
Brendon sets Jon's water bottle onto the ground, picks his guitar back up, and walks over to Ryan.
--
Spencer runs himself a bath, and Ryan sits into the hallway and keeps a running commentary through the closed door.
"How's your bath, Spence?" he asks. "Do you have enough bubbles? Enough scented candles?"
"Where the fuck would I get bubbles and scented candles from?" Spencer asks.
Ryan grins at Brendon when Brendon walks by him.
"In your purse?" Ryan offers. "With all your other chick shit?"
"Are you kidding me?" Spencer asks. "You have moisturizer that smells like fucking roses."
"What are you doing?" Brendon whispers, sitting down beside Ryan. He can hear water splashing around from behind the door.
"Spencer likes taking baths sometimes," Ryan says, then raises his voice, "like when he's on his period."
"Oh my god," Jon says, bopping Ryan on the head when he walks by them. "We're not on tour any more; we're actually allowed to bathe sometimes now."
"Whatever," Ryan says, running a hand through his greasy hair.
Spencer comes out of the bathroom with flushed cheeks and hair sticking in wet tufts to his forehead. He flops down on the couch and throws his legs onto Brendon's lap and falls asleep before the movie finishes.
Spencer's sweats ride up so his ankles are bare. The hair on his legs is fine, lightly colored and, as Brendon feels when strokes over his calf, soft. Brendon traces over the curve of his anklebone. The skin on his foot is ridiculously smooth, especially on the outside. His second toe is longer than his big toe, but his baby toe isn't all squished and wrinkly like baby toes usually are.
Brendon wraps his hand around Spencer's ankle and rubs his thumb over the sharp part of the bone. He jumps a little when Spencer's hand reaches out to touch Brendon's knuckles; he didn't notice Spencer waking up.
The movie ends and Ryan stands up and turns off the power to the DVD player. Jon throws his afghan over the back of the couch and says, "Night."
Spencer's eyes are closed. He leaves them closed when Ryan whispers, "Goodnight, Brendon," quietly. And, in a moment of mercy, he doesn't ask if Brendon's going to bed now, too.
Brendon stares off aimlessly across the room and listens to Jon and Ryan moving around the cabin, going to their bedrooms, the bathroom, back again. Brendon's hand is still resting on Spencer's ankle, but his fingers are holding mostly still on Spencer's skin. He waits, listens and once everything goes quiet upstairs, he finally looks over at Spencer.
Spencer is looking at him. His eyes aren't quite all the way open, his face slack and relaxed. He looks sleepy, but when Brendon turns his head, he smiles widely and says, "Hi."
"Hey," Brendon says, squeezing Spencer's ankle. "You ready to go to bed now?"
"Soon," Spencer says. Then, "Not yet."
Spencer pushes up so that he's more upright. He's still not actually sitting up, but it's less of a reach when he stretches his hand out and pulls Brendon closer. Brendon says, "Can you just--?" and Spencer bends the leg closest to Brendon at the knee so that Brendon can move, can turn and crawl up Spencer's body, resting between his legs. Spencer raises his chin and meets Brendon's mouth and then they're kissing, mouths closed and lingering.
Spencer's lips are soft; there's no force behind his mouth. Brendon feels like he's melting. They sink into the couch and Brendon holds himself up with an elbow to the cushion. He bends his knees so that he can hold up more of his own weight, even as he presses his body as close to Spencer's as he can get. Spencer's hands stroke up and down his back until they tuck under Brendon's t-shirt and spread out across his lower back.
Brendon lets the kiss get a little wetter, a little deeper. He dips the tip of his tongue into Spencer's mouth and meets just the tip of Spencer's. He spends more time licking over the smooth stretch of Spencer's lips than exploring his mouth, and Spencer gets distracted tonguing the spot just under the edge of Brendon's upper lip.
There's a lamp that's still turned on, so Brendon can see Spencer's face when he pulls back a little. He's close enough that even though his glasses are on the coffee table, he can still make out the shape of Spencer's eyes when they open, just briefly, to look at Brendon, grin, then close again as he tilts his mouth back towards him. Brendon kisses him until his lips feel raw and something's buzzing up the base of his spine. He's hard, but his erection is pressed comfortably into Spencer's stomach, and he's not distracted by it. It's late, and his head is clear and quiet, almost ready for sleep. It's slow and still around them and Spencer's hands on his ass are more securing than suggestive.
Brendon pulls back and sits up almost all the way, settling in Spencer's lap. Spencer's hands move around to hold onto Brendon's hips. He undulates his hips against Brendon's, just briefly, and Brendon loses his breath for a moment. He bites his lip and grinds down against Spencer; if he spreads his legs a little bit more, and leans in a little lower, he could get their cocks lined up. Brendon grinds down again and Spencer gasps, moving his hands up Brendon's hips so that he's resting his fingers on bare skin, just under the hem of Brendon's t-shirt. Spencer's hands are warm where they hold onto his skin, and there are a lot of places other than Brendon's sides that they could be touching.
