I'm calling this "The Title of a Bright Eyes Song." So there.
So, I've been working on a sequel to Lights Never Shine as Bright as in the Movies, but honestly, it's never going to be finished. And it's kind of, um, topical today. So I'm posting the fragment I've got.
Around 3,000 words, a little porny, Brendon/Spencer (with background Ryan/Greta)
Brendon is not sitting in the hallway staring at the front door, except for how he totally is.
"Why are you sitting on the floor?" Ryan asks.
"Why are you wearing a monocle?" Brendon counters.
Ryan sniffs. "My monocle is awesome," he says.
It kind of is, so Brendon doesn't argue.
"You're totally sitting there willing Spencer to come through the door."
"I am not," Brendon says. He totally is.
"Look me in the eye and try to deny it." He starts to swing his monocle. "Look very closely, you are getting sleepy. You are getting very, very sleepy."
"Thirty-seven days," Brendon tells him. "It has been thirty-seven days since I have seen my boyfriend."
"I haven't seen Spencer in thirty-seven days, either," Ryan tells him. "You don't see me sitting here staring at the front door."
Brendon rolls his eyes. "But you haven't gone thirty-seven days without sex."
"I know you jerk off," Ryan says. "I've heard you."
Brendon doesn't ask why Ryan's been listening at his bedroom door. "Of course I jerk off. I jerk off even when Spencer's here. That is not the same as sex with Spencer. Who's coming home today. Soon. Any minute now."
Ryan sits down next to him and nestles his monocle back between his cheek and his eyebrow. He stares intently at the door.
"Why are you sitting on the floor?" asks Greta as she walks by on her way to the kitchen.
"We're willing Spencer to come home," Ryan tells her.
"Spencer's flight got in half an hour ago," Greta says. "Your will has nothing to do with it."
"When Spencer gets home, Brendon's going to fuck him in the front hall," Ryan tells her. "I should be here for that. It's research."
Greta looks amused. "For what?"
"I might write a gay romance novel."
"You're not going to write a gay romance novel."
"How do you know?" Ryan asks. "Maybe I signed a deal with Harlequin."
"I'm pretty sure Harlequin doesn't publish gay romance novels. And even if they did, you're not going to write one. And even if you did write one, you wouldn't have any idea how to negotiate your own contract."
"She has a point," says Brendon.
Ryan nods and stands up. "Will you take me to the mall?" he asks Greta.
"For research?"
He shakes his head. "No. I just want new pants."
It's nearly another half hour before the front door opens and Spencer steps through it, dragging one of his suitcases. Brendon leaps to his feet and is at the front door with his arms around Spencer's neck before Spencer can even say hello. He kisses Spencer's mouth and his face and nuzzles his neck.
"Hi," Spencer says, grinning, one of his hands coming up to rest against the small of Brendon's back. "Miss me?"
Brendon nods. He takes a deep breath and he can barely smell Spencer, can barely smell his skin. Instead he smells strange laundry detergent and sour sweat and stale air. Brendon says, "I wanna get you naked and make you smell like me."
Spencer kisses his temple. "Missed you, too. Let me get my stuff from the car."
"No," says Brendon. "Get it later so we can get naked now and--"
"I just got off a twenty hour flight," Spencer tells him. "Please, please go run me a shower while I get my things?"
Brendon thinks that Spencer getting his suitcases out of the car is not nearly as fun as Spencer shoving his cock down Brendon's throat, but he agrees and kisses Spencer again before taking the stairs two at a time. He's got the shower nice and hot and is already naked when Spencer comes in, slowly unbuttoning his jeans.
"Naked," says Brendon, and his fingers are quick as they undo Spencer's fly and tug down his pants and underwear in one swift motion. He yanks Spencer's t-shirt off over his head and drags him into the shower, kissing him over and over again.
Spencer kisses back lazily, slides his arms around Brendon's waist and smiles against Brendon's mouth as they stand beneath the hot spray of water. "Hi," Spencer whispers.
"Hi," Brendon says. His cock is hard and it feels so good to rub it against Spencer's hip. "Did you see orangutans?"
"Not in the wild. I didn't spend a lot of time on Sumatra."
"Bali," says Brendon. "Sulawesi. Is Indonesia beautiful?"
Spencer nods and his eyes flutter closed. "I want to sleep for days," he says.
"Not until you fuck me."
