Fic/Meme Response: Flash Forward
Flash Forward
Disclaimer: No harm intended, no profit being made. If you stumbled here by googling your name or the name of a friend, for the love of god, please hit the back button
Rating: NC-17 for sex and like just a taste of voyeurism
Pairing: Spencer/Spencer, Jon/Spencer
AN: Crack!fic! This was my response for chmclfairytales's The Bandom Doppelganger Porno Meme meme, and it sort of spawned into a 4,500+ word fic. Whoops. Title shamelessly stolen from a completely awesome late 90s tv show.
Thank you to velvet_tuberose for being totally awesome and betaing this.
It's always disorienting, when it happens. It starts small, random moments when he'll look up in geography class and suddenly there's a woman there with a taperecorder. She shoves it in his face and asks him what he thinks the fans' reactions will be, just before it feels like his ears pop and then his teacher wants to know where Uzbekistan is on the map.
It stays small for awhile, little moments where he's probably just zoning out because things are boring and he hates his classes and school and just sort of lives for seven o'clock when the band can get together and play. He plays off the weird moments, when he's brushing his teeth and hears Ryan talk about the Beatles, even though he's alone, or when he's making macaroni for his sisters and then he can see Brendon stumbling off stage and dripping sweat. It's daydreams.
Except when it happens in front of Ryan, when they're sitting with their legs in Spencer's pool and talking about how Pete fucking Wentz is coming to hear them play and this could be something, be it and get them out of Vegas, and suddenly he can't see Ryan anymore, just some guy with soft brown eyes and a beard and he's not really talking to Spencer. He's talking to someone else, someone who looks like Spencer but can't be because that person has short hair and a glitter-covered t-shirt that Spencer would never, ever wear. He opens his mouth to say something, to ask the man with the beard or not-Spencer what the fuck this is. Until he sees the poster that someone's drawn on, his face with Ryan and Brendon and the beard guy-only-clean-shaven. Someone's drawn devilish mustaches on all of them (and by someone, Spencer's pretty sure it's Brendon), but it says "Panic! at the Disco," like they're a real band, like Ryan always wanted and Spencer was afraid to believe.
And then not-Spencer looks at him, directly at him, and he knows those eyes from looking in the mirror to see if he's finally growing facial hair or check to see if his zits are going down, and it is Spencer, but it can't be Spencer, because he's Spencer. (And, seriously, he hates glitter and how it gets into everything.)
And then Ryan's yelling in his ear and shaking him. His head aches, and he's flat on his back by the pool. He blinks up at Ryan, and he tells him what he saw, about the guy and not-Spencer and blue eyes. And the poster, because that's the most important, because they're going to make it and have posters. It won't occur to him for three or four days that Brent's not there.
Ryan laughs and ruffles his hair. "I think you hit your head," he says before he's helping Spencer into the house.
He tries to control it after that, concentrating on the things he remembers--the beard guy and Brendon dripping sweat all over everything, dressed in white with tight pants--while they're recording and then touring. It won't happen when he wants.
Spencer tries to fight it off when it comes without warning, when he can feel the pressure in his ears that makes them feel like they're going to pop. He yawns and moves his jaw, and sometimes it works. Sometimes he's sitting on a bus, a real tour bus, and someone throws their arms around him. They smell too much like alcohol as they shout in his ear that he needs to meet Jonny Walker.
It's the first time he's been touched when he's here, in some bizarre future that might just be in his head, and then he's being turned to look at Jonny Walker, looks into the soft brown eyes that he's seen before. "Jon’s fine. Oh, Spencer, hey," Jon says, face crinkled up like he's confused. "Did you get something on your shirt?" Jon's words run together, and he's probably drunk. Everyone seems drunk, now.
It's how he meets the beard guy, how he meets Jon, and he doesn't know it means anything until they're on the Statelines tour, when he and Ryan are at some party inside The Academy's bus and Ryan introduces him to Jon, again. He doesn't say that he knows Jon, because he can't, because this isn't happening, because it's been almost three months since he'd had another "attack." He's been in the right time, hasn't had to wonder why most of Ryan's face was purple or why Brendon was trying to grow facial hair.
He shakes Jon's hand, and it's warm and sort of damp. "Hey, Jon," he says.
It won't be thirty minutes until he hears Siska calling for Jonny Walker, and Spencer looks over to see himself there, only he's younger by a few months and still wearing a white t-shirt. The one he’s wearing now is blue, but there isn't glitter. Not yet.
He can push the pressure away when he's on stage, and he can push it away when he's fighting with Brent about call times, when they need to be on the stage. The pressure is always there, but he doesn't have an attack. He almost has one when he's with Jon, the first time he lets Jon get him drunk and they're sitting out in the parking lot, waiting for the bus to pack up.
The pressure comes up fast, and he forces a yawn, leaning against Jon's shoulder. "I might pass out," he mumbles because he keeps pushing it off and pushing it off. It'll be bad if he lets it happen now. He doesn't know if he wants to go too far ahead, to see if the band keeps going. Brendon's snappish now, drinking too much, and Ryan tucks into the bunks and won't come out for food. He doesn't want to know what happens with Brent.
"Hey, you won't," Jon says. "You're not that drunk." He might have his mouth against Spencer's temple, but Spencer can't concentrate on anything except the pulsing pressure in his head. If he would just give over to it, things would be okay. He'd be able to be let this all go.
Jon rubs the inside of his arm as Spencer mumbles, "I don't want the band to break up."
"I know," Jon says, and he helps Spencer up, one arm hooked around Spencer's waist. "It'll work out." He does that thing again where he might be kissing Spencer's temple. He's just a little taller than Spencer, not enough. Spencer's still growing. He feels gangly and unsteady, not just from alcohol, and it's hard to walk around the pounding in his head.
