Bandslash: Pete/Spencer, Spencer/Jon
Title: Most Played Track
Authors: kueble & chopsticknoodle
Fandom: Bandslash
Pairing: Pete/Spencer, Spencer/Jon
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,368
Summary: "How would you like it if I had home made porn on my fucking iPod?"
Notes: This was co-written with with fabulous chopsticknoodle, who also did the beta. Basically she's awesome.
If he's ever asked about it later, Spencer will lie through his teeth. If that doesn't work, he'll just say he never saw the camera.
Spencer isn't sure how he convinced himself that coming back here with Pete was the best of ideas, but Pete’s eyeliner is smudged, and his lips are pulsing and red, and the lights are dimmed, and Pete's got come fuck me eyes, and it's not like Spencer's ever been able to resist those.
Pete tilts his head to the side a little, and it's not like this big sweeping movement or anything, they are not in a Reese Witherspoon movie, Spencer's not going to get kissed in the rain, but he does move forward a little, and his skin shakes as Pete's fingers wrap around his wrist.
It’s so damn easy to fall back on old habits, to let Pete crook a finger at him and go wherever the hell he wants, because - dude - Pete Wentz wants to fuck him, and that’s never going to get old. So Spencer lets Pete manhandle him onto the bed, sprawling out on top of the covers. He glances towards the desktop, sees the video camera pointed towards the bed, and quirks an eyebrow at Pete, who just shrugs and laughs softly.
“Just go with it,” Pete says, smirking, and it’s all Spencer can do to nod. Then Pete’s on the bed, straddling Spencer’s hips as he leans down and presses their mouths together. Pete tastes like mint and traces of smoke from the club. Spencer licks into his mouth and raises his hips, needing to feel Pete’s body against his.
Pete's a tiny little thing, all elbows and wrists and hips, just like Ryan on a bad day, but Spencer doesn't mind, likes the weight and the feel against him, and he's good, this is good, no feelings involved, nothing too emotional, until Pete's fingers, his long tapered fingers that Spencer sometimes dreams about, start running through his hair. Through his hair. This has got to be a new kink, because Pete never seemed to care about his hair before.
Pete keeps one hand tangled there, in Spencer’s hair, tugging lightly as he nips a path down the side of Spencer’s neck. Spencer’s skin is on fire, his limbs heavy as Pete licks a swipe up his neck. Then his hands are roaming, skimming over Spencer’s sides before settling at the hem of his t-shirt and yanking it unceremoniously over his head. Spencer sits up, helping as much as he can in his current state. He’s already achingly hard, and Pete’s not even close to naked.
Spencer’s not sure if he’ll survive the night.
And then Pete's tipping him back, one hand on the small of his back and the other doing this crazy tripping beat against the skin of Spencer's chest. Spencer closes his eyes, because up close, Pete is even more beautiful than he is from far away. Not that that's really possible, considering how gorgeous Pete is from any angle.
Spencer doesn't tell him this. His head - both his heads - actually are big enough as it is, and Spencer rasps out a little trying to breath and focus, and he stares up at the cracked ceiling, counting the tiles, and reaches one hand out, just one, maybe it's a finger, he can't even tell at this point, his skin so burning, and palms Pete's cock through his jeans.
Pete bucks his hips into Spencer’s hands, and Spencer hurries to undo Pete’s belt. Pete reaches down and overlays his fingers on top of Spencer’s, and together they lower his zipper. By the time Pete’s jeans and boxers are shoved down, Spencer’s on edge and possibly drooling a little. He licks his lips and dips his head, going to his hands and knees so he can suck the tip of Pete’s dick past his lips. Pete keeps kneeling, one hand cupping the back of Spencer’s head, his fingers entangled in the soft strands of Spencer’s hair.
Pete moans - deep and guttural - and it fills the room. Spencer vaguely prays the video camera is recording sound before he pushes the thought away in favor of focusing on the weight of Pete’s cock on his tongue. He swallows as much of Pete as he can, propping himself up on one elbow so he can wrap his fingers around what doesn’t fit in his mouth. Pete doesn’t seem to mind, though, since he’s trailed off into whimpers. Spencer dares a glance upwards and has to slam his eyes shut at the sight of Pete watching him, his eyes dark as he strokes Spencer’s cheek with his thumb.
"So pretty," Pete gasps out the words, and Spencer snorts, or would snort if his mouth wasn't buried balls deep in Pete's crotch. He's dying, he's so hot, and sure, he's had sex before [obviously, he's an almost rock star, people like those almost as much as they like the real thing], and shit, he's even had sex with Pete, but it's never been like this. This is - he lets out a moan, or maybe he lets it in, and Pete's fingers dig themselves into his shoulders so hard that there'll be marks on his skin in the morning.
He's hasn't even recovered from the last ones, can still see them sometimes when he's in the shower [Brendon likes to have a mirror in there so he can watch himself, and Spencer's not going to complain exactly], and it hurts, it really hurts, all of this does, sort of, but it doesn't matter. He's hot, he's so hot and his dick might just break off in a second if it doesn't get some action soon, but it doesn't matter, because it's Pete, and if Spencer were a god fearing man, this would be heaven.
It’s as if Pete can read his mind - which wouldn’t actually surprise Spencer - because Pete tugs his hair, hard enough to make him open his eyes and see Pete waving him off. Spencer can’t help smirking as he pulls back, because he’s the one who put that crazed look in Pete’s eyes; he’s the one Pete’s shoving backwards and climbing on top of like his life depends on having Spencer’s lips attached to his.
