the truth is i got a fever

Fic happens.

boweryd — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 01:21:03 GMT

So, remember how I used to write a lot of fic? And then I stopped writing so much fic, and then I started writing a lot of fic again with fallintosilence and now I'm too lazy to write stuff on my own? Yeah, that has left with me a lot of WIPs I am unlikely to ever finish, so here are some of my favorites just so I can stop feeling like such a failure every single time I look at my google docs.

For Kink Bingo before I... gave up on writing my actual Kink Bingo to go play on the fake Kink Bingo we made that did not have enemas on it. La la la. I might actually finish this at some point, but because that will probably not actually happen, here we are. Set post-split during Brendon and Spencer's brohabitation.

"You are fucking disgusting," Spencer says the second Brendon pulls back the shower curtain.

"Look," Brendon replies, "it's the guest bathroom. I'm not a guest. I'm not responsible for what happens in here."

"It's your house, idiot," Spencer gripes, pushing past him and turning on the faucets. "Have you ever been in here?"

"Once," Brendon says, "To tell the plumber guys something when they were installing new pipes. I'm pretty sure Regan was here at some point, because there are fancy little soaps. She was big on fancy little soaps." Whatever, the tub's not that gross, just a little dusty.

"That's great," Spencer says, sounding like it's anything but. "Can you see if there are fancy big towels anywhere because I'm going to be even more pissed off if we have to track sand upstairs too."

"It's not my fault the beach shower wasn't working," Brendon reminds him. Because it's not his fault, and he's pretty sure Spencer thinks it's his fault.

"My car," Spencer says sadly, still fiddling with the water. "My car will never be the same."

"Not," Brendon says, straining to reach the cabinets without stepping too far off the bathmat, "my fault." And then, "Hah! Towels!"

"Come on then you sandy little fucker," Spencer says as he climbs in the tub, his fingers already tapping against the knob that turns on the shower.

Brendon shoves the towels on top of the rack, and steps in behind Spencer, pulling the shower curtain shut behind him. The bottom of the tub is already a little sandy, and Brendon drags his toes through it, only jumping a little when Spencer turns the spray on and an errant stream hits him directly in the eye.

"Take off your trunks," Spencer says, already pulling his over his hips. "And keep your dick away from me. I'm not in the mood for your dick right now."

"I wasn't going to put my dick on you," Brendon says defensively, yanking his trunks down. He was totally going to put his dick on Spencer, though. Shower sex is shower sex, sandy or not.

Spencer throws a smirk over his shoulder, and fine, maybe Brendon's transparent. Whatever. He's transparent and naked and also he's smart and pretty sure he can get Spencer to put out anyway.

He's not actually getting much water with Spencer in front of him, though, just little drops and random shoots that glance off of Spencer's shoulders and into Brendon's hair, onto his eyelashes. Brendon doesn't mind though, because Spencer's back is broad and freckled and a little pink from the sun and right in front of Brendon's face, so he fits his palms to the curve of Spencer's shoulders, fingers sliding through water and stray sand.

Spencer leans back into the touch, just a little, and Brendon rests his forehead between Spencer's shoulder blades. Spencer's skin is still vaguely warm from the sun and he smells like the ocean and Brendon breathes him in a little before he pulls back. "Soap?" he asks.

"Um," Spencer says. "There's a bottle of hotel shampoo in the corner?"

"Oh oh wait," Brendon says, steadying himself with a hand on Spencer's waist as he sticks his other arm out from the curtain, hand flailing around until he makes contact with the edge of the wicker basket on the counter. "Hah!" He says, grabbing a handful of little fancy soaps and brandishing them victoriously. To Spencer's back. Right. "Okay," he says, stretching up to his toes and reaching around Spencer's body to hold his hand in front of Spencer's face. "Flower, seashell, or. . . weird zombie hand? What the fuck?"

"I think that one's melted," Spencer says, plucking it from Brendon's hand. "Unless this was a really diverse collection of fancy soaps."

"I wonder if they actually make zombie themed fancy soaps," Brendon muses as he tosses the seashell into the soap cubby and swipes the flower across Spencer's shoulders. "We should look into that for the upstairs bathroom."

"It's not your worst idea," Spencer concedes, tipping his head to the side as Brendon slides the soap over his shoulders. Brendon grins and digs his free hand into the muscles of Spencer's shoulder because Spencer is a sucker for a massage and Brendon would still very much like to put his dick on Spencer at some point.

"Lower," Spencer mumbles, rolling his shoulders, the skin slippery under Brendon's hand. Brendon trails his fingers down, digging the fingers of one hand in under the curve of Spencer's shoulder blade. He's fighting dirty but Spencer doesn't call him on it, just rumbles out a happy little noise and goes slack under Brendon's hands. He trails the soap lower over Spencer's collarbones, across his chest, slides it down Spencer's stomach in a long line that has the muscles twitching under his hand.

"Brendon," Spencer grumbles as Brendon drags the soap through the hair above Spencer's cock, but he doesn't sound that upset and he's still leaning back against Brendon's body, his back warm from the sun and the shower where it's pressed along Brendon's front.

"Hmm?" Brendon responds as he swipes the soap back and forth above Spencer's dick.

"I think that part's clean," Spencer says, but his voice is a little tight.

"I like to be thorough," Brendon says as he wraps his free hand around Spencer's waist, pulling him back closer.

"You're still all sandy," Spencer grumps, squirming. "You're getting me sandy again. You're re-sanding me."

"Your babbling," Brendon breathes into his ear, because Spencer is. He tends to do that when he doesn't want to admit that Brendon is right about something. Like how awesome it would be if his dick was on Spencer. He shifts them anyway, though, because Spencer can and will continue to complain about this. "Look at that," Brendon says as he shuffles them sideways until the shower spray is hitting him too, running over his back and down between their bodies. "De-sanded!"

Brendon slides his hand over a little, trails the soap over Spencer's hip and down the crease of his right thigh, letting his knuckles brush against Spencer's dick which is, Brendon is pleased to note, already hard. He considers gloating, but that would probably be counter productive, so he just swipes the soap across Spencer's balls, pointedly ignoring both his dick and the way Spencer's hips push forward. Brendon runs the soap up Spencer's other thigh, his hip, the curve of his waist, over his stomach and to his chest, pressing in just a little so the ridges of the petals catch on Spencer's nipples.

"Oh fuck you," Spencer bites out. "I seriously hate you."

"No you don't," Brendon says, nosing behind Spencer's ear, nipping at his earlobe.

"I do," Spencer says, tilting his head to the side so Brendon can get at his neck. "I also seriously doubt that you're properly de-sanded. I can practically feel you. Abrading me."

Brendon snorts a little, right into Spencer's ear, because seriously? Abrading? "Shut up, Spencer," he says, going up on his tiptoes to reach around Spencer and fumble with the tiny bottle of shampoo. His cock catches and drags in the dip above Spencer's ass on his way back down, and once he's done grinning about the way Spencer presses back a bit, he uncaps the shampoo and squeezes some out into his hands. "That was an accidental dicking," Brendon clarifies as he rubs his hands together. "Now turn around."

"Accidental dicking," Spencer huffs. "Do you even listen to yourself?" He turns around anyway though, and tips his head back under the water when Brendon coaxes him, eyes shut and face slack as the water pours down over his scalp. Spencer's nose is a little red, Brendon notes, and he's about to reach out and touch it when he remembers his hands are still soapy.

And then Brendon puts his dick on Spencer, the end! \o/

I wrote this for fallintosilence in exchange for presents. I'm pretty sure she thought I wouldn't do it, but I did and now I have pretty necklaces and I am not ashamed at all. It's more like bartering than prostitution. I posted this under flock a while back and have apparently since lost whatever shame caused me to flock in the first place. IDK, man.

"Dude," Spencer says, swatting at Brendon. "Dude, I am trying to sleep, no jokes. Especially not stupid ones."

"I am not joking," Brendon says, his voice tight.

"Can't you be not joking at, like, noon?" Spencer yawns, hesitantly cracking one eye open before hissing and shutting it immediately when he encounters sunlight. "Curtains. We need better curtains."

"I opened them, you complete fucking idiot, so you would wake up and talk to me about how I am super fucking pregnant."

Brendon sounds a little hysterical.

"You sound a little hysterical," Spencer says. "Which, kudos, your acting has really improved and all, but sleep. I was doing it. It was awesome."

"Fine," Brendon says. "Fine, you know what then? Here." Spencer's hit in the face all at once by several hard plastic objects, which, you know, hurts.

"Oww," he grumbles.

"Fuck. You." Brendon says. "And you know what else? I peed on those. All over them. And one hit you in the mouth."

"I-- huh?" Spencer asks, finally forcing himself to sit up in bed. He opens his eyes just in time to see their bedroom door slamming shut, and then he looks down.

Which is when he sees the dozen or so pregnancy tests littering the comforter.

-

Spencer spends about an hour in the bathroom, carefully matching the pregnancy tests to the boxes that are spread out all over the counter and then even more carefully reading the instructions. Over. And over. And then one more time just to be sure. Every single test is positive.

Spencer sets them all out in a row on the counter and just stares for a few minutes, an entire row of pink plus signs staring up at him accusingly. Of all the benefits of the whole gay sex thing, Spencer thought that not worrying about pregnancy scares was pretty high up there on the list.

Although he’s pretty sure that thirteen positive pregnancy tests goes beyond the realm of scare and into the realm of terrifying reality. Which can’t be true. Because, you know, Brendon is a dude. And Spencer’s a dude. They are both dudes, and Brendon can’t be pregnant, and he is obviously playing some kind of really elaborate and really mean joke on Spencer.

Spencer pinches himself five times, slaps himself really hard in the face twice, and is rummaging under the sink and in the garbage for anything Brendon could have used to smuggle in pregnant lady pee when he realizes that maybe, possibly, he should talk to Brendon.

-

Brendon does not want to talk. Brendon really does not want to talk and Spencer tries his very very best to respect Brendon's boundaries and give him his privacy. He manages for all of thirty minutes, until he knocks on the door a seventh time and Brendon’s, “Go the fuck away, seriously,” comes out weak and watery.

That's when Spencer takes a running start and bangs into the door with his shoulder. It's also when he falls down. Hard.

"What," Brendon says, opening the door and staring down at Spencer with red, puffy eyes, "the fuck."

"I was going to break the door down," Spencer winces, rubbing his shoulder. "And comfort you."

"It wasn't locked, you dumb fuck," Brendon says, wiping at his eyes with his hand before reaching down to haul Spencer up.

"No, hey," Spencer says, "hey, you shouldn't be doing that, in, like, your condition."

"Wow," Brendon says, staring incredulously for a moment before sinking down to sit next to Spencer against the wall. "Wow."

"How did this even happen?" Spencer asks after a few minutes. "Like, I got an A in Biology. It was an A minus, but I know my stuff."

Brendon laughs, and then he laughs some more, and then he buries his face in his knees and laughs until he starts to cry.

"Hey, stop," Spencer says, wrapping his arms around Brendon's waist and tilting him over until he’s resting across Spencer's lap. "Hey, no, it's. Well, I don’t know if it’s okay or not, because I’m still not exactly sure what’s going on, but, I'm sorry. That I was a dickbag, and all," he clarifies, petting at Brendon's hair. "I just really didn't think that--"

"Yeah," Brendon says, sniffling. He wipes his nose on Spencer's pants, and sits back up, but Spencer lets it slide because, well. It's kind of the least of his concerns right now. "Yeah, me either," he finishes quietly. "I went to, like, six doctors who all told me I had eaten my twin in the womb or something, only when they did tests that's not what happened, and thank god they all assumed it was a tumor or something.

“Yeah, that’s great news,” Spencer says, rubbing at the small of Brendon’s back.

“But then,” Brendon continues pointedly, I went to this holistic healer I read about online and she told me that all signs pointed to yes but it was impossible, and then I got kind of desperate and I called Pete--"

"Oh god," Spencer says.

"--and he told me that the last time we all got high at his house we weren't smoking regular weed."

“What?” Spencer says, stilling his hand.

“Keep rubbing,” Brendon says, tilting his head onto Spencer’s shoulder once Spencer complies. “He said Dirty smuggled it back from Amsterdam a few years ago and he’s just been waiting for the right time and that apparently there was monkey paw in it or something--”

“Wait, what?” Spencer says. “I smoked a monkey?”

“Just the paw,” Brendon says, grimacing. “But that’s not the point. Pete said Dirty was pretty vague about things but the dude he bought it off told him some shit about dreams and wishes and Dirty thought the dude was just a fan of Cinderella or something, but apparently not.”

"Oh god," Spencer repeats. “So it’s like magical pregnancy weed? Oh fuck, Pete's not?"

"No," Brendon says, laughing hoarsely. "No, it’s not, like, pregnancy specific. Pete just grew a tail. He's actually super excited about it."

"What the fuck?" Spencer says, rubbing more firmly at the small of Brendon’s back. Brendon’s really tense, which Spencer guesses makes a lot of sense, given the current circumstances.

"Why does Pete get a tail and you get a baby?” Spencer asks. “Not that I'm not happy?" Spencer says, when Brendon shoots him a look.

"Because, apparently, you get whatever it is you're thinking about when you smoke up."

"And Pete was thinking about a tail?"

"This surprises you?" Brendon asks. Which, right. Point.

"Ashlee keeps finding chocolate cakes in the fridge every morning when she gets up, and you--"

"Right," Spencer says, blushing. "I was wondering what was up with that."

"Yeah," Brendon says. "Seriously. Not that I'm complaining because--"

"My dick was fine before," Spencer says. "Fine. It was bigger than yours."

"Please don't insult my dick, I'm pregnant," Brendon says. He glares at Spencer, and he keeps it up for about ten seconds before he starts laugh. "Oh my god," he says. "I'm pregnant."

"So you were thinking about..." Spencer says, not quite sure how to word that question.

"My mom," Brendon says, "mentioned it last time I came over for dinner. That I was the only kid who hadn't started a family of my own, and that we could always adopt, and I was just kind of thinking that it might be kind of nice if we could have a baby that was, like, ours, and." Brendon stops abruptly, glancing down at his lap.

Spencer follows his eyes, and blushes when he realizes he's resting his hand on Brendon's stomach.

"So," Brendon says, not-so-casually dropping his hand on top of Spencer's when Spencer goes to pull it back, holding their hands to his stomach. "I don't know, like, what our options are, or whatever, or if we even have options since I'm pretty sure--"

"Why do we need options?" Spencer asks. "We've got enough money that I'm pretty sure we can find a doctor who'll stay quiet about things, and then we can just, you know. Have a baby."

"Oh," Brendon says. "Just like that, huh?"

"Yeah," Spencer says, leaning over and kissing Brendon's nose because he knows that Brendon hates it. "Just like that."

"I'll lose my figure," Brendon says, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, but, think of it this way," Spencer says, getting to his feet and carefully hauling Brendon up, kissing him softly before pulling back. "Your boobs are going to get giant."

"Oh shut the fuck up," Brendon says, punching Spencer's shoulder.

That happened.

Kink Bingo again. I was never super into this and now that Jon's quit the band and talked smack and quit his new band to write songs about growing beards and raise cats (which is a valid life choice) I will never finish it.

"Check this shit out," Brendon says, hopping up to grab the low hanging metal rail that stretches across one wall of their dressing room. His toes just brush the ground and he hangs there for a minute, face considering, before drawing his legs up toward his chest and swinging back and forth. "Kick ass," he says happily. "Built in jungle gym."

"When you fall and crack your head open I'm not even going to bother suing the venue," Zack says as he walks by. "I'm taking Spence and Ryan out on a food run, you coming?"

"Nah," Brendon says as he hops down and pulls a face at Zack's retreating back back. Jon chuckles, shaking his head at Zack and grinning back when Brendon turns to him and smiles bright and wide.

"Watch," Brendon says as soon as the door closes, his eyes shining. Jon does, watches as Brendon turns around and grabs the rail again, pushing off of the wall with his feet and into a backflip.

He narrowly misses crashing into the floor, sure, but it's still pretty impressive, and Jon gives him an easy grin when Brendon jumps back up to his feet with a, "TA-DA!"

"You're seriously going to kill yourself," Jon says fondly, wandering over to where Brendon's eyeballing the bar again. "You know I'm not good in a disaster, wait until Zack's here to mortally injure yourself. Or at least Spencer."

"Nah, I'm cool," Brendon says, darting in to drop a quick kiss to Jon's lips before stretching up on his tip toes to reach for the rail again. His shirt rides up, and his jeans are hanging low enough that Jon can see the sharp angles of Brendon's hipbones where they stick out above his ridiculous underwear, bright yellow today. The muscles in Brendon's stomach are pulled taut, standing out in stark relief and Jon knows a good thing when he sees it so he circles Brendon's waist with his hands, lets his thumbs dip down to rub over his hipbones.

Brendon makes a surprised noise, then wiggles a little in Jon's grasp. Jon lifts Brendon up a little, until Brendon's feet aren't touching the ground at all anymore, and he kisses at Brendon's throat, across his shoulders through his shirt. "How long do you think you could hold on?" Jon asks curiously.

"Oh," Brendon says a little breathlessly, tilting his head back when Jon stretches on tip toes to kiss under his jaw, "a while. I've totally got this."

"Yeah?" Jon asks. Because that sounds like a challenge. "Don't let go, then," and his hands are already working at Brendon's belt buckle as he sinks to his knees.

Then Jon blows Brendon and possibly has an orgasm himself and there's probably some snarky banter from someone the end!

I don't even know what the fuck was up with this. I don't do angst. I write okay porn and make dumb jokes. This has neither.

The first time Brendon hears from Jon after the band splits it's via text message. Their tour stint is over and he's curled up in an arm chair in the studio they've rented, his knees tucked into a hoodie he's borrowed from Spencer, stretching it out. Spencer's snoring on the sofa across the room and Brendon's about to wake him up, take him home, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

"What was the name of that one place with the giant blue dog?"

Brendon blinks, looks around the studio for no real reason, and types back:

"Humphrey's Home of Ill Repute"

It is four a.m.

--

The next text comes a few days later, as Brendon's trying to decide if he wants to make pasta or a salad. Or maybe pasta salad. That's always an option.

"Ry just ate raw squid and I think hes gonna barf."

Brendon feels suddenly, irrationally angry.

He closes his phone and hollers at Spencer to get his shoes, they're going for subs.

--

He texts Jon back hours later, wide awake in the dark of his room.

"Remember when Spence and zack drank all that gatorade and puked?"

Jon's reply comes timestamped a minute and 23 seconds later.

"Zacks was purple."

--

The pictures start a few days later. Random shots of gravel, the grass, the sky, Jon's big toe with a ladybug crawling across it.

Jon doesn't send anything related to their recording, the closest he comes is a shot of Ryan's wrist reaching across a table that Brendon's pretty sure he recognizes from Ryan's makeshift studio.

He doesn't delete it, but it's a near thing. It's not until three days later that he scrolls past the picture and realizes that Ryan's wearing a bracelet he recognizes from a show in Connecticut. It says "reinvent !" and Brendon's stomach clenches up hot and angry.

He deletes the picture.

I have no idea where this was even going. Probably reconciliation and mended feelings and sunshine and rainbows and ~the starting of a brand new day. That's right. Paula Abdul lyrics. Deal with it.

Yep. I think I started writing this for fallintosilence but I am terrible girlfriend so I never actually finished it. Set post-split.

"Really, Ryan, can you focus, please?" Greta sighs.

"Right, focused, totally focused," Ryan says. He blinks up at her, eyes huge, but doesn't still the hand that's stroking slowly up and down Jon's side, mindlessly petting. Jon hums and pushes his body up into the touch without bothering to lift his head from where it's resting on the carpet.

"Jonathan," Greta says. "Jonathan, seriously."

"Mmm-hmm," Jon hums into the carpet. "Just a minute, totally in just a minute."

Ryan is stroking over Jon's face now, and he makes an inquisitive noise in Greta's direction, says, "Greta, come feel this. Does his beard feel more beardy than usual?"

"Maybe," Jon says thoughtfully, "maybe my beard has grown its own beard. Do beards do that?"

"Okay," Greta says decisively, rising from the couch. "Okay, this isn't going to work."

It's not the first time one or all of them have been too stoned and giggly to focus on sex but dammit this time she had plans. Greta likes to think she is generally a very giving and agreeable person. She's let Jon photograph her with Ryan and she's let Ryan blindfold her and keep up a running commentary on the things Jon was doing to him and now it is her turn. It's her turn and her request was even relatively simple. She wanted to watch Ryan fuck Jon, wanted to tell him how and when he could move. She's put a lot of thought into this and it was going to be a good time for everyone involved until the giggle twins decided it was the perfect time to smoke up to the point of distraction and that is not going to work for Greta.

Not at all.

She can hear them laughing in the living room as she digs through the box under the bed, combing through increasingly ludicrous sex toys bought when she and Ryan were going through that particular phase, until she finds what she's looking for.

Greta also likes to think that she's relatively self sufficient, and if she can't get Ryan to do things right, she has no particular problem with doing them herself. She paints on a smirk, dangling the harness from one finger, and steps back into the living room to find Ryan slumped over Jon's lap, Jon's fingers dragging through his hair. She suppresses the urge to find it adorable and instead says evenly, "Ryan, up."

Ryan's eyes snap open at her tone, widening more when he sees what's in her hand. "Hey, I was totally--"

"Taking a nap in Jon's lap instead of fucking him like I asked you to, so once again, up, please."

Ryan rolls his eyes and climbs to his feet shakily. "Help me?" She asks sweetly, holding out the harness.

Ryan seems agreeable enough as he reaches around her to pull down her zipper, folding her dress over the back of the nearest chair. He kneels down in front of her and holds the harness out, letting her step into it before pulling it up over her hips and securing the buckles. He leans into her hand when she smooths it over his cheek in thanks, and she almost forgets the game plan here until Jon says, idly, "You look pretty."

She glances over to see Jon leaning against the bottom of the recliner, palming himself through his boxers, eyes half-lidded and roaming slowly up and down her body. "Ryan," Greta says, unable to take her eyes off of Jon, "Why don't you go sit on the sofa, please?"

Ryan ambles over, moving slowly, and Greta can feel the weight of his gaze on her as she walks over to Jon, sinks her hands in his soft, soft hair. Jon looks up at her, eyes still a little cloudy and gazed from the pot, a big, warm grin on his face.

"Hi Greta," he says.

"Hi Jon," she replies. "I'm going to fuck you now."

"That seems like a plan," Jon says, shrugging.

Greta nods and settles into Jon's lap, his hands coming up to span her hips, warm and broad where they grip into her skin. He tucks the pinky finger of his right hand under one of the straps, rubs little circles into the skin that's hiding beneath, says, "You really do look pretty."

Greta grins, ducks down to kiss him warm and slow. She shifts in Jon's lap and he hisses as the dildo presses against his erection, rocking up against her as he kisses her deep and languid. She could do this for hours if she wanted. Jon loves kissing, puts everything he has into it, lets himself get distracted by the kissing and not where it's leading. Ryan's the opposite. Ryan, in fact, is making impatient noises from his seat on the couch, loud enough that Greta pulls away from Jon's mouth reluctantly and turns to glare at him.

"If you had done what you were supposed to in the first place, Ryan, you could be fucking Jon right now. But you didn't. So I suggest you stop whining and keep your hands out of your pants if you want your turn."

"You two are too slow, you waste too much time," Ryan huffs.

"Do I need to remind you that you were the one who failed to fuck him in the first place because you were too busy petting him?" Greta asks incredulously. "If you want to talk about slow--"

"Guys?" Jon says. "Maybe you could argue while someone fucks me?"

"While I fuck you," Greta says, throwing a glance at Ryan that hopefully conveys both "Ha!" and "I win!" in equal parts. Ryan rolls his eyes and grumbles, so Greta's pretty sure she got her point across.

"On your knees, Jon," she says, rising from his lap reluctantly. "Face the chair."

Jon nods, turns his back to her as he settles his crossed arms on the seat of the recliner. Jon's gorgeous, all broad bones and corded muscle stretched between, and she admittedly gets a bit distracted stroking over the expanse of his back, up and down his spine, over the drip and curve of his ass she pushes his boxers down.

"Now who's--"

"Shut the fuck up," Greta says, cutting Ryan off. He laughs a little, but she ignores him, reaches around Jon to grab the lube from the seat of the recliner. She pours a bit into her hand, warms it before dragging her fingers through the puddle in her palm. Jon's head is bowed, settled on top of his folded arms, his back one long arch in front of her. She drops to her knees and suppresses the urge to giggle when the dildo hits the carpet between Jon's knees and flops back up. Greta runs two wet fingers slowly over Jon's rim, rubbing circles, pressing into the skin, stroking over him until he's making low noises in his throat, pressing back against her touch.

Jon's approach to sex is pretty similar to his approach to life in general. Slow and lazy, taking things in, enjoying things as they come. She and Ryan both have a vested interest in pushing him, making him want it, getting him to stop taking what he's given and ask for what he wants, and when she glances over to the couch Ryan is looking at her, eyes hot, smirk lighting up one corner of his mouth.

Greta grins back and pushes her two fingers inside of Jon's body suddenly, making Jon buck up and then back, tearing a surprised gasp from his throat. Greta crooks her fingers and presses them in before stilling, letting Jon's muscles adjust around her as she strokes the small of his back with her other hand.

"Are you good, Jon?" she asks after a moment. Jon nods, pushes back against her hand as she twists her fingers, spreads them, rubs over him until he's gasping wetly into the air. He's ready, Ryan had fucked him last night, slow and lazy in front of the television while Greta painted her toenails, and he likes the stretch anyway. She likes when he asks for it, though, so she waits, keeps her fingers stiff and spread inside of him, holding him open while she lets her thumb dip in and rub around his stretched rim. He whimpers a little, pushes back against her again, and she asks, "Yes, Jon?"

"Can-- you can," he says, his voice a little strung out and rusty sounding.