Jon walks him over to the tech van. It smells in there, like unwashed guy and maybe a hint of girl with old underwear sticking out of duffel bags. Jon has him lay across one of the bench seats, thumb moving across his forehead and the pressure still there, but he can feel the alcohol more, the fact that he hasn't slept without nightmares of this crashing down, of having an attack and moving into a future where Brendon's drunk himself too far and Ryan's gone away and Brent's still complaining about missing his girlfriend.
He wants to tell Jon thank you, but his head is filled with fuzz and he can feel all three of the Guinness’s Jon gave him, the shot before that. It's warm in the van, warm from too many bodies, too close together. His head is butted against Jon's thigh, and he can feel Jon's fingers carding through his hair more than he can feel the ache to jump into the future. He's almost smiling when he drifts off into sleep.
"I'm sorry that it went this way," Brent says over the phone. He's in Vegas, somewhere. He could be at his parents' house or maybe his girlfriends' for all Spencer cares. What matters is that he's not here, not in California with them. Jon's here, instead, and it's all right, but every time Spencer sees Jon, he wants to jump ahead and see what's happening. He knows that Jon has a girlfriend back in Chicago, but there are lingering touches, a hug that lasted too long when Jon got to the airport (where Jon whispered, "Hey, no fair getting taller than me," into Spencer's ear.)
"I know," Spencer says. He wants to be mad, but Jon's across the room, watching him talk on the phone. Jon's in flipflops and guy's jeans, and he's exactly what the fans won't want, what the band can't use. "I'll talk to you later."
"Sure," Brent says, and Spencer knows him well enough to know that Brent's rolling his eyes.
Jon's at Spencer's side as soon as he hangs up his phone and pushes it away. "That could have gone worse," he says. "You'll be okay." He doesn't linger too long, just a brush of fingers against Spencer's neck before he's standing straight. "This'll work out. You'll get another bassist, and things will be okay." It's what Spencer wants to hear, but it's not the truth.
It comes then, and he knows that he won't have time to fight it off. He's tumbling forward, and Jon's hands are on his shoulders before he's freezing. There's wind, and he can hear Brendon laughing from somewhere, maybe. He looks out, and there's a lake.
"Hey," someone says, and he turns too fast. He's on a roof, and his shoes have glitter on them, rainbow swirls. They don't have traction. It's too dark to see, and he starts to tumble back.
The guy grabs his hand, and he still can't see. "Where are we?" he asks.
"The cabin, spring 2007," the guy says, and he's taller than Spencer is. His voice is familiar, soft, and he moves Spencer closer to him. "Things are going to work out," he says, cheek against Spencer's and he can feel stubble, maybea beard.
He almost asks, if this is Jon, but he knows it isn't. The smell is wrong, and Jon won't be taller than him--probably. "Okay," he says. He wants to ask who this is, but the guy presses a kiss to his cheek.
"Give it a minute, and you'll go back," he says. "Tell Jon when you come to. It'll be worth it."
He knows, then, that this is him, just 2007 him instead of the current him. "Oh," he says, and the pressure of going back is always a little easier going forward.
Jon's shaking him again, fingers tight on Spencer's shoulders. Zach's there, too, and Ryan, and he tells Jon anyway, about the fact that he talked to himself, from 2007. Ryan snorts because he's heard this before and Zach says that the whole band's nuts.
Jon doesn't laugh though, just sits next to Spencer and waits until Ryan and Zach are gone to ask, "Did you say anything else?"
"Just to tell you," he says. Jon doesn't say anything after that.
He sees himself again, from when he flashed into the future and saw Jon for the first time. Jon's talking about his bass having issues, and Spencer's thinking about when they're going to ask Jon to be here, to be the permanent replacement because no one else is going to fit as well. He looks over at himself, and it's strange to think that he'd forgotten about it, about how he was standing in his glitter-covered shirt (and he still doesn't like glitter, but the shirt's worth a little glitter sticking to his arms). He looks at himself and watches Spencer-from-the-past disappear. It's like fading into shadow, Spencer from the past growing dimmer and dimmer until he was gone.
"What?" Jon asks, looking over with Spencer.
"Just me," Spencer says, and he smiles at Jon.
Jon nods and smiles before reaching over to brush the glitter off Spencer's arm. "That's sort of cool," he whispers and Spencer bites his lip.
He sort of thinks that maybe the last attack was it, because Jon joins the band and he doesn't feel anything. Jon breaks up with Cassie, and maybe they start making out when Brendon and Ryan aren't around, even though it's completely ridiculous and exactly the wrong thing for the band. It still doesn't happen.
"I think maybe it's over," he whispers against Jon's mouth, when they're alone in the bus, as alone as they can be. Brendon and Ryan are still asleep, and Jon's straddling his lap. It should be uncomfortable, Jon's weight pushing down against him. It's not, and he sucks on Jon's tongue so Jon's response is sort of garbled.
Jon breaks away, pushing his hips down just enough to make Spencer squirm. "That's too bad. Time-jumping-drummers are sort of a turn on of mine." He bites at Spencer's throat, hard enough to leave a mark.
"Really?" He laughs a little, pushing his hand under Jon's t-shirt and dragging his blunt nails over Jon's back. The bus rolls over a pothole, and it jolts their hips together, a little harder than before.
"Yeah," Jon says before he’s pushing Spencer's shirt up, tongue tracing the hollows of Spencer's collar bone. The divider is open, bunks exposed. "I'll manage, I think."
Spencer laughs, shaky as Jon's mouth moves down, closing around one of his nipples, with his tongue swirling out. He rocks his hips, needs more friction and not just Jon's mouth and hands. "Fuck," he whispers because he wants to be loud, wants more than just this. He moves his hand onto Jon's waist band, palming his dick through his pajama pants. It's closer than they've gotten before, and the bunks are exposed, Brendon or Ryan could walk out, sleep-muddled, at any moment.