And yeah, maybe it does, because Spencer totally feels the same way.
He mumbles something that maybe sounds like "more," and his eyes are closed, so he doesn't know that Pete's face splits into a grin, and he's breathing kind of heavy, and his fingers are twisting, and almost pinching, except not, because this feels good, and not like-not like, "OH MY GOD," he definitely hears himself say that, and if Spencer were a blusher, which, thank god, he's not, the heat would be spreading halfway across his skin by now, enveloping him in. Pete smirks again, and this one, Spencer does catch. He would frown if he could make his face move like that, or move at all, really, but Pete's a hard fucking bastard to frown at even when he isn't kissing a path down Spencer's chest.
Spencer bucks his hips, growling at Pete when he chuckles and presses down on his waist, holding him against the mattress. “Bastard,” Spencer mumbles, his eyes narrowing when Pete just laughs at him and swirls his tongue around Spencer’s belly button, and really, Spencer can’t argue with that. Hell, he can’t even form words as he concentrates on the slick press of Pete’s tongue against his abs. He’s panting by the time Pete takes pity on him and undoes his zipper before shoving at his jeans and working them down his legs.
“Lube,” Pete mutters as he hops off the bed and hurries to his dresser and back before kneeling between Spencer’s spread thighs, lube in one hand and a condom in the other.
"You do the honors," Pete's nuzzling his face against Spencer's neck, and strands of his hair are tickling at the underside of Spencer's chin. Pete holds the wrapper up to Spencer's lips, biting down on his own as Spencer's eyes widen. There's a first time for everything, and this is the first time Spencer unwraps a condom with his teeth.
“I'm a little-" Spencer needs to take a second, because Pete's fingers are there, they're, they're. "I might be a little," He gasps out, and closes his eyes and then opens them again, staring at the ceiling and trying to think of anything but the fact that Pete Wentz is...
"Tight." Pete finishes, and he's leaning forward, and stealing the breath straight from Spencer's mouth. "You're so fucking tight, Spence." He whispers, and his voice is a little shaky, which makes Spencer feel a little better about the fact that he's already almost come. Twice. Pete arches forward just the littlest, tiniest inch, and suddenly it's not his fingers spreading him wide, it's his cock, hot and thick, and throbbing, and really? He knows it might be a little awkward, explaining this new found...attachment, but Spencer never wants Pete to move. EVER.
Except then he does, rocking his hips a little as he slides even further inside Spencer. All Spencer can do it gasp as he’s filled, his body shaking as Pete stills for a moment. He looks down at Spencer and grins before bending down to press their lips together. His tongue fucks Spencer’s mouth in time with his hips, and Spencer could honestly say he’s never felt anything quite as amazing as Pete Wentz. He whimpers and digs his nails into Pete’s shoulders, wanting to leave marks - no, needing to - and raises his hips, meeting each of Pete’s thrusts with an upward one of his own.
Pete's groaning, and mumbling something, something like Spencer's name maybe, he can't tell, and honestly it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter as long as he keeps - Pete's fingers are reaching down, and wrapping around Spencer's cock, and that's all it takes, really. Spencer's coming, all over the place, and Pete's gasping, eyes wide and panting, and he comes too, right there. In unison. It's as perfect as Spencer thinks is possible in a backroom of a club with a couple hundred scene kids less than 50 feet away.
It takes him a few minutes to get his breathing under control, and Pete stays next to him the entire time, their sweat covered bodies pressed tightly against each other. Before he gets up to find his clothing, Spencer takes one final look at the camera. He’s on a sex and adrenaline high and dares to blow it a kiss, puckering up even as Pete’s laughing against the back of his neck.
--
As much as he'd deny agreeing to being filmed, Spencer has to admit it’s really fucking hot to watch himself getting fucked by Pete Wentz. He keeps it on his iPod and re-watches it late at night while secluded in his bunk, one hand fisted around his cock and the other clenched tightly around the iPod.
It’s his most played track.
He’s thankful Pete sent it to him - an email attachment labeled youknowwhat - a few weeks after they fucked. Spencer felt guilty for about half a second before saving it, eagerly watching the status bar until the download was complete and he could watch it again. It wasn’t like he hadn’t spent every spare moment replaying it in his head, but the audio added a lot to it (and to Spencer’s nightly fantasies).
Even after Spencer moves on - well, as much as anyone can move on from Pete Wentz - he keeps the video. He and Jon have this thing where they make out a lot and share random blowjobs on the bus or the rare leisurely fuck in a hotel bed. But as attached as he’s become to Jon, Spencer can’t bring himself to delete the homemade porn. There’s something comforting about being able to watch it whenever he wants. And yeah, it’s slutty and narcissistic and it’s Spencer’s biggest dirty little secret.
He just doesn’t care.
--
"What are you doing?" Jon is poking his head in, and Spencer's half asleep, sort of, and he can hear himself moaning through his head phones. Spencer blinks, because he can see Jon's hands, and he can see Jon's hands reaching for his iPod, but there's this little mental disconnect right there, because Jon's hands can't possibly be reaching for -
"Uh, nothing. Want to have sex?" Jon's eyes widen a little, and there's this tiny little smile on his lips. Much unlike the rest of him, because Spencer cannot complain that any part of Jon is tiny and little.
“As soon as you let me see why you were hiding in your bunk and panting, which, by the way, you should only ever be doing while I’m around,” Jon says, laughing as he snatches the iPod out of Spencer’s hands. Spencer’s flails as he makes one last attempt to hang onto it.