"I can what?" she asks, turning to look at Ryan. Ryan loves this part. Ryan rolls his eyes at her pointedly while staring at his own hard cock, but Ryan loves this part.

"You can fuck me," Jon says, as conversationally as he can when he's open around Greta's fingers, waiting for her cock. "Please," he adds. It's an afterthought, but it almost always is with Jon and it's enough for her regardless.

Greta grins at Ryan one last time before dropping a quick kiss low on Jon's back as she reaches for the discarded lube. She slicks the length of the dildo with her free hand, her two fingers holding Jon spread open as she presses the head in, and Jon hisses, says, "Shit, Greta."

She pulls her fingers free as the head of the dildo pushes in, and then stills, watching as Jon clenches around it, feeling the phantom tugs between her own legs. "Greta," he says again, a bit more insistently. "Greta, Greta. Move. Move, come on." He's worked up now, she's been at this a while. She likes to go slow with Jon, likes to get him strung up and sweaty before they even really start.

"You can feel free to move anytime you'd like, Jon," Greta says. "I'm fine right where I am."

Jon groans, braces his hands on the seat of the recliner in front of him, pushes himself back onto the cock. "You," he grunts out, "are a frustrating woman."

Behind them, Ryan snorts. Greta lifts one hand from Jon's hip to flip him off over her shoulder.

She can feel the pressure as Jon fucks himself back on the cock, feel the base press against her where she's wet and swollen and she lets her eyes flutter shut for just a moment, lets her hips press forward toward Jon's body just a fraction. He's going slow, he likes it slow, likes to feel it and Greta knows what that's like, how it feels to be opened up by someone inch by inch. She slides her hand over to where he's open around the strap-on, lets her fingers rub over him, press down until she can feel the veins on the dildo moving beneath the thin, stretched skin.

"Jesus," Jon huffs out, "Fuck, Greta, come on, please."

Greta nods a little helplessly before remembering he can't see her, and snaps her hips forward in one long, sharp thrust, groaning with Jon when she bottoms out, when the base of the dildo presses against her. She holds her hips steady and grinds into him for a minute, closing her eyes against the sight of Jon's hair sweaty and sticking to his neck, the feeling of her clit dragging over the smooth plastic of the strap-on.

Then Greta pegs Ryan Ross because he should shut his mouth and know his place, and also because Greta should peg every boy, the end!

This was for... something. I honestly do not remember what. Ryan and Spencer are high school age in this, and there's sexy biting that draws blood.

Ryan's not paying attention when he trips over the bottle, and after that he's mostly focused on not splitting his head open on the sidewalk, so it doesn't even occur to him that there wasn't a rosebush between the Kramer's place and the Taylor's place yesterday. Once he's in the rosebush he's focused on the oww, fuck of approximately a zillion tiny thorns stabbing his flesh and the sting in his palms where they scraped across the curb. When he manages to fight his way out of the plant and back to his feet, he's pretty thoroughly covered in tiny scratches and shiny yellow pollen that's making his nose tickle and his eyes water a little, burning where it's mixing with his cuts. He considers turning around to go shower and change, but he's so close to Spencer's place. Spencer's place has a shower. Spencer's place has clothes. Spencer's place has Spencer and food and no parents for the weekend and decently unscrambled porn which will probably lead to more than decent making out. It's really a no brainer when he thinks of it that way.

Ryan limps his way through the two minutes it takes to get to Spencer's house. He's pretty sure he fucked up his ankle a little, but can't seem to make himself slow down, his steps coming out rushed even when he tries to tell his body to chill the fuck out. He feels kind of weird and restless, like his skin's on a bit too tight, and he doesn't even bother knocking when he gets to the door. It might take Spencer too long to hear him and it suddenly seems really, really important that he get inside and see Spencer.

Spencer's not in the kitchen, and he's not in the living room and he's not in the den, and Ryan is about to head up the stairs when Spencer starts walking down them. He feels oddly relieved to see Spencer, like something's loosened up inside of him a bit, and he shrugs it off, hurries up the steps until they meet in the middle, until Spencer says, "Ryan what the fuck, did you get in a fight with a fairy or something? Why are you sparkling?"

Ryan wants to respond, but Spencer's grabbed his forearm, and, well. Huh. It's like this warm rush of sensation travels through his body, radiating out from Spencer's hand and up his arm and curling through his chest and slithering down to settle in his gut. It's-- it's not entirely new but it's never been anything this immediate, never been this strong just from Spencer touching him. Ryan is going to focus, he is, he's going to clear his head and open his mouth and sounds that make sense are going to come out, but Spencer shifts, moves down a step until he's closer to Ryan, and the air shifts around him. Ryan can feel it, feel it displace from around Spencer's body and push into his, spread out, cover him, and it smells like--

"Did you just jerk off?" And. Well. That's not what Ryan was planning on saying. Spencer's eyes widen and Ryan can see his nostrils flare, sniffing the air, can see the flush that starts at the tips of his ears and spreads over his face. He has a wild, frantic thought that if he could just touch he could feel it, too, could feel the blood heating up under Spencer's thin skin, and he has his hand on Spencer's face before he even realizes he's moved.

He's pressed up close to Spencer now and the smell is even stronger, sweat and come, and Ryan was right, he can feel it, Spencer's face warm under his hand, the blood pumping under his skin, and Ryan does not know what's up, but something is very clearly up. Spencer is right there, though, and he's just looking at Ryan, confused and more than a little embarrassed, and Ryan's whole body is twitching, vibrating, shaking its way the last few inches until his mouth is on Spencer's.

Kissing Spencer isn't new, not really, but it's new enough like this. It usually takes them a little while to work up to it, is the thing. Spencer's mouth opens on a small, surprised sound that Ryan can feel rumbling over his lips and down his throat as he presses closer and closer until Spencer's back thumps into the wall hard enough to make the picture frames shake above them. It's not close enough but Ryan can't figure out how to get closer so he settles for pressing his thumb into the hinge of Spencer's jaw, getting his mouth open, licking over Spencer's lips and across his teeth, into his mouth. Spencer's bottom lip is heavy between his, and if he focuses Ryan swears he can feel Spencer's heartbeat in it, thumping through his body, and Ryan sucks it in, scrapes his teeth until Spencer makes a rough noise and raises his hand to clutch at the back of Ryan's head.

The air changes again, ripples the way it had earlier, and there's that smell again, that Spencer smell, and Ryan realizes that must be the hand Spencer had jerked off with. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurs to him that something is seriously weird. but it can't quite break through the haze surrounding everything, the one that's pushing against his body and trying to get out, the one that makes him pull away from Spencer's mouth, grab Spencer's hand and hold it up to his face.

Spencer tries again, says, "Ryan--" but he breaks off when Ryan nuzzles into the center of his palm, presses his nose in and sniffs before pulling back to lick a long stripe across the broad expanse of Spencer's palm where the smell is strongest, to weave his tongue between Spencer's fingers and lap at the webs, at the salt taste that's lodged there. It makes his blood hum, makes his cock twitch in his pants, and he doesn't realize he's bitten down until Spencer's yanking his hand back, yelping, and when Ryan licks his lip he can taste a faint tang of copper. There's a little smear of blood between Spencer's thumb and pointer finger, and Ryan tries to lean back down to lap at it, but Spencer's other hand settles in the center of chest and pushes him back hard until he's pressed against the opposite wall.

Spencer's eyes are dark and his hand is heavy on Ryan's chest. If Ryan presses just right, he can almost feel his bones shift under Spencer's palm, and it's strangely, darkly thrilling. He tries to get closer to Spencer, he's too far away, but Spencer just pushes harder, presses Ryan down against the wall, and Ryan's hips jerk up into the air helplessly at the thought of Spencer holding him down in bed, instead, holding him down and not letting him up, even if he tried, and--

"Ryan." Spencer's voice is strained and high, and when Ryan forces himself to focus Spencer looks scared, and, yeah. Ryan can see how Spencer might be scared, Ryan is kind of scared, now that he thinks about it, and he tries to pay attention, tries to listen. "Ryan, what-- did you take something?"

Ryan tries to answer, he does, but all that comes out is a groan and he struggles again, surges forward under Spencer's palm but doesn't actually get anywhere. "N-no," he manages. "You know I-- no." Spencer looks at him, long and considering, but all Ryan can see is how dark Spencer's eyes are, how heavy his hand feels and the way he can still smell Spencer, even sharper now, fresher, and Ryan's mouth actually waters a little.

Spencer nods to himself like he's decided something and slides his hand down to grab at Ryan's wrist, pulling him. Ryan arches mindlessly toward him, lets himself be tugged along behind Spencer, crowds in to press tight to Spencer's back and buries his nose in the hair at Spencer's nape. Spencer stumbles a bit, they both do, and they almost go tumbling right back down the stairs, but Ryan can't, he can't, he has to be close to Spencer. Spencer shuffle slides them up the rest of the steps and Ryan's so distracted at mouthing the soft, salty skin at the nape of Spencer's neck that he doesn't realize Spencer's gotten them both in to his bathroom until he's there, trying to fold down over Spencer as he bends to turn on the faucet.

They're still pressed together, Ryan's erection nudging right under Spencer's ass, but even the smallest movement makes something claw at his chest, makes his hands come up to scramble at Spencer's shoulders, pull him back up, plaster himself to Spencer's back. He can't smell Spencer as strongly when Spencer is all the way down there and right now that's the only thing making sense, the only thing cutting through the haze in his brain that he can recognize.

"Ryan, Ryan, hey--" Spencer grips Ryan's wrists and squeezes, hard, and it hurts, it's a sharp jolt that doesn't even really feel good but makes Ryan's hips snap forward all the same, makes his mouth drop open in a moan against the back of Spencer's neck. He can feel his bones moving under his skin, feel Spencer's thumbs displacing them, making room. He's rubbing against Spencer's ass now, pressing up and grinding down, and Spencer's not pressing back but he's not pulling away, either.

Well that was more fucked up than I remembered it being. Whoops! /o\

This was for Kink Bingo as well. I am a failure. I distinctly remember putting this on a flash drive to work on while flying out to see fallintosilence and then realizing I could not do that since the text editor on my netbook dispalyed the doc title really big and bold. And the doc title was "bb ot3 dp! aww yeah girl anal!" Not exactly airport appropriate. Brendon and Spencer are high school aged in this, Ryan's in his first semester of college.

It's late, Ryan is already snoring softly on the other side of Brendon's mattress, pressed between Brendon and the wall, but Spencer can't sleep. She's maybe, just a little, kind of fixated, so when she feels Brendon sigh behind her and shift a little, she figures it's now or never. "Hey," she whispers, turning over on her side to face Brendon.

"Mmm?" Brendon grumbles, voice rough with sleep. He slides an arm around her waist, pulls her in closer, and it would be so easy to just forget about it and press her face into Brendon's shoulder and go to sleep but she just can't fucking stop.

"Hey," she says again, squeezing her eyes shut in the dark and burrowing closer to Brendon's body. "Hey. What's it like when. When Ryan. What does it feel like?"

It takes Brendon a second, and Spencer can't decide if it's because he's half asleep or because she shouldn't have asked and just as her stomach is starting to twist up in tight knots, Brendon lets out a sound that's half laugh and half groan into her hair. "Shit, Spence," he says. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Just tell me," she says, "Just. I want to know. You always look so--" she's blushing furiously and her words are getting stuck in her throat and she has never been more grateful for the dark. It's not new; they're not new, the three of them, but there's still a lot they haven't done, still a lot she's scared to ask for.

"So what?" Brendon asks, voice low, hand trailing over her hip.

"So-- like it feels so good. Like you like it."

Brendon laughs a little into her hair, says, “Well. It does, Spence. I do.”

Spencer just breathes, tries to think, tries to clear her head. Brendon's rubbing slow circles into the skin of her hip, trailing his fingers under the edge of her underwear, and she shivers almost reflexively, tries to squirm closer to his body. She has no idea what to say, and she tries saying nothing, but, well. Brendon is Brendon.

"Why?” he asks, his fingers more insistent now, less soothing, skating up and down the crease of her thigh. Spencer shakes her head because this was a bad idea. She has no idea what she's doing and Brendon's not helping because he's letting his fingers trail over her now, sliding under her underwear and across her skin where she's still wet.

"Fuck,” she hisses, because she's a little sore but also a lot turned on, and her legs fall open automatically so Brendon can fit his hand between them, can cup her while he slides a finger inside. The angle's awkward, it's probably hurting Brendon's wrist, but it's good, his palm presses against her clit, his finger moving inside.

Spencer almost forgets his question, until he pulls back to get at her mouth, kisses her sloppy and deep and asks her again, “Why?”

"Just. You-- the way you look." Brendon presses his nose into her cheek, nods against her face while he works his hand, pressing in. "Ryan, too, I-- it's not the same, I know, but I wanted." She's babbling, she can't seem to make herself complete a thought, but Brendon's got two fingers inside of her now, pressing up, rubbing in, and Spencer seriously can not believe how deeply Ryan sleeps.

"Wanted what?" Brendon asks, and his voice, fuck, she still likes it when she can do that to his voice.

"To try," Spencer gasps out into the dark when Brendon presses down hard with the heel of his hand.

"Fuck, Spence," Brendon says, his hips jerking helplessly forward, pressing his cock into her hipbone. The movement jars his hand, makes his fingers slip in deeper, and just like that Spencer's crying out, clenching around Brendon's fingers as she comes. "Jesus," Brendon says into the damp hair at her temple. "Spencer, Spencer, shit," and Spencer shifts forward, lets Brendon come hot and sudden across the soft part of her belly, cock sliding wetly against her skin.

Brendon drops his head to her shoulder, nuzzles into her neck, trails his lips across her throat. "Yeah?" he asks after a second, arms tightening around her. Brendon likes to be close, always, but he's especially clingy after he's come, likes to wrap himself around someone like a particularly wiggly vine. "All you had to do was say," he answers when she nods, not trusting her voice. "Always. Just say."

"Yeah," Spencer says, tilting her head up when Brendon noses at her jaw. Brendon kisses her clumsy and slow, wet, familiar presses of his mouth against hers. Spencer pulls away first, swipes halfheartedly at her stomach with the bit of sheet that's tangled between their bodies and grimaces. She's gross and she's going to feel like shit when she wakes up tomorrow, but at least they aren't her sheets this time. Brendon makes a low, happy noise when she settles back against him; already halfway back to sleep, but Spencer presses closer when he throws his leg over hers, hides her face under his chin and reaches across his body to find Ryan's hand already curled against Brendon's back.

-

She doesn't exactly forget, but they're all distracted with school and the band and a million other things, and it's so long before they get another night together that Spencer's honestly confused when Ryan wraps his arms around her waist one afternoon in her kitchen, whispers into her ear, "Tonight, yeah?"

"Hmm?" she asks distractedly, trying to remember if she's supposed to be doing the dishes or cleaning the counters.

"Tonight," Ryan repeats, skimming his hand up under the hem of her t-shirt. "We can try it."

"Try what?" Spencer asks, squirming a little. Her mom's in the next room and she really doesn't feel like getting caught right now. Plus, Ryan keeps brushing his fingers closer and closer to her sides, and the fucker knows she's ticklish.

"Try fucking you in the ass, Spencer, Jesus," Ryan says, not particularly quietly.

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up!" Spencer hisses, twisting in Ryan's arms, smacking his shoulder. "Are you out of your mind? My mother is in the next room."

"Well," Ryan says, shrugging a little. "You weren't getting it."

"Welcome to talking to you about anything ever, Christ," Spencer snaps. She knows she's overreacting, just a little. There's no way her mom could have heard anything, but. Still. She can feel herself blushing and she can see Ryan smirking out the corner of her eye, and it just pisses her off more.

"I hate you," she says. Ryan still hasn't let go of her and he just tightens his arms around her waist when she turns her back to him, trying to pull away.

"No, you don't," he says into her ear, hot breath puffing through the loose hair that's fallen out of her ponytail.

"I do," Spencer says resolutely, but she shifts back against him anyway when he settles his hand low and warm on her stomach.

"We've been talking about it," Ryan tells her, walking them forward, little shuffling steps until Spencer's hips hit the counter. "Me and Brendon."

"How nice for you," Spencer says, trying to keep her voice even. Ryan is rubbing little circles into the skin just under the waist of her shorts, letting his fingers dip lower and lower with each pass. "I'm glad you two felt fine discussing this without asking me."

"Do you want to say no?" Ryan asks, shifting his hips, and fuck she can feel him; hard in his pants, pressing in against her ass.

"Not the point," she says, huffing out a small noise when Ryan grinds his hips into her.

"It was a genuine question," Ryan says, nuzzling into the skin behind her ear as he tucks his fingertips inside the elastic of her underwear. "Do you want to say no?"

"No," Spencer gasps out. "I mean yes. I mean I don't want to say no. I mean fuck you," she ends on a whine when Ryan's fingers move down far enough to brush over her clit, just a light glancing touch that makes Spencer's belly coil up tight, makes her press her hips forward against the counter, against Ryan's hand.

Ryan chuckles low and throaty in her ear, and Spencer's getting ready to seriously mangle him when her mom calls out, "Spencer. Dishes. I don't hear the sink. And ask Ryan if he's staying for dinner."

Ryan jumps back guilty, almost pulling Spencer's shorts off in the process, making her stumble forward into the counter.

"Asshole," Spencer whisper-yells at Ryan as she straightens her shorts and turns on the tap. "Good luck hiding your boner from my mom."

Ryan blanches, and Spencer grins happily to herself as she rinses off last night's dinner plates.

-

"You are fucking insane," Spencer says evenly, "If you think you are putting that thing up my ass."

"It's not fair," Ryan counters, "I don't see why Brendon gets to do it just because he has a small dick."

"I have a smaller dick than yours, and who doesn't, fuck you," Brendon snaps from the foot of the bed, where he's sitting naked and cross-legged with his chin in his hands.

They've kind of reached an impasse, is the problem.

"I'm saying," Ryan continues, talking over Brendon, "That it's discrimination. Not to mention I knew you first and we were kind of technically dating first."

"Are you seriously trying to use playground rules to determine who fucks me in the ass?" Spencer asks incredulously. "Seriously?"

"Please note," Brendon says, "That I'm an impartial bystander. Totally impartial. And totally hard."

"Charming," Spencer replies, but it is, a little, and she nudges Brendon's knee with her bare foot, sticks her tongue out at him when he grabs at her toes.

And then Ryan Ross was going to shut up and deal with it, and there was going to be DP where Ryan was on bottom and complained the whole time until Spencer reminded him that she was having sex with him and if he didn't like it she could take her vagina and go home, and then he shuts up and everyone comes and they all live happily ever after, the end! \o/

Christmas in... the end of January. Go with it.

boweryd — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 00:58:15 GMT

So, I wrote a fic for bandomstuffsit, which was a good time. I am the latest person in the world and am just posting it now, but oh well! I wrote for takkatakkatakka and was so happy to get her prompt because I got an immediate idea for one of her suggestions, and it turns out that idea worked out awesomely! I had a lot of fun writing this, and it also inspired me to actually try Kahlua in hot chocolate, and it turns out that's delicious, so go me.

Also awesome is the fact that disarm_d wrote fic for me, which like. That right there, is awesome, because I love me some disarm_d fic, and then she wrote me Z and Tennessee being fumbly high school lesbians with a side of fumbly virgin Brendon and his older boyfriend Pete, and it was like all of my dreams had come true, every single one of them ever. She also included dick jokes, so, like, I must have been really transparently me in my prompting, whoops. /o\ Anyway, if you have not done so yet, you should absolutely go read A Shift In Shapes Has Come Around because it is so much more awesome than my flaily description has made it seem, I promise.

And now, fic about Ryan Ross failing at every aspect of life and Z Berg being awesome!

Title: What's Wrong With A Little Cheer
Author: boweryd
Pairing(s): Z Berg/Ryan Ross
Rating: R
Warnings: The lulziest crossdressing possible, alcoholic hot chocolate, and a minor sewing needle accident.
Word count: 2,500+
Summary: Z had woken up to her phone vibrating under her pillow and Ryan asking her, like it was a totally normal thing to ask someone at 8 a.m. on Christmas day, if she knew how to make a popcorn garland.
Author Notes: This is basically a sobering look at what happens when fallintosilence isn't there to be like, "Bowery, no. That's your fourth dick joke in two paragraphs. No." She did, however, do an awesome beta job for me, because she is the best!

"I don't think this is how you make popcorn garland," Ryan calls out as Z takes the last bag out of the microwave.

"Yes it is," she says, leaning over him and pouring the bag into the giant bowl of popcorn that's already sitting beside Ryan. He's managed to get two pieces on the thread so far. "Trust me, I've done it before."

"Can't we just go buy one?" Ryan asks, hissing when he pokes himself in the thumb with the needle while threading another piece. "This is going to take me all night, and then Christmas will be over and it'll be useless."

"That's why you do it before Christmas day," Z says, rolling her eyes and throwing a leftover kernel at the back of Ryan's head. He doesn't seem to notice.

"I forgot," Ryan says, a little sadly. "I got a tree, remember?" He says, turning around and staring up at Z hopefully.

"I know," she says, running her fingers through his hair and pushing it off of his forehead. It's in that weird phase between short and long enough to curl, so mostly he just looks like some kind of weird cat.

Ryan had bought a tree at some point around the 15th, and then he'd left it tied up in the corner for so long that it was more dead than not when he noticed it last night and clipped the strings off. He'd managed to get it in the stand himself, but then Z had woken up to her phone vibrating under her pillow and Ryan asking her, like it was a totally normal thing to ask someone at 8 a.m. on Christmas day, if she knew how to make a popcorn garland.

Ryan was lucky that her family was out of town and the only plans Z had involved an entire box of Stovetop Stuffing and some Lifetime movies. And also that no matter how hard she tried, she still found Ryan strangely endearing. Even when he was doing shit like losing a needle in the couch cushions and turning over four bags worth of popcorn trying to find it.

-

"Why in the hell don't you have a vacuum?" Z asks from the floor where she's scooping up popcorn.

"I don't know," Ryan shrugs. "I just figured that kind of stuff would have come with the house."

Z very, very kindly does not throw the popcorn she's already gathered up right in his face.

-

"Why did I know I was going to end up doing this?" Z sighs, spearing a piece of popcorn spitefully.

"What kind of booze do you need for eggnog?" Ryan asks from the kitchen.

"No," Z says simply, because no.

"I have Kahlua and peppermint schnapps," Ryan tries again, and dammit. He knows Z can't resist Kahlua.

-

"This is the best hot chocolate ever," Z says, happily taking her third mug from Ryan.

They ran out of the mini marshmallow hot chocolate about an hour ago, and Ryan's apparently improvised by just sticking a giant marshmallow in the cup and pouring hot chocolate over it. It's definitely not the worst idea he's ever had.

"Do you remember that time?" Ryan asks, sliding down on the sofa and resting his head in Z's lap.

"That's not very specific and I am a little bit drunk," Z says, patting him on the head and very narrowly avoiding spilling hot chocolate into his eyes.

"That time we got drunk off the coffee liqueur and you tried to make me wear a saran wrap dress," Ryan says, like there's no reason she shouldn't have immediately known what he was talking about.

"Yes," Z says, laughing, because that had been a good time.

"Do you think we could make a dress out of wrapping paper?" Ryan asks, looking up at her hopefully.

"Do you actually have wrapping paper?" Z asks curiously.

"Oh," he says sadly. "No, I don't think so."

"I'm sorry," Z says, petting his hair.

"Oh hey," Ryan says, sitting up so fast that Z very nearly spills hot chocolate all over him again. "Would newspaper work?"

"...possibly," Z says, raising an eyebrow. "Do you have tape?"

-

"Well," Ryan says looking down sadly at the newspaper that Z's just ducktaped onto him. "That's going to hurt when we take it off."

"Oh, oh, oh," Z says, excitedly, holding up the comics page. "Come here so I can make a bra."

Ryan seems to think about it for a second, then shrugs and drops down to sit in front of her, wincing when his newspaper skirt rips in half.

"It's okay," Z says, making a strap out of a Cathy strip. "We still have the Classifieds."

-

"Oww," Ryan says, rubbing sadly at his chest. It turns out she really had accidentally taped the bodice to Ryan. She'd feel worse about it if Ryan hadn't insisted on a v-neck in the first place.

"You just, like, waxed my chest hair."

"You don't even have chest hair," Z says, rolling her eyes. "Do you have any aloe?"

"I had a few," Ryan says sadly.

"Aloe?" Z asks again.

"At least three."

"If you don't answer me right now I'm not making Christmas waffles," Z threatens.

"In my sock drawer," Ryan says, just staring sadly down at his chest.

"Sure," Z says, heading down the hall. "That makes perfect sense."

-

"Now do my back," Ryan says, flopping over face down on the floor.

"There wasn't any tape on your back," Z says. "You're going to get aloe all over your floor."

"It's okay, it's aloe. It's, like, natural. Organic. It'll be good for the wood."

Z sighs, but she really does feel a little bad about the tape thing, so she settles herself down on Ryan's thighs and grabs the aloe.

-

Z honestly can't remember how an aloe back rub turned into sex, but it's hardly the weirdest way she's found herself mostly naked on Ryan's couch.

"Why do you have a condom in an empty vase on top of your TV?" Z asks, because she's honestly curious.

"I think I put it there after that time we didn't have sex because you were scared of my sheets."

"You hadn't changed them in two months," Z reminds him, because Ryan tends to forget things. Like facts.

"There's a condom in the knife drawer in the kitchen, too," Ryan says as he crawls back over her on the couch.

"That doesn't seem like the best idea," Z says, but then Ryan tosses the condom on her chest and slides down her body, kissing his way up her thigh.

"That's not a bad one, though," Z says, reaching down and threading her fingers through his hair. Ryan can get a little distracted, sometimes, and Z has found it's best to keep him on task.

"Hey," Ryan says suddenly, pulling back. "Hey, can we have chocolate chip Christmas waffles?"

"Sure," Z says, pushing his head back down between her legs.