He gasps, too loud, and then Jon kisses him again, muffles the sound. Spencer hasn't told Ryan about this, about what they're doing, and Ryan could walk out and see this.
Then the pressure starts, and he doesn't fight it, breaking the kiss to say, "Maybe it's not." He tries to grab his shirt, because he doesn't want to make the jump shirtless, but he slides under.
It's dark where he goes, but his feet are bare, on soft carpet. "Hello?" he calls. He feels for a light switch, something to give him a chance to see what's going on.
"Hey." It's Jon's voice in his ear, and Jon's mouth over his. He tastes similiar but not the same. Jon kisses him like he's missed him, hands flexing over Spencer's ass, and Spencer hadn't known that he'd stay hard through the attack.
He breaks the kiss. "I'm not," he gasps, because he's not the Spencer that this Jon thinks he is.
"He knows." There's a hand on his chin, jerking Spencer's face up, and he's crowded back against a wall. He kisses the other man back, neck arched up in a way that it hasn't been since he dated Gina "the Giant" Jones in tenth grade.
His hand moves out, groping the wall to turn on the light. "Shit," he whispers. He can't quite reach.
"I've got it," and the lights go on. It's him, or, what will be him. He doesn't look the same, hair longer with a weird headband scarf thing, and it's his beard that's scratching over Spencer's chin. "All better?"
This Spencer kisses him again, and it's dirty, tongue and teeth and just the right amount of pressure. It's cheating, because there's a hand holding his wrists over his head and one hand sliding over his lower stomach.
He tips his head away from the other Spencer to gasp, "What are you doing?" He's not exactly sure that this is something that they're supposed to do, even if they can flip through time. Spencer tries not to squirm too much at how other-Spencer is pressing his thumb at the lowest part of his abdomen, just over the low waist of his pajama bottoms.
"Shhh," Other-Spencer says, and he moves down. He bites the right places, at the base of his throat, at Spencer's shoulder and nipples. His beard scratches against his skin, makes it feel raw instead of just overwarm.
It's weird and sort of uncomfortable, to know exactly what his eyes look like when he's moving down someone's torso, beard dragging over someone's skin. He didn't actually know he wanted to grow a beard, and he's still sort of doubtful it looks all right on his face, but if that's what it feels like, he sort of wants to jump back and go makeout with Jon some more, to see if Jon can do the same thing with his.
Except he doesn't blink back, and Other-Spencer is pulling him away from the wall and pushing him onto the bed. Jon's already on the bed, leaning back against pillows that just sort of look really expensive. It's indulgent, and Spencer wants to know when he is, if that is his bed, because right now (his-now, not this-now, and he really shouldn't try to concentrate on the timeline when Other-Spencer has his knee pressed in between his legs and is starting to untie his pajama pants) his bed is still at his mom's and still has the Power Ranger pillowcases.
He tries to ask, but other-him has his pants down around his thighs and draws out his cock, touch gentle but sure. Other-Spencer is still mostly dressed, and it doesn't seem fair because he can see Spencer--knows what Spencer looks like at this age and time period--and Jon probably does too, if he's just sitting back and watching--and he wants to know, wants skin and everything.
Other-Spencer's still pinning his wrists though, grip tight, so he can only gasp out, "Clothes."
"Huh?" His older self seems mostly amused, letting his wrists go to push the pajama pants down from Spencer's thighs and onto the floor, one hand still gently running over his cock. It's not enough friction, too dry to be good, but he bucks into the touch anyway. "What about them?"
Other-Spencer is starting to slide down his body again, taking his hand away to push Spencer's thighs apart so he can slide in between them. His beard skates over the heated skin there, too hard. Spencer's not sure if it'll carry back, if he gets a beardburn here, since it technically hasn't happened yet.
Spencer wonders if he should mention anything, but he forgets when Other-Spencer's mouth closes over the head of his cock, warm and wet and more of the same, just-right flicks of his tongue and cheeks hollowed out. He's humming and bopping his head with his hands under Spencer's legs to hold him there, hold him down.
It's more control than he normally gives up, but this is him, someone who knows everything that someone can know everything about this, even the dark fantasies that he's sort of embarrassed to tell anyone. He tries to buck his hips, but Other-Spencer is bruising strong.
"Spence," Jon says, and Spencer had forgotten that he was there. His skin feels hotter, worse than it had before when they were on the bus with the possibility of someone walking in. Now there is someone, and he rolls his eyes down to look at Other-Spencer because it's easier than looking at Jon's older self, at the way this Jon is watching them. "I think he wants to see you naked." There's a softness to the tone, something about it that makes it feel like they're used to talking to each other like this.
Other-Spencer pulls off of Spencer, lips red and shining. The beard sort of frames them, draws his eyes in. "I see," he says, and he pulls his black t-shirt off, throwing it over at Jon. "I think you're enjoying this too much."
Spencer screws his eyes shut and does not look back to see how much other-Jon is enjoying it. His life is already pretty weird enough. He doesn't really need to know if his possible-future-boyfriend is perving on him and his older self. There are limits to how many fucked-up things he can take in a day, and that might actually push his limit.
Jon laughs. "Pants too. He deserves to see the whole show."
"You are such a perv," Other-Spencer says, and it's pretty much the same thing that Spencer's thinking. It's too bizarre. He wants it to stop and doesn't open his eyes until Other-Spencer is touching his chest again, whispering, "Hey, look at me."
He looks and blinks. He apparently grows chest hair. There's a little bit now, just some hair that's growing a little longer than it used to and it's barely that much darker, but Other-Spencer has the whole board-chest-and-shoulders-with-chest-hair look going that makes him feel soft and young. "How old are you?" he asks. Other-Spencer is moving across the room.