“Give me back Donatello!” he shouts, nearly getting hold of the iPod when Jon cracks up and drops to the floor of the bus.
“Donatello?” Jon asks between bursts of laughter. Spencer glares down at him and swipes a hand out, his fingertips brushing against Donatello before Jon yanks it just out of his reach. Spencer’s last comfort is the fact that the headphones are still in his ears, so Jon can’t hear him or Pete moaning as the video plays.
"What..." Jon takes a while to get up off the floor, and it's one of those times where Spencer is watching his entire life flash. The first time he had sex [with Jamie Kelly, in 9th grade [one of the more unsatisfying experiences of his life]. She was in his physics class, and before he saw her naked, he thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world], the first time he met Jon [and that got that feeling, low and twisting in his gut, that Jon would be it somehow], all of that is flashing, and there's this panicky feeling in his chest, because Jon is spinning around now and looking at him with eyes wider than they've ever been. "This is...this is you." It's not like Spencer can lie, even though the video's almost two years old, and his hair is much, much better now.
“Yeah, it is.”
“And Pete,” Jon mumbles, and Spencer hears the click of the video pausing. Thank god for small favors. He sighs and closes his eyes, not wanting to see the disappointed look on Jon’s face. He sees it behind his eyelids, though, and part of him breaks on the inside.
“Yeah,” Spencer whispers, so low he’s not even sure Jon can hear it. Not that he needs the confirmation, anyway.
“Do you,” Jon starts and pauses, breathing deeply before continuing. “Do you think about him when we...”
God. "No! Jon, of course not. God. No. The thing with Pete, it was over a long time ago." Jon glares at him from under his bangs, and Spencer feels this pit forming in his stomach that tells him this is an argument he's going to lose. "I just-"
"Obviously like watching yourself fucking other guys. The hell, Spence? How would you like it if I had home made porn on my fucking iPod?"
Spencer mumbles something like, "Ryan does," And he's going for funny, even though Ryan does in fact, but Jon's face is drawn and his eyes are hurt, and Spencer seriously feels the breath leaving his body, because Jon Walker is just. "C'mon, Jon, we're just...having a little fun. It's not like-"
"Fun?"
"Rhymes with gun?" Smiling and hoping that Jon thinks he's cute isn't going to get him very far, because honestly, Spencer doesn't really know what Jon sees in him in the first place, except for maybe his fucking sick drumming skills. "C'mon, man, it doesn't mean anything." Jon's face is blank.
"I guess it doesn't." He mutters, and he's gone before Spencer can say another word.
Spencer closes the curtain to his bunk and collapses against the mattress. He curls up on his side, not quite sure what he just did. But there’s this tightness in his chest and his breathing is shallow. He shouldn’t have said that to Jon.
Spencer’s pretty sure Jon might have meant everything.
--
Two days later Jon hasn’t so much as looked at Spencer, and Spencer would know because he’s spent all his spare time staring at Jon, trying to figure out exactly how much he’s fucked things up. Apparently a lot. Or at least that’s what Ryan tells him in hushed tones before they go on stage that night.
“I don’t even know if he should be playing,” Ryan whispers, and Spencer didn’t even think someone could whisper with such venom.
“I didn’t know,” Spencer says lamely. And he didn’t. He really didn’t know how much Jon meant to him.
“And then you told him about my porn?” Ryan spits out, his eyes narrowing as he glares at Spencer.
"It was an out! It was a way out! Distract Jon with the fact that I am not alone in liking to watch myself with former boyfriends,"
Ryan is rubbing at his eyes, and mumbling something like, "Patrick was never my boyfriend. Also? if Jon tells Brendon I will kill you."
"And get him to not be pissed anymore. Is it that weird? It's a hot video."
"If you say so." Ryan is scowling again, and Spencer knows he's messed up, he's messed up before, but never this badly. Never this hugely. And Ryan has never, ever been as mad at him as he is now. Which really, isn't that surprising, considering they've all taken to mothering Jon a little. Well, maybe Spencer doesn't mother him exactly. Maybe. But they cuddle, and sometimes Jon sings to him, and that's all gone now, the singing and the cuddling and the being with Jon, and Spencer loses his breath again, which is stupid because he has to be on stage drumming his heart out in a minute and a half.
“This is not the time for a panic attack,” Ryan says calmly, and Spencer looks up to meet his eyes. They look exactly like his mother’s do every time she tells him she’s not mad, but just disappointed. That’s the worst word in the English language. Hell, in all of them. “You really didn’t know you’re in love with him, did you?” Ryan asks, and Spencer’s breath hitches in his chest. He shakes his head wildly and tries to calm down.
Then he sees Jon, standing right behind Ryan, Brendon at his side. His eyes are wide and his stare so intense that Spencer can feel it. It’s the first thing he’s felt in days. Spencer meets Jon’s eyes and mouths I’m sorry at him. Jon tilts his head, pauses for a second, and then heads towards the stage.
He turns to look over his shoulder, the hint of a smile playing across his lips. And just like that, Spencer can breathe again. He grips his drum sticks tighter and lets Ryan usher him towards the stage.
--
This is the part of the night that Spencer hates. He and Jon have been sharing since they started...is he really going to be back at 15 and say dating? Apparently yes he is. Dating. They've been sharing hotel rooms since that, and yeah, Jon could avoid him on the bus, because they have their own bunks there, but not here. Not in the actual hotel.