Spencer laughs and leans against the tile wall and lets Brendon scrub the stink of travel off of him. He lets Brendon wrap him in a towel when they're done and he follows Brendon into the bedroom and stretches out naked on the bed and tips his head up when Brendon kisses him again.
"Want you to fuck me," Brendon whispers.
"Baby," Spencer says with a sigh. "I'm so tired."
"Need you to fuck me," Brendon tells him. "I hate it when you're not here."
Spencer can barely keep his eyes open. His cock is thick with arousal, but he's not completely hard. He says, "Fuck yourself for me."
Brendon makes a desperate noise, shaking his head. "But I want--"
"I know," Spencer tells him. "I know, and I wanna fuck you, too, but I can't, not right now. So fuck yourself and let me watch you. Use the blue dildo. The big one."
Brendon nods. He still wants Spencer's cock, but Spencer looks so tired, and he seems to be struggling so hard to stay awake. He gets the blue silicone dildo and the lube from their toy chest, slicks up his fingers and slides them inside and his cock jerks when he hears Spencer moan.
"Look so hot like that," Spencer tells him. "Spread your ass for me. Let me see."
Brendon does, kneels on the bed and arches his ass up so Spencer can watch him finger fuck himself. Then he slicks up the dildo and presses the tip against his hole, sinks down on it slowly and Spencer groans, strokes his thighs and whispers, "Slow, take it slow just like that. All the way. Come on, baby, you can take it all the way in."
It aches, but he's so hard and Spencer's watching him and yes, fuck, yes he can take it all the way, slide all the way down until the flared base is against his hole. He slides up again and Spencer's fingers continue to stroke his legs, the backs of his knees. He does it slow just like Spencer tells him to and he doesn't touch his cock until Spencer tells him he can, and it's not the same, but it's still so, so good.
He comes hard, shaking, and Spencer's still fighting to stay awake, still urging him on. He slides the dildo out and tosses it to the floor, then curls up against Spencer.
"So hot, baby," Spencer murmurs. He rubs the spot between his eyes the way he always does when he has a headache.
"Want me to get you something?" Brendon asks. He's not sure he can stand, not sure his legs will work, but he asks anyway.
Spencer shakes his head and pulls Brendon closer. "Just to sleep," he says, his words becoming slurred. "Just you."
Brendon closes his eyes, and even though it's mid-afternoon, he sleeps.
He wakes up cold, no covers to keep him warm, no Spencer beside him. It's dark in the room and he reaches for the bedside lamp, blinks against the light after turning it on.
"I feel bad." Spencer's voice is weak. "I feel really bad, Bren."
Brendon blinks in the light and tries to focus on Spencer, who's sitting on the edge of the bed. He doesn't look right, and at first Brendon thinks it's his eyes still reacting to the sudden light. Then Spencer turns to look at him; his eyes are bloodshot and there's a dark red rash spreading from his face down onto his chest, his arms, his pale belly. He's taking quick, shallow breaths.
"I'm taking you to the ER," Brendon says.
Spencer nods, doesn't even argue or try to convince Brendon he's fine, and that's even scarier than the rash and the way he whimpers softly, gripping the sheets tightly, grimacing in pain.
Brendon drives so fast that he's shocked he doesn't get pulled over. "What are you allergic to?" he asks as he drives. The radio is off. There's no sound except the car engine and Spencer's breath.
"Nothing," Spencer tells him.
"You look like you're having an allergic reaction," Brendon says. His sister's allergic to walnuts. He's seen her break out in hives. Once her throat even started to close up. She carries an epi-pen with her everywhere.
"I'm not allergic to anything," Spencer says as Brendon takes a corner too fast. He doesn't even tell Brendon to slow down, to be careful.
He expects to have to wait, to have to demand that they take care of Spencer immediately, but he doesn't have to. They take Spencer back as soon as he gets there and Brendon alternates between holding his hand and assuring him it will be all right and backing up into a corner to stay out of the nurses and doctors' way.
It's not until they start sticking Spencer with IVs and kick Brendon back out into the waiting room that he even thinks to call anyone. He calls Spencer's mother, wakes her up, and he hates having to tell her that he doesn't know what's wrong, that Spencer's sick and in the hospital and he doesn't have a clue as to why.
Spencer's parents show up in half an hour. Ryan shows up ten minutes after that. Nobody knows anything. Nobody knows what's wrong.
Brendon's scared and he hates the way hospitals smell and he's wearing mismatched shoes. Ryan sits next to him and holds his hand, and even though Brendon knows it's more for Ryan's comfort than his own, he's thankful.