"Not that much older than you are. I'll be twenty-one in a couple months." Other-Spencer comes back to the bed with a bottle and a condom, setting them down on the bed carefully before he kisses Spencer again. "We're wrapping up the first full tour for our second album, and we're staying over in Vegas. This is our house."
Spencer’s always grateful for the explanation, to be able to know where he’s landed, but he doesn't know if "our" means his and Other-Spencer's or Other-Spencer's and Jon's. He doesn't ask because he likes some surprises. "Okay," he murmurs and tips his head up. He kisses Other-Spencer the way he likes to be kissed, figuring that Other-Spencer did it for him before. He can at least be courteous and kiss him back just as nicely.
Other-Spencer lays over him, arranges it so their bodies are over each other's, and it's sort of awesome and he can't stop himself from groaning way, way too loud. He can hear Jon shifting behind them, and he wants to ask if Jon can go or if he can go, but he can’t make himself say it.
"When am I going back?" he says instead, forcing it out between ground teeth. He's determined to last longer than this. He knows his other self will laugh at him when he's gone, because it's something that he would totally do.
"Not yet," Other-Spencer says, and he's opening the bottle. "Just ride it out and have a little fun, all right?" He pours some of the lube onto his fingers, rubbing it on his hand before snaking that hand down between Spencer's spread legs.
He gasps too loud when the first finger works itself in. Spencer's wondered about this, with Jon, but then it was usually Jon under him, or Jon working fingers into himself. He hasn't considered his own hand and how it would feel, and it's not unpleasant.
Other-Spencer licks at his neck when he pushes the second finger in, wrist moving too, too fast. Spencer kicks at the bed a little. They're not even under the sheets, and he hopes that the comforter isn't as expensive as it feels on the bare skin of his back.
"Look up at Jon," Other-Spencer whispers against Spencer's skin, and he can't stop himself from rolling his eyes up, head tipped back.
Jon's eyes are dark and heavy-lidded. Other-Spencer bites at Spencer's collar bone again, hard enough to mark. Spencer hopes it doesn't though, because he's not sure if he wants his own sex marks on his skin. "Shit," he gasps when Other-Spencer takes his hand away.
"This will hurt a little," Other-Spencer says before he rips the condom open and slides it on, getting more lube out. He uses one hand to slick himself up, the other wandering back to Spencer's dick and stroking at it.
Spencer watches Jon bite his lip, closing his eyes. Jon runs his hand over the crotch of his jeans before he’s pulling himself out and Spencer’s breath stutters a little in his chest. He doesn’t want to look away.
"Hey," Other-Spencer says. There's still lube on his hands when he moves Spencer's head with his hand to force Spencer to look at him. "Relax." He moves back to push Spencer's legs up, opening him up so it's easier to push in.
The burn makes him arch off the bed, and he can't relax. Other-Spencer is crazy, because it wasn't enough. It's more pain than it is anything, burning and full and he can't move at first, scratching at the probably expensive comforter.
"It's all right," Other-Spencer says. "You get used to this." He doesn't sound comforting, but he moves Spencer's legs so they're up over his shoulders. Then he moves, slow and careful, and there's some slide there. He still breathes through his nose because of the burn, but Other-Spencer moves Spencer's hand onto his own cock, sliding their hands together so his own fingers feel wet from the lube.
Other-Spencer adjusts his angle, does something that Spencer can't quite describe, because the burn starts to dissolve into a rising pressure. It's not in his head, though, not an attack. It starts in his gut and pushes outward, makes his feet kick a little helplessly before he tries to use his legs to keep Other-Spencer close.
Jon's groaning behind them, but Spencer can't take his eyes off of Other-Spencer's face, memorizing how his eyes stare down, how blue they look before they sort of roll back. There's hair hanging n his face despite the stupid headband.
Other-Spencer braces his weight on his forearms, and Spencer's twisted up with his own hand on his cock. He can't help the shaking that comes when he strokes just a little faster, before he's coming on his hand and his own chest. There's a little on Other-Spencer, too, but he doesn't seem to mind, leaning down to take another kiss as he forces his thrusts in, makes them a little deeper and more emphatic. If Spencer keeps any of the marks, he won't be able to walk for days after this.
"Fuck," Other-Spencer gasps into Spencer's mouth, and then he's shaking and still, pushed as deep as he can in Spencer, pinning him in his tucked up position until Other-Spencer's shoulders stop shaking.
Other-Spencer pulls out and takes care of the condom, tossing Spencer a towel. "When you get back, you should tell them. So they don't get pissed, and, seriously, the mustache seems like a good idea at the time, but it's really not," Other-Spencer says, tone business-like as he slides back onto the bed and kisses Spencer again, softer this time. It feels almost like a goodbye. "When we get to the cabin, you'll have a lot of time to practice, so work on going back in time. It'll be worth it."
Spencer frowns because he's fairly certain that he'd remember his older self dropping by and doing this with him. He's sloppy still, sweat-covered and he can't get all the lube off, and he can feel the pressure rising again. "Shit," he whispers, scrubbing hard at his skin. "Where are my pants?"
"You'll be fine," Other-Spencer says and presses another kiss to his forehead, and then the pressure pops.
He wakes with his head in Jon's lap, still wearing his sleep pants. They're uncomfortable and sticky, and there's the phantom ache of bruises on his neck. He still has that boneless feeling, and he can feel the stretch. It's not as immediate as it should be, more like a muscle twinge on a rainy day. "Sorry," he whispers.
Jon shakes his head and kisses him, but Spencer can still mostly taste himself and it makes his nose wrinkle. "You' just have to tell me where you went, later, maybe in the back lounge."
There's a door to the back lounge, and it locks if you lift up on it the right way. Spencer can't stop himself from smiling up at Jon and nodding, before he rolls off the bench and stumbles into the bunks to change into clean pants and maybe put his shirt back on.