"Hey," Jon's leaning against the wall, legs curled under him indian style, and his eyes are guarded but not exactly cold.
"Hey." Spencer mumbles, and then reaches his hand down, hoisting him up, and trying his very, very hardest to not kiss him. Not that he actually thinks Jon'll stop him, but they have to make this right first. They have to-
"I'm sorry, man. I didn't-"
"The way I see it, you've got a choice."
"Is it like, multiple choice? Because I rocked those on the SATs." Jon doesn't laugh or smirk or smile. Spencer's throat tightens.
"Pete or me?"
“Oh god, you,” Spencer says, the words rushing together in his haste to get them out. Jon smiles at him, and Spencer can feel his face brighten up, can feel the weight of the past few days disappearing. How had he not realized how over the fucking moon he was about Jon Walker?
“Hoped so,” Jon says, the words barely out of his mouth before he cups Spencer’s face and pulls him into a kiss. His beard is rough against Spencer’s chin, and he shivers as he tangles his fingers in the front of Jon’s t-shirt, pulling him tighter.
After a moment, he realizes that making out in the hallway of some random hotel may not be the greatest idea in the world and informs Jon of it. Jon just laughs and reaches behind Spencer, his fingers slipping in his back pocket and his thumb tracing light circles on the small of Spencer’s back as he finds the key card. Spencer’s already half hard by the time he unlocks the door and shoves him inside.
The lights are dark, which makes sense. Spencer is big on things making sense. It makes sense that Jon's tongue is slipping between his lips, and that Jon tastes sweet, like, chocolate, because Spencer'd just seen him eating some. It makes sense. It does. It makes sense when he blinks, and his shirt is gone and Jon is making these tiny little mewling noises in the back of his throat.
It doesn't make sense when Jon pulls back. It does not. It actually makes Spencer cranky, and he can see that Jon is trying to see that. It makes sense in his head that Jon may want to say something right about now. But Spencer doesn't really give a fuck about sense. He just wants to taste Jon again, so he dips his head a little, and kisses him. Because it's not exactly like he has a choice.
Because as much as Spencer likes to pretend otherwise, Jon him kind of owns him.
He tugs Jon’s shirt over his head before shoving at his hips and sending him sprawling backwards on the bed. Spencer smirks down at Jon before shimmying out of his jeans, barely pausing to unzip them. Jon does the same, and they’re naked before Spencer can take the time to realize how truly awesome this all is. He climbs on top of Jon and asks, “Lube?” before leaning down to suck a nipple into his mouth. Jon arches into the touch and struggles to pull something out of the pocket of his jeans. He hands Spencer a travel size packet of lube and a condom before tosses his jeans over the edge of the bed.
Spencer doesn’t think he’s ever gotten himself ready so fast, just a quick stretch on his own slick fingers as he hovers over Jon. Then he rolls the condom down Jon’s length and straddles him, easing his way down on Jon’s cock. It’s rushed and hectic and almost overwhelming, but Spencer figures they have time to take it slow later on. Years, even.
“Spence, you’re-” Spencer can barely look at Jon over his shoulder, because this is just. This is just the most intense thing he’s ever experienced. Ever. He can barely look at Jon, because that would require moving, and he’s not sure he can do that yet. “You’re so fucking tight.” Jon’s lips are making the words against the bare skin of Spencer’s shoulder, and even though it’s more than slightly ridiculous and a complete waste of the moment, Spencer comes right there, with Jon’s fingers tangled around his cock, making half hearted patterns in his skin.
“Oh god, I can’t.” Jon is shifting up again, he’s shifting up, and Spencer bites down so hard on his lip that he can feel it start to bleed. He rasps out a breath, and focuses his eyes straight ahead, trying to latch onto something, anything that will help him to not spontaneously combust. “Spencer, I-” Spencer arches down, flattening out his body as much as he possibly can, and Jon’s kissing at the back of his neck, and continuing his fingers’ exploration of Spencer’s now half hard [and swiftly getting all of the way there again] cock.
Jon comes with his hips bucking up. Jon comes with Spencer’s name on his lips like a prayer, and Spencer, Spencer doesn’t even know how he does it, but he shifts his weight a little, and angles his head back to face him [even though, Okay, it hurts a little. Heads aren’t supposed to move like that], and Jon is there, as if he’d been waiting for this, which, maybe he was, Spencer doesn’t know, he just kisses him because he’s got to, because he can’t not, and the little sigh that Jon drops into his mouth, that little sigh sends Spencer over the edge again.
It’s like he’s twelve, and anything brushing his cock will get him going. It doesn’t matter though, because he’s kissing Jon Walker, he’s kissing Jon, and Jon’s still inside him, not leaving, barely breathing but still inside him, and he tastes like sunsets.
Not that Spencer’s actually tasted a sunset before, but he bets that if he could, it’d taste just like Jon Walker.
Which would make it a pretty fuckin’ lucky sunset indeed.
Eventually, Spencer lifts himself off of Jon, quickly ties off the condom, and collapses against Jon’s side. He can barely keep his eyes open, but Jon is still moving, his mouth latching on to the base of Spencer’s neck. Jon sucks - hard enough to make Spencer flinch - and then pulls back, tonguing the spot gently.
“Marking me?” Spencer asks softly.
“Mine now,” Jon replies, the words sending a shiver down Spencer’s spine. Jon rolls onto his side and spoons behind Spencer, throwing an arm over Spencer’s hips. Grinning, Spencer lets himself drift off, fully aware that Jon will still be there when he wakes up.