Brendon leans all the way down and kisses Spencer again. Spencer's mouth is still just as soft, but his tongue is quicker now, wetter. He moves his hands down and around to Brendon's back, and pushes his fingers under the waistband of Brendon's sweats. His hands move slowly, so slowly, eventually coming to rest with one of his middle fingers nudging at the little dip where Brendon's tailbone starts.
Brendon doesn't mean to, but he freezes.
"What?" Spencer murmurs into his mouth.
Brendon kisses him again. He knows that he's holding himself rigidly above Spencer, but he can't make himself relax.
Spencer moves his hands away, bringing one up to touch Brendon's cheek carefully. "Maybe it's time for bed," he says.
Brendon nods.
They walk to the bathroom together, brush their teeth standing side by side in front of the mirror. Spencer kisses Brendon again when they're standing in the hallway. The taste of toothpaste is randomly hot, and Brendon licks until he catches it all with his tongue.
Spencer says, "Night," and they both go to their own bedrooms. Neither of them close their doors all the way, so Brendon can hear the rustling of bedding when Spencer climbs into bed. He listens and tries to imagine what Spencer looks like falling asleep, even as he drifts off.
Part TWO
Spencer/Brendon | NC-17 | ~ 15 250 words
Spencer and Brendon at the pornocabin.
So, some of us did a Secret Santa, a while back, and this is my story for enoughoflove. I, uh, hope you haven't grown to hate it! <3
This never would have been written without adellyna. I was fretting about what to write, and she said, 'You're writing Spencer/Brendon? And, what? They're at the cabin?' And I thought, 'Oh my god, I can DO THAT.' Thanks, also, to her and elfiepike for betaing.
And together there
In a shroud of frost, the mountain air
Began to pass from every pane of weathered glass
And I held you closer than anyone would ever get.
-- "We Look Like Giants"
Brendon runs ahead so that he gets first choice of bedroom. He doesn't pick the biggest one, but he picks the one with the wall-length window and the walk-in closet. It's also the room closest to the bathroom.
He waits until the sounds of movement outside his door quiet down before sticking his head outside to try and guess which rooms everyone else has chosen. Which room Spencer has chosen.
There's one room right beside Brendon's; the other two are further down the hall, past the bathroom and the linen closet. He walks to the nearest room and pushes the door open with two fingers.
Spencer's fussing with the zipper on his suitcase.
"It's stuck!" he says, when he looks up and notices Brendon.
"I told'ya you crammed too much shit in there," Brendon says, walking through the doorway.
"Well," Spencer says. "I'm not the one who said we were only allowed to bring one suitcase."
"I wasn't either," Brendon says. "But you know that we're not even going to be bothering to change out of sweatpants by the end of week anyways."
"We'll see," Spencer says. "Hold onto this edge for me?"
--
Brendon was wrong; it only takes them three days before they're all wearing the same outfit to breakfast morning after morning.
--
"So," Ryan says on day six. "Wanna try and make some music?"
"Hey now," Brendon says. He's been playing every single day that they've been there. They've got a totally sweet practice room: mix matched carpets to help muffle the sound, a long rack for all the guitars. Enough space for Spencer to set up his kit without having to yell and remind them to watch his fucking kick drum already.
The space they rented back in Vegas, all those years ago, was maybe a fourth the size of this new room. Spencer had spent most of his time watching them warily as they moved around, convinced that someone was going to trip over the coils and coils of cords and knock over part of his kit. He was a little extreme, especially because in the entire time, Brendon only actually fell onto something three times, and it was usually just the cymbal. Ryan had actually fallen into Spencer's snare once, but Brent had hauled him back before anything had gotten broken.
No one's suffering through the slim-limbed pangs of a growth spurt this time around. There's enough room that they aren't tripping over each other. Brendon's glad that the time between 'then' and 'now' hasn't been so long that he can't appreciate the difference.
"Music that someone would actually pay to listen to on a CD," Ryan says.
Brendon flips him off.
--
(During the stretch of time in Vegas, they go to a lot of shows. Usually the three of them, better still when it's all four. They even plan ahead for Jon's visits so that they have something lined up for every night of his stay.
This time though, three weeks before they leave for the cabin, it's just Spencer and Brendon. Ryan's visiting Keltie, and they're not really at the club to see the show as much as they are there to get out of the house. The band is too loud to be musical, too drunk to have stage presence. It's awkward, almost, to be only two people in a room packed so full of bodies. Spencer doesn't move away when Brendon tucks himself into Spencer's space and settles in for the night.
"We were never this bad," Brendon shouts. Spencer curves in even closer and watches Brendon's mouth as he shapes the words.
They lean against the railings, up on the level above the stage, close enough to look down on the band, but further away from the squirming crush of bodies on the dance floor. Most of the people on this level are on the couches, still crushed together, still squirming. Brendon looks studiously back and forth between Spencer and the band, and tries to block the couple standing beside them out of his peripheral vision. The woman is wearing a tube top, but the man is still sliding fingers under the thin fabric so that he can touch bare skin.
The couple stumbles together, misjudging the distance to the railing, and Brendon is startled into looking at them full on.
Spencer rolls his eyes when Brendon looks back at him, and, with an unspoken agreement, they both walk towards the exit.
