Panic At The Disco Fic: Flux (Brendon/Spencer)
Title: Flux
Pairing(s): Brendon/Spencer
Rating: R
Warnings: Possible warnings for age dynamics. This is time travel fic, and as such one character is much older than the other in certain sections. Nothing happens between them until they are both over the age of consent.
Word count: 6,200
Summary: Brendon travels through time helping people. He meets Spencer.
Notes: This fic was written for ohohstarryeyed as part of the bandomstuffsit holiday fic exchange. If you haven't been over there I suggest you go check it out! There are a lot of great stories to read. Many many many thanks to cheapcrowd who betaed this and held my hand (metaphorically) and cheered me on because she's just that awesome.
December 31, 2008
Brendon orders a glass of champagne and watches the bubbles slide up the side of the glass. He doesn't have anywhere to be and Vegas is always a good time, especially on New Year's when everyone is ready to celebrate.
There's a guy at the end of the bar Brendon's thinking about hitting on. The guy's been nursing the same beer for the past half hour and sending looks Brendon's way. He's hot, shiny brown hair and blue eyes and a beard that Brendon imagines would feel pretty good moving across his skin.
Brendon drags his eyes away from his champagne glass to look at the guy again, only he's no longer sitting on his stool. Brendon scans the general area around the stool and doesn't see him. He feels disappointment settle in his stomach.
"You planning on drinking that?"
Brendon startles and his hand moves on the stem of his champagne glass. Some of it sloshes over the edge, wetting Brendon's hand. He looks up and comes face to face with the guy.
Brendon smiles and licks the champagne off his wrist. The guys' eyes follow the movement of Brendon's tongue.
"Thinking about it," Brendon says.
The guy is still looking at Brendon's wrist. "Is that how you normally drink champagne?" he asks. His eyes finally refocus on Brendon's face.
Brendon wishes he was the kind of guy who could say things like, "I'd rather drink it off your skin than mine." He's not. He thinks he would probably sound phenomenally stupid even trying, but he is direct enough to just ask for what he wants.
"I was watching you," Brendon says.
The guy smiles. He says, "I noticed. I was watching back."
He has a really pretty smile.
"What's your name?" Brendon asks.
"Spencer."
Brendon holds out his hand and says, "I'm Brendon." He's expecting Spencer to shake his hand, but he wraps his fingers loosely around Brendon's wrist instead.
"You want to get out of here, Brendon?" he asks.
August 2, 1994
It always takes a few minutes for Brendon to get his bearings after a jump. Moving through time and reappearing in a strange place isn't something that the body recovers from right away, especially when a towel is all he currently has wrapped around his body. He tries to remember what the hell he was doing before he jumped. He was in Vegas, he picked up a guy at the club, the Palms hotel, the sex. Brendon was planning on having a lot more sex with that guy. The last thing he remembers is getting out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist. He's more than a little disappointed that the guy will probably think he slipped out in the middle of the night-- without any of his clothes.
The next thing Brendon notices after his partial nudity is that it's hot. Brendon's skin starts to burn almost immediately. The grass under his feet is patchy and warm. There is a long fence in front of him, multiple fences actually, and Brendon finally realizes he's looking at the back of a row of houses. He figures this must be some kind of greenbelt behind a subdivision, only everything here is brown.
Brendon hears the children before he sees them, loud voices meant exactly for this, summer days outdoors.
"It went over the fence, Spencer," the first boy says as he flings open the gate on his backyard fence and bounds out onto the greenbelt.
There's nowhere for Brendon to hide, so he doesn't bother.
"Whoa," the kid says. He's all big eyes and sharp bones. Brendon thinks of the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz.
The other boy is at the gate now too, peering over the first boy's shoulder. He's softer. His eyes are blue, a shocking spot of color in a round face. He's pudgy with baby fat, sweet-faced and calm even when confronted by a half-naked stranger standing in his backyard.
"I seem to have lost my clothes," Brendon says.
"How'd you do that?" The skinny one asks.
The cool thing about kids is that there is usually a level of trust in them that makes even the unbelievable sound believable. There is a fat man in a red suit who delivers presents made by elves in a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer to every child in the world in one night. There is a rabbit that hides eggs in the yard and a fairy who sneaks into the rooms of children everywhere and pays to steal their teeth. And there's Brendon.
"I'm a time-traveler," Brendon says.
The first boy narrows his eyes and asks, "Don't they have clothes where you're from?"
Brendon shrugs. He says, "I just got out of the shower."
"And you couldn't get dressed before you got in your machine?"
Brendon has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing when the other boys says, "I don't think he has a machine. I don't see it anyway."
The first boy looks around and frowns, his expression turning a little mean, as if he's angry with the other boy for noticing something he didn't.
The other boy touches the first boy's shoulder soothingly. He says, "Ryan, go get him some of your dad's stuff."
Ryan says, "What are you gonna do?"
The second boy whispers, "Make sure he don't travel away." His big blue eyes stare Brendon down. He doesn't look afraid or even wary like the other boy. He looks curious, and Brendon thinks that maybe he misjudged him. Maybe underneath all that cool-calm is a spirit Brendon recognizes in himself.
Ryan finally nods and runs for his house. The other boy takes a step away from the gate out onto the greenbelt.
"What's your name?" Brendon asks. There's a buzzing at the back of Brendon's brain as he tries to figure out what it is he's supposed to be doing here.
The boy doesn't answer. He looks at Brendon like he's sizing him up, judging him. "Are you really a time-traveler?" he asks.
"Yes."
"Why'd you come here?"
"Where is here?" Brendon asks.
The first time Brendon jumps it's a pull to an unknown place, a tingling in his skin that he has a hard time ignoring. Once Brendon's been somewhere he can make controlled jumps. He can choose to revisit places over and over and over in any time period he wants to. He can come back here in a thousand years if it still exists, stand on this very spot and think about the first time he was here with this small boy with the questioning eyes. He can go back a hundred years in time and think about what will be, how everything that happens next will lead to this moment.
But now, in this time, he has no idea why he's here. The first jump is always into the unknown. His body takes him where he needs to go and his mind has to figure out the rest. Something here, maybe the boy right in front of him, needs his attention. Brendon just has to figure out what he's supposed to do.
"Summerlin," the boy says. "Are you going to save someone?"
Brendon's eyes widen a little. He looks at the little boy’s eyes and thinks no fucking way. Summerlin is a suburb of Las Vegas.
"What's your name?" Brendon asks again.
The boy considers him for a minute and then says, "I'm Spencer. I'm six."
Brendon can't help but smile at him. He realizes this is all kinds of fucked up, but the kid is kind of adorable. He tries not to think about what he's going to look in fifteen years. He says, "I'm Brendon and I haven't been six in a long time."
Spencer smiles back. He's missing one of his front teeth, and it reminds Brendon of his nephews back home.
"You can be our friend," Spencer says matter of fact, like this whole conversation has been a test and Brendon has apparently passed.
Ryan comes flying out of the yard with a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. He shoves them at Spencer who walks right up and hands them to Brendon-- no fear.
"This is Brendon," Spencer says, turning back to look at Ryan. "I told him he could be our friend."
Ryan gives Spencer a long look before he nods and says, "Okay, but he has to wear pants."
September 2, 1995
Brendon cheats, never enough that he feels too guilty about it, but he needs money sometimes and when he does he'll play the lottery. He picks up a few hundred bucks here, maybe a thousand if he needs to purchase something bigger. He figures it's better than stealing it out right.
He has no idea what an eight and nine year old from 1995 might want for their birthdays, but he picks something out anyway, wraps it carefully and goes to the greenbelt to wait for Spencer and Ryan.
Ryan shakes his present and says, "Did you bring us something from the future?"
Brendon laughs and says, "You know I can't do that. It would be wrong."
Ryan looks disappointed, but he nods his head like he understands. Spencer is still standing cautiously behind Ryan. Brendon holds out the present and Spencer finally comes forward to take it.