Disclaimer: No harm intended, no profit being made. If you stumbled here by googling your name or the name of a friend, for the love of god, please hit the back button
Rating: NC-17 for sex and like just a taste of voyeurism
Pairing: Spencer/Spencer, Jon/Spencer
AN: Crack!fic! This was my response for chmclfairytales's The Bandom Doppelganger Porno Meme meme, and it sort of spawned into a 4,500+ word fic. Whoops. Title shamelessly stolen from a completely awesome late 90s tv show.
Thank you to velvet_tuberose for being totally awesome and betaing this.
It's always disorienting, when it happens. It starts small, random moments when he'll look up in geography class and suddenly there's a woman there with a taperecorder. She shoves it in his face and asks him what he thinks the fans' reactions will be, just before it feels like his ears pop and then his teacher wants to know where Uzbekistan is on the map.
It stays small for awhile, little moments where he's probably just zoning out because things are boring and he hates his classes and school and just sort of lives for seven o'clock when the band can get together and play. He plays off the weird moments, when he's brushing his teeth and hears Ryan talk about the Beatles, even though he's alone, or when he's making macaroni for his sisters and then he can see Brendon stumbling off stage and dripping sweat. It's daydreams.
Except when it happens in front of Ryan, when they're sitting with their legs in Spencer's pool and talking about how Pete fucking Wentz is coming to hear them play and this could be something, be it and get them out of Vegas, and suddenly he can't see Ryan anymore, just some guy with soft brown eyes and a beard and he's not really talking to Spencer. He's talking to someone else, someone who looks like Spencer but can't be because that person has short hair and a glitter-covered t-shirt that Spencer would never, ever wear. He opens his mouth to say something, to ask the man with the beard or not-Spencer what the fuck this is. Until he sees the poster that someone's drawn on, his face with Ryan and Brendon and the beard guy-only-clean-shaven. Someone's drawn devilish mustaches on all of them (and by someone, Spencer's pretty sure it's Brendon), but it says "Panic! at the Disco," like they're a real band, like Ryan always wanted and Spencer was afraid to believe.
And then not-Spencer looks at him, directly at him, and he knows those eyes from looking in the mirror to see if he's finally growing facial hair or check to see if his zits are going down, and it is Spencer, but it can't be Spencer, because he's Spencer. (And, seriously, he hates glitter and how it gets into everything.)
And then Ryan's yelling in his ear and shaking him. His head aches, and he's flat on his back by the pool. He blinks up at Ryan, and he tells him what he saw, about the guy and not-Spencer and blue eyes. And the poster, because that's the most important, because they're going to make it and have posters. It won't occur to him for three or four days that Brent's not there.
Ryan laughs and ruffles his hair. "I think you hit your head," he says before he's helping Spencer into the house.
He tries to control it after that, concentrating on the things he remembers--the beard guy and Brendon dripping sweat all over everything, dressed in white with tight pants--while they're recording and then touring. It won't happen when he wants.
Spencer tries to fight it off when it comes without warning, when he can feel the pressure in his ears that makes them feel like they're going to pop. He yawns and moves his jaw, and sometimes it works. Sometimes he's sitting on a bus, a real tour bus, and someone throws their arms around him. They smell too much like alcohol as they shout in his ear that he needs to meet Jonny Walker.
It's the first time he's been touched when he's here, in some bizarre future that might just be in his head, and then he's being turned to look at Jonny Walker, looks into the soft brown eyes that he's seen before. "Jon’s fine. Oh, Spencer, hey," Jon says, face crinkled up like he's confused. "Did you get something on your shirt?" Jon's words run together, and he's probably drunk. Everyone seems drunk, now.
It's how he meets the beard guy, how he meets Jon, and he doesn't know it means anything until they're on the Statelines tour, when he and Ryan are at some party inside The Academy's bus and Ryan introduces him to Jon, again. He doesn't say that he knows Jon, because he can't, because this isn't happening, because it's been almost three months since he'd had another "attack." He's been in the right time, hasn't had to wonder why most of Ryan's face was purple or why Brendon was trying to grow facial hair.
He shakes Jon's hand, and it's warm and sort of damp. "Hey, Jon," he says.
It won't be thirty minutes until he hears Siska calling for Jonny Walker, and Spencer looks over to see himself there, only he's younger by a few months and still wearing a white t-shirt. The one he’s wearing now is blue, but there isn't glitter. Not yet.
He can push the pressure away when he's on stage, and he can push it away when he's fighting with Brent about call times, when they need to be on the stage. The pressure is always there, but he doesn't have an attack. He almost has one when he's with Jon, the first time he lets Jon get him drunk and they're sitting out in the parking lot, waiting for the bus to pack up.
The pressure comes up fast, and he forces a yawn, leaning against Jon's shoulder. "I might pass out," he mumbles because he keeps pushing it off and pushing it off. It'll be bad if he lets it happen now. He doesn't know if he wants to go too far ahead, to see if the band keeps going. Brendon's snappish now, drinking too much, and Ryan tucks into the bunks and won't come out for food. He doesn't want to know what happens with Brent.
"Hey, you won't," Jon says. "You're not that drunk." He might have his mouth against Spencer's temple, but Spencer can't concentrate on anything except the pulsing pressure in his head. If he would just give over to it, things would be okay. He'd be able to be let this all go.
Jon rubs the inside of his arm as Spencer mumbles, "I don't want the band to break up."
"I know," Jon says, and he helps Spencer up, one arm hooked around Spencer's waist. "It'll work out." He does that thing again where he might be kissing Spencer's temple. He's just a little taller than Spencer, not enough. Spencer's still growing. He feels gangly and unsteady, not just from alcohol, and it's hard to walk around the pounding in his head.