They leave by the back door, and wander a few dozen feet before coming to a stop. They're on a backstreet that's not quite hidden enough to be called an alley, and the music floats through the brick walls.
"I think they sound better now," Spencer says, and Brendon nods.
It's midnight, or close to midnight, and around the corner there are laughing voices, a steady stream of foot traffic. It's too soon for there to be much movement out of the club though, and the door they came from stays closed.
Spencer slouches. Even though there's space enough now, Brendon stays close to him, stays near enough that their arms brush when Spencer moves his weight over to his other hip, when Brendon crosses his arms across his chest.
Brendon's not ready to go home yet, but he's not ready to go back into the club yet, either. Spencer seems in no great hurry. Brendon looks over at Spencer and shrugs, just out of nowhere, no real reason that he can think of, and Spencer nods, changing the angle of his head so that he's looking at Brendon differently. Brendon feels like they're communicating something, somehow, he's sure of it, even though he doesn't even know what he means, much less what Spencer means.
He moves so that he's face to face with Spencer instead, looking at him sideways. They're not exactly in the shadows, but they're far enough away from the street that Brendon thinks they might as well be. Something in Spencer's face seems open, something in his posture, patient. Brendon doesn't think about his destination when he starts to lean in. He doesn't have a plan with a finish, just a start. And the start is rocking forward on the balls of his feet and catching Spencer's mouth when Spencer dips to meet him.
Each time they pull away for air, Brendon readies himself to step back entirely. Except that he never has to. They start out standing, touching just with fingertips, with hands, and as Brendon learns the easy heat of Spencer's mouth, they tilt backwards towards the bricks. Spencer's back hits first, and he slumps down until he's just about level with Brendon, easing the strain in his legs by leaning heavily against the wall. Brendon works a thigh between Spencer's bent knees and cups Spencer's hips in his hands, holding them together, pressing them closer.
Spencer's cock presses just to the side of his own, so they each have a thigh, a hip to grind up against. The friction on his cock is raw in an almost diffused way; he can feel sharp spikes of pleasure when something lines up just right, but for the most part it's duller, harder to concentrate on. He thinks he's close, but there's no actual end in sight. Spencer's mouth has gone slack against his, but not sloppy, not wet. Just the soft touch of skin where they're sharing air.
Brendon hopes that there's enough distance between them and the street that the sound of approaching footsteps would warn them before anyone got too close. He's not sure though, not sure if he'd notice, regardless. Spencer's hips move, steady, against his own. Brendon can't contribute to the friction, can't manage more than clinging to Spencer's shoulders and trying not to lose his balance, so instead he kisses down Spencer's jaw. He kisses Spencer's neck, wet but soft, hardly sucking at all. Still, when he pulls away, there are tiny little red marks, tiny little signs that he was there.
He doesn't know why he's pulling away, doesn't know what he wants other than the chance to breathe for a moment, but he gasps, then again, and then tips right into orgasm without noticing that he was nearing the final climb. He shakes, and grabs Spencer frantically. For balance. For the pressure as he rubs his way through the aftershocks. If he's going to come in his pants, in public at that, he's going to enjoy it.
Spencer says, "Jesus fuck, Brendon, did you just--?" before clamping his hands over Brendon's ass and holding him in place. Spencer rocks down, and Brendon's cock is torn between trying to hide from the friction, too much so soon, and jerking back to life. He's half hard again by the time that Spencer goes silent and seizes against him.
"Maybe we should get a cab," Spencer says, "instead of trying to walk home like this."
Spencer's shirttails are just long enough to cover the stain, as long as he holds his hands down at his sides. Brendon's t-shirt and hoodie are both too short, but he peels the hoodie off and holds it in a ball in front of himself.
It's not a long wait for the cab.
Spencer's house is the first stop. They sit quietly in the backseat together. Brendon's tired but alert; he tries to decide if he should say something, but when the cab pulls over in front of Spencer's place, Spencer just passes him a twenty for fare and slips out with a, "Goodnight, Brendon."
)
--
"We both have to be playing on expert," Brendon explains again. "If you play on hard, it will just be us beating the co-op on hard again."
"So what?" Spencer says.
"So, now we have to beat it on expert so that we can unlock the new guitar."
"We have enough guitars," Spencer says. "It's not like they change the sound of the song or anything."
"Spencer," Brendon says, disgusted. "That's not the point."
"I'm no good on expert," Spencer says. "You know that."
"We've gotten better at coordinating to get star power," Brendon says. "That will help."
"You could always just stop playing Guitar Hero," Ryan yells from the other room.
"Fuck off," Spencer and Brendon shout at the exact same time before looking at each other and grinning.
"You can't get mad at me when I make us lose," Spencer says.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Brendon says. "You're going to be the bass part anyways. You can't lose with the bass part."
"Hey," Jon says, looking over at them from the dining room. "What are you saying about the bass part?"
"Can't talk, playing now," Brendon says, then presses start.
--
Technically, Brendon's actually spent the most time living on his own out of all of them. It hasn't taught him how to cook, except for a bad habit of putting things into the microwave without laying them on a plate first.