One of the nurses comes out and asks them questions. She asks if Spencer's ever been to Nepal. She asks if he's ever had malaria. She asks if he's immunodeficient, if he's ever had cancer or chemotherapy, if he has rheumatoid arthritis, if he has HIV.
Ryan squeezes Brendon's hand so tight that his little finger goes numb. Brendon doesn't mind.
"Dengue fever?" Ryan asks when the doctor tells them it's the most likely culprit. "Isn't that the name of a band? And wait, is it contagious? Because he was in my house. Do we have to burn his bedding and toys like in The Velveteen Rabbit? And is it sexually transmitted? Because if it is, I can guarantee that Brendon has it. Do we have to burn Brendon?"
Brendon pokes him in the ribs, and Ryan laughs and smiles at him. It's a brittle smile, but it's something. None of them are happy, but at least Spencer's not going to die.
They leave the hospital little after dawn. No one's allowed to see Spencer. They've transferred him from the ER to the hospital proper, he's sedated, and visiting hours won't start until nine.
Brendon takes a shower and looks at his bed for a long time before wrapping himself in a blanket and lying on the couch, instead. He doesn't think he'll ever sleep, but eventually, he does. He doesn't wake up until one o'clock, and he hurries to the hospital only to find Spencer asleep.
Ginger's sitting by his bedside reading a mystery novel. When she sees Brendon, she gets up and hugs him tight. She's shorter than he is, so she has to tug him down so she can kiss his cheek.
"I meant to be here earlier," he says.
"I'm glad you got some sleep," she tells him.
"Has he woken up?"
"He's in and out."
"I'm on the good drugs," Spencer slurs. He's pale, the bright red splotches gone from his face. The rash still covers his arms, though, and it's on his throat, disappearing beneath the hospital gown. Brendon thinks it's darker than it was before, more red, the splotches larger than they'd been.
"You can't just get a cold like any normal person, can you?" Brendon asks. "No, you need to be difficult and get some fancy tropical virus."
Spencer smiles weakly at him. He says, "So pretty pretty."
"What?" Brendon asks, but Spencer's eyes are already closed and he's asleep.
Spencer sleeps a lot, which Brendon's thankful for. When he's awake, he's in pain, making soft sounds of discomfort even through the codeine haze. His fever's high and the nurses are constantly checking in on him, taking his temperature, pinching at the skin on his hands and arms to make sure he's not dehydrated despite the IVs dripping fluids into his veins.
Brendon feels helpless and anxious sitting at Spencer's bedside. He's never known anybody who was sick enough to be in the hospital before, not really. One of his sisters-in-law had been on bed rest during her last pregnancy, but she'd been alert and cheerful every time Brendon had seen her.
Spencer's actually really sick, and even though the doctor says he's not in any real danger, Brendon's scared. He thinks about a life without Spencer in it, and it makes him dizzy and anxious and he has to go walk the halls to work off his nervous energy until he can push the thoughts out of his head.
Ginger's there a lot. She makes Brendon eat and she tells him to go home and sleep, but he can't. Even when they kick him out at night, he can't sleep, shows up at the hospital at the start of visiting hours the next day exhausted and frazzled.
Jon and Cassie come to visit once. Ryan comes more often. He shows up a couple of times a day, but he never stays long. He looms in the doorway looking tense and miserable, shoulders hunched forward like he's trying to protect himself from something.
Brendon's read all of Ryan's books, had read them all even before he and Ryan had met. Half of Camisado takes place in a hospital, the protagonist stuck there watching his father die. Brendon's never asked if it was based on Ryan's personal experience, but he thinks maybe it was, he thinks maybe Ryan's had enough of hospitals to last him the rest of his life.
On the third day, Spencer opens his eyes and looks at Ryan standing there in the doorway for a long moment. He says, "Go home, assface."
Ryan sighs miserably.
"I mean it," Spencer's voice is weak and soft, but there's an edge to it. "There's no reason for you to stand around staring at me. I'm not going to take it personally if you leave. You're going to get plenty of me being sick and miserable once they let me out of this place. Get out of my face. I don't want to see you back here."
Ryan looks so relieved he might cry.
Spencer reaches his hand out towards Brendon once Ryan's gone. Brendon leans forward and takes Spencer's hand in his own. "That was nice of you."
Spencer squeezes Brendon's hand tightly for a moment. His eyes are screwed shut and he's breathing in short, quick pants.