"Thank you," he says.
Brendon says, "Happy Birthday."
"I'm eight," Spencer says helpfully.
Brendon crouches down and says, "I know."
He hopes Spencer likes his gift. Spencer and Ryan love to be outdoors. They're always running the neighborhood, sweaty and mischievous, and so much like Brendon with his sister when they were young. He thinks about Spencer getting older, Ryan too. He didn't really get a chance to talk to Spencer the first time they met. He has no idea what kind of person Spencer is going to be in the future. He wonders what kinds of music they'll listen to and what kinds of books they'll read.
Brendon stops musing about future Spencer when current Spencer leans forward and quickly kisses Brendon's cheek. When he pulls back he's flushed red and he won't look Brendon in the eye.
Brendon chokes on a laugh, completely taken off guard but he manages to ask, "What was that for?"
Spencer says, "I'm going to marry you someday." He slaps his hand over his mouth, his little eyes going wide and then he turns and runs, his birthday present held tightly under one arm.
Ryan rolls his eyes and says, "I better go after him." He looks over his shoulder in the direction Spencer ran away and then back at Brendon. "I tried to tell him boys can't marry boys, but he won't listen."
Brendon rubs his cheek where Spencer kissed him and says, "That won't always be true. He'll find somebody."
Ryan's shoulders hitch defensively and he says, "I guess."
Brendon doesn't think Ryan likes Spencer like that. He understands the possessiveness of friendship. Brendon hasn't looked too far into their futures, but he wouldn't be surprised if the two of them stayed lifelong friends.
"Happy Birthday to you too, Ryan," Brendon says.
Ryan's shoulders relax and he smiles, lopsided and a little shy. He asks, "See you soon?" And when Brendon nods he turns away, heading off after Spencer.
June 2, 2004
Spencer's grown several inches since Brendon saw him last. He's taller than Brendon now with dark, silky hair that falls in front of his eyes. He's moody and surly and he drives his mother crazy. He still smiles at Brendon like he did when he was six years old, only now it make Brendon's heart thump thump thump in a way that makes Brendon feel guilty.
Ryan graduated in May and ran off to California to be in a band. Brendon remembers when they were so attached that they were practically conjoined.
"You miss Ryan?" Brendon asks.
They're sitting in Spencer's backyard, hiding behind a little shed Spencer's mom uses for her gardening supplies. Spencer shrugs and takes another drag off the joint he's smoking.
Brendon sighs and holds out his hand. Spencer smirks when he hands it over, watching Brendon carefully as he takes a hit. They get baked like that, passing the joint back and forth slowly. Brendon's head feels fuzzy. It's been so long since he's smoked that he's forgotten what it feels like to be high.
"We were gonna be the band once," Spencer says. "Me and Ryan."
Brendon remembers Spencer telling him about a drum kit he got for Christmas. Ryan plays the guitar. Sometimes he would sing in this sweet, wobbly, voice.
"Mmm," Brendon says. "Why didn't you?"
Spencer shrugs again and touches his elbow. It's a mess of scars. "Skateboarding accident when I was thirteen. I don't have very good range of motion anymore. Guess I'll have to get a real job."
Brendon thinks about the first time he met Spencer. He kissed across those scars. He'd asked Spencer about them and Spencer had clammed up, flipped them over, and kissed away the rest of Brendon's questions. Brendon shakes off the memory and looks up. Spencer is staring at him again only Brendon's never seen this look before. Not from this Spencer.
"Can I kiss you?" Spencer asks.
Brendon's heart jumps around in his chest. He opens his mouth to say No or laugh it off like he thinks Spencer's joking, only Spencer isn't joking. Spencer crawls toward him and Brendon doesn't say anything at all.
Spencer's mouth is gentle. His tongue licks over Brendon's bottom lip, warm and inviting, and Brendon can't help but lean into it. He opens up, sucks Spencer's tongue into his mouth and kisses him back.
Brendon wishes he wasn't high right now. Everything feels disconnected and hazy. They trade slow, lazy kisses until Spencer finally breaks away long enough to push Brendon back onto the grass. He straddles Brendon's hips and leans down to kiss across Brendon's jaw and the little dip behind Brendon's ear. He scrapes his teeth over Brendon's throat, and moves his shirt up until there's a strip of Brendon's stomach exposed for Spencer to run his fingers over.
"Wait," Brendon pants.
Spencer sits back. His ass presses against Brendon's erection and they both hiss. Spencer's mouth is pink and shiny and obscene looking.
"Why?" Spencer asks. His brow knits together like he's genuinely confused.
"You're seventeen," Brendon says.
Spencer says, "I know what I'm doing."
Brendon doesn't know whether to cry or laugh. It's pretty obvious by the raging hard on Brendon currently has pressed up against Spencer's very hot, jean-clad ass that Spencer knows exactly what he's doing.
"I can't," Brendon says. He sits up which only brings him closer to Spencer's mouth. Spencer smirks and Brendon's eyes flick down to follow the curve of Spencer's lips. Spencer's smirk turns into a full-blown smile.
"You want me," he says.
"I've known you since you were six," Brendon says reasonably. It's only half-truth. Brendon's life is not like other people's lives.
"I'm not six anymore." Spencer makes his point by grinding down on Brendon's lap.
Brendon makes an embarrassing noise and pushes Spencer off onto the grass.
"I can't," Brendon says again. "You don't--You're too young. If it happens I don't want it to be like this."
Spencer's eyes flare triumphantly. He looks like he's already gotten what he wants. "If not now, when?" He leans in and nips lightly at Brendon's bottom lip.
Brendon puts his hands on Spencer's shoulder and pushes him an arms length back, giving himself room to think--to breathe.
"Spencer, please," Brendon says.
"I'm not a kid anymore. I know what I'm doing. I think--I've wanted this for awhile. I've wanted you."
Brendon's stomach feels heavy, nervous and scared and so full of want that Brendon doesn't know what to do with it all. Brendon wants Spencer too, but something about it still feels wrong. If this is going to happen he doesn't want Spencer to regret it. Brendon's made a lot of mistakes in his life. He lives in a world where mistakes can be fixed, can be unmade, but he doesn't think he could stand for Spencer to have a single moment of regret. At least not about Brendon.
"If I asked you to meet me somewhere, would you do it?" Brendon asks.
Spencer nods his head. "Where?"
"There's a bar called Rain inside The Palms hotel. I want you to meet me there."
Spencer shakes his head. His expression is surly again, young and so familiar that Brendon wants to pull him close and kiss him again. "I guess now I ask when."
"New Year's Eve 2008," Brendon says. "You meet me then and we'll see if this is still there."
Spencer looks like he wants to argue but all he says is, "I'll probably fall in love with someone else by then and you'll be sitting in a bar alone on New Year's Eve like a loser."
For a moment Brendon thinks maybe it was just something Spencer let slip, but Spencer is careful. Spencer doesn't ever do anything without thinking it through. This whole thing, Spencer drawing him behind the shed, bringing the weed, everything from the moment Brendon showed up on Spencer's doorstep this afternoon has been a seduction. This is something Spencer planned.
"You're not in love with me," Brendon says.
Spencer's face is so open when he looks at Brendon. For once he's not hiding behind his hair or his sarcasm or his shitty teenage attitude. "I told you I'm not a kid anymore." He leans over and kisses Brendon once, hard and biting, before he lets go and stomps off toward his house, leaving Brendon's mouth stinging and his head spinning.
May 11, 2001
Brendon's heart pounds. He doesn't usually get worked up over the things he does when he travels. He's saved lives-- and in one unfortunate incident ended one-- without breaking a sweat.
It seems so ridiculous to be nervous now, to be worked up over a mission that includes stealing a skateboard from a thirteen-year-old boy.
Spencer's house is nestled in a subdivision with rows of houses that look so similar they might as well be cookie-cutter copies of one another. The Smiths are out. Brendon knows this because Spencer told him, a different, older Spencer who makes Brendon's heart pound this hard on a daily basis. Spencer also told him the alarm code.