Jon walks him over to the tech van. It smells in there, like unwashed guy and maybe a hint of girl with old underwear sticking out of duffel bags. Jon has him lay across one of the bench seats, thumb moving across his forehead and the pressure still there, but he can feel the alcohol more, the fact that he hasn't slept without nightmares of this crashing down, of having an attack and moving into a future where Brendon's drunk himself too far and Ryan's gone away and Brent's still complaining about missing his girlfriend.
He wants to tell Jon thank you, but his head is filled with fuzz and he can feel all three of the Guinness’s Jon gave him, the shot before that. It's warm in the van, warm from too many bodies, too close together. His head is butted against Jon's thigh, and he can feel Jon's fingers carding through his hair more than he can feel the ache to jump into the future. He's almost smiling when he drifts off into sleep.
"I'm sorry that it went this way," Brent says over the phone. He's in Vegas, somewhere. He could be at his parents' house or maybe his girlfriends' for all Spencer cares. What matters is that he's not here, not in California with them. Jon's here, instead, and it's all right, but every time Spencer sees Jon, he wants to jump ahead and see what's happening. He knows that Jon has a girlfriend back in Chicago, but there are lingering touches, a hug that lasted too long when Jon got to the airport (where Jon whispered, "Hey, no fair getting taller than me," into Spencer's ear.)
"I know," Spencer says. He wants to be mad, but Jon's across the room, watching him talk on the phone. Jon's in flipflops and guy's jeans, and he's exactly what the fans won't want, what the band can't use. "I'll talk to you later."
"Sure," Brent says, and Spencer knows him well enough to know that Brent's rolling his eyes.
Jon's at Spencer's side as soon as he hangs up his phone and pushes it away. "That could have gone worse," he says. "You'll be okay." He doesn't linger too long, just a brush of fingers against Spencer's neck before he's standing straight. "This'll work out. You'll get another bassist, and things will be okay." It's what Spencer wants to hear, but it's not the truth.
It comes then, and he knows that he won't have time to fight it off. He's tumbling forward, and Jon's hands are on his shoulders before he's freezing. There's wind, and he can hear Brendon laughing from somewhere, maybe. He looks out, and there's a lake.
"Hey," someone says, and he turns too fast. He's on a roof, and his shoes have glitter on them, rainbow swirls. They don't have traction. It's too dark to see, and he starts to tumble back.
The guy grabs his hand, and he still can't see. "Where are we?" he asks.
"The cabin, spring 2007," the guy says, and he's taller than Spencer is. His voice is familiar, soft, and he moves Spencer closer to him. "Things are going to work out," he says, cheek against Spencer's and he can feel stubble, maybea beard.
He almost asks, if this is Jon, but he knows it isn't. The smell is wrong, and Jon won't be taller than him--probably. "Okay," he says. He wants to ask who this is, but the guy presses a kiss to his cheek.
"Give it a minute, and you'll go back," he says. "Tell Jon when you come to. It'll be worth it."
He knows, then, that this is him, just 2007 him instead of the current him. "Oh," he says, and the pressure of going back is always a little easier going forward.
Jon's shaking him again, fingers tight on Spencer's shoulders. Zach's there, too, and Ryan, and he tells Jon anyway, about the fact that he talked to himself, from 2007. Ryan snorts because he's heard this before and Zach says that the whole band's nuts.
Jon doesn't laugh though, just sits next to Spencer and waits until Ryan and Zach are gone to ask, "Did you say anything else?"
"Just to tell you," he says. Jon doesn't say anything after that.
He sees himself again, from when he flashed into the future and saw Jon for the first time. Jon's talking about his bass having issues, and Spencer's thinking about when they're going to ask Jon to be here, to be the permanent replacement because no one else is going to fit as well. He looks over at himself, and it's strange to think that he'd forgotten about it, about how he was standing in his glitter-covered shirt (and he still doesn't like glitter, but the shirt's worth a little glitter sticking to his arms). He looks at himself and watches Spencer-from-the-past disappear. It's like fading into shadow, Spencer from the past growing dimmer and dimmer until he was gone.
"What?" Jon asks, looking over with Spencer.
"Just me," Spencer says, and he smiles at Jon.
Jon nods and smiles before reaching over to brush the glitter off Spencer's arm. "That's sort of cool," he whispers and Spencer bites his lip.
He sort of thinks that maybe the last attack was it, because Jon joins the band and he doesn't feel anything. Jon breaks up with Cassie, and maybe they start making out when Brendon and Ryan aren't around, even though it's completely ridiculous and exactly the wrong thing for the band. It still doesn't happen.
"I think maybe it's over," he whispers against Jon's mouth, when they're alone in the bus, as alone as they can be. Brendon and Ryan are still asleep, and Jon's straddling his lap. It should be uncomfortable, Jon's weight pushing down against him. It's not, and he sucks on Jon's tongue so Jon's response is sort of garbled.
Jon breaks away, pushing his hips down just enough to make Spencer squirm. "That's too bad. Time-jumping-drummers are sort of a turn on of mine." He bites at Spencer's throat, hard enough to leave a mark.
"Really?" He laughs a little, pushing his hand under Jon's t-shirt and dragging his blunt nails over Jon's back. The bus rolls over a pothole, and it jolts their hips together, a little harder than before.
"Yeah," Jon says before he’s pushing Spencer's shirt up, tongue tracing the hollows of Spencer's collar bone. The divider is open, bunks exposed. "I'll manage, I think."
Spencer laughs, shaky as Jon's mouth moves down, closing around one of his nipples, with his tongue swirling out. He rocks his hips, needs more friction and not just Jon's mouth and hands. "Fuck," he whispers because he wants to be loud, wants more than just this. He moves his hand onto Jon's waist band, palming his dick through his pajama pants. It's closer than they've gotten before, and the bunks are exposed, Brendon or Ryan could walk out, sleep-muddled, at any moment.