"Do you want me to get the nurse?" Brendon asks.
Spencer shakes his head. They give him pain meds on a regular basis and there's nothing the nurses can do for him until it's time for his next dose. There's nothing anyone can do, so Brendon holds his hand and feeds him ice chips and pudding and waits.
Spencer's fever breaks on the fifth day, the majority of the muscle and joint pain going with it. On the seventh day, he's free to leave.
"What?" Brendon asks. "Just like that? They're just letting you go?"
"Thank God," says Spencer, sitting up slowly and reaching for the t-shirt and sweats Ginger had brought for him. "Brendon, help me put real clothes on. Oh, my God, I smell bad."
Brendon tugs the curtain around Spencer's bed closed and unfastens the tie to Spencer's hospital gown and it's slow going since Spencer's too weak to really help.
"I thought we'd move a bed down into the living room," Ginger says as they wheel Spencer down the hall. He'd wanted to walk, but he'd had to stop and rest after ten steps and had finally caved and let them put him in a wheelchair. "So you don't have to use the stairs. We'll have to put up gates so the dogs don't jump all over you, but it'll be okay. Brendon can help move the bed, right?"
"Um," says Brendon. He has nothing against moving furniture, he just hadn't known that Spencer was going to his parents house.
"Fuck that," says Spencer.
"Spencer," his mother says.
"Seriously. Fuck that. I want to go home."
"You are going home," she tells him.
"No. To my home. I want to go to my home, to my bed."
"There's no one to take care of you there," Ginger tells him. "You need someone to look after you."
Spencer's exhausted and groggy, but he turns to look his mother in the eye. "Would you be saying that bullshit if I had a wife instead of a boyfriend?"
Ginger looks startled. "I...that's not..." she starts.
"I'm taking you home, baby," Brendon says, smoothing Spencer's hair. "And I'll take good care of you. But you should probably apologize for cursing at your mother."
"Oh," Spencer says sleepily. He reaches out for Ginger's hand. "Sorry. I'm really cranky right now."
"That's all right," Ginger says, but she looks tense. She's tense the entire drive to Brendon and Spencer's house, but Brendon does his best to pretend he doesn't notice.
"Come on," Brendon says after she pulls into their driveway. "Up and at 'em." He squats down so Spencer can get an arm over his shoulders and helps him out of her car.
"I'm so itchy," Spencer says miserably.
Brendon stills Spencer's hand where he's trying to scratch at the rash on his belly. "You're going to make it worse," he says.
"So itchy," Spencer says again.
Ryan opens the front door before they even reach the steps. He's in his striped pajamas and his fedora but instead of his usual slippers he's wearing cowboy boots.
"What the hell is on your feet?" Spencer asks.
"Um," says Ryan. He looks down. "Boots."
"Ignore him," Brendon says. "He's cranky."
"I itch everywhere," Spencer says, letting Brendon lead him into the house. "The bottoms of my feet itch. Just take me out into the backyard and put me out of my misery."
"How about I take you upstairs and put you into an oatmeal bath, instead?" Brendon asks.
Spencer hums happily at the thought.
"Can I help?" Ryan asks as Brendon maneuvers Spencer towards the stairs.
"You can put a cup of oatmeal into the coffee grinder and pulverize it," Brendon says.
"On it," Ryan says, turning to go, then he turns back around and looks at Ginger. "You should probably do it. I caught our last coffee grinder on fire."
Spencer has to stop for breath halfway up the steps, but Brendon gets him up them eventually, then into the bathroom where he leans Spencer against the counter while he runs a lukewarm bath.
Spencer looks terrible. The fever may be gone, but he's covered from chest to foot with an angry looking rash and his hair is lank and greasy and his face is wan.
"Holy shit," says Ryan from behind them as Brendon helps Spencer get undressed. "I thought you were better."
"I am better," Spencer grumbles, tugging at the tie of his sweatpants. "I hate strings."
Ryan holds a bowl of finely ground oatmeal out towards Brendon. "Ginger's making more batches. She says he'll probably need to take a couple oatmeal baths a day until the rash goes. But that's not just a rash. That's, like, a Biblical skin disease."
"Here," Brendon says, easing Spencer's hands away. "I've got it."
"Are you sure he's well enough to do sex things?" Ryan asks.
Spencer rolls his eyes. "Go away. I'm getting naked to take a bath. I don't need you looking at my unit."
"Nothing I've never seen before."
"And yet, I still want privacy. Go."