"Awesome," Ryan says, mostly into her skin, and Z starts to laugh and then can't stop, giggling and breathless as Ryan shrugs his shoulders beneath her thighs and shifts her legs further apart.

-

"Oh my god," Ryan says, his voice strained.

"I know, right?" Z says, trying to pull him closer.

"No, no, I mean oh my god," Ryan says again, his hands shaking on her legs as he pulls back.

Z looks down and gasps, slapping her hand over her mouth when she starts to laugh. The lost needle from earlier is sticking out the side of Ryan's thigh, thread still attached.

"This isn't funny," Ryan says, his voice going kind of hilariously high. "That could have been my dick," he says, anguished, still looking down helplessly.

"Oh, oh honey," Z says, biting back more laughter and shifting forward until she can get up on her knees. "Kiss me," she says, and Ryan looks confused but he does it anyway, kissing her soft and just slow enough that she manages to yank the needle out of his leg before he even notices she's touched it.

"Oww," he says into her mouth.

"That didn't hurt," Z says, pulling away and reaching behind herself to drop the needle into the bowl of leftover popcorn.

"Did so," Ryan says, stupidly close to pouting, and Z sighs and straddles his lap, grinning when Ryan gasps as she grabs his cock and sinks down.

"Couldn't have hurt that bad," she says, pointedly rolling her hips.

"It was nothing," Ryan says breathlessly. "Please keep doing that thing with your hips."

-

"We should definitely make that a Christmas tradition," Ryan says sleepily, nuzzling his nose against Z's neck.

"I don't think fucking is the kind of thing you can pass down through the generations, Ross," Z tells him, idly petting at the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

"I don't see why not," Ryan says. "Everyone likes to fuck."

"Fair enough. Maybe if there were a more festive aspect to the kind of fucking," Z says, and she can tell she's still a little bit buzzed from the way she's putting actual thought into this.

"Like wearing Santa hats?" Ryan says curiously. "Oh, oh, or maybe like, we could invent a new sex position. Hanging the stocking? Decorating the tree. No, no, wait, I've got it," he says excitedly, sitting up and grinning at her. "We should be looking at Christmas songs. That way there's a built-in soundtrack. Like, watch, Jingle bell cock," he says, excitedly. "See?"

"We're about to invent The Nutcracker," Z says, tossing his legs off of her lap and quickly rising from the sofa, slipping Ryan's shirt on and heading for the kitchen. "I can't believe I even have sex with you," she grumbles over her shoulder in his general direction.

-

"How did you have marshmallows and chocolate chips in your cabinets but no actual food?" Z asks as she stirs the waffle batter. Ryan's fridge had contained half of a pizza, spray on butter, a bottle of ketchup, and pudding cups. Z sometimes wonders how he hasn't just starved to death yet.

"I wanted to make s'mores last week, I think," Ryan says, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. "But I couldn't find chocolate bars and forgot to get graham crackers."

Z grins and pours the bag of chocolate chips into the bowl, coughing pointedly when Ryan refuses to let go of her waist. "Do you or do you not want post-coital Christmas waffles?"

"I'm cold," Ryan says, rubbing his nose against her neck.

"Go put on clothes," Z says, shuffling them both over to the waffle iron when Ryan refuses to let go.

"But you took my clothes," Ryan says.

"Just your shirt," Z says. "You have more than one shirt."

"And my socks," Ryan says sadly.

"You have more than one pair of socks too," Z says, reaching behind herself and smacking Ryan in the hip with the spatula.

"Hey," Ryan yelps.

"Go put on clothes," she says. "I refuse to eat waffles with you while you're naked."

"We've done worse naked," Ryan mumbles into her neck.

"I know," Z says, pouring the whole bowl onto Ryan's massive multi-waffle iron. Z's pretty sure it cost more than her TV. "I'm trying to stop that. It's going to be my New Year's resolution."

"I thought that was to stop drinking so much vodka."

"Oh, right," Z says. "Shit. Well you still can't eat waffles naked. It's Christmas. Have some goddamn manners."

-

"Hah," Ryan says triumphantly, sliding into the kitchen in striped socks, plaid boxers, and an impressively hideous Christmas sweater. "I'm not naked."

"I'm starting to think naked might have been the better option," Z says. Ryan sticks his tongue out at her and Z holds the spatula out threateningly. "No," she says, shuddering at the memory of that time Ryan had tried to stick his tongue in her ear while he was high.

"What?" Ryan asks, grinning as he starts towards her. "Are you seriously still holding that against me?"

"So gross," Z shudders, walking backwards into the living room and around the sofa, still holding the spatula out.

"Oh come on," Ryan says, "it was one time."

"One gross, gross time," Z says, and then yelps as Ryan tosses himself over the sofa and manages to knock them both to the floor. "Oww, motherfucker," Z says, slapping Ryan's ass with the spatula.

"Oops," Ryan says, not bothering to move from where Z had cushioned his fall and probably given herself a concussion.

"I hate you," she tells him, doing her very best not to smile when Ryan kisses up the side of her neck. "I swear to god," she says, "if your tongue comes anywhere near my ear, I'm going to punch you in the face and eat all the waffles in front of you."

"You wouldn't," Ryan says, pulling back and looking down at her with mock outrage that quickly turns into genuine fear. "You're kind of evil," he says, dropping a kiss to Z's nose and rolling off of her to his feet, reaching down a hand to pull her up.

"It's part of my charm," Z says as she collides with Ryan's chest. He drops a kiss to the top of her head, and then freezes, saying, "Um."

"What?" she asks, pulling back and following his wide eyes to the kitchen, which is rapidly filling up with smoke. "Oh shit," she says, rushing into the kitchen and unplugging the waffle iron, trying to wave away some of the smoke that's billowing up from it.

"Well fuck," Ryan says sadly as his smoke alarm starts to blare. "I was really looking forward to those waffles."

-

"All things considered," Ryan says later, handing Z a fresh mug of hot chocolate and hopping back under the covers they've spread across the couch, "it could be worse."

"It's Christmas and we're eating Chinese food, drinking boozy hot chocolate, and watching whatever the fuck this is," Z says, waving a hand at the TV.

"It's Babes in Toyland," Ryan says defensively. "It's a classic."

"It's like a furry dropped acid and then wrote a movie," Z says, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, an awesome movie," Ryan says, holding out the last egg roll to Z. "Plus," he says happily as she snatches it away, "I did get that popcorn garland."

Z eats her egg roll and looks over at Ryan's sad, half-dead tree decorated with popcorn garland and nothing else, and she throws her legs across his lap, snuggling in.

"You did indeed," she tells him, stretching up to kiss his jaw, and Ryan smiles down at her as Keanu Reeves talks to a giant mouse on the TV.

"Merry Christmas," he says, resting his cheek against her head.

"Merry Christmas," Z answers him, twining their fingers together under the blanket. "Sorry about the waffles."

"It's okay," Ryan says around a yawn. "You can make it up to me next year."

Catching Signals That Sound in the Dark, Jon/Brendon, NC-17

boweryd — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 06:29:58 GMT

Title: Catching Signals That Sound in the Dark
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Brendon
Word Count: 2,400+
Summary: "I really, really, really want to suck your cock," Brendon tells Jon's pants as he pops open the button and slides the zipper down. "Like. Really."
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Graphically described face fucking, sex while intoxicated.
Author Notes: Written for the kink bingo prompt "rough sex." Thanks to untappedbeauty for once again patiently explaining to me that periods exist and can be used in place of commas sometimes. Thanks to fallintosilence for existing and being the kind of person who's all, "Fuck yeah that sounds like an awesome idea!" when I say, "There should be more grossly descriptive face fucking fic!" Title from "Two-Headed Boy" (that's right, I went there) by Neutral Milk Hotel.

Jon feels Brendon's eyes on him about a second before Brendon's pressed up warm against his side, breath hot against Jon's ear when he says, "Heeeeeey, do you have any idea how you look when you drink beer?"

Brendon is so, so drunk, and Jon's not entirely sure where he's going with this. "Nope?" he tries.

"Hot," Brendon says, nipping at the place where Jon's ear meets his jaw. "Hot is how you look. When you drink beer. With your lips around a bottle."

"Good to know," Jon says, tilting his head just a little so Brendon can mouth under his jaw. Ryan and Spencer are at the other end of the booth, hanging over the side to talk to Zack, but it's dark. It's dark and their backs are turned and Brendon's mouth feels really good.

"I'm thinking," Brendon mumbles against Jon's skin, "I'm thinking I really fucking need your cock in my mouth."

"Oh," Jon says. Which. Yeah. That sounds like a plan. He's still thinking about what a truly excellent plan it is when Brendon starts sliding down his side, angling his face toward Jon's lap.

"Brendon, how drunk are you?" Jon asks, grabbing Brendon by the shoulders and pulling him back up. "Ryan and Spencer are right there."

"They don't have to watch," Brendon breathes into his ear. "And I'm not that drunk." Brendon chooses to illustrate that point by running his hand down Jon's chest to settle in his lap, squeezing over Jon's cock through his jeans. It doesn't really make sense, but it also doesn't really matter, because Brendon's reaching for his zipper and then Jon' s catching him by the wrist, pulling him out of the booth.

"I was busy," Brendon says into his ear, leaning heavily against Jon's back, dogging his steps.

"Yep," Jon says, pushing through the crowd toward the bathroom.

"Oh," Brendon says as Jon pulls him through the door. "Hey!"

"Yep," Jon repeats, backing him into a stall. It's not his finest moment, but the bathroom is relatively empty and Brendon's already dropping to his knees, nuzzling into Jon's crotch and rubbing his nose along the line of Jon's cock through the denim.

"I really, really, really want to suck your cock," Brendon tells Jon's pants as he pops open the button and slides the zipper down. "Like. Really."

"I'm not objecting," Jon says, even though it's possible he should be.

Brendon is really drunk, is the thing, and when Brendon is drunk he talks about twice as much as he does when he's sober. He doesn't stop even when he sucks Jon in, still mumbling around Jon's cock as he's licking at him, trying to tell Jon how good it feels. Jon's caught between a laugh and a moan because the vibrations from Brendon's voice feel fucking amazing around his cock. Brendon keeps trying to talk, saying what sounds like "sotckngwoo" over and over, and then he's pulling back as Jon groans, his hips trying to follow Brendon's mouth.

Brendon's lips are shining wetly in the dingy light of the bathroom, and he looks up at Jon through his lashes, says, "So thick and good, I fucking love you in my mouth, Jon."

"That's nice," Jon says, petting at the hair behind Brendon's ears. "Maybe you should put me back there."

"Yeah," Brendon says, voice rough, still talking as he's leaning down to suck Jon back in. "Yeah I'll puchuackmouf," and Jon gasps, his hips bucking up helplessly when Brendon moans around his cock. Brendon pulls back again and Jon doesn't quite manage to bite back his groan, but Brendon is just looking up at him, eyes dark and wild. "Yeah?" Brendon asks. "You want to?"

Jon has no idea what they're talking about, so he keeps petting at Brendon's hair, says, "Wait. What?"

"You want to fuck my mouth," Brendon says, more like a statement than a question. His voice is already gruff and his lips are red and swollen as he grins. "Come on," he says, leaning in to lick absently at the head of Jon's cock. "I want you to, want you to hold my head and make me take it."

Jon's brain kind of shuts down. Brendon's a fan of the dirty talk, boy is he, but every now and then he'll really mean it, be so fucking sincere that it makes Jon's cock twitch and his chest draw up. Apparently this is one of those times. Jon squeezes his eyes shut and tries to talk himself out of it as Brendon kisses up and down his cock.

Brendon is drunk, and the last time they did this he sounded like shit at the next show. But Brendon is also on his knees, begging Jon to fuck his mouth. Actually, literally, currently, he is begging Jon to fuck his mouth, running said mouth over Jon's cock and saying, "Please, please, come on, Jon, please."

Jon is only so strong. He cups the back of Brendon's head with one hand and grabs hold of his cock with the other, says, "Yeah, yeah, okay. Okay, Bren," and guides himself into Brendon's mouth. Jon goes shallow at first. He doesn't actually want to push; he's always so scared to do this, even though Brendon loves it, even though it feels amazing.

But Brendon is moaning encouragement around his cock, and his hands are gripping at the backs of Jon's thighs, pulling him forward, so Jon lets himself go a little deeper. He feels the head of his cock hitting the back of Brendon's throat, but he doesn't push. He doesn't push until Brendon brings a hand up and pinches, hard, at the skin behind Jon's balls, making him buck forward, and then Brendon is choking around Jon's cock, his eyes are watering. Jon tries to pull back, but Brendon just pushes his head closer, swallows Jon down, and his throat feels fucking incredible, working and squeezing around the head of Jon's cock.

He's making these noises, wet and obscene and surprisingly loud over the thump of the bass that's vibrating up through the floor as Brendon is gagging and swallowing around Jon. Jon lets his head fall back against the stall door with a thump and closes his eyes for a second, just a second, but when he looks back down Brendon is already turning a little red and there are tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He still tries to fight Jon when Jon draws back, but Brendon is drunk, and Jon is . . . well, he's less drunk, in any case, so he gets a good grip in Brendon's hair and forces Brendon's head back as he pulls out of Brendon's throat.

Brendon gasps out and coughs, a long, thick cord of spit falling from his bottom lip to drop to the floor between Brendon's spread knees. Jon can't stop staring, fascinated, and he brings his thumb up to rub at Brendon's lower lip, swollen and wet with spit. Jon brings his other hand up to wipe away the tears at the corners of Brendon's eyes, and Brendon coughs again, leaning into the touch. He goes to spit, but Jon stops him for no real discernible reason, and when he says, "Open," Brendon does. He opens up and looks up at Jon as Jon presses the tip of his cock to Brendon's mouth, drags it over and around Brendon's swollen lips before pushing inside where Brendon's mouth is full and wet.

Brendon closes his lips around Jon's cock as Jon pushes in, forcing the spit out in thick trails from the corner of Brendon's mouth. It drips down his chin and onto the floor, Brendon's pants, Jon's exposed toes in his flip flops. Jon stills and runs his thumbs around either side of his cock, pushes them into Brendon's mouth to feel how wet it is just because he knows that Brendon will let him. Jon's distracted with the feeling when Brendon flicks his tongue out and runs it over each of Jon's thumbs in turn before swirling it around the head of Jon's cock.

Jon groans loudly, obviously, and he doesn't even care if they're still alone in the bathroom because fuck, fuck, this should maybe not be as hot as it is but he's so fucking close. He starts moving again, slow, hesitant, letting Brendon set the pace, and Brendon moans around him, forcing himself lower on Jon's cock. Jon slides his thumbs out of Brendon's mouth with wet pops, brings his hands back up to Brendon's head, and Brendon pushes back into the touch and lets out a low, rumbling noise that does some seriously nice things for Jon's cock. Brendon mumbles something that mostly sounds like vowel noises, but Jon gets his drift. He starts up a hard rhythm, pushing in and out of Brendon's mouth, forcing his cock down Brendon's open throat every few thrusts, his eyes rolling back in his head a little when Brendon's throat works around the head of his cock.

Jon's close, and he tries to pull out, tries not to come down Brendon's throat, but Brendon grunts a little and follows Jon's hips, pushing against Jon's thighs to force him closer. Brendon digs his nails into Jon's skin to hold him there and Jon comes suddenly, straight down Brendon's throat, letting out a far too loud shout as Brendon swallows around him convulsively, making wet choking noises as he tries to swallow Jon's come.

Jon slides out as Brendon coughs, his cock wet and filthy and connected to Brendon's mouth by thick strings of spit. Brendon looks fucking wrecked, his mouth swollen and raw, his eyes watery and red, his shirt and pants stained dark with patches of spit. Jon hauls him to his feet, unthinking, just wanting him closer. He's maybe a a little too rough because Brendon stumbles, his legs locked up from lack of use, and falls heavily into Jon's chest.

Jon's cool with that though, just buries his hands in Brendon's hair again and tilts his head back to kiss him deep. Brendon's mouth is wet, sloppy, and there's spit sliding out between their mouths, Jon's chin getting wet with it, but he doesn't care. Not when Brendon is hard and rocking against his thigh, making frantic noises into Jon's mouth, biting down desperately on Jon's lower lip. Jon can barely fit a hand between them to get Brendon's pants open, and after he fights Brendon's zipper down, he raises his hand and pulls back from Brendon's body.

Brendon makes a protesting noise, high and desperate. Brendon's eyes are glassy, and when Jon says, "lick," it takes him a second to focus, to grab Jon's wrist and pull his hand closer, getting it wet easily. Brendon sucks Jon's fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them before he spits into Jon's palm. Jon's cock shouldn't twitch at that, but Brendon's spit is thick from Jon fucking his mouth, and it clings to Jon's hand when he wraps it around Brendon's cock. Brendon immediately slumps back down against Jon's body, moans and jerks his hips up into Jon's hand, leaning his head down onto Jon's shoulder.

Brendon's panting wetly against Jon's collarbone, and Jon can feel how hot his breath is through his shirt. Brendon keeps pressing closer until Jon's hand is trapped immobile between their bodies and Brendon is just thrusting up, fucking Jon's hand, babbling against Jon's shoulder. His voice is low and gruff, fucked raw, and he's trembling a little as he strains up into Jon's hand. Brendon's mumbling out a steady stream of nonsense, desperate and shaking, and Jon's chest pulls tight as he brings his free hand up, smoothing it over Brendon's back, his arm, his shoulder, his hair, trying to calm him.

"I know, I know," Jon says into his ear, kissing the lobe. "I know, come on. Brendon, come on, come on." He can't move his hand because Brendon is pressed too closely and Jon won't move him, but he squeezes a bit around Brendon, trying to press his fingers in beneath the head of Brendon's cock. "Brendon, come on. It's okay, come on," Jon says, and he's a little frantic himself now because Brendon is shaking and Jon's pretty sure he's crying. Jon's shoulder is wet under Brendon's face, and it can't all be from his mouth.

Brendon bucks up into his hand one last time, and as Jon squeezes his hand around Brendon's cock, Brendon comes with a broken shout, his voice hoarse. He just keeps shaking, and Jon strokes up and down Brendon's back with unsteady hands, whispering nonsense into his hair as Brendon gradually calms down and goes loose and boneless against Jon. They stay there for a few minutes, Jon petting at Brendon's back, his hair, rubbing the bunched up muscles at his neck. Brendon kisses at Jon's shoulder before pulling away, laughing ruefully and coughing a little.

"See?" Brendon says, voice gruff. "No reason I couldn't have done that under the table."

Jon lets out a laugh, loud and harsh in the tiny stall, and he pulls Brendon back in against his chest to kiss him, his face, his swollen lips, the corners of his eyes where they're sticky with dried tears.

"Hey," Jon says, pulling back and cupping the back of Brendon's neck with his palm to keep him close. "Hey. I think we should call Zack, let him get us a cab back to the hotel, okay?"

Brendon nods shakily, and Jon sighs in relief because really, they kind of don't have a choice. They're both sort of filthy and Brendon looks thoroughly fucked over, his hair wild and face still red.

"Oh dude," Brendon says into Jon's shoulder, "He is going to be so pissed. Remember after Detroit when he made the rule about reckless and really gross public sex acts?"

"That wasn't really our fault, though," Jon says, tucking them both back into their pants before reaching for his phone. "And I still maintain that venue closets aren't really public places."

"I'm just saying," Brendon replies around a yawn, "I had to explain that one. It is totally your turn if he yells at us."

Jon's about to argue, but. Well. He did kind of just fuck Brendon's face in a club bathroom, so he figures he maybe owes him this one. "Fine," he says, dialing. "But you're getting me all the room service waffles I can eat in the morning."

Hard to Be Soft (Tough to Be Tender), g!Brendon/g!Spencer, NC-17

boweryd — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 22:21:28 GMT

Title: Hard to Be Soft (Tough to Be Tender)
Authors: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: girl!Brendon/girl!Spencer
Word Count: 1,300+
Summary: "And no head in the shower, I'm not getting sore knees too."
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Spanking, consensual genital slapping.
Author Notes: Written for the kink bingo prompt "genital torture" and not actually as scary as it sounds. Thank you to boy_wrangler for the awesome as always beta, and to blindingsight, almostblue, and untappedbeauty who also looked over this for me. Also, fallintosilence who never gets mad at me even when I make her help me change the same line nine times in the course of an hour. ♥ Title from "Help, I'm Alive" by Metric.

Brendon's face is pressed into the bed but Spencer can still hear her, gasping out, whimpering, even though at some point "please" had stopped sounding like a word and had faded into one long string of sound interrupted each time Spencer brought her hand down onto Brendon's ass.

Spencer has pinned Brendon's arms behind her back, her fingers stretched wide and almost numb from holding them in place for so long. Brendon is arching her back where she's spread over Spencer's lap, pushing back into Spencer's other hand, even though it's a been a few minutes since Spencer's last stroke. Brendon's cunt is wet and swollen between her legs, flushed almost as red as her ass, and Spencer trails her free hand over Brendon's ass and cups Brendon's cunt. She grins when Brendon shivers and pushes back against Spencer's hand.

"Mmm?" Spencer hums, and Brendon makes a desperate noise, tries to push back even more, her cunt spreading wetly across Spencer's palm. Spencer draws her hand back, just an inch or so, and brings it back down to smack wetly over Brendon's cunt. It's not enough to hurt or even sting, but Brendon mewls, her entire body starting to shake faintly, her wrists flexing in Spencer's grip.

"Five more of that, or ten more on your ass?" Spencer asks, drawing her hand away and smoothing it up over Brendon's flushed ass, trailing wetness.

Brendon groans into the mattress, babbles out, "I don't, I don't . . .Spencer, Spencer, Spencer."

They've talked about this. Brendon knows she can stop this if she needs to, knows what to say, but she's working her hips fruitlessly against Spencer's thigh, looking for friction, and she's still so wet.

Spencer trails a finger down the middle of Brendon's cunt, skirting her clit then trailing back up, pressing inside just briefly to rub where Brendon's hot and clenching. "Brendon," she says, "I need a decision."

"Five," Brendon gasps, shifting back further onto Spencer's finger. "Five, please, five."

Brendon's voice is strained, strung out. Spencer pulls her finger free, brings her hand up and smooths Brendon's sweaty hair back from her forehead. Brendon leans into the touch and Spencer strokes at Brendon's cheek, groans quietly when Brendon darts her tongue out to lick her taste off of Spencer's fingers. Spencer pulls back and curves her palm over Brendon's shoulder, pressing down a little until Brendon shifts, arches her back to bring her ass higher, legs spread just enough.

Brendon tenses, bracing herself when Spencer's hand covers her cunt, but instead Spencer skims her fingers over Brendon's skin, slow and thorough, petting and stroking and spreading wetness until Brendon's covered everywhere, cunt and thighs and the bottom of her ass shining with it. Spencer drags her fingers down the crease beneath Brendon's ass, digging in, and trails down the backs of Brendon's thighs where they're trembling. Spencer's teasing, letting her fingernails brush and scrape gently over Brendon's thighs, back and forth until Brendon is arching up into the touch, panting a little. Spencer presses her fingers in then, drags her nails up the inside of Brendon's thighs, skimming them lightly over the swollen skin of her cunt until Brendon finally breaks and gasps out, "Please," voice shaking. "Please, please, please."

"Count for me," Spencer says, and Brendon nods. She takes a second to shift, spreads her legs a bit wider, and she's still getting settled so she isn't expecting it when Spencer brings her hand down swiftly, open palmed. It's not a hard stroke, just firm enough for Brendon to feel it; but the noise it makes, wet and sucking where Brendon's flesh molds to her palm, goes straight to Spencer's cunt.

"O-one," Brendon breathes out shakily.

Spencer doesn't make her wait, brings her palm down again, exact, keeping the position steady. She can feel where Brendon's clit is pressing harder into her palm now, can feel where Brendon's getting wetter against the heel of her hand.

"Two," Brendon says, shuddering into the stroke, shoulders twisting, wrists flexing in Spencer's grip.

Spencer raises her hand again, just a little higher, lets it fall a bit heavier, and she swallows heavily when she feels the wetness from Brendon's cunt actually displace between the webs of her fingers.

"Three," Brendon says, voice gone a bit hazy and breathy.

Spencer's hand is shaking slightly when she raises it again and she has to take a second, steady herself, focus on Brendon before bringing her palm down again. Brendon's clit is a hard point of pressure against Spencer's palm, and she whines a little, high in her throat, the sound sending a jolt between Spencer's legs.

"Four," Brendon says, and it comes out weak and slurred.

"Brendon," Spencer says sharply, something in her chest drawing up tight.

"Here," Brendon replies quickly, more clearly, checking in.

Spencer's heartbeat settles and she stares down at Brendon, spread open over her lap and so fucking swollen, skin flushed red.

"Ready?" she asks after a moment.

Brendon nods jerkily, and Spencer brings her hand down a final time, harder than before, hard enough to sting. Instead of pulling back, she cups her hand over Brendon's cunt and Brendon's hiss of surprise slides into a groan, as she rocks back into Spencer's hand, her cunt spreading and spasming against Spencer's palm. And fuck, she's not actually--

"Bren," Spencer asks, breathlessly, but Brendon's gone, shaking and twisting in Spencer's grip, on her lap, rocking down onto Spencer's palm. Brendon's clit is throbbing against the heel of Spencer's hand, her cunt hot and wet and fluttering against Spencer's fingers as she comes, and it's. Fuck. It's just about the hottest thing Spencer has ever seen.

Spencer moves to let go of Brendon's wrists only to realize her hand is locked up, fingers gone numb, and they creak painfully when she forces herself to flex then clench, working the blood back through her hand. Brendon's wrists are red against the pale skin of her lower back, vivid marks that will likely bruise in the shape of Spencer's fingers, and Spencer wants to apologize but she can't think right now, not with Brendon still spread over her lap, face pressed into the blankets and ass in the air, pressing her cunt into Spencer's hand.