He gasps, too loud, and then Jon kisses him again, muffles the sound. Spencer hasn't told Ryan about this, about what they're doing, and Ryan could walk out and see this.
Then the pressure starts, and he doesn't fight it, breaking the kiss to say, "Maybe it's not." He tries to grab his shirt, because he doesn't want to make the jump shirtless, but he slides under.
It's dark where he goes, but his feet are bare, on soft carpet. "Hello?" he calls. He feels for a light switch, something to give him a chance to see what's going on.
"Hey." It's Jon's voice in his ear, and Jon's mouth over his. He tastes similiar but not the same. Jon kisses him like he's missed him, hands flexing over Spencer's ass, and Spencer hadn't known that he'd stay hard through the attack.
He breaks the kiss. "I'm not," he gasps, because he's not the Spencer that this Jon thinks he is.
"He knows." There's a hand on his chin, jerking Spencer's face up, and he's crowded back against a wall. He kisses the other man back, neck arched up in a way that it hasn't been since he dated Gina "the Giant" Jones in tenth grade.
His hand moves out, groping the wall to turn on the light. "Shit," he whispers. He can't quite reach.
"I've got it," and the lights go on. It's him, or, what will be him. He doesn't look the same, hair longer with a weird headband scarf thing, and it's his beard that's scratching over Spencer's chin. "All better?"
This Spencer kisses him again, and it's dirty, tongue and teeth and just the right amount of pressure. It's cheating, because there's a hand holding his wrists over his head and one hand sliding over his lower stomach.
He tips his head away from the other Spencer to gasp, "What are you doing?" He's not exactly sure that this is something that they're supposed to do, even if they can flip through time. Spencer tries not to squirm too much at how other-Spencer is pressing his thumb at the lowest part of his abdomen, just over the low waist of his pajama bottoms.
"Shhh," Other-Spencer says, and he moves down. He bites the right places, at the base of his throat, at Spencer's shoulder and nipples. His beard scratches against his skin, makes it feel raw instead of just overwarm.
It's weird and sort of uncomfortable, to know exactly what his eyes look like when he's moving down someone's torso, beard dragging over someone's skin. He didn't actually know he wanted to grow a beard, and he's still sort of doubtful it looks all right on his face, but if that's what it feels like, he sort of wants to jump back and go makeout with Jon some more, to see if Jon can do the same thing with his.
Except he doesn't blink back, and Other-Spencer is pulling him away from the wall and pushing him onto the bed. Jon's already on the bed, leaning back against pillows that just sort of look really expensive. It's indulgent, and Spencer wants to know when he is, if that is his bed, because right now (his-now, not this-now, and he really shouldn't try to concentrate on the timeline when Other-Spencer has his knee pressed in between his legs and is starting to untie his pajama pants) his bed is still at his mom's and still has the Power Ranger pillowcases.
He tries to ask, but other-him has his pants down around his thighs and draws out his cock, touch gentle but sure. Other-Spencer is still mostly dressed, and it doesn't seem fair because he can see Spencer--knows what Spencer looks like at this age and time period--and Jon probably does too, if he's just sitting back and watching--and he wants to know, wants skin and everything.
Other-Spencer's still pinning his wrists though, grip tight, so he can only gasp out, "Clothes."
"Huh?" His older self seems mostly amused, letting his wrists go to push the pajama pants down from Spencer's thighs and onto the floor, one hand still gently running over his cock. It's not enough friction, too dry to be good, but he bucks into the touch anyway. "What about them?"
Other-Spencer is starting to slide down his body again, taking his hand away to push Spencer's thighs apart so he can slide in between them. His beard skates over the heated skin there, too hard. Spencer's not sure if it'll carry back, if he gets a beardburn here, since it technically hasn't happened yet.
Spencer wonders if he should mention anything, but he forgets when Other-Spencer's mouth closes over the head of his cock, warm and wet and more of the same, just-right flicks of his tongue and cheeks hollowed out. He's humming and bopping his head with his hands under Spencer's legs to hold him there, hold him down.
It's more control than he normally gives up, but this is him, someone who knows everything that someone can know everything about this, even the dark fantasies that he's sort of embarrassed to tell anyone. He tries to buck his hips, but Other-Spencer is bruising strong.
"Spence," Jon says, and Spencer had forgotten that he was there. His skin feels hotter, worse than it had before when they were on the bus with the possibility of someone walking in. Now there is someone, and he rolls his eyes down to look at Other-Spencer because it's easier than looking at Jon's older self, at the way this Jon is watching them. "I think he wants to see you naked." There's a softness to the tone, something about it that makes it feel like they're used to talking to each other like this.
Other-Spencer pulls off of Spencer, lips red and shining. The beard sort of frames them, draws his eyes in. "I see," he says, and he pulls his black t-shirt off, throwing it over at Jon. "I think you're enjoying this too much."
Spencer screws his eyes shut and does not look back to see how much other-Jon is enjoying it. His life is already pretty weird enough. He doesn't really need to know if his possible-future-boyfriend is perving on him and his older self. There are limits to how many fucked-up things he can take in a day, and that might actually push his limit.
Jon laughs. "Pants too. He deserves to see the whole show."
"You are such a perv," Other-Spencer says, and it's pretty much the same thing that Spencer's thinking. It's too bizarre. He wants it to stop and doesn't open his eyes until Other-Spencer is touching his chest again, whispering, "Hey, look at me."
He looks and blinks. He apparently grows chest hair. There's a little bit now, just some hair that's growing a little longer than it used to and it's barely that much darker, but Other-Spencer has the whole board-chest-and-shoulders-with-chest-hair look going that makes him feel soft and young. "How old are you?" he asks. Other-Spencer is moving across the room.