"Fine," says Ryan, and he rolls his eyes.
This entry was originally posted at http://janesays.dreamwidth.org/2901.html. Comment wherever you'd like.
Around 3,000 words, a little porny, Brendon/Spencer (with background Ryan/Greta)
Brendon is not sitting in the hallway staring at the front door, except for how he totally is.
"Why are you sitting on the floor?" Ryan asks.
"Why are you wearing a monocle?" Brendon counters.
Ryan sniffs. "My monocle is awesome," he says.
It kind of is, so Brendon doesn't argue.
"You're totally sitting there willing Spencer to come through the door."
"I am not," Brendon says. He totally is.
"Look me in the eye and try to deny it." He starts to swing his monocle. "Look very closely, you are getting sleepy. You are getting very, very sleepy."
"Thirty-seven days," Brendon tells him. "It has been thirty-seven days since I have seen my boyfriend."
"I haven't seen Spencer in thirty-seven days, either," Ryan tells him. "You don't see me sitting here staring at the front door."
Brendon rolls his eyes. "But you haven't gone thirty-seven days without sex."
"I know you jerk off," Ryan says. "I've heard you."
Brendon doesn't ask why Ryan's been listening at his bedroom door. "Of course I jerk off. I jerk off even when Spencer's here. That is not the same as sex with Spencer. Who's coming home today. Soon. Any minute now."
Ryan sits down next to him and nestles his monocle back between his cheek and his eyebrow. He stares intently at the door.
"Why are you sitting on the floor?" asks Greta as she walks by on her way to the kitchen.
"We're willing Spencer to come home," Ryan tells her.
"Spencer's flight got in half an hour ago," Greta says. "Your will has nothing to do with it."
"When Spencer gets home, Brendon's going to fuck him in the front hall," Ryan tells her. "I should be here for that. It's research."
Greta looks amused. "For what?"
"I might write a gay romance novel."
"You're not going to write a gay romance novel."
"How do you know?" Ryan asks. "Maybe I signed a deal with Harlequin."
"I'm pretty sure Harlequin doesn't publish gay romance novels. And even if they did, you're not going to write one. And even if you did write one, you wouldn't have any idea how to negotiate your own contract."
"She has a point," says Brendon.
Ryan nods and stands up. "Will you take me to the mall?" he asks Greta.
"For research?"
He shakes his head. "No. I just want new pants."
It's nearly another half hour before the front door opens and Spencer steps through it, dragging one of his suitcases. Brendon leaps to his feet and is at the front door with his arms around Spencer's neck before Spencer can even say hello. He kisses Spencer's mouth and his face and nuzzles his neck.
"Hi," Spencer says, grinning, one of his hands coming up to rest against the small of Brendon's back. "Miss me?"
Brendon nods. He takes a deep breath and he can barely smell Spencer, can barely smell his skin. Instead he smells strange laundry detergent and sour sweat and stale air. Brendon says, "I wanna get you naked and make you smell like me."
Spencer kisses his temple. "Missed you, too. Let me get my stuff from the car."
"No," says Brendon. "Get it later so we can get naked now and--"
"I just got off a twenty hour flight," Spencer tells him. "Please, please go run me a shower while I get my things?"
Brendon thinks that Spencer getting his suitcases out of the car is not nearly as fun as Spencer shoving his cock down Brendon's throat, but he agrees and kisses Spencer again before taking the stairs two at a time. He's got the shower nice and hot and is already naked when Spencer comes in, slowly unbuttoning his jeans.
"Naked," says Brendon, and his fingers are quick as they undo Spencer's fly and tug down his pants and underwear in one swift motion. He yanks Spencer's t-shirt off over his head and drags him into the shower, kissing him over and over again.
Spencer kisses back lazily, slides his arms around Brendon's waist and smiles against Brendon's mouth as they stand beneath the hot spray of water. "Hi," Spencer whispers.
"Hi," Brendon says. His cock is hard and it feels so good to rub it against Spencer's hip. "Did you see orangutans?"
"Not in the wild. I didn't spend a lot of time on Sumatra."
"Bali," says Brendon. "Sulawesi. Is Indonesia beautiful?"
Spencer nods and his eyes flutter closed. "I want to sleep for days," he says.
"Not until you fuck me."
Spencer laughs and leans against the tile wall and lets Brendon scrub the stink of travel off of him. He lets Brendon wrap him in a towel when they're done and he follows Brendon into the bedroom and stretches out naked on the bed and tips his head up when Brendon kisses him again.