Brendon and Jon are wrestling on the floor of the kitchen for the last frozen lasagna. Ryan comes in, and somehow manages to trip over both of them in such a way that he kicks Brendon in the neck and Jon in the forehead, causing both of them to release each other and pull away to rub at their injuries.
"Ryan," Brendon says. "We are solving our problems like men."
It's technically true, too, because Ryan interrupted before Jon had a chance to pin Brendon, so Brendon hadn't yet had to resort to biting or anything.
"Fighting over a microwavable dinner," Ryan says. "Very savage."
Spencer wanders in as well. "Someone has to cook something," he says. Then, very quickly, "Not it!"
Brendon says it next. He's a youngest child, and he's awesome at that game.
Ryan and Jon end up making a real lasagna for everyone because no one trusts Jon in the kitchen by himself.
--
They keep the cabin pretty tidy. They're all used to sharing space, used to the way that Spencer hates mess involving food, Ryan hates when people touch things that are his, Jon hates not being able to find something, and Brendon hates when instruments are left out.
Still, there's a three-week high pile of laundry in the living room.
Brendon's been tiptoeing around it, adding garments as subtly as he can. He's had to come back and retrieve three things when it turned out that he needed them again and the laundry still wasn't done.
Ryan doesn't mind wearing the same dirty clothes day after day until they start to decay, so not much of the mess is his.
Spencer brought the most, out of all of them, and so he's gone through the most, too. Brendon's still surprised when he walks past the laundry room and finds Spencer inside, sorting through the pile.
"Hi," Brendon says, standing at the door.
Spencer looks up, almost guiltily. The drier buzzes and he opens the door and starts pulling out clean t-shirts.
"Most of this shit is yours," Spencer says. It's a gigantic lie, but Brendon still nods earnestly and holds his arms out for Spencer to pass him a pile of clothes.
"Thank you," Brendon says.
"I had to sneak Ryan's clothes for his room while he was sleeping," Spencer says. "That was just fucking nasty."
Spencer's got a wet smear just under the collar of his t-shirt. It's probably only laundry detergent, but still Brendon says, "I thought you didn't like dirty clothing," and pokes at it.
"Stop it," Spencer says, batting his hands away.
"Unclean!" Brendon says. He lets his hands drop down, but reaches out quickly to catch the bottom hem of Spencer's t-shirt. He starts to pull up, and gets the shirt all the way up to Spencer's chest before Spencer grabs onto his wrists again.
Spencer laughs, tries to push him away, but Brendon holds on tight and says, "It's all dirty." He crowds in on Spencer, turning his head to the side and up as he tries to wrestle the t-shirt over Spencer's head. Spencer doesn't push him away, just tries to pull his hands lower, tries to pull the shirt back down. Brendon's close enough that he can feel the heat coming off of Spencer's bare skin.
Spencer breathes heavily. His shirt is stuck up around his armpits, but he's not tugging with as much force as he started with. Brendon leaves his fingers twisted into the fabric, but drops one of his thumbs to brush over Spencer's chest. He moves his hand a little further out, so that when he does it again, his thumb brushes over one of Spencer's nipples. Spencer's nipple hardens, especially when Brendon does it again, his touch still feather-light, Spencer's skin raising in small goosebumps.
"Are you cold?" Brendon asks. He lets go of Spencer's t-shirt with one hand, still holding it up and away with the other. He presses his hand flat to Spencer's chest, drags his palm over Spencer's breastbone, drags the tip of his finger in a circle around Spencer's nipple.
Spencer releases his wrist, and pulls his t-shirt up and away; he stands shirtless in front of Brendon. Brendon kisses a line from the center of his throat across his collarbones. He sets his teeth into the fleshy curve of Spencer's shoulder, but doesn't bite down. Spencer holds still. Where Brendon's palm is still pressed flat across Spencer's chest, he can feel the steady rhythm of Spencer's heart, maybe a little faster now than it was when he started.
Brendon drops slowly to his knees and rubs his cheek along Spencer's stomach. The muscles jerk under Spencer's skin and he says, "You're prickly; that tickles."
Brendon does it again, a little bit harder, then rubs the tip of his nose over the skin instead. Spencer smells like soap and detergent, or maybe that's just the air in the room around them, because when Brendon moves lower, pressing his forehead just at Spencer's belly button, the skin starts to smell less like clean, more like boy.
Spencer's cock is hard, jutting out his sweats. Brendon is just starting to drop his head, to nose along the line of his cock instead of the line of his hipbones, when Ryan hollers, "Spencer! Where did you put my fucking clothes?!"
Brendon jumps back quickly, even though it's obvious from the echo in Ryan's voice that he's at the other side of the cabin.
Spencer pulls his t-shirt on, and takes a deep breath. He cups his hand to Brendon's neck, just quickly, as he walks to the door to the laundry room. Brendon rises back to his feet and ducks around Spencer while Spencer stands in the door and shouts, "They rotted away into nothingness!"
--
Ryan and Spencer show him and Jon the lyrics to three songs. They're mostly completely written, and they spend the next four days trying to come up with melodies. There's an easy balance between the four of them, a kind of camaraderie.