He wouldn’t want it any other way.
Authors: kueble & chopsticknoodle
Fandom: Bandslash
Pairing: Pete/Spencer, Spencer/Jon
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,368
Summary: "How would you like it if I had home made porn on my fucking iPod?"
Notes: This was co-written with with fabulous chopsticknoodle, who also did the beta. Basically she's awesome.
If he's ever asked about it later, Spencer will lie through his teeth. If that doesn't work, he'll just say he never saw the camera.
Spencer isn't sure how he convinced himself that coming back here with Pete was the best of ideas, but Pete’s eyeliner is smudged, and his lips are pulsing and red, and the lights are dimmed, and Pete's got come fuck me eyes, and it's not like Spencer's ever been able to resist those.
Pete tilts his head to the side a little, and it's not like this big sweeping movement or anything, they are not in a Reese Witherspoon movie, Spencer's not going to get kissed in the rain, but he does move forward a little, and his skin shakes as Pete's fingers wrap around his wrist.
It’s so damn easy to fall back on old habits, to let Pete crook a finger at him and go wherever the hell he wants, because - dude - Pete Wentz wants to fuck him, and that’s never going to get old. So Spencer lets Pete manhandle him onto the bed, sprawling out on top of the covers. He glances towards the desktop, sees the video camera pointed towards the bed, and quirks an eyebrow at Pete, who just shrugs and laughs softly.
“Just go with it,” Pete says, smirking, and it’s all Spencer can do to nod. Then Pete’s on the bed, straddling Spencer’s hips as he leans down and presses their mouths together. Pete tastes like mint and traces of smoke from the club. Spencer licks into his mouth and raises his hips, needing to feel Pete’s body against his.
Pete's a tiny little thing, all elbows and wrists and hips, just like Ryan on a bad day, but Spencer doesn't mind, likes the weight and the feel against him, and he's good, this is good, no feelings involved, nothing too emotional, until Pete's fingers, his long tapered fingers that Spencer sometimes dreams about, start running through his hair. Through his hair. This has got to be a new kink, because Pete never seemed to care about his hair before.
Pete keeps one hand tangled there, in Spencer’s hair, tugging lightly as he nips a path down the side of Spencer’s neck. Spencer’s skin is on fire, his limbs heavy as Pete licks a swipe up his neck. Then his hands are roaming, skimming over Spencer’s sides before settling at the hem of his t-shirt and yanking it unceremoniously over his head. Spencer sits up, helping as much as he can in his current state. He’s already achingly hard, and Pete’s not even close to naked.
Spencer’s not sure if he’ll survive the night.
And then Pete's tipping him back, one hand on the small of his back and the other doing this crazy tripping beat against the skin of Spencer's chest. Spencer closes his eyes, because up close, Pete is even more beautiful than he is from far away. Not that that's really possible, considering how gorgeous Pete is from any angle.
Spencer doesn't tell him this. His head - both his heads - actually are big enough as it is, and Spencer rasps out a little trying to breath and focus, and he stares up at the cracked ceiling, counting the tiles, and reaches one hand out, just one, maybe it's a finger, he can't even tell at this point, his skin so burning, and palms Pete's cock through his jeans.
Pete bucks his hips into Spencer’s hands, and Spencer hurries to undo Pete’s belt. Pete reaches down and overlays his fingers on top of Spencer’s, and together they lower his zipper. By the time Pete’s jeans and boxers are shoved down, Spencer’s on edge and possibly drooling a little. He licks his lips and dips his head, going to his hands and knees so he can suck the tip of Pete’s dick past his lips. Pete keeps kneeling, one hand cupping the back of Spencer’s head, his fingers entangled in the soft strands of Spencer’s hair.
Pete moans - deep and guttural - and it fills the room. Spencer vaguely prays the video camera is recording sound before he pushes the thought away in favor of focusing on the weight of Pete’s cock on his tongue. He swallows as much of Pete as he can, propping himself up on one elbow so he can wrap his fingers around what doesn’t fit in his mouth. Pete doesn’t seem to mind, though, since he’s trailed off into whimpers. Spencer dares a glance upwards and has to slam his eyes shut at the sight of Pete watching him, his eyes dark as he strokes Spencer’s cheek with his thumb.
"So pretty," Pete gasps out the words, and Spencer snorts, or would snort if his mouth wasn't buried balls deep in Pete's crotch. He's dying, he's so hot, and sure, he's had sex before [obviously, he's an almost rock star, people like those almost as much as they like the real thing], and shit, he's even had sex with Pete, but it's never been like this. This is - he lets out a moan, or maybe he lets it in, and Pete's fingers dig themselves into his shoulders so hard that there'll be marks on his skin in the morning.
He's hasn't even recovered from the last ones, can still see them sometimes when he's in the shower [Brendon likes to have a mirror in there so he can watch himself, and Spencer's not going to complain exactly], and it hurts, it really hurts, all of this does, sort of, but it doesn't matter. He's hot, he's so hot and his dick might just break off in a second if it doesn't get some action soon, but it doesn't matter, because it's Pete, and if Spencer were a god fearing man, this would be heaven.
It’s as if Pete can read his mind - which wouldn’t actually surprise Spencer - because Pete tugs his hair, hard enough to make him open his eyes and see Pete waving him off. Spencer can’t help smirking as he pulls back, because he’s the one who put that crazed look in Pete’s eyes; he’s the one Pete’s shoving backwards and climbing on top of like his life depends on having Spencer’s lips attached to his.