"Want you to fuck me," Brendon whispers.
"Baby," Spencer says with a sigh. "I'm so tired."
"Need you to fuck me," Brendon tells him. "I hate it when you're not here."
Spencer can barely keep his eyes open. His cock is thick with arousal, but he's not completely hard. He says, "Fuck yourself for me."
Brendon makes a desperate noise, shaking his head. "But I want--"
"I know," Spencer tells him. "I know, and I wanna fuck you, too, but I can't, not right now. So fuck yourself and let me watch you. Use the blue dildo. The big one."
Brendon nods. He still wants Spencer's cock, but Spencer looks so tired, and he seems to be struggling so hard to stay awake. He gets the blue silicone dildo and the lube from their toy chest, slicks up his fingers and slides them inside and his cock jerks when he hears Spencer moan.
"Look so hot like that," Spencer tells him. "Spread your ass for me. Let me see."
Brendon does, kneels on the bed and arches his ass up so Spencer can watch him finger fuck himself. Then he slicks up the dildo and presses the tip against his hole, sinks down on it slowly and Spencer groans, strokes his thighs and whispers, "Slow, take it slow just like that. All the way. Come on, baby, you can take it all the way in."
It aches, but he's so hard and Spencer's watching him and yes, fuck, yes he can take it all the way, slide all the way down until the flared base is against his hole. He slides up again and Spencer's fingers continue to stroke his legs, the backs of his knees. He does it slow just like Spencer tells him to and he doesn't touch his cock until Spencer tells him he can, and it's not the same, but it's still so, so good.
He comes hard, shaking, and Spencer's still fighting to stay awake, still urging him on. He slides the dildo out and tosses it to the floor, then curls up against Spencer.
"So hot, baby," Spencer murmurs. He rubs the spot between his eyes the way he always does when he has a headache.
"Want me to get you something?" Brendon asks. He's not sure he can stand, not sure his legs will work, but he asks anyway.
Spencer shakes his head and pulls Brendon closer. "Just to sleep," he says, his words becoming slurred. "Just you."
Brendon closes his eyes, and even though it's mid-afternoon, he sleeps.
He wakes up cold, no covers to keep him warm, no Spencer beside him. It's dark in the room and he reaches for the bedside lamp, blinks against the light after turning it on.
"I feel bad." Spencer's voice is weak. "I feel really bad, Bren."
Brendon blinks in the light and tries to focus on Spencer, who's sitting on the edge of the bed. He doesn't look right, and at first Brendon thinks it's his eyes still reacting to the sudden light. Then Spencer turns to look at him; his eyes are bloodshot and there's a dark red rash spreading from his face down onto his chest, his arms, his pale belly. He's taking quick, shallow breaths.
"I'm taking you to the ER," Brendon says.
Spencer nods, doesn't even argue or try to convince Brendon he's fine, and that's even scarier than the rash and the way he whimpers softly, gripping the sheets tightly, grimacing in pain.
Brendon drives so fast that he's shocked he doesn't get pulled over. "What are you allergic to?" he asks as he drives. The radio is off. There's no sound except the car engine and Spencer's breath.
"Nothing," Spencer tells him.
"You look like you're having an allergic reaction," Brendon says. His sister's allergic to walnuts. He's seen her break out in hives. Once her throat even started to close up. She carries an epi-pen with her everywhere.
"I'm not allergic to anything," Spencer says as Brendon takes a corner too fast. He doesn't even tell Brendon to slow down, to be careful.
He expects to have to wait, to have to demand that they take care of Spencer immediately, but he doesn't have to. They take Spencer back as soon as he gets there and Brendon alternates between holding his hand and assuring him it will be all right and backing up into a corner to stay out of the nurses and doctors' way.
It's not until they start sticking Spencer with IVs and kick Brendon back out into the waiting room that he even thinks to call anyone. He calls Spencer's mother, wakes her up, and he hates having to tell her that he doesn't know what's wrong, that Spencer's sick and in the hospital and he doesn't have a clue as to why.
Spencer's parents show up in half an hour. Ryan shows up ten minutes after that. Nobody knows anything. Nobody knows what's wrong.
Brendon's scared and he hates the way hospitals smell and he's wearing mismatched shoes. Ryan sits next to him and holds his hand, and even though Brendon knows it's more for Ryan's comfort than his own, he's thankful.