Brendon enjoys the peace, the balance, but knows it means that they're not actually making any progress.
--
Brendon goes into town by himself. He finds a tiny store full of wood-carved items. He wanders through homemade rocking chairs, little end tables, and finds a shelf full of wooden boxes. He buys four, all with tops carved to look like a blanket of leaves, and sneaks them out of the trunk of the car. He puts a little wooden pipe in Ryan's, a wooden shot glass into Jon's, even though he's pretty sure that neither will actually work. He's tempted to put a condom into Spencer's, but he just leaves it empty.
He leaves the boxes on everyone's pillows and gets back two quick hugs, and a slap on the ass from Jon.
--
It's closer to morning than to night. They're all usually still awake now, but tonight, Spencer and Brendon have the TV and Ryan and Jon are up in their rooms. Brendon and Spencer lie spooned together on the couch. And if it took some inventive wiggling to get them that way, Brendon's never going to admit it.
Spencer lies on his back, and Brendon holds himself up with a hand to his cheek so that he can see the TV over Spencer's chest.
For all Brendon's maneuvering, once they're lying together, he can't actually manage to get comfortable. Lying beside someone always seems like a good idea inside Brendon's head (or at least a good first step), but as usual, once he gets there, he can't stop moving, twisting, readjusting. He feels slightly trapped between the back of the couch and Spencer's body, and, just because there isn't the room to do so, has a random and intense desire to stretch both his arms out straight.
One of his hands is trapped underneath his body. He's only been lying like this for a matter of minutes, but he's starting to feel pins and needles. He tries moving his fingers, tries fisting them then stretching out his hand. He wonders if there's room for him to roll onto his back as well, if it's too soon after settling to try and completely reposition their bodies into something more comfortable. Maybe he would prefer to be on the outside of the couch.
"Oh my god stop moving," Spencer says. "You're terrible at this."
"Sorry," Brendon says, freezing completely.
"You're like. Like a sprint-runner. But, about cuddling. You can't hack it with the long-distances."
"What?" Brendon says.
"Unless you're sleeping, you can only manage to stay still with someone else for about three minutes," Spencer says.
"Sorry," Brendon says. "It's just. My hand's falling asleep."
"Oh, it is not," Spencer says, but, he still rolls. He still lies mostly on his back, but he puts an arm underneath Brendon's neck so that Brendon can get both of his hands up to rest on his stomach, and still have enough space for the two of them on the couch.
Spencer's arm bends back at the elbow so that his hand is doubled back and resting just above Brendon's head. Brendon can feel where the tips of Spencer's fingers brush his hair. Spencer is warm and solid, sprawling, but not taking up space in such a way that Brendon feels crowded. Spencer spends a lot of time like that: sprawling. He slouches and leans and spreads out and relaxes in. He fiddles, sometimes. Not as badly as Ryan does, not a constant movement, his hands fluttering back and forth between his knees his hair his face his cuticles. Spencer usually just moves his hands, always with some kind of beat, a rhythm that Brendon can find if he concentrates.
Spencer's not moving now, just breathing deeply. His neck isn't turned, so he's probably not watching the movie anymore. Brendon wonders if he's going to fall asleep, if Brendon will be able to fall asleep too, if he's going to be stuck here all night, worried about moving and waking Spencer, but not comfortable enough to drift off himself.
"Seriously stop it," Spencer says.
"I wasn't even moving," Brendon says.
"If you don't like cuddling, you should stop snuggling up to people all the time." Spencer sounds so stern and serious when he says it that Brendon grins and lets out a little laugh through his nose.
"What?" Spencer asks, low and slow, turning his head so that most of the word lands on Brendon's neck. "What what what?"
Spencer yawns, and presses his cheek against the side of Brendon's head. He wraps his other arm across Brendon's chest, tightens and rolls at the same time, so that by the time they've settled again, Brendon has been rolled almost all the way onto his side, with Spencer pressed flat along the curve of his back.
Spencer's hard, but when Brendon wiggles back, Spencer says, "Hmm, stop that," and yawns into Brendon's hair.
Brendon is definitely trapped now, stuck between the back of the couch and Spencer. He's warm, the couch cushions are soft, and Spencer has fitted them together well. Brendon wonders if they'll be able to sleep through the night like this, if someone will find them in the morning. There's no blind to cover the skylight, so chances are the early light of morning will wake them before anyone else gets out of bed. Brendon wonders if Spencer will go back to his own room for more sleep after that, if they'll walk back together, or it Spencer will just roll up and away when he wakes.
"Next time we try this," Spencer says, "I'm going to fuck you first, until you can't think anymore."
Brendon's skin prickles; he's hyper-aware of the places that Spencer touches him.
"Hmm?" Spencer says, even though Brendon didn't say anything out loud. He's still breathing slow and steady, but the arm thrown across Brendon's chest pulls back just enough that Spencer's hand can smooth down Brendon's stomach.