Spencer's room is upstairs. The walls leading up to the second floor are covered in framed family photos. Spencer's smile catches Brendon's eye. He has to stop and look, lingering over one of Spencer on his first day of school, smiling with that gap-toothed grin.
Spencer's room is a mess of clothes and sports paraphernalia. There's a baseball glove on Spencer's dresser that Brendon gave him as a birthday gift years ago, worn and tattered from use. It takes Brendon a few minutes to find Spencer's skateboard amongst the mess. It takes him another minute to reset the alarm and slip down the street, skateboard tucked securely under his arm.
There's a hole behind Ryan's house covered by a piece of rotting plywood. Spencer and Ryan dug the hole years ago as a place to store clothes and food for Brendon just in case. He puts Spencer's skateboard under a pair of slacks and a sweatshirt. His skin is starting to tingle, his body's way of telling him it's time to go. The job is done. The future is changed.
Brendon closes his eyes and jumps.
November 12, 2010
Texas feels the same in the middle of November as it does any other time of year. Brendon's sweating through his shirt. There's a press of bodies around him, girls screaming and throwing beads and panties onto the stage in front of Ryan.
Brendon throws his head back and laughs. Ryan as a sex symbol will never stop being funny.
Spencer is smashing on the drums, his hair flying around him and his head bobbing to the rhythm he's laying down. He looks fucking beautiful. Brendon wants to lick the sweat off his neck.
He makes his way to the side of the stage and nods his head at the giant the label hired to protect the band.
"Brendon," Zack says, nodding him through.
Spencer comes off stage smiling and sweaty. He shakes his hair out and douses Brendon and Ryan both.
"You are so fucking gross," Ryan says prissily. The only sweat on Ryan is the sweat Spencer just flung on him. Brendon doesn't know how he manages to go an entire show without perspiring.
"You're a freak of nature," Spencer says happily. He grabs Brendon's hand and starts dragging him toward the buses.
"No sex on the bus!" Ryan shouts after them.
"I do what I want," Spencer yells back.
What Spencer wants is to jerk Brendon off hard and fast, both of them shoved uncomfortably into Spencer's tiny bunk. Brendon's hips stutter up into Spencer's fist.
"You are so fucking hot," Spencer whispers. "Look, Bren."
Brendon looks down his body. He watches the head of his cock slide obscenely through Spencer's fist and he groans loud enough that every other person on the bus has to know exactly what they're doing.
Spencer's grin is wicked in the half-light the bunk curtain lets through. He kisses the side of Brendon's face and squeezes lightly over the head of Brendon's dick. Brendon feels Spencer's hot breath against his neck and his hot hand around his dick. It's like he's being pulled apart.
"Kiss me," he whispers, needing Spencer's mouth to keep him from going to pieces.
Spencer groans Brendon's name against his lips, kissing him hard and sloppy and with too much tongue. It's exactly what Brendon needs to push him over the edge. He comes messily across his belly, his stomach heaving with the effort of his orgasm.
Spencer licks some of Brendon's come off his knuckle and then leans in and kisses Brendon again, slow and calculated this time, like he's sharing Brendon's flavor on his tongue.
"You're so dirty," Brendon says.
Spencer says, "Blow me," and Brendon's never wanted to refuse Spencer anything if it's in his power to give it. He rearranges himself to scoot down the bunk and says, "Okay."
December 17, 2011
Brendon decorates Spencer's house while he's away on tour. Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to be here all the time, to park a car next to Spencer's in the driveway, to get mail in Spencer's mailbox with his name on it. Brendon thinks about it and wonders if Spencer does the same. He wonders if that's something Spencer might want.
Brendon's on a stepladder hanging mistletoe when Spencer gets home. Spencer looks rumpled and cranky and in need of a hot shower.
"Hey," Brendon says softly.
Spencer's eyes are hot when they focus in on him, predatory like Spencer gets sometimes. It makes Brendon's belly go liquid with want. Spencer drops his bag by the door and puts his hands on Brendon's hips. He doesn't waste time with pleasantries, just mouths at the zipper of Brendon's jeans, nosing along the seam and taking full advantage of Brendon's dick being right there at mouth level.
Brendon realizes Spencer hasn't even said hello. He grips Spencer's shoulders and lets him do what he wants. Spencer pulls him off the ladder, and Brendon slides down Spencer's body, wrapping his legs around Spencer's hips. Spencer tips his head back for Brendon's mouth and they come together like Spencer's cymbals, a crash of teeth and lips and tongues.
"Fucking missed you," Spencer says, slamming Brendon against the wall.
They're both hard already. Brendon squirms against Spencer's hips, trying for more friction. He wants Spencer's hands on him, on his back and his stomach and his dick. He wants to get all the way naked and have Spencer fuck him right here on the floor, but it's going to have to wait until later because Brendon has every intention of getting of right now-- right here against the wall.
"Touch me," Brendon says between kisses. He pulls at the hem of Spencer's shirt and Spencer lets go of Brendon's ass long enough to let Brendon pull the shirt off and toss it to the floor. Brendon's has buttons and they fumble over them together, their fingers tangling and getting in each other's way until Spencer smacks the back of his hand and says, "Jesus, fuck. Let me do it."
He rips Brendon's shirt open, the buttons click and ping as they skitter across the floor.
"I liked this shirt," Brendon says.
"I'll buy you another one," Spencer promises. He licks across Brendon's nipple, reminding Brendon that he likes Spencer more.
They rut against each other between kisses. Spencer sucks a hickey onto Brendon's neck, and Brendon smacks him lightly on the head. "Why don't you just write your name on me?" he asks.
Spencer actually groans and rotates his hips hard into Brendon's. Brendon whimpers and bites his bottom lip.
"Don't tempt me," Spencer says.
Brendon will never ever admit it, but he kind of likes it when Spencer gets like this. He likes knowing that Spencer still wants him as much as he wants Spencer. Sometimes things get so muddled in his head. He can't remember what things are real for Spencer, what things happened or unhappened. Spencer wanting him always feels real.
"I love you," Brendon says. His heart hurts with the truth of the words. Spencer says Brendon's name once and comes in his pants, shaking against Brendon, collapsing against his body so that he's pinned between Spencer and the wall.
His own cock is aching, full and hard and begging for some kind of release, but he strokes Spencer's back and combs Spencer's hair with his fingers, thumbing over the soft skin behind his ear.
Spencer recovers quickly. He steps back and lets Brendon slide down the wall. He leads them upstairs to the bathroom and strips them both naked. Brendon turns the water on as hot as they can stand it and they soap each other up with little bottles of shampoo from all the hotels Spencer's ever stayed in.
When they're clean Spencer gets on his knees and sucks Brendon off. Spencer's mouth is warm and tight and Brendon comes with the smell of coconut shampoo all around him.
Later, Spencer fucks him and it's good. Brendon comes first this time, but just barely. They make a mess of the sheets, and Brendon doesn't even know why he bothered to change them in the first place.
Spencer naked still takes Brendon's breath away, like he can't quite believe he gets to have this. He makes shapes with his pointer finger on Spencer's back, triangles and squiggly lines and maybe a few hearts that he will absolutely deny if Spencer calls him on it.
"I want you to come for Christmas at my parents' this year," Spencer says.
Brendon tries to keep his breathing normal. This is what he was thinking about today. Having a life with Spencer, meeting his parents and starting traditions. Being normal.
"I might not be here," Brendon says softly.
He can ignore his body when it tells him to jump. He has free will. He doesn't have to go, but the idea that someone is maybe suffering because he didn't is something that Brendon can't stand.
Spencer is quiet for so long that Brendon wonders if he's gone to sleep. "Tell me what you did today," he finally says.