One of the nurses comes out and asks them questions. She asks if Spencer's ever been to Nepal. She asks if he's ever had malaria. She asks if he's immunodeficient, if he's ever had cancer or chemotherapy, if he has rheumatoid arthritis, if he has HIV.
Ryan squeezes Brendon's hand so tight that his little finger goes numb. Brendon doesn't mind.
"Dengue fever?" Ryan asks when the doctor tells them it's the most likely culprit. "Isn't that the name of a band? And wait, is it contagious? Because he was in my house. Do we have to burn his bedding and toys like in The Velveteen Rabbit? And is it sexually transmitted? Because if it is, I can guarantee that Brendon has it. Do we have to burn Brendon?"
Brendon pokes him in the ribs, and Ryan laughs and smiles at him. It's a brittle smile, but it's something. None of them are happy, but at least Spencer's not going to die.
They leave the hospital little after dawn. No one's allowed to see Spencer. They've transferred him from the ER to the hospital proper, he's sedated, and visiting hours won't start until nine.
Brendon takes a shower and looks at his bed for a long time before wrapping himself in a blanket and lying on the couch, instead. He doesn't think he'll ever sleep, but eventually, he does. He doesn't wake up until one o'clock, and he hurries to the hospital only to find Spencer asleep.
Ginger's sitting by his bedside reading a mystery novel. When she sees Brendon, she gets up and hugs him tight. She's shorter than he is, so she has to tug him down so she can kiss his cheek.
"I meant to be here earlier," he says.
"I'm glad you got some sleep," she tells him.
"Has he woken up?"
"He's in and out."
"I'm on the good drugs," Spencer slurs. He's pale, the bright red splotches gone from his face. The rash still covers his arms, though, and it's on his throat, disappearing beneath the hospital gown. Brendon thinks it's darker than it was before, more red, the splotches larger than they'd been.
"You can't just get a cold like any normal person, can you?" Brendon asks. "No, you need to be difficult and get some fancy tropical virus."
Spencer smiles weakly at him. He says, "So pretty pretty."
"What?" Brendon asks, but Spencer's eyes are already closed and he's asleep.
Spencer sleeps a lot, which Brendon's thankful for. When he's awake, he's in pain, making soft sounds of discomfort even through the codeine haze. His fever's high and the nurses are constantly checking in on him, taking his temperature, pinching at the skin on his hands and arms to make sure he's not dehydrated despite the IVs dripping fluids into his veins.
Brendon feels helpless and anxious sitting at Spencer's bedside. He's never known anybody who was sick enough to be in the hospital before, not really. One of his sisters-in-law had been on bed rest during her last pregnancy, but she'd been alert and cheerful every time Brendon had seen her.
Spencer's actually really sick, and even though the doctor says he's not in any real danger, Brendon's scared. He thinks about a life without Spencer in it, and it makes him dizzy and anxious and he has to go walk the halls to work off his nervous energy until he can push the thoughts out of his head.
Ginger's there a lot. She makes Brendon eat and she tells him to go home and sleep, but he can't. Even when they kick him out at night, he can't sleep, shows up at the hospital at the start of visiting hours the next day exhausted and frazzled.
Jon and Cassie come to visit once. Ryan comes more often. He shows up a couple of times a day, but he never stays long. He looms in the doorway looking tense and miserable, shoulders hunched forward like he's trying to protect himself from something.
Brendon's read all of Ryan's books, had read them all even before he and Ryan had met. Half of Camisado takes place in a hospital, the protagonist stuck there watching his father die. Brendon's never asked if it was based on Ryan's personal experience, but he thinks maybe it was, he thinks maybe Ryan's had enough of hospitals to last him the rest of his life.
On the third day, Spencer opens his eyes and looks at Ryan standing there in the doorway for a long moment. He says, "Go home, assface."
Ryan sighs miserably.
"I mean it," Spencer's voice is weak and soft, but there's an edge to it. "There's no reason for you to stand around staring at me. I'm not going to take it personally if you leave. You're going to get plenty of me being sick and miserable once they let me out of this place. Get out of my face. I don't want to see you back here."
Ryan looks so relieved he might cry.
Spencer reaches his hand out towards Brendon once Ryan's gone. Brendon leans forward and takes Spencer's hand in his own. "That was nice of you."
Spencer squeezes Brendon's hand tightly for a moment. His eyes are screwed shut and he's breathing in short, quick pants.
"Do you want me to get the nurse?" Brendon asks.