"Christ," Spencer says, stroking at the small of Brendon's back with her free hand. "Brendon, fuck." Brendon groans into the bed, wrung out and exhausted. "I'm going to move, okay?" Spencer asks. When Brendon nods weakly, Spencer pulls her hand away from Brendon's cunt, forces herself not to touch the swollen, flushed skin. "Come on," she urges, pushing at Brendon's hips. "Shower."

Brendon groans, shakes her head, but her ass is covered in marks and they've been through this before. If she doesn't get Brendon into a cool shower soon, Spencer will hear about it for days. "Nope, come on," she says, gripping Brendon's hips carefully and shifting out from under her. "You'll feel better, you know you will."

"Fine," Brendon mumbles. "But you're seriously going to have to help me up. And no head in the shower, I'm not getting sore knees too."

Spencer smirks, lets Brendon loop her arms around Spencer's neck and pulls Brendon to her feet. Brendon stumbles into her a little, warm and heavy against Spencer's side, and Spencer wraps an arm around Brendon's waist, tucks her in closer. Spencer ducks her head down, kisses the corner of Brendon's mouth that she can reach from this angle. "Hey," she says softly, brushing Brendon's hair back from her forehead with her free hand. "Love you."

Brendon makes a happy little humming noise and tilts her head up, stretches up onto her toes to meet Spencer's mouth. "Love you too," Brendon says between lazy kisses, "but I'm still not going down on you in the shower."

Some Sense Of Touch, Spencer/ Brendon, NC-17

boweryd — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 22:26:16 GMT

Title: Some Sense Of Touch
Authors: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Word Count: 3,000
Summary: "Hey," he says, mouthing idly at the skin of Brendon's neck simply because it's there. "Hey, we only have an hour, right?"
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Confined places, frottage, feet, and your mom jokes. A typical fic for me.
Author Notes: I will write porn about anything. But really, I am tired of sadfacing and am combating that by writing porn. As you do. Should you be in the porn mood, sunsetmog posted some truly excellent Brendon/Spencer domestic porn here and almostblue wrote the hot, kind of hazy Jon/Brendon fic of my heart here. If it's still just too soon for you to get your porn on, I suggest you go and read fallintosilence's ridiculously adorable kitten!panic fic (with bonus kitten spam!), which is here. Thank you to boy_wrangler for the awesome as always beta, to untappedbeauty for slaughtering my splices, and to everyone who read this nineteen times because I'm needy. Title from "Look Up" by Stars.

"This," Spencer says, climbing over an amp after Brendon, "is probably a really dumb idea."

"This is an awesome idea." Brendon says, tossing a box of merch onto Ryan's guitar case. "Now c'mere."

"Come where?" Spencer asks, eyeing the tiny dark patch of floor dubiously. "Both of us are not going to fit there. This was a really dumb idea."

"Yes we will," Brendon says, tugging on Spencer's wrist. "Now come on. We've only got an hour."

Spencer sighs, but he lets Brendon tug him closer and push him to the ground. He barely fits, sitting pressed against the wall and boxed in by his drum cases, but then Brendon drops down into his lap with a grin and a tiny grunt, and, fine. It's maybe not so bad. Spencer settles his hands on Brendon's hips and looks up, finds Brendon looking down at him, a ridiculously proud smile on his face.

"See?" Brendon says, threading his hands into Spencer's hair. "We totally fit. I'm bendy."

"Yeah, you are," Spencer says with an exaggerated leer. Brendon laughs, too loud in the tight space, and Spencer can feel it where Brendon's pressed close, feel the rumble in his chest and the puffs of air that ruffle his hair. It's hot in the trailer, the air heavy and a little stale, and Brendon's already starting to sweat a little. His skin is warm and just a little damp when Spencer tucks his hand under the back of Brendon's t-shirt, skims it up the ridges of his spine.

Brendon shivers a little and presses closer, settles more heavily into Spencer's lap. It's strange like this, with Brendon taller, with Brendon settled over him. They've mostly had to make do with rushed make outs in venue closets, quiet kisses in the back of the van, sleepy handjobs on the rare hotel night. There's still a lot that's new, and this, Brendon in his lap, pressing down on him, is new enough to make Spencer's stomach coil up hot and tense.

"Hey," he says, mouthing idly at the skin of Brendon's neck simply because it's there. "Hey, we only have an hour, right?"

"Yeah," Brendon says, pulling back a little, looking down at Spencer with a look that does nothing to ease the tension in Spencer's stomach. "Yeah," he says again needlessly, leaning down to meet Spencer's lips. It's awkward. The angle's all wrong and there's a sharp something or other digging into Spencer's back. But it's still Brendon; he's so close like this, his weight pressing Spencer down even though there's nowhere to go, his fingers still wound tightly through Spencer's hair.

Spencer doesn't want to move, but this seriously is not working. They can't manage much more than shallow kisses like this, and it's nice, it is, but it kind of defeats the entire point of sneaking off to the trailer in the first place. He pulls away from Brendon's mouth reluctantly, grins a little when Brendon tries to follow him, says, "Hey, hey, Brendon. Bren."

"Hmm?" is all the response he gets, Brendon bending over at what seems like an impossible angle to get at Spencer's neck, his jaw, the back of his ear.

"C'mon," Spencer says, pushing at Brendon's hips. "Up, this isn't working."

"Your face isn't working, oh my god," Brendon groans into his neck. "Spence, come on, it's working. It's totally working. I can make it work better if you want." Brendon's making a pretty good case. He has somehow managed to find an angle that keeps their laps pressed together while he nips at Spencer's throat, but there's still something stabbing into the small of Spencer's back and his neck is cramping up rapidly.

"Nope, come on," Spencer says, and when Brendon shows no signs of moving, he sighs, wraps his arms around Brendon's waist and manages to pull them both up at the same time. Brendon stumbles a little and Spencer ends up with his foot caught in a strap, but it's still pretty impressive, he thinks. "Hah!" he says triumphantly, right before Brendon shifts in his arms and Spencer windmills, landing with a crash on top of a stack of boxes.

"Well," he says. "Fuck."

Brendon, the asshole, laughs for almost a full minute before he helps Spencer up, but he also reaches up and kisses at Spencer's forehead, rubs his thumb over Spencer's neck. "You okay?" he asks, his breath warm in Spencer's ear. "No head wounds?"

"I think I'll live," Spencer says, tipping his head to the side so Brendon can get at his neck, nip just below his hairline. Brendon likes leaving marks and Spencer likes not being stupid, so they've mostly come up with a system, a road map of where Brendon can and can't bite and suck at.

Brendon's thumb is still moving, digging into the knots under Spencer's neck, and he lifts his head up, says, "From playing?"

From playing, from touring, from being away from home and never having enough time for what he needs. Spencer settles on, "Mmm."

"Come on," Brendon says, and then he's sliding behind Spencer and hoisting himself up onto a drum case, staring at Spencer patiently for all of two seconds before he reaches out and grabs Spencer's belt loop, pulling him forward. "Turn around."

"An hour," Spencer repeats. "More like forty minutes, now," but he lets Brendon tug, lets Brendon push on his shoulder until he turns, lets Brendon scoot forward until he's pressed warm against Spencer's back.

"So gimme ten minutes," Brendon says into the back of his neck as he digs his fingers into Spencer's shoulders, going straight for the tension bunched up beneath his skin. "You can have the rest."

It feels amazing; Brendon's hands are warm and strong, and Spencer lets his head drop forward, offers up a weak, "M'kay." Brendon's legs are wrapped around Spencer's hips, and they look funny from this angle, his bare knees sticking out sharply from the bottoms of his old gym shorts. Spencer skirts his hands up and down Brendon's shins, rubbing the hair the wrong way before smoothing it back, and he chokes out a laugh when Brendon squirms behind him. "You're so easy," he says, squeezing Brendon's bony knee.

"I'm ticklish, asshole," Brendon responds, "Now shut up and take your shirt off."

"I love it when you sweet talk me," Spencer says, but Brendon's hands are already under the hem of his shirt, already skimming up his sides, and Spencer's maybe a little easy too. Spencer curses when he raises his arms and bumps his knuckles on the low ceiling, skin dragging rough against the wood. There's no fucking room, but Spencer can't seem to mind when Brendon presses himself against Spencer's back as soon as his shirt is off, hands curling over his shoulders, thumbs digging into the muscle while his fingers splay over Spencer's collarbone. He must have taken his shirt off too, because Spencer can feel his skin, warm and a little damp with sweat, pressing against his own.

He wants to turn around, wants to touch, because that was the entire point of coming in here in the first place. Brendon's too close, though, his legs locked tightly around Spencer's hips, keeping him in place. "Brendon, come on," Spencer urges, reaching back blindly, trying to find skin. "Come on, we're wasting time."

Brendon huffs out a laugh into the back of Spencer's neck before pulling back just a little, enough to slide his hands down Spencer's back, to rub rough circles just above his hips. "Impatient," he says.

"Yeah," Spencer answers. "Yes, yes, I am, come on." Brendon's still rubbing at his hips, and he presses in close again, so close that Spencer can feel Brendon's ribs press against his back when he breathes in. Brendon doesn't say anything, just sets his teeth into the curve of Spencer's shoulder, slips his fingertips under the waistband of Spencer's pajama pants. "Brendon," Spencer says, wincing a little when it comes out more whine than anything. Spencer shifts a little and Brendon tightens his legs, the heel of his bare foot brushing against Spencer's balls in the process.

Spencer can't help it, he can't, his hips try to buck forward completely on their own, and then Brendon is laughing into his neck, the fucking asshole. Spencer opens his mouth and he is totally planning on saying something indignant, but what comes out is a truly embarrassingly high-pitched moan when Brendon shifts at the same time, running the arch of his foot over the line of Spencer's cock through his pants. It's more tease than anything, not nearly enough pressure, but Spencer still presses up into it, and Brendon lets go of Spencer's hips, slides his hands forward and settles them low on Spencer's belly beneath his pants and boxers.

Brendon's hands are so close, fingers settling in the hair above Spencer's cock and pressing in, pulling Spencer back against his body. Brendon flexes his foot and Spencer whines a little, hips pressing forward into the glancing friction. Spencer can feel Brendon breathing hot against his neck as Brendon moves his foot again, nudging his toes at the base of Spencer's cock before running them up his length, material catching and dragging. "Yeah?" Brendon asks in Spencer's ear, and that's when Spencer realizes he's panting, harsh breaths that seem too big for the small space. He can't answer, can't draw in enough air, so he just nods and lets his head fall back onto Brendon's shoulder.

It's hot in the trailer, hot and cramped, and he's sweating like crazy but he can't stop trying to press closer to Brendon. Spencer tightens his grip on Brendon's legs, and Brendon shifts a little behind him, curls his other foot tighter around Spencer's knee, and suddenly Spencer can feel how hard Brendon is, his cock pressing into the small of Spencer's back. Spencer doesn't know if he wants to press forward into Brendon's foot and his fingers or backward against his cock. He just knows that he wants to move. He digs his fingers into the soft skin behind Brendon's knees, and it's cheating, but it works, making Brendon's legs unclench, letting Spencer turn around.

Spencer grabs onto Brendon's hips, holds him in place as he turns around and settles back in between Brendon's legs. Brendon is wide-eyed and panting in front of him, and it's dark, but Spencer can see the sweat shining on Brendon's forehead, feel how damp Brendon's hair is when Spencer slides his hands into it. "Hi," he says.

"Yeah," Brendon replies, untangling his hands from Spencer's pants and sliding them around his neck. "Hey."

They both move at the same time, and Brendon's teeth catch Spencer's lip when their mouths meet, a sharp, stinging drag that makes him press in closer and tighten his grip on Brendon's hips. Brendon's legs come back up to wrap around Spencer's hips, and it's better like this, face to face, Brendon pressed so close. The case Brendon's sitting on is pressed against the wall and just a little too low to the ground to be any real help in terms of aligning their hips, and Spencer is almost regretting getting up off the floor until Brendon leans back, pulling Spencer down over him a little in the process and oh. Okay. That'll work.

It's good like this, Brendon kissing him messily, his mouth hot and open under Spencer's, fingers tangled in Spencer's hair while his hips push up. Spencer braces one hand on top of the case, wraps the other around Brendon's waist and hisses when Brendon tightens his legs, when his cock slides along Spencer's through their pants. Brendon nods and nips at Spencer's lower lip, which, yeah, he kind of forgot about kissing for a second there, is more just breathing against Brendon's mouth as he presses their hips together.

Not that Brendon seems to mind. He's clinging to Spencer's neck, his legs are locked around Spencer's waist, crossed at the ankles with his heels digging into the top of Spencer's ass, pushing him closer, pulling him down, and fuck, it feels good. Spencer idly considers trying to get their pants off, but he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to stop the slow slide of his cock against Brendon's. They don't exactly settle into a rhythm, but they work something out, Spencer pressing down while Brendon grinds his hips up, their cocks dragging against each other through their worn sleep pants. Brendon's kissing him deep and wet, and it's overwhelming, so close in the dark like this, where Brendon's all he can feel and hear and smell. Spencer tries to focus, tries to memorize the way Brendon's mouth tastes and the way he smells a little like soap but mostly like salt, the way it feels when Brendon arches under him.

Brendon's making these noises every time their hips meet just right, throaty little gasps that rumble over Spencer's lips and straight down his spine, and he tightens his arm around Brendon's waist, tries to get him closer. It changes the angle so that Spencer's cock is bumping underneath Brendon's balls, pressing in with every stutter of his hips, and Brendon arches even closer and bites down hard on Spencer's lip, toes curling against Spencer's skin. "Fuck," he hisses, pulling back from Spencer's mouth. "Fuck, fuck, how much time do we have left?"

Not enough, and Spencer doesn't want to know, wants to stay right here. "Dunno," Spencer says, kissing at the corner of Brendon's mouth and letting his fingers slide through the sweat that's collecting under his palm on the small of Brendon's back. "Doesn't matter, come on," he says, and hopes Brendon doesn't notice how his voice shakes.

"But we were supposed to--" Brendon pulls back a little farther and Spencer groans, lets his lips slide down Brendon's throat as he moves. "You know," Brendon says, miming a hilariously half-hearted blowjob that Spencer barely catches in the corner of his eye. "We had plans," Brendon says, even as he tilts his head back and lets Spencer skim his teeth along Brendon's collarbone, kiss at the hollow of his throat.

Spencer's phone chirps loudly from the floor, cutting sharp and sudden in the quiet darkness of the room. Fuck.

"That's not good, is it?" Brendon asks, and Spencer shakes his head slightly, can feel Brendon's pulse where it pumps beneath his lips, can taste the sweat on Brendon's skin and smell his fading deodorant.

"Fifteen minutes," Spencer says into Brendon's neck. "Fifteen minutes until bus call," and Spencer can feel Brendon tense beneath him.

"Fuck," Brendon says, trying to pull away, "Fucking shit," but Spencer just tightens his arm around Brendon's waist, because fifteen minutes is fifteen minutes and Spencer can work with that if he has to.

"No," he says, lifting his head and picking Brendon's eyes out of the dark. "No, come on," he says, and thrusts down sharply, watching Brendon's face as his eyes fall shut and his mouth falls slack. Brendon tightens his hands in Spencer's hair, twined almost painfully tight as he rocks back up. "Yeah?" Spencer asks, skimming his lips over the bridge of Brendon's nose. "This?"

"This, this, yeah," Brendon says, dropping one of his arms to wrap tight around Spencer's shoulders, to pull himself closer. Spencer tries to find Brendon's mouth in the dark but Brendon shakes his head and buries his face into Spencer's shoulder so he can get as close as he can, his hips tilting up so that Spencer's cock is pressing in, rubbing into the space between Brendon's cock and one thigh on each thrust and fuck. "This," Brendon says into his skin, "This, please, come on," and he's babbling, but Spencer knows the feeling.

Spencer's so fucking close, and Brendon's thighs are trembling against Spencer's hips, and he could slip his hand between their bodies, speed things along, but he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to let go of Brendon squirming in his arms and panting against his shoulder. He speeds his hips up instead, flexing the hand he has braced against the case. His arm is burning from holding them both up, but he doesn't care, just locks his elbow and presses down against Brendon's body, hips snapping.

He hears his phone again, last-last call, almost drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. "Spence," Brendon says, voice tight, hips grinding up frantically, "is that time, do we--"

Spencer cuts him off, sliding his hand down to grip at Brendon's ass, to try to pull him even closer. "Come on," he urges, ignoring Brendon's question. "We can, we have time, look at me," because it suddenly seems important, that he see Brendon again before they have to go back, back to the rush of people and road. "Look, come on." And when Brendon raises his head from Spencer's shoulder, Spencer finds his mouth on instinct, kisses him hard and deep in time with the thrust of his hips.

Spencer can feel himself tensing up, and he pulls back, just enough room to move his lips as he says, "Brendon, Bren--" and his voice is high and a little helpless as his hips snap forward, his cock twitching against Brendon's as he comes. Brendon groans against Spencer's lips, his hips still jerking forward, pressing in against Spencer's sensitive cock, and he grits his teeth, tightens his hold on Brendon's ass and says, "C'mon. Brendon."

"Yeah," Brendon says, voice cracked and raw, "Yeah, yes, Spence," and his entire body shudders forward as he comes, teeth clicking against Spencer's as he lets out a high noise into Spencer's mouth. Brendon's entire body is still shaking a little, and Spencer presses their foreheads together, lets go of Brendon's ass, settles him back down fully onto the case so he can run his hand up and down Brendon's damp back, keeping him close while they both come down. "Fuck," Brendon says after a minute or so.

"Yeah," Spencer replies, pulling back reluctantly, shaking out his aching arm and grimacing at the wet slide of his cock in his underwear.

Brendon laughs softly, and Spencer scowls at him before holding his hand out, helping Brendon down. "Yeah, okay," Brendon says once he's back on his feet, looking sadly down at his stained shorts. "It's possible we didn't think this all the way through."

"No kidding, genius," Spencer says, bending over to fumble on the floor for his phone and their shirts. "Told you this was a stupid idea."

"My idea was flawless," Brendon says, taking his shirt from Spencer and pulling it on. "Your execution sucks."

"Your mom sucks," Spencer says automatically as his phone goes off in his hand, wincing as soon as it's out of his mouth. Brendon has never been able to take a mom joke. "And look at that, have to go, no time for arguing, come on," he says as he pushes Brendon forward.

"Asshole," Brendon mumbles as he crawls his way over an amp to get to the doors of the trailer.

"Heard that," Spencer says as he drops to the floor behind Brendon.

"I don't care." Brendon says, but he steps forward when Spencer grabs at his wrist and lets Spencer twine their fingers together, lets Spencer kiss him soft and quick. "I still think you're an asshole," he says when Spencer pulls back, but he's grinning, bright in the dark, and he doesn't let go of Spencer's hand.

Sometimes I write stuff!

boweryd — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 03:51:14 GMT

I'm Google Doc cleaning so have some random drabbles and comment fic type things that are never turning into anything else.

Jon/Girl!Ryan, 900+ words

Jon knows there's no way Ryan was going to agree if he'd brought it up beforehand, but he realizes his mistake when she bucks up so hard at the first lick to her hole that he's honestly a little worried she's broken his nose. Jon says, "Okay, oww," at the same time that Ryan says, "Jon, what the fuck?"

Jon pets at her hips a little, says, "Hold still, Ryan," and gets one arm under her waist and lifts her up a bit, wraps his other arm across her hips to keep her still, and this time she just shakes a little beneath him and lets out a low whine at the touch of his tongue. A few more licks and she's moving her hips against his face, trying to press closer to his mouth, gasping out air in sharp puffs.

When he points his tongue and presses in just a little, just enough for both of them to feel it, Ryan gasps out, "Oh, fuck!" and winds a hand into his hair, cupping the back of his skull, pressing him closer. He grins against her and she must be able to feel it because she tightens her fingers in his hair, gives a sharp tug, and mutters, "Shut up, dick."

Jon can't help it, he grins again without thinking and she yanks on his hair again, a sharp little burst of pain, making his tongue slip out of her, making him gasp. Fair's fair, though, and the noise she makes when he nips at the the soft skin between her ass and her thigh is more than enough payback. He groans, dips his head back down to lick over her, into her, and he has her moving restlessly against his face again soon enough. Jon has both of his arms wrapped around her, his nose pretty much just pressed into her cunt, and he has to push against her hands in his hair when he tries to pull away.

"Ryan, c'mon, touch yourself," he says, and almost loses it at the distracted, "Oh! Right," he gets in response. It's one of his favorite things about Ryan, how easily she gets lost in things. Music, sex, her own head; whatever happens to be occupying her mind until he snaps her out of it, draws her back to the present, back with him. He waits until she's got one hand moving over her clit to drop back down, circle around her opening with his tongue before pressing back inside.

It feels different now, the way her muscles are fluttering in time with her fingers making her tighten around his tongue. He can feel her getting even wetter against his nose and his cheeks, feel the soft skin twitching, feel her thighs trembling against the side of his head. He presses his tongue deep, licks into her, and her whole body is tensing up now, strung up tight and shaky in anticipation. He presses his own hips more firmly into the mattress, grinds down, changes angles a little and his teeth skim against her where she's stretched around his tongue. It's an accident, but apparently a happy one, because she's bucking up against his face, tightening the hand that's found it's way back to his hair, crying out as she comes. Jon pulls back, pulls away, slides his arm out from under her and pushes at her hand until she uncurls her fingers and lets go of his head.

"Sorry," Ryan says, her voice gritty and her eyes closed tight. Jon takes the opportunity to swipe at his face with the sheets, clean up a little before he crawls back up her body, settles in beside her.

"You okay?" he asks, petting at her sides, her hip, her thigh. Ryan likes to be touched after, to be grounded and centered and calmed down, and she curls up tight against his side, nods into the hollow of his shoulder.

She's going to fall asleep, she always falls asleep, but she makes an effort, grabs his hand and presses it between her legs, gets it wet, mumbles, "Okay, you go," into his neck.

Jon snorts out a laugh, but he's hard, he's been hard, and he hisses out a breath when he wraps his hand around his cock, starts up a familiar rhythm to get himself where he needs to go. Ryan's eyes are open when he looks down, but just barely, the urge to sleep fighting with the urge to watch. She loves to watch, though, and it must win out because she shifts against his side, sits up a little until she can reach down and stroke over his belly, his thigh, tangle her fingers with his for a few strokes before reaching down and stroking behind his balls. Her fingers are light, barely touching, just ghosting over the sensitive skin. It's more of a tease than anything until her fingers press down hard and sudden, making him jerk up into his hand. She trails them lower then, just pressing against his entrance, and he lets out a kind of embarrassing groan, pitched low and ugly as he comes over his hand.

When he gets his eyes open again she's grinning down at him, looking sleepy and sated and entirely too pleased with herself. He rolls his eyes at her and tugs her back down against his body. "Payback," she says, settling into his side with a yawn, and Jon's way too tired to do anything but agree.

Jon/Brendon, 1,400+ words

Written with fallintosilence who writes the fic of my heart on a daily basis because she's kind of unspeakably awesome!

The phone is fucking loud. It's loud and it's directly in Jon's ear and he drops the stupid receiver when he picks it up the first time because Brendon is pinning his arm to the bed and he has to twist around kind of painfully with his free hand to grab it. "Yep, thank you, totally awake!" Jon tells the entirely too chipper sounding desk clerk before settling back down into the bed.

The bed is warm, and comfortable, and Brendon is nestled up against his front, his ass pressing into Jon's half hard cock. He's fine right where he is, thank you very much. Jon was pretty sure Brendon had somehow managed to sleep through the phone, but he makes agrumbly, sleepy noise when Jon presses his nose into the back of Brendon's neck, settles his hand low on Brendon's belly.

"Morning," Jon says into Brendon's neck, and he grins against the warm skin under his mouth when Brendon shivers a little and presses back into Jon. The back of Brendon's neck is ticklish, and Jon doesn't feel even a little bit bad about taking advantage, pressing kisses there and tightening his arm around Brendon's waist.

Brendon is sleep warm and familiar in front of him, smelling like sweat and hotel soap, and Jon has to resist the urge to rock forward where he's pressed against Brendon's ass. He's still sleepy enough that it seems like a good idea; he could stay in bed all day with Brendon right there, get them both off again before they went back to sleep. Jon's idly contemplating how long it would take Zack to break down a door when Brendon shifts in his arms, reaching up for the nightstand and grabbing his glasses, sliding them on above his nose before he yawns, stretching so his toes brush against Jon's and Jon's hand bumps into Brendon's half-hard cock.

Brendon makes a noise low in his throat at the contact, equal parts sleepy and intrigued. He settles back in against Jon's body, his cock hardening a little under Jon's hand, and it's early and he's still half asleep but he's not stupid. "Yeah?" Jon whispers against Brendon's neck. His voice is rough, gravely with sleep, and Brendon just nods, huffs out a breath and tries to wiggle closer to Jon even though there's no room left. It just makes Jon groan, makes his hips jerk forward a bit, his cock nudging against Brendon's ass.

Brendon lets out a strained little groan at the contact, tightens the hand he has wrapped around Jon's forearm. "Sore," he says at the same time he pushes back into it.

Jon snorts quietly and rolls his eyes, drops a kiss on Brendon's neck. "Hey, hey, we don't have to," he says, and it takes more effort than he'd like to admit to pull back, shift so his cock is pressing at the small of Brendon's back instead. Brendon doesn't stop pressing back, though, just makes a content noise and starts this lazy rhythm of arching forward into the circle of Jon's fist, loose around Brendon's cock, before settling back again so that Jon's cock slides over the soft skin of his back.

Brendon's back is slick with sweat from sleeping so close together, and everything is hot and wet and Jon thinks fuzzily that he could probably get off like this, just from this, spooned up with Brendon's neck under his mouth. Brendon's breathing is getting a little heavier, his groans still soft like he's still half-asleep and Jon hooks his chin over Brendon's shoulder, so he can see Brendon's cock sliding through his hand, the tip already a little shiny, wet from pre-come.