"I saved a boy from drowning this morning. He's going to be a teacher. He'll get married and have two daughters. Who knows what they'll do or be, something great. Something special. I decorated the Christmas tree. I had sex with my boyfriend."
"You had phenomenal sex with your boyfriend," Spencer corrects.
"Yes." Brendon kisses Spencer's shoulder.
"Busy day," Spencer murmurs.
They're quiet again. Brendon's almost asleep when Spencer asks, "Have you--You've never changed anything for me, have you?"
Brendon's blood beats loud in his ears. He's surprised Spencer can't hear it pounding through his veins. "My entire existence in this bed is something that shouldn't exist in your life," Brendon says.
Spencer turns over and looks at him. His eyes have always had a way of seeing right through Brendon. Spencer sees things Brendon doesn't even know about himself.
"What did you do?" Spencer asks.
Brendon watches him tense and draw back, like he's already bracing himself for the betrayal he knows is coming. Brendon shakes his head and sits up.
Spencer says, "Brendon," angry and hard. "What the fuck did you do?"
"I--" Brendon takes a deep breath and starts again. "When you were thirteen you fell off your skateboard. Your elbow was shredded and you couldn't--You had to stop playing."
"What did you do?" Spencer snaps.
Brendon feels trapped. He gets off the bed and shouts, "I broke into your house. I stole your skateboard and hid it and told Ryan to give it back to you the next day, after the accident should have happened."
"You told Ryan!" Spencer gets off the bed now too.
"You weren't going to be able to play anymore, Spencer. I had the power to fix it. I fucking fixed it!"
"You're not God," Spencer says. He's not yelling anymore. He's so quiet, so cold that it makes Brendon's skin crawl with gooseflesh. "I'm not one of your fucking missions."
"I saved you," Brendon says. "That's what I do. I save people."
"Not me," Spencer says. "I've never--I don't care about that. That's not why--"
Brendon feels like crying. He feels like breathing might be too much effort. "What?" Spencer won't look at him and it's breaking Brendon's heart.
"That was never why I loved you," Spencer says.
Brendon's heart does break then, smashed under the past tense, crushed under the heel of their different pasts. "Spencer--"
"I think you should go," Spencer says. "I'm sure someone, somewhere needs you. Brendon to the rescue."
Brendon shakes his head, but Spencer's already throwing clothes at him. Brendon laughs, bitter and hurt. His skin tingles, but he waits the few seconds it takes to drag on his jeans. Every part of Brendon aches as he jumps.
December 25, 2064
Through the window Brendon sees a fire burning. The Christmas tree is lit, its white lights twinkling off the glass. Brendon knocks on the door with a shaking fist and waits.
Spencer answers the door. His hair is white, his face set deep with wrinkles. His eyes are still as blue as the day they met. Every time Brendon sees Spencer it feels like that first time, startling and new even if Brendon knows he would recognize Spencer in any time.
Spencer inhales a sharp breath. His fingers grip the doorframe, vice-like, until his knuckles turn red. Brendon doesn't know what to say. He reaches out and touches Spencer's hand, his fingers ghosting over Spencer's fingers.
Spencer says, "You're a little late."
His voice is soft. Brendon isn't expecting it. He imagined angry words. He knows he deserves them anyway.
"I wasn't sure," Brendon says. He keeps his voice soft too, as if a loud noise might break whatever fragile connection they're making here on Spencer's porch. "You were so angry, and I--"
Spencer shakes his head. He says, "I waited for you. I waited and you didn't come."
Brendon thought this would be better. He thought Spencer might have a normal life, someone to share all the moments with instead of stealing small ones that weren't meant for either of them. It's Christmas and Spencer's all alone.
"I'm sorry," Brendon says.
Brendon can't imagine what it's been like for Spencer. For Brendon it's been a week and it almost killed him. Brendon's spent seven agonizing days trying to figure out what to do and Spencer-- this Spencer-- hasn't seen him in over fifty years.
"I've been waiting," Spencer says. "I'm still waiting."
Spencer's voice cracks, and Brendon can't stand it any longer. He moves closer, cupping the side of Spencer's face. Spencer shakes his head slightly. He sighs, and Brendon can feel Spencer's breath against his neck.
"You're still so beautiful. It's not fair that you're so beautiful when I look like this," Spencer whispers.
Brendon feels like crying. He feels like kissing Spencer, like going back and changing everything, but that's what got him into this mess in the first place.
"You're still beautiful too," Brendon says.
"Why didn't you come back?" Spencer says, his voice finally breaking as the tears start sliding down his cheeks. "I missed you so fucking much."
Brendon says, "I didn't think you would forgive me. I--I wasn't sure you wanted me to come back."
Spencer smiles through the tears, huffing a breath in disbelief. "When has that ever stopped you?"
Brendon's hand is still cupping Spencer's cheek. Spencer turns his head slightly and kisses Brendon's wrist. It's like lightning on Brendon's skin.
"Go say you’re sorry," Spencer says. "Apologize to me when it might make a difference."
Brendon says, "You were so angry."
Spencer laughs then, and that's just like the Spencer Brendon remembers. It's loud and rough and so full of amusement that Brendon feels this wave of love so big he's sure he'll drown in it.
"Well," Spencer says. "I suggest you make it a really good apology."
December 25, 2011
Spencer's parents still live on the same street in the same house Spencer grew up in. Brendon knows Spencer tried to buy them a new one when the band got famous, but they waved him off, let him put his sisters through college instead. There's no doubt in Brendon's mind that he would have done that anyway.
It's colder than usual in Vegas. Brendon's fingers are frozen and his breath hurts on the inhale and mists on the exhale. He knocks on the door.
One of Spencer's sisters answers, the one with brown hair the color of really good whiskey. "I'm looking for Spencer," he says.
Her eyes sharpen and she gives him a look Brendon can't understand. Spencer's close with his sisters, but he doesn't know how much they know, how much Spencer's told them. "I'll get him," she says. She doesn't invite him in. She closes the door.
Spencer comes out on the porch. He looks like he hasn't slept for a week. Brendon wants to touch him, but he doesn't know if he has the right anymore.
"I should have told you," Brendon says.
Spencer shakes his head and says, "You should never have done it."
"That's bullshit," Brendon says. "I'm in love with you. There's nothing I wouldn't do to make you happy. You're punishing me for something I did because I shouldn't be able to do it. But I can do it. I can. And I'm not sorry for letting you have your dream. You would have been miserable if you couldn't play."
Spencer looks mutinous. He looks like he wants to go back inside and slam the door in Brendon's face. He says, "You know how when people fuck up they say shit like 'If I could go back and do it differently I would.' Well, you can. And that's--I need to know that this is real. How can I trust that every single thing between us isn't a lie if I can't trust that you won't do that? Not to me."
All the blood drains out of Brendon's face. He wants to say, never but that's already a lie. Spencer isn't asking him anything he hasn't asked himself before. How much of what Spencer feels for him is real?
"Fifty-three years from now you'll own a house on the coast of California. You'll spend Christmas alone. At 8:53 P.M. I'll knock on your door. You'll tell me I'm beautiful and you'll cry. Only that's not going to happen now because I'm here and I'm telling you I'll never do anything like that again. I can't promise I won't for other people. I can't--this is who I am, but not with us. I can be right here for us."
Spencer looks at him like he's trying to figure him out. It's like he's six years old again and Brendon just told him he's a time-traveler.
"You get to decide," Brendon says. "You get to choose."
Brendon doesn't know what he'll do if Spencer sends him away. He doesn't have anywhere to go. There's no home without Spencer.
Spencer takes a step toward him and puts his fingers on the side of Brendon's neck. They're cold, but Brendon leans into the touch anyway. "I trust you," Spencer says.
Brendon lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and tips his face up for Spencer's kiss. Spencer shivers against Brendon, and he doesn't know if it's the wind chill or the kiss, but it hardly matters.
"Cold?" he asks.
"Mmm," Spencer says, kissing across Brendon's chin. "I'll let you make me hot chocolate when we get inside. Come on. Come meet my family."