Spencer shakes his head. They give him pain meds on a regular basis and there's nothing the nurses can do for him until it's time for his next dose. There's nothing anyone can do, so Brendon holds his hand and feeds him ice chips and pudding and waits.
Spencer's fever breaks on the fifth day, the majority of the muscle and joint pain going with it. On the seventh day, he's free to leave.
"What?" Brendon asks. "Just like that? They're just letting you go?"
"Thank God," says Spencer, sitting up slowly and reaching for the t-shirt and sweats Ginger had brought for him. "Brendon, help me put real clothes on. Oh, my God, I smell bad."
Brendon tugs the curtain around Spencer's bed closed and unfastens the tie to Spencer's hospital gown and it's slow going since Spencer's too weak to really help.
"I thought we'd move a bed down into the living room," Ginger says as they wheel Spencer down the hall. He'd wanted to walk, but he'd had to stop and rest after ten steps and had finally caved and let them put him in a wheelchair. "So you don't have to use the stairs. We'll have to put up gates so the dogs don't jump all over you, but it'll be okay. Brendon can help move the bed, right?"
"Um," says Brendon. He has nothing against moving furniture, he just hadn't known that Spencer was going to his parents house.
"Fuck that," says Spencer.
"Spencer," his mother says.
"Seriously. Fuck that. I want to go home."
"You are going home," she tells him.
"No. To my home. I want to go to my home, to my bed."
"There's no one to take care of you there," Ginger tells him. "You need someone to look after you."
Spencer's exhausted and groggy, but he turns to look his mother in the eye. "Would you be saying that bullshit if I had a wife instead of a boyfriend?"
Ginger looks startled. "I...that's not..." she starts.
"I'm taking you home, baby," Brendon says, smoothing Spencer's hair. "And I'll take good care of you. But you should probably apologize for cursing at your mother."
"Oh," Spencer says sleepily. He reaches out for Ginger's hand. "Sorry. I'm really cranky right now."
"That's all right," Ginger says, but she looks tense. She's tense the entire drive to Brendon and Spencer's house, but Brendon does his best to pretend he doesn't notice.
"Come on," Brendon says after she pulls into their driveway. "Up and at 'em." He squats down so Spencer can get an arm over his shoulders and helps him out of her car.
"I'm so itchy," Spencer says miserably.
Brendon stills Spencer's hand where he's trying to scratch at the rash on his belly. "You're going to make it worse," he says.
"So itchy," Spencer says again.
Ryan opens the front door before they even reach the steps. He's in his striped pajamas and his fedora but instead of his usual slippers he's wearing cowboy boots.
"What the hell is on your feet?" Spencer asks.
"Um," says Ryan. He looks down. "Boots."
"Ignore him," Brendon says. "He's cranky."
"I itch everywhere," Spencer says, letting Brendon lead him into the house. "The bottoms of my feet itch. Just take me out into the backyard and put me out of my misery."
"How about I take you upstairs and put you into an oatmeal bath, instead?" Brendon asks.
Spencer hums happily at the thought.
"Can I help?" Ryan asks as Brendon maneuvers Spencer towards the stairs.
"You can put a cup of oatmeal into the coffee grinder and pulverize it," Brendon says.
"On it," Ryan says, turning to go, then he turns back around and looks at Ginger. "You should probably do it. I caught our last coffee grinder on fire."
Spencer has to stop for breath halfway up the steps, but Brendon gets him up them eventually, then into the bathroom where he leans Spencer against the counter while he runs a lukewarm bath.
Spencer looks terrible. The fever may be gone, but he's covered from chest to foot with an angry looking rash and his hair is lank and greasy and his face is wan.
"Holy shit," says Ryan from behind them as Brendon helps Spencer get undressed. "I thought you were better."
"I am better," Spencer grumbles, tugging at the tie of his sweatpants. "I hate strings."
Ryan holds a bowl of finely ground oatmeal out towards Brendon. "Ginger's making more batches. She says he'll probably need to take a couple oatmeal baths a day until the rash goes. But that's not just a rash. That's, like, a Biblical skin disease."
"Here," Brendon says, easing Spencer's hands away. "I've got it."
"Are you sure he's well enough to do sex things?" Ryan asks.
Spencer rolls his eyes. "Go away. I'm getting naked to take a bath. I don't need you looking at my unit."
"Nothing I've never seen before."
"And yet, I still want privacy. Go."
"Fine," says Ryan, and he rolls his eyes.
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