Brendon's cock is pushing up against the soft material of his sweatpants. The heel of Spencer's hand drifts down to bump up against the head of his dick. He stretches out his hand and lets it rest over the ridge of Brendon's cock. He fits his hand over the bulge, just a pressure, not enough movement for there to be any friction through the material of Brendon's sweats.
Spencer's breathing still hasn't changed, but Brendon alternates between holding his breath and trying to gasp air in quietly through his nose. Spencer's thumb stretches out, brushing over the skin about the waistband. Spencer hooks it around the elastic and starts to pull down. If Brendon pushes his hips back, then up, he could push his cock into Spencer's hand with nothing between them. Brendon is just starting to push back (Spencer's cock digs into his ass and finally, finally, there's a hitch in his breathing), when the floorboards creek, and, "Awww," Jon says, as he walks into the room. "Look at the snuggle bunnies."
Spencer gives one tiny little squeeze with his hand before pulling away entirely. He rolls all the way over until he rests on his stomach, head tilted up towards Jon. "Are you here to steal the TV from us?" Spencer asks.
"Steal?" Jon says. "Steal? I can't come and join in the watching of a communal movie without it being stealing?"
"Nope," Spencer says.
"Well, then," Jon says. "All your movie are belong to me."
Brendon reaches down and tucks his cock up under the waistband of his sweats. They're loose around his hips, and his t-shirt is short, so he's careful, careful when he sits up and climbs gingerly over Spencer.
"I've already seen the ending," he says, walking quickly to the doorway and hiding behind the door frame when he turns back and says, "Night, guys."
--
Brendon goes to bed and lies on his back in the dark. He can hear when Spencer returns to his own room, much, much later. Brendon's hard, still. Brendon stays hard, his hand curled around his cock, not moving, just holding onto bare skin underneath his pajama bottoms.
He toyed with the idea of leaving his door open, of giving some indication to Spencer that he was waiting, but. He doesn't even know if he is waiting.
The walls are thin, and he can hear, faintly, Spencer moving around his room. He hears the thump of a drawer closing, a little bang when Spencer opens the door to his closet. Brendon's been in the same room with Spencer when he's getting ready for bed before, but Spencer never follows a routine, never goes through any particular series of steps before turning in. For a while, when his hands were getting especially callused, he tried to put on the hand cream Ryan bought him before bed. Always before bed, because he said it made him smell like a girl, and that maybe Ryan was okay with that, but he wasn't.
Brendon wonders if he still does that. He wonders if Spencer's rubbing his hands together, if maybe he put too much on so he's wiping off the extra on his forearms, maybe his neck. Brendon has seen him rubbing cream on his neck before, back when he was still shaving occasionally, and they all thought that they desperately needed to put aftershave lotion on afterwards. Brendon found some stuff that smells really good, so he still puts it on, even now that he's all stubbly. Spencer probably wouldn't though; Spencer likes to use things they way they are intended to be used.
Brendon lies still, trying to hear what Spencer's doing, but it's quiet.
He rubs his thumb in light circles around the head of his cock, and surprises himself when his cock actually gives a little jump of appreciation. He makes a loose fist, jerks weakly. The skin is soft, his hand rough and dry. Maybe he could borrow some of Spencer's hand cream.
Brendon licks his palm, strokes once, licks again. Then again. When he's slick enough, he starts tugging gently, holding his hips still so that the bed doesn't rock and squeak. He thinks about Spencer coming in, and kicks the blankets away. Spencer wouldn't knock, would just push the door open. There would be enough light from the hallway that he'd be able to see Brendon, to see what Brendon's doing. Brendon spreads his legs a little, and reaches down to cup his balls. Spencer would close the door, but he'd turn on the light, and Brendon would know that he wanted to watch, so he wouldn't stop. Spencer would come closer, would maybe even sit on the end of the bed. The way that Brendon's legs are spread, Spencer would be able to see everything. Spencer wouldn't touch himself. He'd sit there, fully clothed, and watch Brendon, naked and panting a little bit now. Spencer wouldn't say anything, wouldn't tell Brendon how to touch himself, or what he thought about what he was seeing, although. God.
Brendon gets distracted thinking about Spencer telling him things he wants to do, gets distracted thinking about mouths and hands that aren't his own, and pretty soon, he's not really thinking about Spencer in particular, just hard, and tight, and heat, and skin, and the bouncing breasts of that girl in the porno, when the guy took her from behind, the feeling of entering someone for the first time, tight and overwhelming, the sight of someone of their knees for him. How it felt to be on his knees for Spencer. And then he's back to thinking about Spencer. Spencer who's right next door to him, and even though he's not actually there watching, maybe he can hear Brendon, maybe he's listening. Maybe Brendon's hips are moving, even though he's trying to hold them still, making the mattress rub against the wall, and maybe Spencer knows exactly what he's doing, and maybe Spencer's touching himself too, and Brendon comes.
He closes his eyes tight, and works himself through it. It takes him a long minute to come down, and when he reaches for a tissue, he has to wipe all the way up his chest, down across his hips where he spilled over his fist. He's a little sticky still, a few spots of wetness still lingering when he smooths his hand over his chest, reaching for his pajama bottoms, twisted up underneath his thighs. He pulls them back on and rolls over, even though he knows that he might be getting the sheets dirty.