Brendon angles his head back so his cheek presses against Jon's, warm and a little flushed, his lips parted while his hips strain up into Jon's fist. Jon squeezes, just a little, just enough to get Brendon to let out a low groan that reminds him of last night, of Brendon arching underneath him. The thought goes straight to Jon's cock, makes him focus on the tension that's already building low in his stomach, as he presses into Brendon's back, his cock sliding while he jerks Brendon off.

Brendon's arching up into Jon's grip, his hand making wet noises now, as Brendon's breathing gets louder, more aware, and Jon presses quick kisses to Brendon's neck, right behind his ear, tasting sweat and listening to the noises that rumble up out of Brendon's throat. "You close?" Jon asks, his breath brushing over Brendon's ear, and Brendon nods, his glasses knocking into Jon's cheek a little with the movement.

"Yeah, yeah," Brendon breathes, his voice just barely lifting into a whine at the end, the way it always does when he's about to come. Jon grins, squeezes his fist tighter, and Brendon's breath catches on a groan. Jon strains his neck to watch as Brendon's hips stutter forward, his fingers digging painfully into Jon's forearm as he bucks forward into Jon's fist and comes over Jon's hand.

Jon jerks Brendon through it, keeps going until his quick gasps for air turn into whimpers, like it's too much. He's suddenly glaringly aware of his own cock, how close he is, and Jon presses his sticky palm over the soft skin of Brendon's belly and buries his face in the back of Brendon's neck. Brendon shifts into the press of Jon's hand, strokes over Jon's arm and works his hips back in slow, lazy circles that drag against Jon's cock.

"C'mon," Brendon says, voice strained, his toes digging into Jon's calves as he presses his body back as close he can. Jon's so close that his brain has gone fuzzy, mindlessly pressing forward into Brendon's skin, and he grunts as his hips jerk forward and he comes sudden and hard over Brendon's lower back, his hipbones pressing into the curve of Brendon's ass.

Jon can't bring himself to move, doesn't want to pull away from Brendon even though they were already late and now they both have to shower. Jon settles for kissing the salty skin of Brendon's shoulder before lifting his head up, leaning over to awkwardly press a kiss to the corner of Brendon's mouth that he can reach. He can feel Brendon smile under his mouth, glasses bumping into Jon's nose as he shifts further down into the pillow.

Jon was hoping that Brendon was up for being the bad guy this morning, but he doesn't seem especially eager to go anywhere either, fingers trailing slow and lazy over Jon's arm, making happy, sleepy noises every now and then. Their phones start ringing almost simultaneously and Jon groans into the back of Brendon's neck, reaching to answer his phone so he doesn't have to lose the warmth of Brendon in front of him.

"Totally awake," Jon says into the phone without even looking the ID. Zack doesn't agree, and he doesn't agree so loudly that Brendon is laughing into his pillow before Jon finally hangs up with a "Twenty minutes, I promise, I promise, just gotta shower." He tosses his phone across the room to land on his suitcase before promptly curling back around Brendon's body and mumbling pathetically into his shoulder, "Don't make me get up."

Brendon heaves a sigh and tilts his head to the side to give Jon more room to nuzzle in. "You know I'm normally on your side," he says, voice catching a little when Jon nips at the corded muscle in his neck, "But we don't get another hotel night for almost a week and we're both covered in jizz."

It's a fair point, but, "Covered in jizz and comfortable," Jon tries plaintively. "Comfortably covered in jizz." Brendon laughs, bright and loud, and turns around in Jon's arms, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

"I don't think you're allowed to say jizz again for a while," Brendon says when he pulls back. His hair is a mess and his lips are swollen and his glasses are knocked kind of sideways on his face and Jon thinks it would be totally, totally worth it when Zack killed him if he got ten more minutes of this.

"Do you think you can shower in three minutes?" Jon asks, falling forward to rest his head against Brendon's chest. "I think you could. I have faith in you."

Brendon laughs as he runs his fingers through Jon's hair, scratching at his scalp a little. "If you get off your ass right now, though, I'd have time to shower and blow you," Brendon says.

"That," Jon says, "is an excellent point."

Brendon/Spencer, 1,000+ words

They have this massive, combined drum kit at Brendon's place, a result of fucking around with how many pieces they can realistically play on. That's all well and good for a while, right up until Brendon wakes up alone in bed, wanders downstairs and stands back to watch Spencer just fucking pound on the kit for all he's worth, hair flying and sweat dripping down his forehead. When Spencer finishes up he turns to Brendon, bright eyes and huge smile, but Brendon's face must give him away because Spencer's eyes darken almost immediately and he swallows thickly before saying, "C'mere."

Spencer doesn't actually wait for Brendon to get there, he stands up and shucks off his boxers, and pulls Brendon's briefs and sweatpants down just as soon as Brendon is in reach. Spencer grabs his hips and pulls him down, the stool wobbling a little beneath them as they settle in. Brendon gasps a bit when his cock brushes up against Spencer's, groans out against Spencer's temple when he grinds down for more friction.

"You're kind of ridiculous," Spencer grits out in his ear, snapping his hips up and kissing at Brendon's neck.

"Says the guy who's hard over a drum kit," Brendon replies, reaching between their bodies to get his hand on Spencer's cock.

"Says the guy who, fuck, who's hard over watching me play said drum kit," Spencer says raggedly.

Brendon grins, because fair enough, and keeps twisting his hand over Spencer's cock, getting him fully hard, getting him wet. They've been doing this long enough that Spencer knows his moves, knows what he wants, and Brendon gasps when Spencer slides his hands back to Brendon's ass, holds him open and brushes over his hole.

"You still wet from before?" Spencer asks, voice rough and low in Brendon's ear.

Brendon nods, then winces a little when Spencer goes in immediately with two fingers. "Maybe just a little more," Brendon amends, and rolls his eyes when Spencer laughs at him and spits onto his hand. It's easier this time, and Brendon goes for Spencer's cock soon enough, holds Spencer still while he sinks down.

"Fuck," Spencer breathes out into Brendon's ear, ruffling his hair a little. Spencer's hands are heavy on Brendon's hips, not pushing, just holding him steady, letting him adjust.

"No kidding," Brendon says, shifting his hips a little, feeling Spencer drag inside of him. Spencer readjusts on the stool, thrusts up just a little, just enough to make Brendon gasp and dig his hands into Spencer's shoulders.

"Fuck, Spence," he says, and it turns into a moan at the end but Brendon doesn't even care.

"You good?" Spencer asks. His voice is tight and Brendon can feel the tension in his shoulders, can feel Spencer trying to hold back.

"Yeah, yeah," he says breathlessly, rocking down a little right as Spencer snaps his hips up, hard. Brendon closes his eyes and threads his hands into Spencer's hair as they work out a rhythm, Spencer thrusting up as Brendon rocks down.

They settle into something dirty and slow, and Brendon throws his head back as Spencer drags slowly inside of him. His cock is pressed up against Spencer's stomach but he keeps arching, keeps trying to press Spencer deeper, bending back until he can feel the sharp bite of a cymbal digging into one of his shoulders.

Brendon squeezes reflexively around Spencer and Spencer bucks forward, pressing Brendon back, forcing a sudden sharp noise from the cymbal that has them both laughing. "Watch my fucking drums, Urie," Spencer says, smiling big and wide and right in Brendon's face.

"Some of those are my drums, assface," Brendon replies, settling his hands back onto Spencer's shoulders and leaning forward. He presses himself tight against Spencer's chest and the angle changes, Spencer hitting his prostate head on, making Brendon pant and squirm in his arms.

He's close, but his cock is trapped between their bodies and it's not enough friction. "Spence," he says, "Spence, c'mon, please," and Spencer is good at this, Spencer always knows what he wants, what he's asking for.

Spencer shifts him backward just a little, just enough that he can get his hand between them, wrapping it tight and perfect around Brendon's cock. Brendon hisses out a little noise when Spencer starts stroking in time with his thrusts and drops his head down to Spencer's shoulder so he can watch Spencer's hand work over his cock.

Brendon's so close now, his muscles twitching, tightening around Spencer, making Spencer lose his rhythm until he starts squeezing his hand around Brendon mindlessly, running his hand up and down Brendon's cock. Brendon recognizes the motion, it's the same one Spencer uses on his sticks in between twirling them before a show, a nervous habit he's had since they were kids. Brendon grins a little to himself and comes suddenly, tumbling right over the edge without realizing he was there.

Spencer's hips arch up helplessly as Brendon clenches around him, and he gasps against Brendon's cheek before catching Brendon's mouth and kissing him wet and deep. It only takes a few more thrusts before Spencer's coming, biting down on Brendon's bottom lip as he shakes through it.

They stay there for a few minutes, gasping against each other while they come down. Spencer shifts Brendon off of his lap slowly, bending down to grab Brendon's underwear and sweatpants off the ground. "Don't get come on my drums," he says, swatting lightly at Brendon's thigh.

"They're my drums too, motherfucker," Brendon grumbles, pulling his clothes on slowly.

"Oh, are you pissed because I got to play first?" Spencer asks. Brendon makes a face at him because Spencer's standing there naked, Brendon's come all over his stomach, but there's no one telling him to be careful. "Because it seemed like you were pretty into it earlier."

Spencer's grinning, baiting him, and Brendon's kind of easy when it comes to Spencer so he gives in, grins, says, "I thought we established I was hot for the drums, not you."

Most Exhausting Girl I Ever Knew, Ryan/Girl!Spencer, NC-17

boweryd — Sun, 17 May 2009 07:52:18 GMT

Title: Most Exhausting Girl I Ever Knew
Authors: boweryd and fallintosilence
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/girl!Spencer
Word Count: 4,000
Summary: "Stop being so stupid and stubborn already and take your pants off."
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Awkward teenage hetsex with body issues and snarky best friends?
Author Notes: Um. This is what happens when fallintosilence and I are all, "Know what's awesome? Teenage Ryan and Spencer! Know what else is awesome? Vaginas! Know what's super awesome? Teenage Ryan and Spencer where Spencer is a girl is and is all "Ahahah no!" and Ryan is all, "Ladyparts! Wanna touch em, let me touch em!" You're right, that is super awesome!" I don't even know anymore. Largely chatficced and self betaed by the both of us, so it has that going for it! Title from "Papillon" by Rilo Kiley.

"I swear to god, Ross, I will break your scrawny ass directly in half."

Spencer didn't look like she was kidding.

"It's not fair," Ryan replied anyway.

"It's perfectly fair. You're getting handjobs and blowjobs left and right, how is this not fair to you?" She was doing that bullshit thing she did where she forgot that Ryan had known her forever, knew all her tricks, knew that she was playing it off so he wouldn't look closer, wouldn't see the pink tinge to her cheeks and the way she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I wasn't talking about me," he says, taking a chance and scooting closer to her on the bed, wrapping his fingers around her ankle and squeezing.

Spencer giggles at the rub of his fingers against the side of her foot, a sudden, bright noise that neither of them were expecting, and Ryan takes the opportunity to crawl on top of her, press her down into the bed and kiss her soft and light.

"C'mon," he mumbles into her mouth when she deepens the kiss. "C'mon, Spence, let me. It's not fair."

Spencer groans, shakes her head and refuses to meet his eyes when he pulls away. "Spencer," he says, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. "Come on."

He doesn't mean to push, he wouldn't, not with Spencer, but she had told him she wanted to, whispered it into his shoulder the night before, "I do, I do, I just--" before the door to her sister's room had banged open, before they'd jumped apart guiltily and turned their faces into the bed, feigning sleep. By the time Ryan was sure the coast was clear, Spencer had been asleep for real, breathing soft and even, her hand tangled with his under the cover.

"Just fucking lay off," she snaps, pulling away from him, folding herself into the corner of the bed. She looks small, a little scared in that way she does when she's trying to look tough, and Ryan feels like a total asshole.

"Hey," he says, poking at the side of her knee where he knows she's ticklish. "Hey, I'm sorry, okay?" Spencer meets his eyes, nods, smiles with one side of her mouth. "It's just--" he wiggles his way into her side, pins her between the wall and his body so she has to look at him. "I just want to make you feel what I feel," he says. He can feel his face heating up, he knows he sounds like an idiot, but he wants her to understand. Wants her to know he doesn't just want to do it for the sake of doing it.

Spencer blushes, but she doesn't look away and her voice barely shakes when she says, "Look, I just know that-- you've been with other girls, okay? Prettier girls, and thinner girls, and you don't have to." She looks away then, crosses her arms over her knees and drops head down.

Spencer is kind of a fucking idiot.

"You're kind of a fucking idiot," he says, and he gets the reaction he wanted, Spencer's eyes snapping to his face, angry and flashing, her face and neck turning red.

"Fuck you!" she hisses, "I fucking knew this wasn't a good idea, I told you that you'd turn into an asshole and I'd turn into a bitch and it wasn't worth it and you never fucking listen to me."

"Spencer," Ryan says calmly.

"No! No, this is all your fault and I was right and fuck you, Ryan."

"Spencer." he says again.

"What?" she says. She's panting a little, face still flushed with anger, eyes bright, and she's fucking beautiful.

He meant to say something, anything, but instead he's leaning in, pressing their mouths together, kissing her hard and deep while she nips at his lips. "So stupid," he says against her lips.

"Shut up, I hate you," she groans out against his mouth.

Ryan smirks against her lips and presses at her side, pushes her down until she's laying under him, wrapping her leg around his, pushing up into his hands when he skims them up her side. "Well I don't," he replies, pulling away from her with a gasp. "So stop being so stupid and stubborn already and take your pants off."

"You're such a romantic," Spencer says, wiggling under him. "How did I ever get so lucky?"

"Spence," he says, suddenly serious. "Look. I want to. I want you. You know that, right?" She nods, biting her bottom lip and looking up at him a little hesitantly. "Now are you going to stop being mean to me and let me get you off?" He smirks at her, can't help it, and flinches away from the smack she throws at his arm.

"Fine," she says, "but if this goes terribly wrong I'm going to say I told you so."

"No pressure," Ryan grumbles as she arches up and shimmies out of her jeans.

"Spencer, you realize you have to get more naked than that, right?" He asks after a minute when she's still just resting against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut.

"Can't you just kind of work around them?" Spencer asks, gesturing down her body.

It's possible he snorts a little, but that's not really his fault. "No," he says, sliding his hands up her legs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her underwear. They're just regular underwear, boycut, they kind she always wears, but if he looks close enough he can see a hint of wetness between her legs, darkening the fabric a shade, and he swallows hard. She tenses up when he rubs over her hips, soothing circles into the soft skin, but he ignores it, yanks her underwear down bit by bit.

"C'mon," he says, pulling. "Lift up." She does, listens without fighting him for once, and Ryan has to bite back a groan when he looks down at her, hips arched off the bed, back bowed and breasts pushing against the material of her t-shirt. He shakes his head a bit to clear it, slides her underwear the rest of the way off and just stares. It's not a lot more than he's seen before but it's different like this, being this close, seeing the little tremors in Spencer's soft thighs, the way they curve out and up into her hips, full and soft, cradling the curly dark hair between her legs.

He strokes over her hips, her thighs, trying to get her to relax where she's still tensed up. Every time she shifts under his hands he can smell her, heavy and a little sweet. She's wet, he can see it shining on her thighs where they're clenched tightly together, and he tries not to think too hard about when he gets her to spread them open, when he spreads her open, because she will make fun of him forever if he comes just from this.

"Spence, come on," he says, stroking up between her thighs until he can just feel where the skin is a little damp and sticky. "Come on, let me," and she nods, her eyes still squeezed shut, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She lets him push her legs apart slowly until he's got her open in front of him, and Ryan's seen girls before, been with girls before, but fuck. Spencer is wet, the skin pink and a little puffy, shiny where the light hits her. He brings his hand up slowly, stroking up her thigh, over the soft, sticky skin until he can slide his fingers up, spread her open.

Spencer gasps, pushing up into the touch, making small little noises in the back of her throat as he strokes over her. His fingers are coated with her, hot and heavy and he leans down without thinking, licks over her clit where he has her spread open just to taste. Spencer gasps, her hand slamming into the back of Ryan's head, fingers clenching in, and hey, that's cool, Ryan can deal with that. But then she's yanking, hard, pulling his face away from her.

"What," he says, because hello, good thing going here.

"No!" She says, her voice rushed and a little shaky. "I thought you were just going to, like. Can't we just. The finger thing. Let's just-- that's good, right? Baby steps!"

Ryan rolls his eyes at her, can't help it, but he doesn't want to push her too far. She's being ridiculous, but she's also spread out in front of him, flushed and beautiful, and he's pretty sure if he fucks this up it will never, ever happen again. Ryan licks his lips, just to make her glare at him, and then strokes his fingers back down over her, touching the pad of his thumb gently to her clit where his tongue was before, feeling the little jerk of her hips and her sharp inhale. She's tense, her thighs are trembling against his forearm, but she isn't asking him to stop, so Ryan figures fingers are a go. He spends a minute rubbing slow, steady circles over her clit, just watching his fingers press over her, listening to the way her breathing gets heavier. She's shifting up against him a bit, pressing into the touch, and when she arches up hard he can feel her press wet against his wrist.

He groans a little, keeps his thumb going on her clit while he brushes the knuckles of his other hand lower, grazing over her where she's hot and slippery, nudging the knuckle of his middle finger over her entrance and feeling her jerk at the pressure. Ryan eases up, he doesn't want to push, doesn't want to hurt her, giving her his finger folded in half before anything else. He focuses back on her clit, and when he looks up she's flushed pink and watching him, biting her lip with her eyebrows slightly furrowed with the effort of keeping her eyes open, keeping her attention on him.

She's so beautiful like this, eyes wide, a light sheen of sweat across her forehead, her face and neck stained pink, her nipples straining against the material of her t-shirt. He can see the soft curve of her belly peeking out from underneath the bottom of her shirt and he wants to stretch up, kiss her there, suck the soft skin into his mouth. He's contemplating it when she follows his gaze and snaps out of the lull his fingers put her in, glaring and tugging her shirt down over her stomach.

"Spencer," Ryan groans, but she tenses up even more and keeps glaring, just daring him to say something else. Ryan thinks fondly about the day there will be no parents or siblings to deal with, when he has all the time in the world to just spread her out underneath him, completely naked, and kiss every inch of her skin until she stops being so self-conscious around him.

"This was a bad idea," she says, trying to squeeze her legs shut even though he's between them. "I told you."

"You are so fucking frustrating," he snaps without thinking. He's about to apologize, but when he raises his eyes to her face he snaps his mouth shut, stills his hand, because her eyes are huge and shining a little wetly, her lower lip trembling, and shit, shit, he's fucked this up. "Hey, hey, no," he says in a rush, "I just-- Spencer, you've got to fucking stop that. Okay? I don't how else to convince you I want you, every time I tell you you're beautiful you call me a dick."

Spencer laughs wetly, rubs her wrist across her eyes. "Yeah, well, you always say it when I look like shit."

"You never look like shit, idiot," he says. Then, a second later, "Pretend that came out better."

Spencer laughs, ducks her head, and Ryan leans up to kiss her, he has to, grips her waist with his wet hands and licks into her mouth until she's relaxed against him, kissing back, shifting against him restlessly.

Ryan pulls back and smirks at her. "Problem?"

She blushes immediately, but keeps her gaze firm on him, doesn't back down, "Just you not finishing what you started, Ross," she says, going for haughty but coming out a little breathless.

Ryan keeps his eyes on her, holds her gaze as he slides back down her body. She doesn't break first, she never does, but admitting defeat is worth it when he focuses his gaze back down to where he has her spread open around his fingers again. She's even more swollen than before, the delicate pink skin having turned red, and she's so wet. He wants to taste her again, fuck does he want to taste her again, but he settles for tracing his fingertip over her, slow and dragging, until he settles it right at her entrance, pressing in just a little, just enough to make her keen and push forward against his finger.

He slips inside just a little, just enough that he can feel her hot and wet and clenching, but he doesn't move any further, just rubs into the soft skin until she huffs out a breath, bites back a whine. "What the fuck, Ryan, are you waiting for a formal invitation?" Her voice is strained, just a little, just enough that no one else would be able to tell she's impatient.

Ryan smiles a little to himself, because he loves this. Loves when she finally stops protesting and starts telling him what to do. It's Spencer's own form of asking nicely, really. He leans forward and kisses the inside of her thigh, mouthing slowly at the soft, pale skin there as he steadily pushes inside, letting his finger sink in deep where it's warm and tight, clenching around his finger, the muscle of her thigh tense under his mouth. He groans quietly against her thigh, presses his aching cock down into the mattress because fuck.

Ryan twists his wrist a little, lets his finger drag inside of her. He loves the way her hips move, tiny little fits and starts in time with the movement of his finger inside of her. He pulls out so he can push back in, can rub slowly up inside her, feeling where she's clenching around him. He keeps at it for a while until Spencer makes an impatient noise that turns into a gasp when he brushes his thumb back up over her clit, brushing gently over the swollen bump of it, just enough pressure for her to feel it, and Spencer starts making these desperate, cut off little noises that have Ryan asking, "This is okay, right?"

Spencer huffs and says, "Of course it's okay, except for how you're being a fucking tease. Come on, touch me," and her voice lilts up into a whine at the end, one that makes Ryan grin and lean up to kiss her again. The angle makes his finger sink in deeper, and he swallows the moan it draws from Spencer, presses down harder with his thumb and keeps moving in tight, frantic circles over her clit.

He keeps kissing her, can't seem to stop now that he's here. He kisses her neck, the little spot behind her ear that she loves, the hollow of her throat, her collar bone. He can feel her nipples pressing against his chest through their t-shirts and he really, really wishes she were not wearing that shirt right now, that he could keep sliding his mouth lower and lower, kiss down between her breasts and over her nipples before sucking them into his mouth. He's understandably distracted by this train of thought, and he only registers Spencer's impatient noises when she digs her heel into he back of his knee, hisses, "Come on, asshole."

She's moving her hips up against his hand, trying to get him to touch her harder, press deeper, and he ducks up to kiss her quickly before hiding his smile in her neck, leaving her mouth free so he can hear whine when he pulls his finger out, hear it replaced by a gasp when he presses back in with two. "Ryan, Ryan," she says desperately, moving against his hand as he curls his fingers up, pushes in, feels her muscles flutter and adjust around him.

Spencer's hands are twisted in the sheets on either side of her body but she brings one up to clutch at his back as he rubs up slowly inside of her. Her nails dig into his skin through the fabric of his shirt, sharp little stinging points cutting through the haze in his mind. She feels so fucking good, and he tries to stay focused on her, tries to ignore the desperate heat coiling low in his belly. He tries to focus on keeping his fingers moving, on kissing at her neck to distract himself. Her skin is warm and salty under his mouth, flushed and sweaty from the way she's straining up against his hand, from how close she is.

And she is close, he can feel it where she's tensed up all around him, so Ryan moves back down her body, because no way is he missing this, it took him long enough to get it and he wants to see. He looks down at her, at where she's open around him, so tight that the skin clings to his fingers as he drags them in and out her body. He gets momentarily distracted at the way she opens around the bony bumps of his knuckles, how thin and stretched the skin gets, the little pants he can draw from her when he twists his fingers, his knuckles dragging just inside of her.

He spares a frantic, hot thought for how she would look stretched around his cock, but makes himself cut that shit out when his hips snap forward into the mattress without his permission. Instead he settles in, starts fucking her with his fingers in earnest, crooking them up, letting them drag against her in the way that's pulling these raw, broken noises from her throat. She's so, so wet, soaking Ryan's fingers and hand and the sheets beneath them, and Ryan drags his thumb across her skin, getting it wet, bringing it up to touch her clit, to press just to the side of it. It makes her moan and gasp, bucking up, and Ryan's cock jerks in his pants at the sound.

Spencer has to be close, she can't not be, not with the noises she's making and the way she keeps straining up toward his hand, pushing into the touch of his thumb and the rhythm of his fingers, her feet bracing and sliding on the bed, dragging down his side as they try to find purchase. She's beautiful, so beautiful when she's strung out like this. He could fucking do this forever, just touch her and taste her until she's desperate like this, moving against him and panting and waiting for release.

He can feel her clenching hard around him now, his fingers sinking in deep and her moans getting shorter, rougher, harsh in the air between them. Spencer is all he can hear, all he can see, all he can smell, and he takes his thumb away from her clit and she hisses, her hand coming down to clutch his hair, to tug at it as she pants out, "Fuck, Ryan, fuck you, come on."

He knows she's close, knows he's driving her crazy, and he grips her thigh and leans forward, fitting his lips around her clit and sucking, hard, her hips bucking up violently underneath his mouth as she comes. Her fingers are still tight in his hair, tugging painfully, and Ryan twists his fingers up and lets her clench around them, her muscles gripping him tight. His cock is throbbing, he's desperate to be inside of her instead, to feel her clenching down so tight around his cock and he groans against her at the thought as she moans and moans and moans like she doesn't realize how much noise she's making. Ryan pulls off her clit and licks over her softly as she twitches through her orgasm, long broad strokes, tasting her, feeling her tremble under his tongue.

Spencer groans and twitches away from his tongue after a minute, too sensitive, and he pulls back and rests his head on her thigh, her hands slowly loosening in his hair until she's petting through it, smoothing it back from his forehead. He strokes a hand up and down her, the outside of her thigh, knee to hip, feeling as her muscles stop trembling and her breathing evens out. He turns his head just a little, just enough to see where she's swollen and open, skin puffy and red from her orgasm, from his hands and his mouth. He feels a little ridiculously proud of himself and vows to never, ever share that fact with Spencer.

"You cheated," she says weakly, after a few minutes. "You always fucking cheat." Her voice is low and gravelly, raw like it's being pulled from her throat against her will and Ryan is seriously, seriously going to come in his pants any second now.

"Are you complaining?" he asks, as he pushes himself up to hover over her. Her eyes are huge and bright, cheeks still flushed and mouth bitten red and he wants to kiss her but his mouth is still wet from her and he doesn't know if he should push things.