And yeah, maybe it does, because Spencer totally feels the same way.
He mumbles something that maybe sounds like "more," and his eyes are closed, so he doesn't know that Pete's face splits into a grin, and he's breathing kind of heavy, and his fingers are twisting, and almost pinching, except not, because this feels good, and not like-not like, "OH MY GOD," he definitely hears himself say that, and if Spencer were a blusher, which, thank god, he's not, the heat would be spreading halfway across his skin by now, enveloping him in. Pete smirks again, and this one, Spencer does catch. He would frown if he could make his face move like that, or move at all, really, but Pete's a hard fucking bastard to frown at even when he isn't kissing a path down Spencer's chest.
Spencer bucks his hips, growling at Pete when he chuckles and presses down on his waist, holding him against the mattress. “Bastard,” Spencer mumbles, his eyes narrowing when Pete just laughs at him and swirls his tongue around Spencer’s belly button, and really, Spencer can’t argue with that. Hell, he can’t even form words as he concentrates on the slick press of Pete’s tongue against his abs. He’s panting by the time Pete takes pity on him and undoes his zipper before shoving at his jeans and working them down his legs.
“Lube,” Pete mutters as he hops off the bed and hurries to his dresser and back before kneeling between Spencer’s spread thighs, lube in one hand and a condom in the other.
"You do the honors," Pete's nuzzling his face against Spencer's neck, and strands of his hair are tickling at the underside of Spencer's chin. Pete holds the wrapper up to Spencer's lips, biting down on his own as Spencer's eyes widen. There's a first time for everything, and this is the first time Spencer unwraps a condom with his teeth.
“I'm a little-" Spencer needs to take a second, because Pete's fingers are there, they're, they're. "I might be a little," He gasps out, and closes his eyes and then opens them again, staring at the ceiling and trying to think of anything but the fact that Pete Wentz is...
"Tight." Pete finishes, and he's leaning forward, and stealing the breath straight from Spencer's mouth. "You're so fucking tight, Spence." He whispers, and his voice is a little shaky, which makes Spencer feel a little better about the fact that he's already almost come. Twice. Pete arches forward just the littlest, tiniest inch, and suddenly it's not his fingers spreading him wide, it's his cock, hot and thick, and throbbing, and really? He knows it might be a little awkward, explaining this new found...attachment, but Spencer never wants Pete to move. EVER.
Except then he does, rocking his hips a little as he slides even further inside Spencer. All Spencer can do it gasp as he’s filled, his body shaking as Pete stills for a moment. He looks down at Spencer and grins before bending down to press their lips together. His tongue fucks Spencer’s mouth in time with his hips, and Spencer could honestly say he’s never felt anything quite as amazing as Pete Wentz. He whimpers and digs his nails into Pete’s shoulders, wanting to leave marks - no, needing to - and raises his hips, meeting each of Pete’s thrusts with an upward one of his own.
Pete's groaning, and mumbling something, something like Spencer's name maybe, he can't tell, and honestly it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter as long as he keeps - Pete's fingers are reaching down, and wrapping around Spencer's cock, and that's all it takes, really. Spencer's coming, all over the place, and Pete's gasping, eyes wide and panting, and he comes too, right there. In unison. It's as perfect as Spencer thinks is possible in a backroom of a club with a couple hundred scene kids less than 50 feet away.
It takes him a few minutes to get his breathing under control, and Pete stays next to him the entire time, their sweat covered bodies pressed tightly against each other. Before he gets up to find his clothing, Spencer takes one final look at the camera. He’s on a sex and adrenaline high and dares to blow it a kiss, puckering up even as Pete’s laughing against the back of his neck.
--
As much as he'd deny agreeing to being filmed, Spencer has to admit it’s really fucking hot to watch himself getting fucked by Pete Wentz. He keeps it on his iPod and re-watches it late at night while secluded in his bunk, one hand fisted around his cock and the other clenched tightly around the iPod.
It’s his most played track.
He’s thankful Pete sent it to him - an email attachment labeled youknowwhat - a few weeks after they fucked. Spencer felt guilty for about half a second before saving it, eagerly watching the status bar until the download was complete and he could watch it again. It wasn’t like he hadn’t spent every spare moment replaying it in his head, but the audio added a lot to it (and to Spencer’s nightly fantasies).
Even after Spencer moves on - well, as much as anyone can move on from Pete Wentz - he keeps the video. He and Jon have this thing where they make out a lot and share random blowjobs on the bus or the rare leisurely fuck in a hotel bed. But as attached as he’s become to Jon, Spencer can’t bring himself to delete the homemade porn. There’s something comforting about being able to watch it whenever he wants. And yeah, it’s slutty and narcissistic and it’s Spencer’s biggest dirty little secret.
He just doesn’t care.
--
"What are you doing?" Jon is poking his head in, and Spencer's half asleep, sort of, and he can hear himself moaning through his head phones. Spencer blinks, because he can see Jon's hands, and he can see Jon's hands reaching for his iPod, but there's this little mental disconnect right there, because Jon's hands can't possibly be reaching for -
"Uh, nothing. Want to have sex?" Jon's eyes widen a little, and there's this tiny little smile on his lips. Much unlike the rest of him, because Spencer cannot complain that any part of Jon is tiny and little.
“As soon as you let me see why you were hiding in your bunk and panting, which, by the way, you should only ever be doing while I’m around,” Jon says, laughing as he snatches the iPod out of Spencer’s hands. Spencer’s flails as he makes one last attempt to hang onto it.