Pairing(s): Brendon/Spencer
Rating: R
Warnings: Possible warnings for age dynamics. This is time travel fic, and as such one character is much older than the other in certain sections. Nothing happens between them until they are both over the age of consent.
Word count: 6,200
Summary: Brendon travels through time helping people. He meets Spencer.
Notes: This fic was written for ohohstarryeyed as part of the bandomstuffsit holiday fic exchange. If you haven't been over there I suggest you go check it out! There are a lot of great stories to read. Many many many thanks to cheapcrowd who betaed this and held my hand (metaphorically) and cheered me on because she's just that awesome.
December 31, 2008
Brendon orders a glass of champagne and watches the bubbles slide up the side of the glass. He doesn't have anywhere to be and Vegas is always a good time, especially on New Year's when everyone is ready to celebrate.
There's a guy at the end of the bar Brendon's thinking about hitting on. The guy's been nursing the same beer for the past half hour and sending looks Brendon's way. He's hot, shiny brown hair and blue eyes and a beard that Brendon imagines would feel pretty good moving across his skin.
Brendon drags his eyes away from his champagne glass to look at the guy again, only he's no longer sitting on his stool. Brendon scans the general area around the stool and doesn't see him. He feels disappointment settle in his stomach.
"You planning on drinking that?"
Brendon startles and his hand moves on the stem of his champagne glass. Some of it sloshes over the edge, wetting Brendon's hand. He looks up and comes face to face with the guy.
Brendon smiles and licks the champagne off his wrist. The guys' eyes follow the movement of Brendon's tongue.
"Thinking about it," Brendon says.
The guy is still looking at Brendon's wrist. "Is that how you normally drink champagne?" he asks. His eyes finally refocus on Brendon's face.
Brendon wishes he was the kind of guy who could say things like, "I'd rather drink it off your skin than mine." He's not. He thinks he would probably sound phenomenally stupid even trying, but he is direct enough to just ask for what he wants.
"I was watching you," Brendon says.
The guy smiles. He says, "I noticed. I was watching back."
He has a really pretty smile.
"What's your name?" Brendon asks.
"Spencer."
Brendon holds out his hand and says, "I'm Brendon." He's expecting Spencer to shake his hand, but he wraps his fingers loosely around Brendon's wrist instead.
"You want to get out of here, Brendon?" he asks.
August 2, 1994
It always takes a few minutes for Brendon to get his bearings after a jump. Moving through time and reappearing in a strange place isn't something that the body recovers from right away, especially when a towel is all he currently has wrapped around his body. He tries to remember what the hell he was doing before he jumped. He was in Vegas, he picked up a guy at the club, the Palms hotel, the sex. Brendon was planning on having a lot more sex with that guy. The last thing he remembers is getting out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist. He's more than a little disappointed that the guy will probably think he slipped out in the middle of the night-- without any of his clothes.
The next thing Brendon notices after his partial nudity is that it's hot. Brendon's skin starts to burn almost immediately. The grass under his feet is patchy and warm. There is a long fence in front of him, multiple fences actually, and Brendon finally realizes he's looking at the back of a row of houses. He figures this must be some kind of greenbelt behind a subdivision, only everything here is brown.
Brendon hears the children before he sees them, loud voices meant exactly for this, summer days outdoors.
"It went over the fence, Spencer," the first boy says as he flings open the gate on his backyard fence and bounds out onto the greenbelt.
There's nowhere for Brendon to hide, so he doesn't bother.
"Whoa," the kid says. He's all big eyes and sharp bones. Brendon thinks of the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz.
The other boy is at the gate now too, peering over the first boy's shoulder. He's softer. His eyes are blue, a shocking spot of color in a round face. He's pudgy with baby fat, sweet-faced and calm even when confronted by a half-naked stranger standing in his backyard.
"I seem to have lost my clothes," Brendon says.
"How'd you do that?" The skinny one asks.
The cool thing about kids is that there is usually a level of trust in them that makes even the unbelievable sound believable. There is a fat man in a red suit who delivers presents made by elves in a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer to every child in the world in one night. There is a rabbit that hides eggs in the yard and a fairy who sneaks into the rooms of children everywhere and pays to steal their teeth. And there's Brendon.
"I'm a time-traveler," Brendon says.
The first boy narrows his eyes and asks, "Don't they have clothes where you're from?"
Brendon shrugs. He says, "I just got out of the shower."
"And you couldn't get dressed before you got in your machine?"
Brendon has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing when the other boys says, "I don't think he has a machine. I don't see it anyway."
The first boy looks around and frowns, his expression turning a little mean, as if he's angry with the other boy for noticing something he didn't.
The other boy touches the first boy's shoulder soothingly. He says, "Ryan, go get him some of your dad's stuff."
Ryan says, "What are you gonna do?"
The second boy whispers, "Make sure he don't travel away." His big blue eyes stare Brendon down. He doesn't look afraid or even wary like the other boy. He looks curious, and Brendon thinks that maybe he misjudged him. Maybe underneath all that cool-calm is a spirit Brendon recognizes in himself.
Ryan finally nods and runs for his house. The other boy takes a step away from the gate out onto the greenbelt.
"What's your name?" Brendon asks. There's a buzzing at the back of Brendon's brain as he tries to figure out what it is he's supposed to be doing here.
The boy doesn't answer. He looks at Brendon like he's sizing him up, judging him. "Are you really a time-traveler?" he asks.
"Yes."
"Why'd you come here?"
"Where is here?" Brendon asks.
The first time Brendon jumps it's a pull to an unknown place, a tingling in his skin that he has a hard time ignoring. Once Brendon's been somewhere he can make controlled jumps. He can choose to revisit places over and over and over in any time period he wants to. He can come back here in a thousand years if it still exists, stand on this very spot and think about the first time he was here with this small boy with the questioning eyes. He can go back a hundred years in time and think about what will be, how everything that happens next will lead to this moment.
But now, in this time, he has no idea why he's here. The first jump is always into the unknown. His body takes him where he needs to go and his mind has to figure out the rest. Something here, maybe the boy right in front of him, needs his attention. Brendon just has to figure out what he's supposed to do.
"Summerlin," the boy says. "Are you going to save someone?"
Brendon's eyes widen a little. He looks at the little boy’s eyes and thinks no fucking way. Summerlin is a suburb of Las Vegas.
"What's your name?" Brendon asks again.
The boy considers him for a minute and then says, "I'm Spencer. I'm six."
Brendon can't help but smile at him. He realizes this is all kinds of fucked up, but the kid is kind of adorable. He tries not to think about what he's going to look in fifteen years. He says, "I'm Brendon and I haven't been six in a long time."
Spencer smiles back. He's missing one of his front teeth, and it reminds Brendon of his nephews back home.
"You can be our friend," Spencer says matter of fact, like this whole conversation has been a test and Brendon has apparently passed.
Ryan comes flying out of the yard with a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. He shoves them at Spencer who walks right up and hands them to Brendon-- no fear.
"This is Brendon," Spencer says, turning back to look at Ryan. "I told him he could be our friend."
Ryan gives Spencer a long look before he nods and says, "Okay, but he has to wear pants."
September 2, 1995
Brendon cheats, never enough that he feels too guilty about it, but he needs money sometimes and when he does he'll play the lottery. He picks up a few hundred bucks here, maybe a thousand if he needs to purchase something bigger. He figures it's better than stealing it out right.
He has no idea what an eight and nine year old from 1995 might want for their birthdays, but he picks something out anyway, wraps it carefully and goes to the greenbelt to wait for Spencer and Ryan.
Ryan shakes his present and says, "Did you bring us something from the future?"
Brendon laughs and says, "You know I can't do that. It would be wrong."
Ryan looks disappointed, but he nods his head like he understands. Spencer is still standing cautiously behind Ryan. Brendon holds out the present and Spencer finally comes forward to take it.