Spencer, though, is a genius, and she solves the problem for him, reaches up and pulls his head down, says, "Shut the fuck up," against his mouth. She licks into his mouth sort of hesitantly, her tongue sweeping across his lips, tasting herself, and she makes a small little sound of approval that rumbles over his lips and straight down to his cock, makes him moan and press down into her hip helplessly.

"Right, right," she says, pulling away from his mouth, reaching down for his zipper. "Right, sorry," and then she's unbuttoning his jeans, reaching into his pants and boxers to wrap a hand around him. He almost comes right there, it's a near thing, but he manages to hold off until she's got him out of his pants.

Spencer pushes at his shoulder, tries to get him on his back but he can't, he's so fucking close. He just says, "No, no, like this, come on," and thrusts into her hand, bending down to kiss her desperately as he fucks into her grip, wet from the pre-come streaking his cock. "Fuck, fuck," he says into her mouth, and it only takes him a few thrusts into the tight grip of her fist before he's coming, thinking blindly about her, about Spencer hot and slick around him, and he groans pathetically against her lips. It's sudden and fucking intense, he feels like something is wrenching his orgasm out of him, even as Spencer slowly jerks him through it, and he collapses down on top of her as soon as he's done, letting her hold him, sinking down into her soft curves.

"Fuck," he repeats helplessly, and Spencer wipes her hand off on his hip, her nose wrinkled up when he glances up at her face.

"What?" he asks, still panting into her shoulder.

"I'm going to have to do so much fucking laundry," she says, rubbing circles into the small of his back.

"That's great, Spence. That's really, really exactly what I want to hear right now."

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I supposed to be fluttering my eyelashes and asking if it was good for you?" Her voice is sharp, cutting, and he loves doing this, loves how easy it is to get a rise out of her. He forces himself up on wobbly arms and tucks himself back into his jeans before straddling her, grinning down at her as he tries to think of a response.

She's a mess, her hair is a wild tangle on the pillow, random strands clinging wetly to her forehead. She's fucking beautiful, and he forgets what he was going to say, forgets why he was going to say it, can't do anything but lean down and kiss her, soft and sweet, pressing their sweaty foreheads together when he pulls back. "If I tell you look beautiful right now, are you going to call me a dick?"

They're so close that he can feel her lips ghost over his as they turn up in a grin, can feel the puff of breath against his cheek when she says, "Probably."

Pull Your Tangles Out, Spencer/Brendon, NC-17

boweryd — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 06:01:36 GMT

Title: Pull Your Tangles Out
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon
Word Count: 9,000
Summary: If this is like a thing you two do.
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Mild D/s content, orgasm denial
Author Notes: For sosodirty prompt: "Following Orders." Title and cut text from Tegan and Sara's "Not Tonight." Thanks to okubyo_kitsune for the constant hand holding, anoneknewmoose for the last minute comma pick, and to the amazing stephanometra and boy_wrangler for the betas, without you two this story would not be here and my head would have exploded several times over. About 900 people read over this for me at one point or another, so if you were ever in on this doc you can just assume that you have my constant hearteyes, okay?

In retrospect maybe it was a little weird, but in all fairness, Spencer really, really didn't notice anything until Jon pointed it out. It was just something he’d always done; hell, it was useful most of the time, being able to rein Brendon in with just a look, or a certain tone of voice, or if all else failed a, “Shut the fuck up, seriously.”

It wasn’t a big deal or anything. In fact, he can’t even think back on some big moment of realization; it had just always kind of been there. During the first few months after Brendon joined the band, when he was still nearly vibrating with excitement and Ryan was circling him warily like a caged animal, Brent had even referred to it as Spencer’s own personal superpower. He does remember rolling his eyes at Brent and saying that he’d hold out for flight, or invisibility or something, but he doesn’t remember making a conscious decision to be The Boss Of Brendon. Besides it wasn’t like Brendon had to listen to him or anything; he just kind of...did.

*

“Brendon, seriously, bed,” Spencer says, pushing at Brendon’s shoulder where it was resting against his leg.

“Dude, no, come on, I am about to kick Jon’s ass on such an epic scale. Seriously epic. Someone will write songs about the ass kicking I am about to deliver.”

Jon snorts, and on the screen Brendon’s character’s head explodes in a spray of gore. “Owned,” Jon says evenly. “So owned.”

Brendon gapes at Jon, then the screen, and twists around to gape at Spencer. “No. No. Rematch!”

“Bed,” Spencer says, firmly. “We have an interview tomorrow. I’m not asking you.” Brendon grumbles in a cursory manner before standing up and shuffling toward the bunks, and when Spencer rises to follow, he finds Jon staring at him in this even, measuring way.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jon says, but Spencer can practically feel Jon's eyes boring into his back as he turns towards the bunks.

*

“Orange juice, not Red Bull,” Spencer says the next morning when he sees Brendon making eyes at the fresh 24-pack they’d picked up.

“Fine,” he says, huffing a little as he pours a glass.

Jon raises his eyes from his cereal, flicks them back and forth between Spencer and Brendon, and Spencer says, “What?”

*

They have a little bubble of free time between the interview and sound check, and for some unknown reason Jon and Ryan are set on finding fried chicken.

Ryan goes to OK it with Zack and Jon starts hunting for his shoes. “Coming?” Jon asks, and Brendon bounces to his feet with a, “Yes!” at the same time Spencer says, “No.”

Brendon sits back down.

Jon quirks an eyebrow.

Spencer says, “What?”

*

That night, Jon flops down beside him on the sofa in the lounge.

“So. Brendon.”

“No, Spencer,” he retorts before he can stop himself. “What?” He turns to face Jon, and Jon has his I Am Terribly Wise And Rife With Life Experience, Young Friend expression on.

“It’s a little weird,” is all Jon says.

“It? Like, Brendon in general? Because you kind of missed the memo on that one, man.”

“No. Just,” Jon sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t take this wrong way or freak out or anything, but just . . . he does whatever you say, dude. Even when I’m pretty sure he really, really doesn’t want to.”

“He—” Huh. Well. Spencer had never really thought of it that way, that he might be keeping Brendon from things he wanted to do, that he might be able to keep Brendon from things at all. It put a sharp, unfamiliar taste in his mouth.

“Look,” Jon says into the silence. “If that’s something that—if this is like a thing you two do, that’s fine, but just. Sometimes, it’s a little weird. That’s all.”

Jon stands up, ruffles Spencer’s hair, and heads off for the bunks.

*

Spencer only gets in about two hours of fitful sleep, Jon’s words echoing in head.

If this is like a thing you two do.

*

The problem is that Spencer’s aware of it now. He tries to just stop, stop saying anything to Brendon that could be taken as anything more than a personal opinion. He doesn’t even want to venture into light suggestions. He spends most of the day biting his tongue against things he wouldn't have given a second thought to before, but despite his best efforts, old habits die hard, and he only makes it until an hour or so before the show that night, when Brendon is buzzing with energy and flitting around Ryan while he’s trying to do his makeup. The third time Ryan swears and starts over, Spencer, unthinking, snaps, “Brendon.”

Brendon stills and crosses to sit beside Spencer on the couch, and Spencer is really greatful Jon’s not in the room. When he glances over, he notices that Brendon is sitting tall and taut, tension throughout his body, and, huh. Spencer sees Brendon’s foot twitch from the corner of his eye, and it dawns on him that Brendon’s trying to hold himself still.

Which is. Huh. He hadn’t said that. All he had said was, “Brendon.” He hadn’t even said it loudly, or angrily, just even. Just. Brendon.

Spencer reaches over and smooths his thumb over the back of Brendon’s hand. “It’s okay.” He doesn’t know what makes him say that, but Brendon relaxes back into the cushions and pushes as close to Spencer as he can get.

*

If this is like a thing you two do.

And. Maybe.

*

Spencer tries to rationalize that he’s only doing this so he can figure out how to make Brendon stop. That’s all; it has nothing to do with the tight knot at the base of his spine when he thinks about this, about pushing Brendon, seeing how far he’ll go, seeing what he’ll do simply because Spencer tells him to.

For whatever reason, Spencer spends the next day giving Brendon near constant orders. No coffee. No Red Bull. Only one donut. Stop tapping.

And Brendon listens.

Spencer feels himself growing antsy, like there’s something crawling under his skin, begging to get out and become bigger, more.

They all pile into the back lounge after lunch. Ryan hits the lights and Brendon follows Spencer to the couch on the right. It’s Jon’s pick, so they end up watching Almost Famous for, like, the tenth time. They’re barely fifteen minutes in before Brendon is fidgeting beside him. “What?” Spencer asks quietly.

“I have to pee.”

Spencer doesn’t even realize he’s said it until he hears it, hanging quiet but heavy in the air between them.

“No.”

Brendon’s eyes widen just a little but he nods, presses his legs together tightly and burrows into Spencer’s side.

Holy. Shit. Spencer has no concept of what exactly is going on, what he’s doing, but he’s really grateful that Jon singing along loudly to the soundtrack was apparently enough to drown them out.

He feels Brendon fidget as he squeezes his thighs tighter together. He's squirming against Spencer's side, skin practically vibrating with tiny, constant movement. The tension in Brendon's body feels like it's bleeding into Spencer's everywhere they touch.

And fuck. There is no reason Spencer should have told Brendon he couldn’t go pee.

There’s less of a reason that he should have listened.

Brendon, wriggling around slightly against him, feels too warm, too solid, too real. Spencer’s head is fuzzy and uncertain, full of possibility. He squeezes his eyes shut, grits out, “Brendon, go,” and breathes in relief when Brendon bounds off the couch and down the hall, drawing the tension with him and giving Spencer a chance to breathe.

Brendon, it would appear, is some kind of freaky speed demon when it comes to using the bathroom, because it feels like all of two seconds have passed before he’s back, pausing in the doorway. He slants a look at Spencer, then hesitantly moves to sit down on the opposite end of the couch, as far away from Spencer as he can get in the small space. Spencer’s gut clenches, because this isn't right either; he's pushed too far, he knows he has, and now Brendon is scared of him.

Maybe it’s force of habit, maybe it’s just stubborn stupidity, but Spencer has to do something to fix that, so he lets himself say the first thing that bubbles up. “No. Here.” Brendon’s back at his side in an instant, tucking in close. Spencer's head is swimming, relief and confusion circling around each other while across the room, Ryan and Jon scream about being Golden Gods.

*

Spencer escapes to his bunk while Jon and Ryan head out to find a Mexican restaurant with “Enchiladas, but, like, real enchiladas. You know.” Spencer doesn't know.

Spencer doesn’t actually know anything right now, and that’s the problem. He has no clue why Brendon chose to stay, yielding to Spencer without any explanation. It's possible Brendon was just being polite. It’s never happened before but it could have happened; maybe he had just thought it would be rude to get up and interrupt the movie. Spencer just wishes he knew what Brendon was looking for, that he didn't feel so out of his depth here. He doesn't know what Brendon is thinking, or what sort of boundaries there are, and most of all, Spencer doesn’t know why he keeps pushing.

Maybe Brendon’s, like, scared of him. Maybe that’s what Jon had meant, that Spencer was being an asshole, forcing Brendon to do things he didn’t want to do. But he can’t really reconcile that with the slow, comfortable grin that had spread across Brendon’s face when he slid back into Spencer’s space, the way his body settled against Spencer's, and that, maybe, is a little scarier. The idea that Brendon is doing this because he wants to. That thought sparks the antsy, alive feeling in Spencer’s chest again, and his bunk suddenly feels stifling, too hot and too dark.

He can hear the bus shower running, so he figures it's safe to hoist himself out of his bunk and move to the back lounge. He cranks the AC up as high as he can get it since Ryan isn’t around to complain and shiver like a Chihuahua if the temperature dips below 75. These are prime thinking conditions; the lounge is dark and cool and quiet, and his head is starting to clear, so of course that’s when Brendon comes in wearing only a towel, and throws on the lights. “Spence, you seen my sweatpants?” Spencer tries really, really hard to focus on anything but the way water drips from Brendon’s hair, the way his skin is already bumping over in the cold. “Why are you lurking in the dark and why is it so cold in here?” Brendon's rubbing his hands together exaggeratedly, shifting from foot to foot in the cold, and that is really not helping anything.

Spencer knows he’s looking at Brendon open and heated, and when Brendon’s eyes flick over and meet Spencer’s, he goes perfectly still, even though it’s cold and he’s wet and Spencer can see the tension in his body as he holds in his shivers. Spencer swallows, hard, and says, “Sit down.” Brendon moves to sit next to Spencer, but Spencer shakes his head. “Other couch.”

Brendon looks small and fragile when he settles in on the couch opposite Spencer, wedges in between the couch and the small table still pulled too close from where Jon and Brendon had been playing cards earlier. It’s freezing in the room, even Spencer is cold now, and he’s dry and fully clothed. Brendon’s still holding himself stiff and tall; he’s not shivering but Spencer can see that his skin is bumped over, his nipples peaked and his teeth chattering just a little. He doesn’t drop Spencer’s gaze, even as his resolve breaks and a small shiver makes its way up his spine, going from a slight twitch to violent shudders pretty quickly, rocking the table a little.

Spencer's head clears at that, the faint knocking noise of Brendon's leg against the table. Spencer shouldn't be doing this, it’s cold and Brendon is wet and half-naked but he’s not moving, just looking at Spencer, his eyes searching and his lips are wan looking and trembling but he’s not moving. “Kitchen.” Spencer has to say the word twice before it comes out right. He clears his throat. “Your pants are on one of the kitchen chairs.”

Brendon blinks, and he holds Spencer's gaze for a second before gets up, his eyes dark. When he walks past Spencer’s couch on his way out of the lounge, Spencer has to stop himself from reaching out to let his hand brush against Brendon’s back just to see how cold the skin feels.

He knows that Brendon would let him.

*

Spencer is apparently never going to sleep again. He’s been lying awake in the dark for approximately 809 hours, and Jon’s loud snores and Ryan’s random mumblings aren’t helping matters any. He usually finds it a little soothing, living on top of each other for so long having made the noises familiar instead of distracting, and it takes him a second to place what's wrong. He can’t actually hear Brendon, none of the quiet humming he can't quite help but let out when listening to his iPod before bed mingling in with the other noises. There’s no noise at all coming from Brendon’s bunk, and Spencer is about to see if he’s sitting sleepless in the lounge like he sometimes does when he hears the little whimper float across from Brendon’s bunk.

His mind worries, “Nightmare!” at the same time his dick screams, “Brendon is whimpering!” and he listens closer, hard, until he can hear the little rhythmic rustles over the noise of the road and the other guys. He feels like he’s breathing too loudly, too obvious, but he’s suddenly so hard he feels like his dick is going to explode, and all he wants is to see, wants to pull the curtain back and watch. He could ask. Brendon would probably say yes. A low, cut off gasp comes from Brendon's bunk, and when Spencer focuses on something beyond his own erection, he can just hear wet, steady noises. He presses one wrist against his cock through his sleep pants and reaches for his Sidekick with his free hand, thumbs on the keypad before he's even sure of what he wants to say. He ends up with, “Brendon. Stop.”

He hears the bzz of Brendon’s phone, and then a choked off groan. He listens intently, but there's no more noise coming from Brendon's bunk. And. Holy fucking shit. Spencer’s brain is kind of blank and cloudy with lust until a low, pained sounding groan from Brendon snaps him out of it, and he types, “Do you want to finish?”

It takes all of five seconds before he gets Brendon’s response, “y.”

Spencer waits, not quite sure what he's waiting for until his phone vibrates against his chest with the text he didn't know he wanted. “plz can i?”

Spencer’s cock actually twitches against the pressure of his wrist, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, swallows the lump in his throat, sends back, “Loud enough for me to hear.” His head is swimming with all kinds of things he’s not used to feeling so sharply, an insistent jab instead of a dull ache, and as an afterthought, he adds, “No coming.”

The noises start back almost immediately and the rustle is the same, but now there are little groans and pants escaping and Spencer’s got his hand down his pants before he can even think, trying to find some approximation of the rhythm he thinks Brendon has going. He lets his hand twist up to the head every time Brendon makes a noise, and the sharp little pants coming from Brendon’s bunk get increasingly loud and rough, enough that Spencer is a little paranoid that this'll wake someone up.

He listens for Jon’s snores, Ryan’s sleepy grumbles, and he almost misses the low, steady whine coming from Brendon’s bunk. Brendon abruptly chokes a little, and he hears, broken but still whispered, “Spencer,” and it sounds so raw and strung out that Spencer comes hard all over his fist, just at the sound. His own breath is harsh in his ears, but he can still hear Brendon, breathing hard and desperate, and when he hears a broken sob, just loud enough to carry, he wipes his hand off and quickly texts, “Now.”

Brendon’s moan is muffled but still loud, and his breathing is still so hard that Spencer can hear it easily. His own heart is beating so wildly it feels like it’s about to rip through his chest. Brendon’s breath evens out a bit, and he says, just loud enough to be heard, “Spencer?”

Spencer pinches himself, hard, right in the fleshy part of his upper arm. Right. He scrubs a hand over his face and texts Brendon, “Go to sleep.” He hears a little rustling from Brendon’s bunk, and then, softly, “Night, Spence.”

*

Spencer’s the only one up when Brendon comes shuffling into the kitchen the next morning, yawning and rubbing at his eyes distractedly. Spencer feels an overwhelming rush of fondness before the vague nausea of awkwardness sets in. Brendon walks over to the cabinet, shuffles the contents around. “Pop-tart?” he asks over his shoulder, and Spencer grumbles his assent. He can do this. He can pretend like nothing happened. Brendon stretches up to reach into the back of the cabinet, though, and who is Spencer kidding? He gets up quietly, crowds Brendon against the counter from behind, and he can hear the hitch in Brendon’s breath, see the way his knuckles go white where he’s gripping the counter.

“We should talk,” he says, and he reaches over Brendon to grab the box. Brendon huffs out a little noise and just kind of melts into Spencer, fitting back against Spencer’s chest easily, naturally. They've been this close before, probably even been in this very position before, but Spencer doesn't remember it feeling like this, like he's going to jump out of his skin any second now. This is not good, and he is going to pull away, he is, but Brendon’s still a little sleep warm and hazy, and when Brendon tries to turn around Spencer finds himself using his hips to pin Brendon against the counter. He’s half hard, nestled firmly against Brendon’s ass, thin flannel separating the two, and Brendon lets out a little noise and works his hips back as close as he can.

“Shh,” he says, and his own voice sounds strained, and fuck, fuck, they’re supposed to be talking, but Brendon’s nodding, still trying to press back more tightly against Spencer, even though there’s no room left. Spencer rests his face in the crook of Brendon’s neck, nuzzles in. He can feel the throb of Brendon’s pulse against his lips, a little frantic, and he bites down, thin, soft skin that tastes like sweat and sleep in his mouth. Spencer can feel the moan that Brendon bites back, and he lets go, whispers, quiet and strained into Brendon's ear, “Why are you, what-”

That, of course, is when Jon clears his throat behind them, reaches gingerly around Spencer, and takes the now crumpled Pop-tart box of Spencer’s hand. Brendon lets out a rush of breath and goes rigid against Spencer, and fuck. Fuck. Spencer makes a vaguely soothing noise at Brendon, brushes his hand over his back when he pulls his body away. “Go sit down,” he says, “Jon is making us Pop-tarts, apparently.”

“I’m very serious about the preservation of my breakfast pastries, Smith,” Jon quips, but when he looks at Spencer, his eyes are questioning.

*

If this is like a thing you two do.

Then he’s going to eventually have to actually talk to Brendon.

*

They mostly manage to avoid each other for the rest of the day, but Brendon keeps giving him these long, searching looks that leave Spencer keyed up and restless. By the time they make it back to the bus after the show he's downright twitchy, the leftover adrenaline is not helping matters at all. Brendon seems to be in the weird headspace he gets into after a particularly good performance: the rush of manic energy evening out into quiet burn, his body tense and fingers flexing mindlessly on the nearest available surface, which is usually Spencer but currently Ryan. Ryan makes it about five minutes before he snaps at Brendon, jerking away and looking at Spencer accusingly.

"Spence, do that thing you do."

Jon snorts. Brendon keeps his head down but sucks his bottom lip in. Spencer can see his teeth working it over, sinking in, and without thinking even a little bit about what he's doing, he's circling his fingers around Brendon's wrist, pulling him back toward the bunks.

"Spence, what—" Brendon says. There's tension singing down his arm, muscles taut under Spencer's fingers, but he doesn't resist, just follows Spencer back into the bunks and makes a breathless, surprised sound when Spencer stops short. Spencer whirls on him, pushes him up against the wall. His hands settle on Brendon's hips, digging in a little, and he tries to ignore Brendon's hitched breath, tries to focus on what he needs to say.

"Why," he starts, staring down at Brendon, who's staring back, wide-eyed, bottom lip still clutched between his teeth. They're close but not touching, Spencer's hands on Brendon's hips their only point of contact. He tightens his grip, trying to steady himself, and very resolutely doesn't react to the way Brendon's hips stutter. "Stop it," he says, and it comes out low, frustrated, hissing from between his teeth. Brendon goes lax under his hands, just like that, and before he can help himself, Spencer blurts out, "Why do you do that? Why do you just listen to me like that all the time?"

Brendon tenses again a little but he doesn't move away, doesn't look away from Spencer, even though Spencer can see the struggle on his face, the blush that's creeping over his cheeks. "Do you not—do you want me to stop? If you don't want me to, I'll stop." He does look away at that, ducking his head down, hiding his eyes.

Spencer gives into the frustration that's twisting up in his chest. "That's not what I asked you," he says.

Brendon makes a low, frustrated noise in his throat, but he doesn't answer, doesn't meet Spencer's eyes. Spencer digs his fingers into the flesh of Brendon's hips, harder this time, hard enough that Brendon's head snaps up, his eyes hot and mouth open, a vaguely word-shaped noise slipping out from between his lips. Spencer's so distracted staring at Brendon's bottom lip, swollen and shiny from where his teeth had been working over it, that he just barely hears Brendon's, "Because I want to."

His face is flushed and he won't meet Spencer's eyes, and if they're going to do this - whatever this is - Spencer needs to know. "That's not good enough," he says, his voice sounding gruff and foreign to his ears. "Tell me."

Brendon goes absolutely still, and Spencer feels a sudden surge of worry that he's gone too far; he tries to unclench his hands from around Brendon's hips but freezes when he hears it—quiet at first, almost whispered. "I trust you," Brendon says, and Spencer's eyes widen. Brendon's staring at him, breathing heavy and deep, but his eyes are still now, focused on Spencer. He says it again, louder, "I trust you."

It hits Spencer like a punch; and he draws in a deep, shuddering breath, letting it back out slowly. He feels like he should be scared, overwhelmed, maybe, but instead the hot, tight feeling that's taken up residence in his chest lately is uncurling, spreading through the rest of his body as he stares down at Brendon. Brendon, who's looking back up at him with wide, clear eyes, worrying his lip again but staying still, so still, like he's waiting for Spencer.

Spencer doesn't much want to speak. What he'd like to do is lean down, replace the teeth moving over Brendon's mouth with his own, bite down until he makes his own marks to replace the ones Brendon has left. He can't drag his eyes away from Brendon's lips, but he forces his voice to stay even as he says, "If I ever—if you really didn't want to do something I asked you to do, you'd tell me no, right?"

Brendon shivers under his hands, just a little, just enough that Spencer manages to pull his gaze up, meet Brendon's eyes. "Depends on the something," Brendon says, quiet but clear, and it hangs heavy in the air between them. Spencer's trying to get his brain to work, to formulate a response when he feels a gentle tug at his belt loops as Brendon's fingers thread through them, pulling Spencer closer.

Brendon tilts his face up, his eyes pleading, asking without having to say it out loud, and Spencer kind of breaks, he can't help it. He crushes his mouth and his body against Brendon, presses him tight against the wall. He licks over Brendon's lips, swollen and tender, then into his mouth. Brendon's mouth is frantic on his, tiny, desperate little sounds getting trapped between their lips as his hips buck against Spencer's, and Brendon's fingers tighten in Spencer's belt loops then pull away, scrabbling at the button on his pants.

A loud thump and Jon's muffled but still entirely too close cry of, "Asshole!" cuts through the haze in Spencer's mind. He groans and wraps his fingers around Brendon's wrist, pulling his hand away. "No," he says, going for stern, but sounding rough and broken.

Brendon's panting, eyes wide as stares up at Spencer, and it's the hardest thing Spencer's ever had to do, saying, "Not here, not now." There's the sound of more scuffling from the lounge, proving his point, and he makes himself pull back, smoothing down Brendon's clothes, his hair, only letting his hands linger a fraction longer than they should. Brendon's hard in his jeans, and he arches up silently when Spencer lets his hand trail just low enough to brush his knuckles over the line of Brendon's erection.

"Go on," Spencer says, pulling his hand back and nodding toward the front of the bus. He can tell Brendon wants to object, his eyes holding Spencer's gaze for a moment before he turns and heads back to the lounge.

Spencer lets himself grin for just a moment before he presses his hand to his own dick, knocks his head back against the wall, and breathes in deep.

*

Spencer makes it through two rounds of Halo, half an episode of Top Chef, and three sneaky, stealth attempts at cuddling from Brendon before he announces, "Bed."

Brendon gets up to follow him without comment, tucks himself into Spencer's space as soon as the door closes behind them. He looks up at Spencer with big, hopeful eyes, and Spencer's pretty sure he should get a medal or something for self control, here, jesus. "Go to sleep," he says, giving in just a little and dropping his head to nuzzle at Brendon's neck, breathing him in. Brendon nods but waits a moment before climbing into his bunk and drawing the curtain. Spencer waits until he's most definitely behind his own closed bunk curtain to let out a shaky breath. He doesn't think he'll fall asleep anytime soon.