“Give me back Donatello!” he shouts, nearly getting hold of the iPod when Jon cracks up and drops to the floor of the bus.
“Donatello?” Jon asks between bursts of laughter. Spencer glares down at him and swipes a hand out, his fingertips brushing against Donatello before Jon yanks it just out of his reach. Spencer’s last comfort is the fact that the headphones are still in his ears, so Jon can’t hear him or Pete moaning as the video plays.
"What..." Jon takes a while to get up off the floor, and it's one of those times where Spencer is watching his entire life flash. The first time he had sex [with Jamie Kelly, in 9th grade [one of the more unsatisfying experiences of his life]. She was in his physics class, and before he saw her naked, he thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world], the first time he met Jon [and that got that feeling, low and twisting in his gut, that Jon would be it somehow], all of that is flashing, and there's this panicky feeling in his chest, because Jon is spinning around now and looking at him with eyes wider than they've ever been. "This is...this is you." It's not like Spencer can lie, even though the video's almost two years old, and his hair is much, much better now.
“Yeah, it is.”
“And Pete,” Jon mumbles, and Spencer hears the click of the video pausing. Thank god for small favors. He sighs and closes his eyes, not wanting to see the disappointed look on Jon’s face. He sees it behind his eyelids, though, and part of him breaks on the inside.
“Yeah,” Spencer whispers, so low he’s not even sure Jon can hear it. Not that he needs the confirmation, anyway.
“Do you,” Jon starts and pauses, breathing deeply before continuing. “Do you think about him when we...”
God. "No! Jon, of course not. God. No. The thing with Pete, it was over a long time ago." Jon glares at him from under his bangs, and Spencer feels this pit forming in his stomach that tells him this is an argument he's going to lose. "I just-"
"Obviously like watching yourself fucking other guys. The hell, Spence? How would you like it if I had home made porn on my fucking iPod?"
Spencer mumbles something like, "Ryan does," And he's going for funny, even though Ryan does in fact, but Jon's face is drawn and his eyes are hurt, and Spencer seriously feels the breath leaving his body, because Jon Walker is just. "C'mon, Jon, we're just...having a little fun. It's not like-"
"Fun?"
"Rhymes with gun?" Smiling and hoping that Jon thinks he's cute isn't going to get him very far, because honestly, Spencer doesn't really know what Jon sees in him in the first place, except for maybe his fucking sick drumming skills. "C'mon, man, it doesn't mean anything." Jon's face is blank.
"I guess it doesn't." He mutters, and he's gone before Spencer can say another word.
Spencer closes the curtain to his bunk and collapses against the mattress. He curls up on his side, not quite sure what he just did. But there’s this tightness in his chest and his breathing is shallow. He shouldn’t have said that to Jon.
Spencer’s pretty sure Jon might have meant everything.
--
Two days later Jon hasn’t so much as looked at Spencer, and Spencer would know because he’s spent all his spare time staring at Jon, trying to figure out exactly how much he’s fucked things up. Apparently a lot. Or at least that’s what Ryan tells him in hushed tones before they go on stage that night.
“I don’t even know if he should be playing,” Ryan whispers, and Spencer didn’t even think someone could whisper with such venom.
“I didn’t know,” Spencer says lamely. And he didn’t. He really didn’t know how much Jon meant to him.
“And then you told him about my porn?” Ryan spits out, his eyes narrowing as he glares at Spencer.
"It was an out! It was a way out! Distract Jon with the fact that I am not alone in liking to watch myself with former boyfriends,"
Ryan is rubbing at his eyes, and mumbling something like, "Patrick was never my boyfriend. Also? if Jon tells Brendon I will kill you."
"And get him to not be pissed anymore. Is it that weird? It's a hot video."
"If you say so." Ryan is scowling again, and Spencer knows he's messed up, he's messed up before, but never this badly. Never this hugely. And Ryan has never, ever been as mad at him as he is now. Which really, isn't that surprising, considering they've all taken to mothering Jon a little. Well, maybe Spencer doesn't mother him exactly. Maybe. But they cuddle, and sometimes Jon sings to him, and that's all gone now, the singing and the cuddling and the being with Jon, and Spencer loses his breath again, which is stupid because he has to be on stage drumming his heart out in a minute and a half.
“This is not the time for a panic attack,” Ryan says calmly, and Spencer looks up to meet his eyes. They look exactly like his mother’s do every time she tells him she’s not mad, but just disappointed. That’s the worst word in the English language. Hell, in all of them. “You really didn’t know you’re in love with him, did you?” Ryan asks, and Spencer’s breath hitches in his chest. He shakes his head wildly and tries to calm down.
Then he sees Jon, standing right behind Ryan, Brendon at his side. His eyes are wide and his stare so intense that Spencer can feel it. It’s the first thing he’s felt in days. Spencer meets Jon’s eyes and mouths I’m sorry at him. Jon tilts his head, pauses for a second, and then heads towards the stage.
He turns to look over his shoulder, the hint of a smile playing across his lips. And just like that, Spencer can breathe again. He grips his drum sticks tighter and lets Ryan usher him towards the stage.
--
This is the part of the night that Spencer hates. He and Jon have been sharing since they started...is he really going to be back at 15 and say dating? Apparently yes he is. Dating. They've been sharing hotel rooms since that, and yeah, Jon could avoid him on the bus, because they have their own bunks there, but not here. Not in the actual hotel.
"Hey," Jon's leaning against the wall, legs curled under him indian style, and his eyes are guarded but not exactly cold.