"Thank you," he says.
Brendon says, "Happy Birthday."
"I'm eight," Spencer says helpfully.
Brendon crouches down and says, "I know."
He hopes Spencer likes his gift. Spencer and Ryan love to be outdoors. They're always running the neighborhood, sweaty and mischievous, and so much like Brendon with his sister when they were young. He thinks about Spencer getting older, Ryan too. He didn't really get a chance to talk to Spencer the first time they met. He has no idea what kind of person Spencer is going to be in the future. He wonders what kinds of music they'll listen to and what kinds of books they'll read.
Brendon stops musing about future Spencer when current Spencer leans forward and quickly kisses Brendon's cheek. When he pulls back he's flushed red and he won't look Brendon in the eye.
Brendon chokes on a laugh, completely taken off guard but he manages to ask, "What was that for?"
Spencer says, "I'm going to marry you someday." He slaps his hand over his mouth, his little eyes going wide and then he turns and runs, his birthday present held tightly under one arm.
Ryan rolls his eyes and says, "I better go after him." He looks over his shoulder in the direction Spencer ran away and then back at Brendon. "I tried to tell him boys can't marry boys, but he won't listen."
Brendon rubs his cheek where Spencer kissed him and says, "That won't always be true. He'll find somebody."
Ryan's shoulders hitch defensively and he says, "I guess."
Brendon doesn't think Ryan likes Spencer like that. He understands the possessiveness of friendship. Brendon hasn't looked too far into their futures, but he wouldn't be surprised if the two of them stayed lifelong friends.
"Happy Birthday to you too, Ryan," Brendon says.
Ryan's shoulders relax and he smiles, lopsided and a little shy. He asks, "See you soon?" And when Brendon nods he turns away, heading off after Spencer.
June 2, 2004
Spencer's grown several inches since Brendon saw him last. He's taller than Brendon now with dark, silky hair that falls in front of his eyes. He's moody and surly and he drives his mother crazy. He still smiles at Brendon like he did when he was six years old, only now it make Brendon's heart thump thump thump in a way that makes Brendon feel guilty.
Ryan graduated in May and ran off to California to be in a band. Brendon remembers when they were so attached that they were practically conjoined.
"You miss Ryan?" Brendon asks.
They're sitting in Spencer's backyard, hiding behind a little shed Spencer's mom uses for her gardening supplies. Spencer shrugs and takes another drag off the joint he's smoking.
Brendon sighs and holds out his hand. Spencer smirks when he hands it over, watching Brendon carefully as he takes a hit. They get baked like that, passing the joint back and forth slowly. Brendon's head feels fuzzy. It's been so long since he's smoked that he's forgotten what it feels like to be high.
"We were gonna be the band once," Spencer says. "Me and Ryan."
Brendon remembers Spencer telling him about a drum kit he got for Christmas. Ryan plays the guitar. Sometimes he would sing in this sweet, wobbly, voice.
"Mmm," Brendon says. "Why didn't you?"
Spencer shrugs again and touches his elbow. It's a mess of scars. "Skateboarding accident when I was thirteen. I don't have very good range of motion anymore. Guess I'll have to get a real job."
Brendon thinks about the first time he met Spencer. He kissed across those scars. He'd asked Spencer about them and Spencer had clammed up, flipped them over, and kissed away the rest of Brendon's questions. Brendon shakes off the memory and looks up. Spencer is staring at him again only Brendon's never seen this look before. Not from this Spencer.
"Can I kiss you?" Spencer asks.
Brendon's heart jumps around in his chest. He opens his mouth to say No or laugh it off like he thinks Spencer's joking, only Spencer isn't joking. Spencer crawls toward him and Brendon doesn't say anything at all.
Spencer's mouth is gentle. His tongue licks over Brendon's bottom lip, warm and inviting, and Brendon can't help but lean into it. He opens up, sucks Spencer's tongue into his mouth and kisses him back.
Brendon wishes he wasn't high right now. Everything feels disconnected and hazy. They trade slow, lazy kisses until Spencer finally breaks away long enough to push Brendon back onto the grass. He straddles Brendon's hips and leans down to kiss across Brendon's jaw and the little dip behind Brendon's ear. He scrapes his teeth over Brendon's throat, and moves his shirt up until there's a strip of Brendon's stomach exposed for Spencer to run his fingers over.
"Wait," Brendon pants.
Spencer sits back. His ass presses against Brendon's erection and they both hiss. Spencer's mouth is pink and shiny and obscene looking.
"Why?" Spencer asks. His brow knits together like he's genuinely confused.
"You're seventeen," Brendon says.
Spencer says, "I know what I'm doing."
Brendon doesn't know whether to cry or laugh. It's pretty obvious by the raging hard on Brendon currently has pressed up against Spencer's very hot, jean-clad ass that Spencer knows exactly what he's doing.
"I can't," Brendon says. He sits up which only brings him closer to Spencer's mouth. Spencer smirks and Brendon's eyes flick down to follow the curve of Spencer's lips. Spencer's smirk turns into a full-blown smile.
"You want me," he says.
"I've known you since you were six," Brendon says reasonably. It's only half-truth. Brendon's life is not like other people's lives.
"I'm not six anymore." Spencer makes his point by grinding down on Brendon's lap.
Brendon makes an embarrassing noise and pushes Spencer off onto the grass.
"I can't," Brendon says again. "You don't--You're too young. If it happens I don't want it to be like this."
Spencer's eyes flare triumphantly. He looks like he's already gotten what he wants. "If not now, when?" He leans in and nips lightly at Brendon's bottom lip.
Brendon puts his hands on Spencer's shoulder and pushes him an arms length back, giving himself room to think--to breathe.
"Spencer, please," Brendon says.
"I'm not a kid anymore. I know what I'm doing. I think--I've wanted this for awhile. I've wanted you."
Brendon's stomach feels heavy, nervous and scared and so full of want that Brendon doesn't know what to do with it all. Brendon wants Spencer too, but something about it still feels wrong. If this is going to happen he doesn't want Spencer to regret it. Brendon's made a lot of mistakes in his life. He lives in a world where mistakes can be fixed, can be unmade, but he doesn't think he could stand for Spencer to have a single moment of regret. At least not about Brendon.
"If I asked you to meet me somewhere, would you do it?" Brendon asks.
Spencer nods his head. "Where?"
"There's a bar called Rain inside The Palms hotel. I want you to meet me there."
Spencer shakes his head. His expression is surly again, young and so familiar that Brendon wants to pull him close and kiss him again. "I guess now I ask when."
"New Year's Eve 2008," Brendon says. "You meet me then and we'll see if this is still there."
Spencer looks like he wants to argue but all he says is, "I'll probably fall in love with someone else by then and you'll be sitting in a bar alone on New Year's Eve like a loser."
For a moment Brendon thinks maybe it was just something Spencer let slip, but Spencer is careful. Spencer doesn't ever do anything without thinking it through. This whole thing, Spencer drawing him behind the shed, bringing the weed, everything from the moment Brendon showed up on Spencer's doorstep this afternoon has been a seduction. This is something Spencer planned.
"You're not in love with me," Brendon says.
Spencer's face is so open when he looks at Brendon. For once he's not hiding behind his hair or his sarcasm or his shitty teenage attitude. "I told you I'm not a kid anymore." He leans over and kisses Brendon once, hard and biting, before he lets go and stomps off toward his house, leaving Brendon's mouth stinging and his head spinning.
May 11, 2001
Brendon's heart pounds. He doesn't usually get worked up over the things he does when he travels. He's saved lives-- and in one unfortunate incident ended one-- without breaking a sweat.
It seems so ridiculous to be nervous now, to be worked up over a mission that includes stealing a skateboard from a thirteen-year-old boy.
Spencer's house is nestled in a subdivision with rows of houses that look so similar they might as well be cookie-cutter copies of one another. The Smiths are out. Brendon knows this because Spencer told him, a different, older Spencer who makes Brendon's heart pound this hard on a daily basis. Spencer also told him the alarm code.