It isn't long before he hears Ryan and Jon coming in to the bunks, a habit born of long years of sleepovers and sharing small spaces. Ryan hates to keep Spencer up, and he knows Spencer won't be able to sleep until Ryan has settled in. Ryan, true to form, is out only a few minutes after his head hits the pillow, and Spencer only rolls his eyes a little bit when he hears Jon mutter a few select profanities while shedding his shirt, knuckles hitting his bunk ceiling the same way they do every damn night. Jon's light, soft snore starts up soon enough, and Spencer shifts his attention across the aisle, listening for Brendon's even breathing and sleepy snuffles.

He can hear Brendon shuffling around just a bit, his breathing too loud and fast to be asleep yet, and it occurs to Spencer that maybe Brendon's waiting for him, waiting up for him the way he waits up for Ryan. Waiting in case Spencer wants something from him. The thought apparently cuts straight to his dick, and the soft, low thrum of arousal of the last few hours flares sharp and biting. He presses a hand to the front of his boxers with a quiet gasp, hears an answering breath come from Brendon's bunk, and scrabbles for his phone with his free hand, sends off a quick, "Quiet."

Spencer squeezes his dick through the thin material of his boxers, making himself wait, wait for Brendon to go silent and still. He keeps his phone close, in case Brendon gets any ideas, but he seems to understand what Spencer wants, just like always. There's almost absolute silence from Brendon's bunk, save for his breathing, still too heavy but muffled, now. Spencer can picture it, Brendon's face buried in his arm or maybe a pillow, cock hard but untouched, listening for a signal. Spencer indulges a little, lets himself be a touch louder than he normally would as he wrestles his boxers down just far enough to free his cock. He's hard, he's been hard for hours, and the hiss he lets out when he wraps a hand around himself is totally involuntary. He thinks he hears Brendon make a choked off noise, but his own breathing is loud in his ears, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight as he works himself.

His cock is already a little wet with pre-come, and his fist slides down easily, tight and perfect, just a little rough. He knows what Brendon sounds like - the soft noises and tiny whines - and he closes his eyes, focuses on how Brendon must look. Pictures Brendon's body stretched out in a long, tight line while he fists his cock, his legs spread wide. Spencer wonders if Brendon bites his lip too while he does this, if he's fast and frantic or slow and steady. Spencer's hand speeds up as he imagines it, tries to piece it together in his head. He wonders if Brendon bucks up into his hand when he comes, or if he curls in around his fist. He can hear Brendon now, his harsh breathing, but Brendon's not moving, he's being so perfect, so still, and Spencer almost bites through the inside of his cheek as he gives one final, long pull and spills over his hand with a grunt. When the blood stops pounding in his ears, he hears Brendon's whispered, questioning, "Spencer?"

Spencer fumbles for his phone, texts, "I remember telling you to go sleep." His phone pings a second later, the message simple but still sending a little pang through Spencer's spent cock, "want."

Something unfurls in Spencer's chest, an easy, warm feeling, and he puts his phone down, says just loud enough for Brendon to hear, "Soon."

*

It's another three days before they get a hotel night. Brendon doesn't even wait for the door to close fully, just drops his bag and launches himself at Spencer, twisting his limbs around until he's as close to Spencer's body as he can get. Spencer catches him around the waist, stumbling with the effort to keep them upright, and he can already feel Brendon hard against his thigh. Spencer shuffles them back a little, letting his weight press the door closed as he slumps back against it, crouching a bit to reach Brendon's mouth. Brendon's kissing him deep and frantic, tongue licking at every part of Spencer's mouth he can reach, making soft little moaning noises that gust over Spencer's lips.

Spencer tries to take stock, tries not to lose himself in the kiss, but Brendon's hands are tangled tight in his hair and their chests are pushing together with each exhale, battling for space where there's none to be found. He comes back to himself a little when he realizes that Brendon's managed to wiggle his way onto Spencer's thigh, using Spencer's stance to his advantage. Brendon's hips immediately start to grind down, rubbing fast and desperate, and Spencer tightens his arms around Brendon involuntarily. Brendon must take it as encouragement because his hands race for the button of Spencer's jeans, fingers clumsy. Spencer takes a deep, calming breath and pushes Brendon back a little, gently, gradually, so Brendon doesn't get the wrong idea.

Spencer's kind of flying blind here, and it's not like he expected them to sit down and work out formal terms or anything, but this, Brendon shivering against him, it's an almost unfair distraction. He has to bite back a gasp when he focuses on Brendon, standing in front of him with dark, wide eyes. His mouth is red and raw-looking, and Spencer's floored by a surge of want so strong it makes makes his head spin. It's been days, days of watching Brendon grow more and more desperate for touch. Days of denying himself the same thing, fingers almost itching with the need to touch Brendon beyond the small, steadying seconds he's allowed himself. Days of jerking off to thoughts of this very moment every night, coming even harder knowing he was denying Brendon the same relief. He doesn't really know how long he spends there just staring at Brendon, caught up in hot, frenzied thoughts, but he snaps to attention when Brendon lets out a sharp, keening noise.

"Spencer," he gasps out, "please," and he's shaking a little, body held taut and rigid. He's not moving. He won't, not until Spencer tells him to. Spencer wants— Spencer wants, and he's struck dumb with it. Part of him wants to go slow, draw it out even further, see how far he can push Brendon, how far Brendon will go just because Spencer tells him to.

His cock is pushing painfully against his jeans, though, and Brendon looks close to tears from his own want. That, at least, he can take care of. He can get Brendon off, reward those long days of waiting. Spencer groans, cups himself roughly through his jeans, squeezes a little. "What do you want?" he asks, low and gruff. Brendon's eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and he shakes his head. Spencer barks out a laugh, harsh and loud and only a little hysterical, but thankfully Brendon's gaze clears just a bit as he blinks up at Spencer.

"Bren." He cups Brendon's jaw, fingers as insistent as his tone. "C'mon, what do you want?" He's honestly not expecting it when Brendon groans and falls to his knees to drag his mouth across the rough denim over Spencer's cock.

Brendon's voice is scratchy and a little slurred as he groans out, "Spencer, please, want to—I've wanted to." As bad as the past few days have been for Spencer, he knows they've been worse for Brendon, but here he is, on his knees, begging for Spencer. He wants to pull Brendon up, get him off first, but Brendon's still nosing at his cock through his jeans, and Spencer's so hard it hurts.

Brendon's panting against his hip; Spencer can feel the hot puffs of air even through the denim, and he almost jumps when Brendon brings a shaking hand up to cup him through his jeans. Brendon's hand stills, waiting, and Spencer has to bite back a groan so he can say, "It's okay, come on."

A small broken sound bubbles from Brendon's throat when he finally manages to open Spencer's fly with shaking hands, shoving denim and cotton down so quickly they catch briefly on his cock. Spencer hisses in discomfort, but the sound stumbles into a moan when Brendon licks a path up the underside before sucking the head into his mouth. Brendon's sloppy and eager and constantly moving; it feels like he's everywhere at once, warm mouth sucking him in, tongue curling over and around the head of Spencer's cock. It's fucking overwhelming like this, eyes screwed tight and just feeling. And god. The sounds. Brendon's low, satisfied hum each time he pulls off to lick over the head. The deep, rumbling moan before he takes Spencer in deep again. The filthy, wet sound of his hand slicking over the base. Spencer forces his eyes open because Jesus, he wants to see this, too, wants to burn the image into his mind. The sight of Brendon's swollen lips stretched tight around his cock, his lust-blown stare rips a helpess, low groan from Spencer's mouth.

Spencer's hips twitch forward roughly before he can stop them, but Brendon just closes his eyes and makes a low, rough noise as Spencer's cock drags across the roof of his mouth. He can't really help wanting to just let go, thrust deeper into Brendon's mouth, and his hands are itching to touch, to guide Brendon's mouth down around his cock. He can't, but he wants to, and Brendon's hands digging in tight to the flesh of his thighs, pulling him forward, pulling him deeper isn't really helping matters. Spencer needs to touch, but doesn't trust himself not to thread his hands into Brendon's hair and just yank. He settles them on Brendon's shoulders instead and Brendon sinks under the touch, letting his mouth slip lower on Spencer's cock. Spencer gives in and lets his hand slip up an inch or two, far enough to splay fingers behind Brendon's ears, thumbs rubbing over the hollows of Brendon's cheeks. Brendon whimpers a little and pulls off, and Spencer's so fascinated by the little string of saliva stretching between his cock and Brendon's swollen bottom lip that he almost misses Brendon's low, desperate, "Spence, come on, you can touch."

Spencer's brain is fuzzy and he's close, and Brendon's pulling, urging him forward, making little pleased sounds as Spencer's cock slips back in, deeper this time. Before Spencer can even process it, he's saying, "What if you couldn't touch? What if I told you no hands?"

Brendon shudders visibly and his eyes slide shut for a second before he looks up at Spencer and slowly, deliberately, grabs Spencer's hands and places them on his head before clasping his own behind his back.

It is going to be really embarassing if he comes before he gets Brendon's mouth back, and Brendon just makes it worse, holding Spencer's gaze for as long as he can before his lips are back around Spencer's cock. He goes slow, so slow, sliding his mouth down until Spencer can feel himself nudge the back of Brendon's throat. His fingers twitch in Brendon's hair and he wants to, he can, but he doesn't push. Brendon's eyes are watering a bit but he doesn't choke, just exhales hard through his nose and swallows around Spencer's cock, letting his eyes flutter shut as he works his jaw. Spencer tries to pull back, tries not to come down Brendon's throat without warning, but Brendon follows, swallowing around Spencer as he comes.

Spencer relaxes his hold on Brendon's hair, spreads his hands out to cup Brendon's skull, and Brendon hums a little and leans back into Spencer's hands. Brendon lets out a harsh breath and Spencer slips out of his mouth, looks down to see Brendon panting and flushed below him. There's the faint remainder of wetness at the corners of his eyes, still squeezed shut. Spencer clears it away with the pads of his thumbs, and Brendon makes a sound that's almost a mewl as he jerks beneath Spencer's hands. Spencer looks down at Brendon on his knees, head tipped back, eyes closed, shaking from want, and the rush of affection that sweeps over Spencer is equal parts familiar and terrifying.

It hits him in a very real way, then, how much Brendon is giving, how much he's letting Spencer take. It's not just an abstract idea anymore, and all the doubt and confusion of the past few days come rushing back at once. This is Brendon on his knees, desperate but waiting, waiting for Spencer to tell him it's okay, waiting for Spencer to give this to him. It's almost a little embarrassing, how badly Spencer wants to see, wants to see Brendon taking what he's been denied for the past three days. He swallows down around the lump in his throat, tries to steady himself. He wants Brendon to know, wants Brendon to see.

"Brendon," he says, and Brendon looks up at him with glassy, dark eyes, his face open and hopeful. "Go get on the bed."

Brendon scrambles up, and even now Spencer has to resist the urge to follow, press him down into the mattress and take what he wants. "You know these last couple of nights?" he asks conversationally, pulling his pants and boxers back up before crossing the room to drag a chair closer to the bed. When Spencer turns back to the bed, Brendon is nodding from the edge of the bed, sitting a little less straight than he usually does, curled in a little around his erection. He's sitting on his own hands. Spencer can't help the grin that stretches his lips, only growing wider when Brendon answers it without thought.

Spencer settles into the chair, close enough that there's barely an inch between his knees and Brendon's, hanging off the edge of the bed. Brendon sways toward him just a bit, but pulls back again at Spencer's quirked brow, like hadn't realized he was doing it. "Do you have any idea how hard it was," Spencer asks, keeping his eyes locked with Brendon's, "Not just climbing out of my bunk and pulling your curtain back? Do you know how much I wanted to see you, Brendon?" Brendon lets his eyes slip shut, hips jerking forward the tiniest bit, and Spencer says sudden, sharp, "Brendon."

Brendon's eyes snap open, and his voice is raw and painful sounding when he says, "Sorry."

Spencer ghosts his hand over Brendon's knee, and when Brendon doesn't shift into it he smiles, says, "It's okay. I just wanted you to know, how hard it was. How much I wanted to see you. You've been so good." Brendon's eyes soften a little at the praise, and Spencer has to remind himself what he's trying to do here. "Stand up," he says, and he nearly catches an elbow in the eye as Brendon scrambles off the bed, caged between Spencer's legs and the edge of the mattress.

He's a little unsteady on his feet so Spencer reaches up, grabs him by the hips and anchors him to the spot. "I want to watch," he says, sliding his hands from Brendon's hips to the fly of his jeans, lips just barely brushing Brendon's bellybutton as he slowly tugs the zipper down. "I want to see you get yourself off." He almost gives into the last traces of doubt hovering around the back of his mind, almost asks if it's okay, but he's currently face-level with Brendon's crotch and he's pretty sure there's no way Brendon's saying no to anything that gets him off at this point. Spencer tries his best to be business-like in his removal of Brendon's clothes, not to let his hands linger too long on all the pale, smooth skin he's revealing. He wants to lay Brendon out, touch him everywhere, but Brendon's waited so long, been so patient. Spencer pushes lightly against Brendon's hips, gets Brendon settled back down on the bed before he sinks back down into the chair. Brendon keeps his eyes trained on Spencer the entire time and yes, this, this is what he wants, what he's been wanting. "Keep your eyes on me," Spencer says, and Brendon nods slowly.

Brendon lets out a high noise when he wraps a hand around himself, his eyes are seeking on Spencer's face and it takes him a second to realize Brendon's waiting for him, for more instruction. "This is yours," Spencer says, tries to keep his voice even. He lets himself cup Brendon's cheek, and Brendon leans into the touch gratefully, his hips straining up between them. "However you want, just keep your eyes on me, I wanna see." The last part is whispered gruffly over Brendon's lips, and Spencer hadn't even realized he'd let himself get that close. He sits back in his chair and nods briefly at Brendon before dropping his eyes down to Brendon's lap.

Brendon's cock is flushed and straining, already shiny with precome from the few strokes Brendon's gotten in. He's working himself hard and fast, letting out breathless little grunts when he strokes over the head. Spencer studies him for a minute or so, taking in the way Brendon squeezes at the bottom, how he lets his thumb drag under the head on his upstrokes. When he looks up Brendon is still focused on Spencer's face, mouth open. Spencer smiles at him, and Brendon thrusts up into his hand, lets his eyes flutter shut. They snap back open immediately, Brendon's body going tense all over and the hand working his cock going still. Spencer has to swallow his grin of approval.

"I said eyes open," Spencer says, his voice thick. Brendon nods. He opens his mouth as if to say something, squeezes tight at the base of his cock. "Hands off," Spencer says, and Brendon lets out a noise that's more sob than not. The muscles in his abs and thighs are trembling, trying to hold back. After a long, heavy moment, "Go on. You can touch, but you can't come until I say." Spencer's head is cloudy with desire, with Brendon right in front of him desperate for release and helpless to achieve it without Spencer's permission. He's half hard again, it's soon enough that it feels a little uncomfortable but he can't mind, not with Brendon strung out and panting in front of him.

Brendon's shaking now, his hand squeezing tight at the base on every down stroke, hips rutting up helplessly into his fist, and he gasps out, "Spencer, please, just . . . tell me, please, I need to come or I need to stop, just please."

Spencer bites down on the inside of his cheek, hard. His mind is reeling, buzzing, and he takes in a deep steadying breath before he says, "Stop." He can see Brendon's eyes go wide with shock, not expecting it. His entire body is pulled up tight and he lets out a desperate moan when he pulls his hand off his dick, tucks it firmly under his thigh. His left hand is fisted in the covers, clenching unconsciously, and it's clearly a struggle to keep his eyes open, keep his gaze locked on Spencer. He's panting out harsh, frantic breaths, almost choking on them as he tries to regain control of his breathing. It takes Spencer a second to place what he's feeling. It's pride, he's proud of Brendon, and he smiles softly, says, "Brendon, it's okay, come."

Spencer's expecting Brendon to bring his hand back up, but before the words are all the way out of his mouth, Brendon's body is bucking off the bed as he comes, and holy shit. Spencer is out of his chair and on the bed before Brendon's even finished, running a trembling hand through Brendon's sweaty hair, pressing a reassuring kiss to his temple. "Jesus, Bren," he says, "fucking amazing," and Brendon just slumps forward into Spencer's embrace, spent and exhausted. Spencer strokes down his stomach lightly, pressing in where the muscles are still trembling slightly, dragging the tips of his fingers through the come cooling on Brendon's skin.

He pulls away after a moment and Brendon arches towards him, his body trying to follow the touch. Spencer's still mostly dressed and Brendon's going to get come everywhere, but he's still trembling a little, so Spencer crawls into the bed, manuevers Brendon's body until he can fit behind him, wrap an arm tight around Brendon's chest. Brendon's heart is pounding fast under Spencer's palm, his skin slick with sweat that's soaking into Spencer's shirt, and he can feel Brendon's ribs expanding with the harsh, shallow breaths he's drawing in. His throat is long and white and exposed where his head tips back against Spencer's shoulder, and Spencer leans in, drops light kisses over the salty skin, licks over the pulse he can feel fluttering against his lips. He settles in, waits until his neck is aching a little and Brendon's breathing has gone back to normal before he pulls away to shuck out of his clothes, go find something to clean Brendon with.

He's in the process of getting his shirt off when he hears Brendon's voice, small and kind of strained, asking, "Spence? Where-- Are you going?" He sounds weird, off, and it takes Spencer a second to realize that it's worry. Brendon's actually worried that Spencer's going to leave him.

"Hey, hey," he says, stripping hurriedly out of his shirt and kneeling back on the bed, hovering over Brendon's body. "I wasn't going anywhere, Bren, I'm not going anywhere, okay?" He swipes at Brendon's belly with his shirt, and Brendon doesn't answer, just watches him with half-lidded eyes, teeth digging into his lower lip. It makes Spencer want to kiss him, it always does, and he tosses his shirt over his shoulder before he stretches out alongside Brendon. He tilts Brendon's head up a little to get at his mouth, and Brendon goes easily, opens for Spencer, clutches at his arm when Spencer deepens the kiss.

Spencer breaks it off eventually, reluctantly, but he's still in his jeans, and the edge of the zipper diging sharply into his skin where he's bent at the waist. He flops down onto his back and shakes out the arm that had gone a bit numb where it was sandwiched beneath them, then opens it up to Brendon, wraps it around his shoulders once Brendon is settled into Spencer's side. They lay in silence for a while, Spencer's fingers idly playing with the ends of Brendon's hair.

Brendon breaks the silence just as Spencer's getting drowsy, says, "This is okay?"

"What's okay?" Spencer asks. He looks down, but Brendon's face is turned into Spencer's chest, avoiding his gaze.

Brendon rubs his cheek against Spencer's skin, and he's quiet when he says, "You don't mind? Staying with me, I mean?"

Spencer's a little baffled, here. "Brendon, we're sharing a room, of course I'm staying."

"No, I mean—" he trails off, his fingers moving restlessly over Spencer's stomach before settling on the waistband of his jeans. "Sleep here? With me?"

Brendon's lucky that Spencer is a gentleman, because he doesn't make a habit of calling people he's just slept with idiots, even when they're being pretty big idiots. Like he could deny Brendon anything he asked, even if what he's asking shouldn't be a question in the first place. "Yeah, Bren," he says, touching lightly at Brendon's cheek until he finally, finally, lifts his face and meets Spencer's gaze. "Yeah, of course." Brendon relaxes against him with an audible sigh, and Spencer grins kind of stupidly and then brushes his smile against Brendon's lips, quick and dry.

He pulls away and wiggles a little, trying to shuck his pants off without letting go of Brendon, but only succeeds in very nearly falling off the bed and elbowing Brendon in the face. Brendon's laughing at him, a bright, clear sound, and Spencer shrugs his shoulders and stands up, quickly dropping his boxers and jeans before yanking the covers out from under Brendon, earning an indignant, "Hey!"

Brendon hums happily once Spencer's back in the bed, wiggling against Spencer's body even as he's still trying to spread the covers over them. Spencer switches off the lamp before sinking fully into the bed, and holds on tight when Brendon settles against him, making sleepy noises into Spencer's shoulder. Brendon's loose and pliant, his body finally relaxed after days of tension, and Spencer trails his hands lightly up and down Brendon's back, his arms, the bits of hip and leg he can reach, and drifts off with Brendon breathing deep and easy in his ear.

Our Hearts Beat Regular Time, Spencer/Girl!Ryan, NC-17

boweryd — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 01:29:50 GMT

Title: Our Hearts Beat Regular Time
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spencer/Girl!Ryan
Summary: "F-fingers? Spencer, can you, could you?" Ryan's voice is pitched higher than usual and yeah, fuck yes, Spencer can do that.
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Adorable teenage oral?
Author Notes: Excerpt from a WIP that was still too long for the Porn Battle, prompt: "Girl!Ryan/Spencer, tongue." Title from Wolf Parade's "Kissing The Beehive.”

Spencer knows the basics. He's seen his fair share of porn and Brent had gone on and on at truly uncomfortable length after the first time he'd gone down on a girl. Knowing and doing are two different things, though, and Spencer's kind of frozen, staring at Ryan spread out on his bed. She squirms a little under his gaze, and he leans down before he can think about it too much, just gives her one long lick that has her arching up against his mouth, breathing out a surprised little, "Oh!"

Spencer keeps licking in long stripes until he gets the hang of it, taking note of how Ryan twitches a little when he gets to the top. He focuses there, just the tip of his tongue, letting the quiet, breathy noises Ryan's letting out guide him. She's working her hips against his mouth, and he can feel where she's getting wetter against his chin, can't resist licking back down, tasting her, pressing his tongue in kind of blindly until it slips into her body a bit. Ryan gasps at that, so he keeps it up until she's making a little whining noise, scrambling at his shoulders.

"F-fingers? Spencer, can you, could you?" Ryan's voice is pitched higher than usual and yeah, fuck yes, Spencer can do that. He feels around a little hesitantly until he finds her entrance, slides one finger in. It's a hot, smooth slide, and Spencer's cock twitches against his leg when Ryan clenches around his finger. Her hand tangles in his hair, tugs his mouth back up. "Another one," she says, and he grins a little, because of course she's still Ryan, still pushy even now.

He keeps it up for while, until his tongue is aching and his jaw is a little sore. She's still making good noises, still pushing up against his mouth and twitching her hips onto his fingers, but Spencer really thought she'd have come by now. He feels kind of awkward, like he's fucking this up, but when he pulls back Ryan whines a little, trying to follow his mouth with her hips. She's flushed and a little sweaty when he looks up at her, the t-shirt she's still wearing pushed up and tangled around her ribs, and Spencer sucks up his pride, says, "Show me? What you-?"

Ryan nods kind of frantically and reaches down, pulls his hand out from inside of her body and guides his fingers back up, covers them with her own. She starts guiding him to rub in tight little circles against her clit, much rougher than he would have thought to touch, a hard, constant pressure. He's hovered over her, watching their fingers working over her clit in tandem. When Spencer looks up, Ryan's face is screwed up and flushed and it should be ugly but it's not, it's just fucking hot, that she's so desperate for this, so desperate because of him.

Spencer ducks down to kiss her and she licks into his mouth. She's tasting herself, she has to be, because Spencer can still taste her on the back of his tongue. He groans a little helplessly into her mouth at the thought and she answers with a small, high noise. She's still working herself up against the tight rub of their fingers, faster now, and he can feel her thigh trembling against his forearm. Ryan's entire body tenses up and then she's moaning into Spencer's mouth in earnest. He can feel her clenching right beneath his fingers, and he's not really thinking, mostly he just wants to feel, wants to taste her again, and he drags his mouth away from hers to move back down her body.

He licks back over her where she's swollen and pink and still twitching. Ryan's impossibly wet, shiny with it, and when Spencer licks back over her clit she lets out a high pitched squeal that he'd tease her about under different circumstances. He kind of wants to stay right where he is, but she's grabbing frantically at his head and pulling him up kind of roughly by his hair, gasping and shaking her head.

He lets Ryan pull him back up, settle herself into his side. She's breathing hard and mumbling to herself, and she rests her head on Spencer's shoulder until her breathing slows down a little, evens out. Her movements are kind of slow and uncoordinated as she slips her hand into his boxers, runs her fingers clumsily over his aching cock. "Naked, you, get that way," she mumbles sleepily. It's kind of cute, a little ridiculous, but he's not going to call her on it, not right now. Right now he's going to get naked. Ryan curls back into him once he's shucked his boxers off, sliding her hand down, but she's reaching between her own legs, not his, and Ryan is seriously cruel if she's going to make him watch her get off again.

She brings her hand back up, though, wraps it tight and wet around his cock and shit. She jacks him slow and lazy with her own wet, her head still pillowed against his shoulder and it really, really does not take much for Spencer to come. Ryan reaches over and wipes her hand on his discarded shirt but he can't really care right now, not when they're both stupid and sleepy and Ryan is pressed warm against his side. He's drifting off when she smacks his chest lightly, says, "Set an alarm, idiot," and follows it up with a truly terrifying warning involving his mom walking in on them naked in his bed. Spencer checks the alarm twice before he settles back down against her.

Live Our Misbehavior, Spencer/Brendon, NC-17

boweryd — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 03:48:39 GMT

Title: Live Our Misbehavior
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon
Summary: “Do you think I’m a slut,” Brendon says, “Because you’ve been acting kind of really weird since you came on my face.”
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Clearly, clearly, there is a warning for facials.
Author Notes: Title and cut text come from The Arcade Fire’s “Rebellion (Lies),” and also, I AM SO SORRY, it is not my fault, I was peer pressured into this and I have total permission to blame shutyourface for this, SO I AM DOING THAT PREEMPTIVELY. Thanks to the aforementioned shutyourface for being a comma slayer, and to my boo okubyo_kitsune and the lovely notfarfromhome for looking over this for me!

The thing is, and Spencer will fucking swear to this should anyone ever ask, the first time it happened it was a total accident. It wasn’t his fault for coming any more than it was Brendon’s fault for having that fucking mouth, but the fact remained that one day, about two weeks ago, Brendon had been a fucking tease and Spencer had maybe, accidentally, come all over his face.