"Not that much older than you are. I'll be twenty-one in a couple months." Other-Spencer comes back to the bed with a bottle and a condom, setting them down on the bed carefully before he kisses Spencer again. "We're wrapping up the first full tour for our second album, and we're staying over in Vegas. This is our house."
Spencer’s always grateful for the explanation, to be able to know where he’s landed, but he doesn't know if "our" means his and Other-Spencer's or Other-Spencer's and Jon's. He doesn't ask because he likes some surprises. "Okay," he murmurs and tips his head up. He kisses Other-Spencer the way he likes to be kissed, figuring that Other-Spencer did it for him before. He can at least be courteous and kiss him back just as nicely.
Other-Spencer lays over him, arranges it so their bodies are over each other's, and it's sort of awesome and he can't stop himself from groaning way, way too loud. He can hear Jon shifting behind them, and he wants to ask if Jon can go or if he can go, but he can’t make himself say it.
"When am I going back?" he says instead, forcing it out between ground teeth. He's determined to last longer than this. He knows his other self will laugh at him when he's gone, because it's something that he would totally do.
"Not yet," Other-Spencer says, and he's opening the bottle. "Just ride it out and have a little fun, all right?" He pours some of the lube onto his fingers, rubbing it on his hand before snaking that hand down between Spencer's spread legs.
He gasps too loud when the first finger works itself in. Spencer's wondered about this, with Jon, but then it was usually Jon under him, or Jon working fingers into himself. He hasn't considered his own hand and how it would feel, and it's not unpleasant.
Other-Spencer licks at his neck when he pushes the second finger in, wrist moving too, too fast. Spencer kicks at the bed a little. They're not even under the sheets, and he hopes that the comforter isn't as expensive as it feels on the bare skin of his back.
"Look up at Jon," Other-Spencer whispers against Spencer's skin, and he can't stop himself from rolling his eyes up, head tipped back.
Jon's eyes are dark and heavy-lidded. Other-Spencer bites at Spencer's collar bone again, hard enough to mark. Spencer hopes it doesn't though, because he's not sure if he wants his own sex marks on his skin. "Shit," he gasps when Other-Spencer takes his hand away.
"This will hurt a little," Other-Spencer says before he rips the condom open and slides it on, getting more lube out. He uses one hand to slick himself up, the other wandering back to Spencer's dick and stroking at it.
Spencer watches Jon bite his lip, closing his eyes. Jon runs his hand over the crotch of his jeans before he’s pulling himself out and Spencer’s breath stutters a little in his chest. He doesn’t want to look away.
"Hey," Other-Spencer says. There's still lube on his hands when he moves Spencer's head with his hand to force Spencer to look at him. "Relax." He moves back to push Spencer's legs up, opening him up so it's easier to push in.
The burn makes him arch off the bed, and he can't relax. Other-Spencer is crazy, because it wasn't enough. It's more pain than it is anything, burning and full and he can't move at first, scratching at the probably expensive comforter.
"It's all right," Other-Spencer says. "You get used to this." He doesn't sound comforting, but he moves Spencer's legs so they're up over his shoulders. Then he moves, slow and careful, and there's some slide there. He still breathes through his nose because of the burn, but Other-Spencer moves Spencer's hand onto his own cock, sliding their hands together so his own fingers feel wet from the lube.
Other-Spencer adjusts his angle, does something that Spencer can't quite describe, because the burn starts to dissolve into a rising pressure. It's not in his head, though, not an attack. It starts in his gut and pushes outward, makes his feet kick a little helplessly before he tries to use his legs to keep Other-Spencer close.
Jon's groaning behind them, but Spencer can't take his eyes off of Other-Spencer's face, memorizing how his eyes stare down, how blue they look before they sort of roll back. There's hair hanging n his face despite the stupid headband.
Other-Spencer braces his weight on his forearms, and Spencer's twisted up with his own hand on his cock. He can't help the shaking that comes when he strokes just a little faster, before he's coming on his hand and his own chest. There's a little on Other-Spencer, too, but he doesn't seem to mind, leaning down to take another kiss as he forces his thrusts in, makes them a little deeper and more emphatic. If Spencer keeps any of the marks, he won't be able to walk for days after this.
"Fuck," Other-Spencer gasps into Spencer's mouth, and then he's shaking and still, pushed as deep as he can in Spencer, pinning him in his tucked up position until Other-Spencer's shoulders stop shaking.
Other-Spencer pulls out and takes care of the condom, tossing Spencer a towel. "When you get back, you should tell them. So they don't get pissed, and, seriously, the mustache seems like a good idea at the time, but it's really not," Other-Spencer says, tone business-like as he slides back onto the bed and kisses Spencer again, softer this time. It feels almost like a goodbye. "When we get to the cabin, you'll have a lot of time to practice, so work on going back in time. It'll be worth it."
Spencer frowns because he's fairly certain that he'd remember his older self dropping by and doing this with him. He's sloppy still, sweat-covered and he can't get all the lube off, and he can feel the pressure rising again. "Shit," he whispers, scrubbing hard at his skin. "Where are my pants?"
"You'll be fine," Other-Spencer says and presses another kiss to his forehead, and then the pressure pops.
He wakes with his head in Jon's lap, still wearing his sleep pants. They're uncomfortable and sticky, and there's the phantom ache of bruises on his neck. He still has that boneless feeling, and he can feel the stretch. It's not as immediate as it should be, more like a muscle twinge on a rainy day. "Sorry," he whispers.
Jon shakes his head and kisses him, but Spencer can still mostly taste himself and it makes his nose wrinkle. "You' just have to tell me where you went, later, maybe in the back lounge."
There's a door to the back lounge, and it locks if you lift up on it the right way. Spencer can't stop himself from smiling up at Jon and nodding, before he rolls off the bench and stumbles into the bunks to change into clean pants and maybe put his shirt back on.