Spencer's room is upstairs. The walls leading up to the second floor are covered in framed family photos. Spencer's smile catches Brendon's eye. He has to stop and look, lingering over one of Spencer on his first day of school, smiling with that gap-toothed grin.
Spencer's room is a mess of clothes and sports paraphernalia. There's a baseball glove on Spencer's dresser that Brendon gave him as a birthday gift years ago, worn and tattered from use. It takes Brendon a few minutes to find Spencer's skateboard amongst the mess. It takes him another minute to reset the alarm and slip down the street, skateboard tucked securely under his arm.
There's a hole behind Ryan's house covered by a piece of rotting plywood. Spencer and Ryan dug the hole years ago as a place to store clothes and food for Brendon just in case. He puts Spencer's skateboard under a pair of slacks and a sweatshirt. His skin is starting to tingle, his body's way of telling him it's time to go. The job is done. The future is changed.
Brendon closes his eyes and jumps.
November 12, 2010
Texas feels the same in the middle of November as it does any other time of year. Brendon's sweating through his shirt. There's a press of bodies around him, girls screaming and throwing beads and panties onto the stage in front of Ryan.
Brendon throws his head back and laughs. Ryan as a sex symbol will never stop being funny.
Spencer is smashing on the drums, his hair flying around him and his head bobbing to the rhythm he's laying down. He looks fucking beautiful. Brendon wants to lick the sweat off his neck.
He makes his way to the side of the stage and nods his head at the giant the label hired to protect the band.
"Brendon," Zack says, nodding him through.
Spencer comes off stage smiling and sweaty. He shakes his hair out and douses Brendon and Ryan both.
"You are so fucking gross," Ryan says prissily. The only sweat on Ryan is the sweat Spencer just flung on him. Brendon doesn't know how he manages to go an entire show without perspiring.
"You're a freak of nature," Spencer says happily. He grabs Brendon's hand and starts dragging him toward the buses.
"No sex on the bus!" Ryan shouts after them.
"I do what I want," Spencer yells back.
What Spencer wants is to jerk Brendon off hard and fast, both of them shoved uncomfortably into Spencer's tiny bunk. Brendon's hips stutter up into Spencer's fist.
"You are so fucking hot," Spencer whispers. "Look, Bren."
Brendon looks down his body. He watches the head of his cock slide obscenely through Spencer's fist and he groans loud enough that every other person on the bus has to know exactly what they're doing.
Spencer's grin is wicked in the half-light the bunk curtain lets through. He kisses the side of Brendon's face and squeezes lightly over the head of Brendon's dick. Brendon feels Spencer's hot breath against his neck and his hot hand around his dick. It's like he's being pulled apart.
"Kiss me," he whispers, needing Spencer's mouth to keep him from going to pieces.
Spencer groans Brendon's name against his lips, kissing him hard and sloppy and with too much tongue. It's exactly what Brendon needs to push him over the edge. He comes messily across his belly, his stomach heaving with the effort of his orgasm.
Spencer licks some of Brendon's come off his knuckle and then leans in and kisses Brendon again, slow and calculated this time, like he's sharing Brendon's flavor on his tongue.
"You're so dirty," Brendon says.
Spencer says, "Blow me," and Brendon's never wanted to refuse Spencer anything if it's in his power to give it. He rearranges himself to scoot down the bunk and says, "Okay."
December 17, 2011
Brendon decorates Spencer's house while he's away on tour. Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to be here all the time, to park a car next to Spencer's in the driveway, to get mail in Spencer's mailbox with his name on it. Brendon thinks about it and wonders if Spencer does the same. He wonders if that's something Spencer might want.
Brendon's on a stepladder hanging mistletoe when Spencer gets home. Spencer looks rumpled and cranky and in need of a hot shower.
"Hey," Brendon says softly.
Spencer's eyes are hot when they focus in on him, predatory like Spencer gets sometimes. It makes Brendon's belly go liquid with want. Spencer drops his bag by the door and puts his hands on Brendon's hips. He doesn't waste time with pleasantries, just mouths at the zipper of Brendon's jeans, nosing along the seam and taking full advantage of Brendon's dick being right there at mouth level.
Brendon realizes Spencer hasn't even said hello. He grips Spencer's shoulders and lets him do what he wants. Spencer pulls him off the ladder, and Brendon slides down Spencer's body, wrapping his legs around Spencer's hips. Spencer tips his head back for Brendon's mouth and they come together like Spencer's cymbals, a crash of teeth and lips and tongues.
"Fucking missed you," Spencer says, slamming Brendon against the wall.
They're both hard already. Brendon squirms against Spencer's hips, trying for more friction. He wants Spencer's hands on him, on his back and his stomach and his dick. He wants to get all the way naked and have Spencer fuck him right here on the floor, but it's going to have to wait until later because Brendon has every intention of getting of right now-- right here against the wall.
"Touch me," Brendon says between kisses. He pulls at the hem of Spencer's shirt and Spencer lets go of Brendon's ass long enough to let Brendon pull the shirt off and toss it to the floor. Brendon's has buttons and they fumble over them together, their fingers tangling and getting in each other's way until Spencer smacks the back of his hand and says, "Jesus, fuck. Let me do it."
He rips Brendon's shirt open, the buttons click and ping as they skitter across the floor.
"I liked this shirt," Brendon says.
"I'll buy you another one," Spencer promises. He licks across Brendon's nipple, reminding Brendon that he likes Spencer more.
They rut against each other between kisses. Spencer sucks a hickey onto Brendon's neck, and Brendon smacks him lightly on the head. "Why don't you just write your name on me?" he asks.
Spencer actually groans and rotates his hips hard into Brendon's. Brendon whimpers and bites his bottom lip.
"Don't tempt me," Spencer says.
Brendon will never ever admit it, but he kind of likes it when Spencer gets like this. He likes knowing that Spencer still wants him as much as he wants Spencer. Sometimes things get so muddled in his head. He can't remember what things are real for Spencer, what things happened or unhappened. Spencer wanting him always feels real.
"I love you," Brendon says. His heart hurts with the truth of the words. Spencer says Brendon's name once and comes in his pants, shaking against Brendon, collapsing against his body so that he's pinned between Spencer and the wall.
His own cock is aching, full and hard and begging for some kind of release, but he strokes Spencer's back and combs Spencer's hair with his fingers, thumbing over the soft skin behind his ear.
Spencer recovers quickly. He steps back and lets Brendon slide down the wall. He leads them upstairs to the bathroom and strips them both naked. Brendon turns the water on as hot as they can stand it and they soap each other up with little bottles of shampoo from all the hotels Spencer's ever stayed in.
When they're clean Spencer gets on his knees and sucks Brendon off. Spencer's mouth is warm and tight and Brendon comes with the smell of coconut shampoo all around him.
Later, Spencer fucks him and it's good. Brendon comes first this time, but just barely. They make a mess of the sheets, and Brendon doesn't even know why he bothered to change them in the first place.
Spencer naked still takes Brendon's breath away, like he can't quite believe he gets to have this. He makes shapes with his pointer finger on Spencer's back, triangles and squiggly lines and maybe a few hearts that he will absolutely deny if Spencer calls him on it.
"I want you to come for Christmas at my parents' this year," Spencer says.
Brendon tries to keep his breathing normal. This is what he was thinking about today. Having a life with Spencer, meeting his parents and starting traditions. Being normal.
"I might not be here," Brendon says softly.
He can ignore his body when it tells him to jump. He has free will. He doesn't have to go, but the idea that someone is maybe suffering because he didn't is something that Brendon can't stand.
Spencer is quiet for so long that Brendon wonders if he's gone to sleep. "Tell me what you did today," he finally says.
"I saved a boy from drowning this morning. He's going to be a teacher. He'll get married and have two daughters. Who knows what they'll do or be, something great. Something special. I decorated the Christmas tree. I had sex with my boyfriend."