"Hey." Spencer mumbles, and then reaches his hand down, hoisting him up, and trying his very, very hardest to not kiss him. Not that he actually thinks Jon'll stop him, but they have to make this right first. They have to-
"I'm sorry, man. I didn't-"
"The way I see it, you've got a choice."
"Is it like, multiple choice? Because I rocked those on the SATs." Jon doesn't laugh or smirk or smile. Spencer's throat tightens.
"Pete or me?"
“Oh god, you,” Spencer says, the words rushing together in his haste to get them out. Jon smiles at him, and Spencer can feel his face brighten up, can feel the weight of the past few days disappearing. How had he not realized how over the fucking moon he was about Jon Walker?
“Hoped so,” Jon says, the words barely out of his mouth before he cups Spencer’s face and pulls him into a kiss. His beard is rough against Spencer’s chin, and he shivers as he tangles his fingers in the front of Jon’s t-shirt, pulling him tighter.
After a moment, he realizes that making out in the hallway of some random hotel may not be the greatest idea in the world and informs Jon of it. Jon just laughs and reaches behind Spencer, his fingers slipping in his back pocket and his thumb tracing light circles on the small of Spencer’s back as he finds the key card. Spencer’s already half hard by the time he unlocks the door and shoves him inside.
The lights are dark, which makes sense. Spencer is big on things making sense. It makes sense that Jon's tongue is slipping between his lips, and that Jon tastes sweet, like, chocolate, because Spencer'd just seen him eating some. It makes sense. It does. It makes sense when he blinks, and his shirt is gone and Jon is making these tiny little mewling noises in the back of his throat.
It doesn't make sense when Jon pulls back. It does not. It actually makes Spencer cranky, and he can see that Jon is trying to see that. It makes sense in his head that Jon may want to say something right about now. But Spencer doesn't really give a fuck about sense. He just wants to taste Jon again, so he dips his head a little, and kisses him. Because it's not exactly like he has a choice.
Because as much as Spencer likes to pretend otherwise, Jon him kind of owns him.
He tugs Jon’s shirt over his head before shoving at his hips and sending him sprawling backwards on the bed. Spencer smirks down at Jon before shimmying out of his jeans, barely pausing to unzip them. Jon does the same, and they’re naked before Spencer can take the time to realize how truly awesome this all is. He climbs on top of Jon and asks, “Lube?” before leaning down to suck a nipple into his mouth. Jon arches into the touch and struggles to pull something out of the pocket of his jeans. He hands Spencer a travel size packet of lube and a condom before tosses his jeans over the edge of the bed.
Spencer doesn’t think he’s ever gotten himself ready so fast, just a quick stretch on his own slick fingers as he hovers over Jon. Then he rolls the condom down Jon’s length and straddles him, easing his way down on Jon’s cock. It’s rushed and hectic and almost overwhelming, but Spencer figures they have time to take it slow later on. Years, even.
“Spence, you’re-” Spencer can barely look at Jon over his shoulder, because this is just. This is just the most intense thing he’s ever experienced. Ever. He can barely look at Jon, because that would require moving, and he’s not sure he can do that yet. “You’re so fucking tight.” Jon’s lips are making the words against the bare skin of Spencer’s shoulder, and even though it’s more than slightly ridiculous and a complete waste of the moment, Spencer comes right there, with Jon’s fingers tangled around his cock, making half hearted patterns in his skin.
“Oh god, I can’t.” Jon is shifting up again, he’s shifting up, and Spencer bites down so hard on his lip that he can feel it start to bleed. He rasps out a breath, and focuses his eyes straight ahead, trying to latch onto something, anything that will help him to not spontaneously combust. “Spencer, I-” Spencer arches down, flattening out his body as much as he possibly can, and Jon’s kissing at the back of his neck, and continuing his fingers’ exploration of Spencer’s now half hard [and swiftly getting all of the way there again] cock.
Jon comes with his hips bucking up. Jon comes with Spencer’s name on his lips like a prayer, and Spencer, Spencer doesn’t even know how he does it, but he shifts his weight a little, and angles his head back to face him [even though, Okay, it hurts a little. Heads aren’t supposed to move like that], and Jon is there, as if he’d been waiting for this, which, maybe he was, Spencer doesn’t know, he just kisses him because he’s got to, because he can’t not, and the little sigh that Jon drops into his mouth, that little sigh sends Spencer over the edge again.
It’s like he’s twelve, and anything brushing his cock will get him going. It doesn’t matter though, because he’s kissing Jon Walker, he’s kissing Jon, and Jon’s still inside him, not leaving, barely breathing but still inside him, and he tastes like sunsets.
Not that Spencer’s actually tasted a sunset before, but he bets that if he could, it’d taste just like Jon Walker.
Which would make it a pretty fuckin’ lucky sunset indeed.
Eventually, Spencer lifts himself off of Jon, quickly ties off the condom, and collapses against Jon’s side. He can barely keep his eyes open, but Jon is still moving, his mouth latching on to the base of Spencer’s neck. Jon sucks - hard enough to make Spencer flinch - and then pulls back, tonguing the spot gently.
“Marking me?” Spencer asks softly.
“Mine now,” Jon replies, the words sending a shiver down Spencer’s spine. Jon rolls onto his side and spoons behind Spencer, throwing an arm over Spencer’s hips. Grinning, Spencer lets himself drift off, fully aware that Jon will still be there when he wakes up.
He wouldn’t want it any other way.