It's not like he's sharing the bed with anyone, anyway.
--
Brendon convinces everyone to go for a hike, and actually manages to diffuse blame when he gets them all completely lost. Hobo is tiny, tiny, tiny, but Ryan still tries to bring her on all of their walks, even though it just means that he has to carry her.
"Promise me that you'll never get a dog carrier," Spencer says. They all stand and wait while Ryan attempts to tuck his shirt into his pants, and his dog into his shirt.
"Hmm?" Ryan says. He winces, and pulls the puppy free, rubbing at a small scratch on his stomach. "She can just go in my backpack; I don't need a special carrier."
"Ryan," Jon says, and then trails off. He pats Ryan on the shoulder. "Ryan."
"I'm pretty sure that the cabin is downhill?" Brendon offers, and they all start walking again.
--
Brendon finds Spencer in the practice room, by himself. He sits on top of a table, on top of one of Ryan's notebooks, and watches Spencer play. Of all of them, Spencer's the best at actually practicing exercises, not just the trickier parts for their songs like Ryan does. Spencer is practicing rolls on the snare right now, and Brendon wants to press his mouth to Spencer's wrist. He wants to suck on his pulse point, and lick over the little hollow just under the bone, and maybe bite along the fleshy base of his thumb.
Spencer looks up at him, and there's no way that he can know what Brendon's thinking, so Brendon just blinks and smiles brightly at him.
Spencer finishes, stands and walks over to Brendon, so Brendon hops off the table. It's unfair, because Spencer kept growing, even after Brendon stopped, and he managed to fill out. He's wider through the shoulders now, but Brendon's even a little bit smaller than Spencer was before. Brendon's tempted to hop back up onto the table, to make use of the extra little bit of height.
Spencer is sweating, just a little bit. Brendon isn't at all, but he'd like to be.
Spencer leans in, letting his erection push up against Brendon's side and says, "I'm not starting anything where we can get interrupted. Not again. So, you can stop looking at me like that," and pulls away.
He tosses his sticks into the pile of broken ones and walks out of the room.
Brendon swallows, follows behind him.
--
(The first guy who blows Brendon is named Bobby. He's not a groupie, exactly, because he's there to see The Academy Is..., not to see Panic!. Brendon can't bring himself to attempt to return the favor, can't the next time either.
The first guy that Brendon actually ends up going down on is Tom. Neither of them tell Jon about that whole-- situation. Brendon's not very good at first. It takes him a little while but he does get the hang of it. Brendon's a quick learner when he's drunk and lonely.
Tom's nice about it, and kind of hot as fuck, and when he ends up with William for real (not like however he and Brendon were together), even though they were over, Brendon misses him. Brendon still misses him, sometimes. But just when he lets himself think about it.
)
--
Ryan can think while Spencer pounds away on his drums, but Jon can't. Brendon can't really think while Spencer plays either, but it's not because of the noise.
They're trying to work through the bridge to a new song, and everyone's working out their own part. They're each off doing their own things when Jon grits out, "I can't fucking--" and Ryan says, "Hey, Spence, can you go get us all water bottles?"
"I have to figure out my part too," Spencer says, but he leaves without making a fuss.
He takes his time coming back. Brendon picks up a spare bass and sits down with Jon and together they work out something while Ryan strums chords quietly at the other side of the room.
When Spencer returns, he drops a water bottle into Ryan's hands, and chucks one over to Jon. Jon catches it just before it hits him in the head.
Jon passes his water bottle to Brendon and crawls over to where Spencer's standing. He grabs onto Spencer's ankle and says, "I'm sorry your drums are so noisy."
"Oh my god," Spencer says, trying to kick him away with his free foot. "That's not even an apology."
Jon clings on and Spencer has to grab onto his shoulders to avoid losing his balance.
"Fine," Jon says. "I'm sorry that you're so good at banging on shit until it makes lots of noise." He grins up at Spencer and rubs his bearded cheek over Spencer's knee.
"That's better," Spencer says, poking Jon in the forehead.
Brendon sets Jon's water bottle onto the ground, picks his guitar back up, and walks over to Ryan.
--
Spencer runs himself a bath, and Ryan sits into the hallway and keeps a running commentary through the closed door.
"How's your bath, Spence?" he asks. "Do you have enough bubbles? Enough scented candles?"
"Where the fuck would I get bubbles and scented candles from?" Spencer asks.
Ryan grins at Brendon when Brendon walks by him.
"In your purse?" Ryan offers. "With all your other chick shit?"
"Are you kidding me?" Spencer asks. "You have moisturizer that smells like fucking roses."
"What are you doing?" Brendon whispers, sitting down beside Ryan. He can hear water splashing around from behind the door.
"Spencer likes taking baths sometimes," Ryan says, then raises his voice, "like when he's on his period."
"Oh my god," Jon says, bopping Ryan on the head when he walks by them. "We're not on tour any more; we're actually allowed to bathe sometimes now."
"Whatever," Ryan says, running a hand through his greasy hair.