"You had phenomenal sex with your boyfriend," Spencer corrects.
"Yes." Brendon kisses Spencer's shoulder.
"Busy day," Spencer murmurs.
They're quiet again. Brendon's almost asleep when Spencer asks, "Have you--You've never changed anything for me, have you?"
Brendon's blood beats loud in his ears. He's surprised Spencer can't hear it pounding through his veins. "My entire existence in this bed is something that shouldn't exist in your life," Brendon says.
Spencer turns over and looks at him. His eyes have always had a way of seeing right through Brendon. Spencer sees things Brendon doesn't even know about himself.
"What did you do?" Spencer asks.
Brendon watches him tense and draw back, like he's already bracing himself for the betrayal he knows is coming. Brendon shakes his head and sits up.
Spencer says, "Brendon," angry and hard. "What the fuck did you do?"
"I--" Brendon takes a deep breath and starts again. "When you were thirteen you fell off your skateboard. Your elbow was shredded and you couldn't--You had to stop playing."
"What did you do?" Spencer snaps.
Brendon feels trapped. He gets off the bed and shouts, "I broke into your house. I stole your skateboard and hid it and told Ryan to give it back to you the next day, after the accident should have happened."
"You told Ryan!" Spencer gets off the bed now too.
"You weren't going to be able to play anymore, Spencer. I had the power to fix it. I fucking fixed it!"
"You're not God," Spencer says. He's not yelling anymore. He's so quiet, so cold that it makes Brendon's skin crawl with gooseflesh. "I'm not one of your fucking missions."
"I saved you," Brendon says. "That's what I do. I save people."
"Not me," Spencer says. "I've never--I don't care about that. That's not why--"
Brendon feels like crying. He feels like breathing might be too much effort. "What?" Spencer won't look at him and it's breaking Brendon's heart.
"That was never why I loved you," Spencer says.
Brendon's heart does break then, smashed under the past tense, crushed under the heel of their different pasts. "Spencer--"
"I think you should go," Spencer says. "I'm sure someone, somewhere needs you. Brendon to the rescue."
Brendon shakes his head, but Spencer's already throwing clothes at him. Brendon laughs, bitter and hurt. His skin tingles, but he waits the few seconds it takes to drag on his jeans. Every part of Brendon aches as he jumps.
December 25, 2064
Through the window Brendon sees a fire burning. The Christmas tree is lit, its white lights twinkling off the glass. Brendon knocks on the door with a shaking fist and waits.
Spencer answers the door. His hair is white, his face set deep with wrinkles. His eyes are still as blue as the day they met. Every time Brendon sees Spencer it feels like that first time, startling and new even if Brendon knows he would recognize Spencer in any time.
Spencer inhales a sharp breath. His fingers grip the doorframe, vice-like, until his knuckles turn red. Brendon doesn't know what to say. He reaches out and touches Spencer's hand, his fingers ghosting over Spencer's fingers.
Spencer says, "You're a little late."
His voice is soft. Brendon isn't expecting it. He imagined angry words. He knows he deserves them anyway.
"I wasn't sure," Brendon says. He keeps his voice soft too, as if a loud noise might break whatever fragile connection they're making here on Spencer's porch. "You were so angry, and I--"
Spencer shakes his head. He says, "I waited for you. I waited and you didn't come."
Brendon thought this would be better. He thought Spencer might have a normal life, someone to share all the moments with instead of stealing small ones that weren't meant for either of them. It's Christmas and Spencer's all alone.
"I'm sorry," Brendon says.
Brendon can't imagine what it's been like for Spencer. For Brendon it's been a week and it almost killed him. Brendon's spent seven agonizing days trying to figure out what to do and Spencer-- this Spencer-- hasn't seen him in over fifty years.
"I've been waiting," Spencer says. "I'm still waiting."
Spencer's voice cracks, and Brendon can't stand it any longer. He moves closer, cupping the side of Spencer's face. Spencer shakes his head slightly. He sighs, and Brendon can feel Spencer's breath against his neck.
"You're still so beautiful. It's not fair that you're so beautiful when I look like this," Spencer whispers.
Brendon feels like crying. He feels like kissing Spencer, like going back and changing everything, but that's what got him into this mess in the first place.
"You're still beautiful too," Brendon says.
"Why didn't you come back?" Spencer says, his voice finally breaking as the tears start sliding down his cheeks. "I missed you so fucking much."
Brendon says, "I didn't think you would forgive me. I--I wasn't sure you wanted me to come back."
Spencer smiles through the tears, huffing a breath in disbelief. "When has that ever stopped you?"
Brendon's hand is still cupping Spencer's cheek. Spencer turns his head slightly and kisses Brendon's wrist. It's like lightning on Brendon's skin.
"Go say you’re sorry," Spencer says. "Apologize to me when it might make a difference."
Brendon says, "You were so angry."
Spencer laughs then, and that's just like the Spencer Brendon remembers. It's loud and rough and so full of amusement that Brendon feels this wave of love so big he's sure he'll drown in it.
"Well," Spencer says. "I suggest you make it a really good apology."
December 25, 2011
Spencer's parents still live on the same street in the same house Spencer grew up in. Brendon knows Spencer tried to buy them a new one when the band got famous, but they waved him off, let him put his sisters through college instead. There's no doubt in Brendon's mind that he would have done that anyway.
It's colder than usual in Vegas. Brendon's fingers are frozen and his breath hurts on the inhale and mists on the exhale. He knocks on the door.
One of Spencer's sisters answers, the one with brown hair the color of really good whiskey. "I'm looking for Spencer," he says.
Her eyes sharpen and she gives him a look Brendon can't understand. Spencer's close with his sisters, but he doesn't know how much they know, how much Spencer's told them. "I'll get him," she says. She doesn't invite him in. She closes the door.
Spencer comes out on the porch. He looks like he hasn't slept for a week. Brendon wants to touch him, but he doesn't know if he has the right anymore.
"I should have told you," Brendon says.
Spencer shakes his head and says, "You should never have done it."
"That's bullshit," Brendon says. "I'm in love with you. There's nothing I wouldn't do to make you happy. You're punishing me for something I did because I shouldn't be able to do it. But I can do it. I can. And I'm not sorry for letting you have your dream. You would have been miserable if you couldn't play."
Spencer looks mutinous. He looks like he wants to go back inside and slam the door in Brendon's face. He says, "You know how when people fuck up they say shit like 'If I could go back and do it differently I would.' Well, you can. And that's--I need to know that this is real. How can I trust that every single thing between us isn't a lie if I can't trust that you won't do that? Not to me."
All the blood drains out of Brendon's face. He wants to say, never but that's already a lie. Spencer isn't asking him anything he hasn't asked himself before. How much of what Spencer feels for him is real?
"Fifty-three years from now you'll own a house on the coast of California. You'll spend Christmas alone. At 8:53 P.M. I'll knock on your door. You'll tell me I'm beautiful and you'll cry. Only that's not going to happen now because I'm here and I'm telling you I'll never do anything like that again. I can't promise I won't for other people. I can't--this is who I am, but not with us. I can be right here for us."
Spencer looks at him like he's trying to figure him out. It's like he's six years old again and Brendon just told him he's a time-traveler.
"You get to decide," Brendon says. "You get to choose."
Brendon doesn't know what he'll do if Spencer sends him away. He doesn't have anywhere to go. There's no home without Spencer.
Spencer takes a step toward him and puts his fingers on the side of Brendon's neck. They're cold, but Brendon leans into the touch anyway. "I trust you," Spencer says.
Brendon lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and tips his face up for Spencer's kiss. Spencer shivers against Brendon, and he doesn't know if it's the wind chill or the kiss, but it hardly matters.
"Cold?" he asks.
"Mmm," Spencer says, kissing across Brendon's chin. "I'll let you make me hot chocolate when we get inside. Come on. Come meet my family."