Spencer comes out of the bathroom with flushed cheeks and hair sticking in wet tufts to his forehead. He flops down on the couch and throws his legs onto Brendon's lap and falls asleep before the movie finishes.
Spencer's sweats ride up so his ankles are bare. The hair on his legs is fine, lightly colored and, as Brendon feels when strokes over his calf, soft. Brendon traces over the curve of his anklebone. The skin on his foot is ridiculously smooth, especially on the outside. His second toe is longer than his big toe, but his baby toe isn't all squished and wrinkly like baby toes usually are.
Brendon wraps his hand around Spencer's ankle and rubs his thumb over the sharp part of the bone. He jumps a little when Spencer's hand reaches out to touch Brendon's knuckles; he didn't notice Spencer waking up.
The movie ends and Ryan stands up and turns off the power to the DVD player. Jon throws his afghan over the back of the couch and says, "Night."
Spencer's eyes are closed. He leaves them closed when Ryan whispers, "Goodnight, Brendon," quietly. And, in a moment of mercy, he doesn't ask if Brendon's going to bed now, too.
Brendon stares off aimlessly across the room and listens to Jon and Ryan moving around the cabin, going to their bedrooms, the bathroom, back again. Brendon's hand is still resting on Spencer's ankle, but his fingers are holding mostly still on Spencer's skin. He waits, listens and once everything goes quiet upstairs, he finally looks over at Spencer.
Spencer is looking at him. His eyes aren't quite all the way open, his face slack and relaxed. He looks sleepy, but when Brendon turns his head, he smiles widely and says, "Hi."
"Hey," Brendon says, squeezing Spencer's ankle. "You ready to go to bed now?"
"Soon," Spencer says. Then, "Not yet."
Spencer pushes up so that he's more upright. He's still not actually sitting up, but it's less of a reach when he stretches his hand out and pulls Brendon closer. Brendon says, "Can you just--?" and Spencer bends the leg closest to Brendon at the knee so that Brendon can move, can turn and crawl up Spencer's body, resting between his legs. Spencer raises his chin and meets Brendon's mouth and then they're kissing, mouths closed and lingering.
Spencer's lips are soft; there's no force behind his mouth. Brendon feels like he's melting. They sink into the couch and Brendon holds himself up with an elbow to the cushion. He bends his knees so that he can hold up more of his own weight, even as he presses his body as close to Spencer's as he can get. Spencer's hands stroke up and down his back until they tuck under Brendon's t-shirt and spread out across his lower back.
Brendon lets the kiss get a little wetter, a little deeper. He dips the tip of his tongue into Spencer's mouth and meets just the tip of Spencer's. He spends more time licking over the smooth stretch of Spencer's lips than exploring his mouth, and Spencer gets distracted tonguing the spot just under the edge of Brendon's upper lip.
There's a lamp that's still turned on, so Brendon can see Spencer's face when he pulls back a little. He's close enough that even though his glasses are on the coffee table, he can still make out the shape of Spencer's eyes when they open, just briefly, to look at Brendon, grin, then close again as he tilts his mouth back towards him. Brendon kisses him until his lips feel raw and something's buzzing up the base of his spine. He's hard, but his erection is pressed comfortably into Spencer's stomach, and he's not distracted by it. It's late, and his head is clear and quiet, almost ready for sleep. It's slow and still around them and Spencer's hands on his ass are more securing than suggestive.
Brendon pulls back and sits up almost all the way, settling in Spencer's lap. Spencer's hands move around to hold onto Brendon's hips. He undulates his hips against Brendon's, just briefly, and Brendon loses his breath for a moment. He bites his lip and grinds down against Spencer; if he spreads his legs a little bit more, and leans in a little lower, he could get their cocks lined up. Brendon grinds down again and Spencer gasps, moving his hands up Brendon's hips so that he's resting his fingers on bare skin, just under the hem of Brendon's t-shirt. Spencer's hands are warm where they hold onto his skin, and there are a lot of places other than Brendon's sides that they could be touching.
Brendon leans all the way down and kisses Spencer again. Spencer's mouth is still just as soft, but his tongue is quicker now, wetter. He moves his hands down and around to Brendon's back, and pushes his fingers under the waistband of Brendon's sweats. His hands move slowly, so slowly, eventually coming to rest with one of his middle fingers nudging at the little dip where Brendon's tailbone starts.
Brendon doesn't mean to, but he freezes.
"What?" Spencer murmurs into his mouth.
Brendon kisses him again. He knows that he's holding himself rigidly above Spencer, but he can't make himself relax.
Spencer moves his hands away, bringing one up to touch Brendon's cheek carefully. "Maybe it's time for bed," he says.
Brendon nods.
They walk to the bathroom together, brush their teeth standing side by side in front of the mirror. Spencer kisses Brendon again when they're standing in the hallway. The taste of toothpaste is randomly hot, and Brendon licks until he catches it all with his tongue.
Spencer says, "Night," and they both go to their own bedrooms. Neither of them close their doors all the way, so Brendon can hear the rustling of bedding when Spencer climbs into bed. He listens and tries to imagine what Spencer looks like falling asleep, even as he drifts off.
Part TWO