Things had gotten a little weird after that.

*

He just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Like a compulsion or something. Hello, Brendon, how are you today? I’d like to come on your face. Hey, Brendon, can you pass the ketchup? Can I come on your face? Brendon, you can’t pull off facial hair, you need to shave. And when you’re done, I’m going to come on your face.

It was getting a little distracting.

*

Spencer knows he’s being weird. He won’t even let Brendon fully suck him off anymore. He always pulls out and he knows Brendon is doing that thing where he’s silently freaking out and coming up with the worst possible scenario for the situation. Once when Ryan was late for a bus call, Brendon had been convinced that he’d been kidnapped by a serial killer who was going to mail a piece of Ryan to every venue they played at. Brendon was kind of a weird little dude.

It’s probably better for Brendon to think whatever outlandish thing was in his head than know the truth, though, because Spencer was pretty sure it wasn’t polite to just want to come on someone’s face all the time. He had been raised with manners, okay. Not that his mother had ever set him down and instilled proper etiquette about this particular situation, thank god, but the fact remains. He’s sure that it’s frowned on. By like . . . Ann Landers. And Jesus. Important people. Important people who would deem it unwise for him to come on Brendon’s face.

The problem is that every time he pulls away, slips out of the heat of Brendon’s mouth and into his own hand, Brendon just watches him with big dark eyes, and right before Spencer comes he tilts his head back, like he’s fucking asking for it, and that’s just not fair.

*

They’re in a hotel room in . . . Kentucky? Tennessee? Something like that. Brendon’s got his head pillowed on Spencer’s thigh while they watch Legally Blonde, and if Brendon ever tells Ryan or Jon that Spencer watched Legally Blonde, they are breaking up. Spencer is rubbing lightly at the back of Brendon’s neck when Brendon sits up, looks him in the eye, and says, “Do you think I’m like a slut or something?”

What?

“What?”

“Do you think I’m a slut,” Brendon says, “Because you’ve been acting kind of really weird since you came on my face.”

Spencer maybe chokes on air for a second. It’s not his finest moment.

“I . . . no?”

Brendon drops his eyes a little, picks at a stray thread on the gaudy hotel bedspread. “So in other words, ‘Yes Brendon, you’re a great big ho bag,’ then.”

Spencer has no idea what’s going on.

“I don’t think you’re a slut. Or a bag of hoes.” That last part at least gets a grin out of Brendon, even if he’s still refusing to meet Spencer’s gaze. “I just . . . I’m sorry? It really was an accident.”

“Yeah,” Brendon says, his voice a little strained, “So you keep saying.”

“Bren,” Spencer takes in a deep breath and rakes a hand through his hair. Fuck fuck fuck. “Look,” he says, “I just- I really didn’t mean to. But I keep thinking about . . .” He can’t quite bring himself to finish.

Brendon sits up, his eyes wide, and Spencer is so, so sure that Brendon’s about to hit him or cry or something between the two extremes that’s equally terrible, but Brendon just says, very calmly, “You are a fucking idiot,” and settles back down in his lap to watch as Elle teaches the Bend and Snap.

Huh.

*

Two days later, Spencer’s phone rings in the dressing room right after soundcheck, and the caller ID says it’s Brendon, which is weird, since Brendon is on the side of the room . . . on his phone, staring at Spencer impatiently. Right.

Spencer picks up. “Why are you-“

“So, about how you want to come on my face.”

“I- what?”

Someone is going to hear him, he’s just across the room, and Ryan is . . . in the opposite corner, on his phone, and Jon has his headphones on at the other end of the couch that Spencer’s sitting on and, huh.

“I said,” Brendon says in his ear, and Spencer can’t even hear the echo of his actual voice from across the room, just the loud, frantic beating of his own heart. “I said we’re going to talk about how you want to come on my face.”

“Okay?”

“Okay! The thing is, Spence, if you had just said . . .”

Brendon trails off, and Spencer wants so, so badly to raise his head and look at Brendon, but it feels wrong somehow, like if he looks up the moment will be over, he won’t get to find out what’s at the end of that sentence.

“W-what?” Spencer asks, a little shaky. “If I had said, what, what then?”

“Then I would have let you,” Brendon says, and his voice is pitched lower, a little rough around the edges, and before Spencer’s brain can even process that, there’s the harsh beep that signals a disconnected call sounding in his ear. When he looks up a minute later, Brendon is talking to Ryan, gesturing excitedly and playing a guitar lick in the air.

*

Brendon stays on the opposite side of the room right up until they’re ready to go on stage, only brushing by Spencer (close, so close) on his way to the stage. Spencer plays the entire show half-hard and frantic, forcing himself to rein it in and not rush the beat.

*

When Spencer climbs into his bunk after the show, it’s already occupied. Also, Brendon’s pretty naked, as far as naked goes.

“You are seriously,” Brendon says, a second after he attaches himself to Spencer’s mouth, “seriously so stupid.”

Spencer just nods, because he’s starting to get that idea, yes.

Brendon’s mouth moves fast and hot over his, desperate kisses that have Spencer gasping against his lips, sucking Brendon’s tongue into his mouth. Brendon‘s hands are halfway through unbuttoning Spencer’s pants before Spencer even realizes what’s going on and once his zipper is down, Brendon wastes no time in wrapping a hand around Spencer, jerking fast and a little rough. He has to wrench his mouth away from Brendon’s to groan, push out hot air against Brendon’s neck.

“Ask for it,” Brendon says, rough and broken in Spencer’s ear. Spencer flushes with a different kind of heat because he can’t, he can’t just say it like that. Brendon’s hand twists rough and a little vicious over the head of his cock, his teeth scrape Spencer’s ear when he says it again, “Ask for it, Spencer. “

Spencer’s brain is going to explode. “Bren, I-“ Brendon bites down on his ear at the same time he squeezes the base of Spencer’s cock, and fuck, fuck. “Please,” he chokes out, a little desperately, and the word sounds too loud, too real in the dark of the bunk. Brendon’s hand stills completely and he draws back, forcing Spencer to look up, look into Brendon’s face, and oh.

Brendon’s eyes are huge and glassy, all pupil, his mouth bitten red, and he’s panting a little, hot and open, the muscles in his neck and shoulders strained from where he’s reaching down to wrap around Spencer.

“Brendon. . .”

“Ask for it.”

Brendon’s never, ever been this way, never asked anything of Spencer, never been this wild-eyed and rough, and Spencer has to close eyes against it for a second, take a breath.

“Let me,” he says, stuttered and slurred at the same time. “Please, let me do it, let me come on your face.” The last part comes out kind of embarrassingly high and he keeps his eyes squeezed shut, but then Brendon’s hands are on his hips, tugging up and over, getting Spencer on his knees above Brendon’s chest. The bunk is way, way too low for this and he has to bend over almost in half, but he ignores the twinge in his back as soon as Brendon’s lips wrap around his cock and shit.

Brendon’s not fucking around, either, keeping a constant suction that hollows his cheeks out, lapping at the head, and he keeps making these noises in the back of his throat, needy and low. There is no fucking way Spencer is going to last more than, like, a minute here. Just no way. He can feel Brendon’s hips rising off the bed behind him but Brendon grabs Spencer’s hands when he tries to reach back, threads them into his hair, and son of a bitch.

“Bren, c’mon, I’m . . .” Brendon draws back at that, and when Spencer looks down he’s got his head tipped back a little, eyes half-closed and mouth open, his tongue just peeking out, and, okay. The end. Spencer tightens his hands in Brendon’s hair and comes, hard, his cock jerking in front of him, painting stripes across Brendon’s face, his cheeks, his lips, chin, a little in his hair. Brendon’s just . . . just taking it, arching into it, mouth open and panting.

Spencer has to close his eyes, has to breathe, his heart feels like it’s about to explode and his chest is tight and painful. When he opens them again, Brendon’s swiping his tongue out, taking what he can reach, and Spencer growls. He didn’t even know he could growl. He pushes his way down Brendon’s body and leans in. His come is cooling a little, and it’s thick, salty and a little bitter, but it’s all over Brendon’s face and he licks and licks over Brendon’s cheeks and into his mouth, kissing him deep so their tongues meet over the taste.

When he pulls away Brendon’s face is screwed up tight, and he’s letting out frantic little whimpers as he thrusts up against Spencer’s hips. His cock is red and heavy, leaking, and Spencer smears some of it down the shaft, starts a fast, steady rhythm that has Brendon thrusting up and moaning helplessly. Five, six, seven, and Brendon’s coming, a choked off moan muffled into his arm as his body bows off the mattress. Spencer strips off his shirt, wipes his hand, Brendon’s thigh, and then they’re just staring at each other, broken breaths and hot gazes in the dark heat of the bunk.

Spencer breaks first.

“Was that, are you, um, ‘kay? Okay?” His voice is gruff, struggling over the words.

Brendon just rolls his eyes.

“Spencer, seriously. Idiot.”

Brendon pulls him down and Spencer twists to shove his jeans all the way off, presses himself halfway over Brendon’s body the way he knows Brendon likes. Brendon’s smiling at him, running a slightly shaky hand through his hair, and Spencer’s voice sticks in his throat at that tight feeling in his chest again. He’s so fucked. “Hey,” he says when he can make words again. “Hey, hey,” and Brendon looks up at him, eyes half-lidded and sleepy, face still flushed and beautiful.

He wants to say . . . a lot of things, thank you and you’re beautiful and I love you and it’s kind of scary, but instead, somehow, what comes out is, “I think you have come in your hair.”

Brendon just stares at him for a second, and oh, shit, shit, and then he’s laughing, pressing his face into Spencer’s chest when it turns kind of manic, gasping in great big breaths.

“Spence,” Brendon says when he catches his breath. “Spencer, I love you, but you’re kind of shit at pillow talk.”

That Teenage Feeling, Jon/Brendon, NC-17, 2/2

boweryd — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 03:36:54 GMT

Title: That Teenage Feeling
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Brendon
Summary: So, Brendon has this problem where he’s maybe a technical virgin.
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Just your normal gay sexy sexin’ things. Brendon is a giant failboat?
Author Notes: Title and cut text come from Neko Case’s “That Teenage Feeling,” and I really need to branch out for fic titles. Devendra Banhart’s “Now That I Know” is referenced vaguely within. A HUGE thanks to enhendi and paint_the_days for the awesome betas!

Part 1

Brendon’s awesome plans are further complicated when he maybe overestimates just a little when it comes to how much booze he needs to take the edge off and make his nerves stop thrumming under his skin the way are, and he winds up maybe a little drunk. The thing is, Brendon is always a handsy drunk, and now it’s, like, ten times worse because Jon is his, and as such he should be allowed to touch Jon whenever, however, and wherever he deems fit. And that’s how he ends up pushing Jon into a bathroom stall and sinking to his knees.

“Brendon, no, c’mon,” Jon says, reaching down to pull him up, but Brendon doesn’t want to get up, he wants to stay right here, thank you very much, with Jon’s crotch in his face. He leans in, rubs his cheek against Jon’s fly and Brendon can feel Jon go hard against him and that’s pretty hot. “That’s pretty hot,” he says, and his tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth, and that just makes him think of other thick, heavy things that should be in his mouth, so he presses a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses up the line of Jon’s cock through his jeans. Jon’s hand clenches on his shoulder, and Brendon needs Jon’s pants to be off, like, now. When he reaches for the zipper, though, it’s like the hiss of the teeth opening breaks the air around them, and Jon’s hauling him up, pinning Brendon against the stall door with hot, heavy eyes.

“Jon-” he cuts Brendon off with a kiss, which is a good idea because Brendon has no idea what he was going to actually say. It isn’t one of their normal kisses, though; there’s an edge, and Jon’s lips aren’t gentle against his. They’re rough and seeking, and when Brendon opens his mouth and tilts his head back for Jon, he pulls away, tugging at Brendon’s bottom lip with his teeth a little and oh, that. That has Brendon’s hips surging up against Jon’s, grinding himself on Jon’s hip and it feels so good that he never, ever wants to stop. So of course Jon backs away, but his eyes are all hot and dirty when he looks at Brendon and says, “Back to the room, c’mon,” and this can only bode well, so well.

Jon keeps close to Brendon on the walk out of the club, and in the elevator he plasters himself against Brendon’s back, presses his face into Brendon’s neck, breaths in, and when the doors open he keeps his arm around Brendon’s waist, caging him and making them both stumble a little on the way down the hall. As soon as the door is open Jon turns and pins him against it, and yes, yes, Brendon likes this, he likes it very much and approves of this course of action. “Brendon,” Jon breaths wetly against his neck, “How drunk are you right now?”

“Hmm?” Brendon asks, trying to press himself closer, trying to get Jon to tilt his head up so he can get at his mouth. “How drunk,” Jon says again, and it sounds a little rougher this time, a little more like a growl, and Brendon has never met this Jon Walker but he is approving heartily so far.

“Not drunk, “ Brendon says a little desperately, and he’s only lying a little bit; Jon’s hot gaze is doing its part to sober him up quickly and Brendon wants this to be over, wants to be done with all the protecting his virtue shit and get to the touching already because he wants to touch Jon everywhere. “I can be sober,” he says when Jon doesn’t immediately respond, and he’s pressing closer to Jon’s body, digging his hands into the dip of Jon’s shoulders; he wants to climb him a little. “I can be so sober, Jon,” he says, and Jon finally eases up against him a little, just enough that Brendon can wiggle himself closer, find Jon’s mouth, lick inside.

“Jon, Jon, c’mon,” Brendon babbles against his lips, his throat, his jaw. “Want to, please, please let me touch you,” and Jon lets out this noise that sounds like he’s choking, and then he’s half carrying, half dragging Brendon across the room to the nearest bed, and yes.

“Tell me,” Jon says, his voice low and rough as he gets Brendon laid out on the bed.

“Tell you what?” Brendon is trying really hard to make his brain keep working but he’s so about to get lucky and Jon’s hands are big and warm and everywhere. “Anything,” Brendon says as Jon leans down to nip at his collarbone, “I’ll tell you anything.”

“Tell me,” Jon says into his ear as his hands work down the long row of buttons on Brendon’s shirt, “exactly what you’ve done,” and oh. Oh. Brendon is maybe a little embarrassed to tell Jon that, because it’s, well, not a lot, but Jon is kissing the flesh he finds each time he undoes another button, hot open mouthed kisses soothing sharp little bites, and he will, Brendon will tell Jon anything.

“Four kisses when I was sixteen during spin the bottle,” he gasps out as Jon’s tongue dips into his belly button, and he thought that might feel a little weird but it doesn’t, not even a little bit, not at all. “I made out with this girl named Lacey at a party when I was seventeen, but she was a smoker and it wasn’t awesome.” Jon huffs a little puff of breath out at that, a laugh that’s buried at the waist of Brendon’s jeans. “Au-Audrey,” he stutters out because Jon just unbuttoned his pants, oh god. “We both-” he breaks off into a moan when Jon unzips his jeans, kisses Brendon’s erection through the cotton of his underwear.

“C’mon,” Jon says and Brendon can feel the words against his cock and all he wants is to be inside of Jon’s mouth, like, now. “She blew me,” he gasps out, “but I wasn’t very good at the rest and it was mostly just really wet and confusing when we tried so we stopped trying, and then she told the internet I had a small dick, but I don’t, Jon, I don’t,” and he realizes he’s babbling but Jon is still mouthing at his cock through the cotton, pressing a light laugh into his hipbone.

“I believe you, Brendon,” he says, and then hey, his pants are gone! Jon Walker is kind of magic like that, because Brendon’s pants are gone, and his underwear are going, and then Jon’s moving up his body, and that doesn’t seem like the right direction to Brendon. “Bren,” he says, putting his hands on either side of Brendon’s face, making him look at Jon, making him focus. “You paying attention?” Brendon just nods, and squirms a little because if he can get like one inch to the left he could grind up against Jon’s leg. “Brendon.” And yeah, okay, right.

He brings his eyes back to Jon’s, stares, waits. “Sure?” is all Jon says and Brendon just nods furiously, “Yes, yes, yes,” spilling from his lips, “Please, I promise, I want to, wanted to, just wanted to make sure I could be good,” and he feels a little detached from his body right now, still a little drunk and really, really turned on and he only stops the nonstop babble pouring from his mouth when Jon latches onto his lips, grinds down, and oh, oh.

Brendon is so distracted by the feeling of Jon’s cock pressed against his, hard and perfect even through the layer of denim that he doesn’t really notice what Jon’s doing until Jon wraps his lips around the head of Brendon’s dick and bobs down a little, bringing his hand to wrap around the shaft, and holy shit. He bucks up, hard, and immediately feels bad about it, “Sorry, sorry, just, mouth on my dick. My dick!” and Jon pulls off, looks at him, and jesus his lips are shiny. “Shutting up now?” Brendon guesses, and Jon just smirks, presses it into Brendon’s thigh, and this time he places an arm across Brendon’s hips, loose enough that he can move but tight enough to keep him from, you know, choking Jon with his dick.

It would be totally sad if he killed Jon mid blowjob. He stops thinking about Jon’s untimely death and starts thinking oh my god because Jon’s tongue just hit this spot under the head of his dick, and he can feel it in his toes when Jon presses his tongue to it again, firmer, before licking back over the slit, and Brendon knows he is really, embarrassingly close but it’s still a surprise when he comes a second later when Jon’s fingers slip down to trail lightly over his hole. He knows there are like rules and things, and that he should have warned Jon, but he didn’t know okay, it can’t be his fault if he didn’t know, but he’s too busy hyperventilating right now to worry about it.

“Jon, Jon,” he says, and when he looks down Jon is licking a little bit of Brendon’s come from the corner of his mouth and that’s so hot, Brendon didn’t know everything would be this hot. He yanks Jon to him by his t-shirt, licks into his mouth, mummers apologies while he licks his taste from Jon’s mouth.

“Shit,” Jon says when he pulls away, gasping a little, and Brendon takes the opportunity, pounces on him, gets him on his back. “Too many clothes,” he says, and Jon obliges by taking off his shirt because Jon Walker is a gentleman. Brendon fumbles a little with Jon’s pants, and Jon lifts his hips to help Brendon out, slides down his jeans and underwear at once and oh, hello there, Jon Walker’s penis. How very nice to meet you!

Brendon realizes he maybe says that last part out loud when Jon snorts, and he blushes a little and it’s pretty much the cutest thing Brendon’s ever seen. “So I’m going to blow you now, and it’s going to be awesome,” Brendon tells him, and then he pretty much just drops his mouth over Jon’s cock, totally misjudges, and starts coughing and spluttering when Jon’s cock hits the back of his throat, pulling back quickly.

“Brendon,” Jon says, and Brendon doesn’t want to look up, doesn’t want Jon to change his mind or make fun of him, but Jon just says his name again, and when Brendon looks up Jon raises a hand to cup the side of his face. “Slow down, okay? M’not going anywhere,” and okay. That makes Brendon feel a little better, and he slides back down, takes a deep breath.

“Wrap your hand around the base,” Jon says quietly, “so you don’t go too far,” and Brendon nods, finds the instruction strangely reassuring. He can totally do this. He can blow the crap out of Jon. He leans down, takes a little lick at the head, and feels Jon tense under him.

“Bad?”

“N-no,” Jon says, breath stuttering out. “No, you’re doing good, it’s so good,” and Brendon nods to himself, because he’s totally a secret blowjob master, he knows it. He goes down in earnest this time, sucking the head of Jon’s dick into his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around like Jon had done to him, tries to find that same spot. Jon’s hands are clenching in the blankets, white knuckled, so Brendon looks up, pulls off, and there’s this kind of funny little pop! noise at that.

“Jon, touch me, it’s okay, c’mon,” and when he leans back down Jon threads his fingers into Brendon’s hair, not pushing or guiding, just resting, skritching a little at his scalp, calluses dragging over the sweet spot behind his ear. He’s reminded ridiculously of feeling like a kitty again and he purrs a little around Jon’s cock and oh, okay, apparently that’s a good thing because Jon’s fingers in his hair tighten almost painfully.

“Brendon, c’mon, you gotta,” Jon grits out, and Brendon realizes he’s mostly just watching Jon, his mouth around Jon’s cock but not actually moving, and he twists his hand a little around the bottom, touches Jon like he touches himself, and there’s this little tang in his mouth now, salty and heavy and all of a sudden Brendon wants nothing more than for Jon Walker to come in his mouth. Check him out. Brendon Urie: Total Sex Pervert. Screw being an Asexual Cuddling Master, this will look so much cooler on his business cards. He pulls off to run his hand over Jon a few times, just long strokes; he wants to see how it looks, Jon’s cock in his hand, and when his thumb brushes over the head on the down stroke Jon suddenly tenses and comes, hard and messy all over Brendon’s hand and his own thigh.

“Shit,” Brendon says, mostly to himself, but he makes do, licks the come off of his hand, decides he kind of likes it, and leans back down to lick the rest from Jon’s thigh. “Brendon, shit,” Jon says, and then he’s being pulled up the bed and pressed to Jon’s side, and Jon’s hands are everywhere, stroking and petting, and it’s pretty awesome, his skin still tingly from his orgasm, Jon’s hands wide and strong against his skin.

“That was so much better than anything ever,” Brendon sighs happily into Jon’s skin, and he can feel Jon’s laugh rumble through his entire chest. “Hey, no,” Brendon says and clings a little when he feels Jon try to get up. But he’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to be clingy after sex, so he quickly amends it with an “Or, whatever,” and lets go. Jon grins, drops a kiss to his forehead, and says, “I’m just gonna get the lights.” Brendon does not even pretend to not stare at Jon’s ass when he walks toward the light switch.

Speaking of. “Hey,” Brendon says as the rooms plunges into darkness, “when are we gonna,” but then Jon’s climbing back into bed, spreading the comforter over them, curling up warm against Brendon’s back. “Shh,” Jon whispers against his neck, “there’s time for that.”

The next morning, Brendon is maybe skipping a little as he follows Jon out of the elevator and into the lobby, humming A Whole New World quietly to himself, and Spencer says, “HAH!” really loudly and holds his hand out to Ryan. “$50, dude, you never bet against A Whole New World, come on, pay up.”

“Coulda been Part Of Your World,” Ryan mumbles and he hands a wad of crumpled bills to Spencer.

Brendon hates the bus a little, but only a little because it’s all Ryan and Spencer’s fault, really, with their ridiculous Rules For PDA, it’s not really the bus’s fault that Ryan and Spencer are dicks. Spencer had gotten the rules laminated and there was a copy in every room. Brendon has no idea how he managed that, but he doesn’t like to ask too many questions about how Spencer gets things done in general. He’s still holding out hope that Spencer maybe has some mysterious super power, or is also a secret genie in addition to being a creeping ninja. When he shares this theory with Jon, he’s rewarded with a careful head tilt and a, “Huh. That maybe makes a little sense.” They both hum Friend Like Me around Spencer for the rest of the day.

That does not change the fact that there are now rules for how Brendon is allowed to touch Jon, and there were never rules before so he mostly wears Ryan and Spencer down by steadfastly refusing to honor the rules: curling up in Jon’s lap during movies, leaning against his knees while he plays Mario Kart, shuffling over to rest his head on Jon’s shoulder during breakfast. The only rule they really refuse to relent on is the whole “No Sex Anywhere, Ever, In, On, or Around This Bus,” and, despite Brendon’s protests, even Jon tries to honor that one.

At least he does until he pulls the curtain back on Brendon’s bunk a few days later and finds him straining down onto one of his fingers, fisting his cock. Then Jon mostly just hisses out air, swats Brendon’s hand away, and climbs into the bunk beside him. Ryan and Spencer are out shopping, and Brendon is hopeful.

“Hi?” he says questioningly, because Jon still hasn’t said anything, just staring down at Brendon, legs still spread wide and hard cock resting in his frozen fist. Jon slowly brings his hand down, brushes fingers against Brendon’s hole, and shit, yes please.

“Brendon,” Jon says tightly between his teeth, eyes squeezed close. “Were you seriously not using lube? Lotion? Spit? Anything?”

Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. “No?” he says. “It was kind of a last minute, um, ngh,” and Jon just lowered his head and licked Brendon’s asshole. Brendon totally did some gay research; he knows that this is a thing that people can do, but he never would have asked, and then Jon swipes his tongue up to Brendon’s balls, and he keens, arches up against Jon’s mouth. Jon sits back and Brendon wants to cry, the loss of sensation is so great, but he just whimpers a little, looks at Jon with his best pleading eyes.

“Turn over,” Jon says, low and dark, and It makes something in Brendon’s belly curl up tight, pressing against the edges, wanting out. As soon as Brendon is over on his stomach, cock caught immobile between his belly and the bed, Jon’s mouth is back, tongue swirling and pushing in, gently, and everything’s so wet. Brendon is panting against his pillow, he can’t help it, and he only realizes he’s pushing his hips back into Jon’s face when his cock drags over the sheets but Jon’s tongue is inside of him, flicking around and Brendon comes, sudden and hard, without a hand on his cock.

He collapses into the bed, heavy and boneless and tingly everywhere, but Jon’s not done, just pauses to breath out, “Holy shit, Bren,” against the cheek of Brendon’s ass, and then Brendon feels something blunt and wet pressing in. Jon says, “Relax,” light and soft, hand pressing down at the small of Brendon’s back to lower his hips back down a bit, “don’t tense up,” and Brendon tries, breathes out deeply, lets himself focus on the hum of orgasm running over his skin, and suddenly Jon’s finger is inside, and Brendon can feel his calluses drag and shit, shit, that’s so hot.

He whines and presses back, against Jon’s finger, says, “Jon, c’mon, you can, you have to,” and Brendon can’t help it, he lets out a whine low in his throat when Jon pulls his finger out and says, “I can’t,” and Brendon’s about to protest because he really, really can, but then Brendon hears the cabinets in the front lounge squeak, and fucking Ryan and Spencer, fuck fuck fuck. “Wait five minutes,” Jon says, and presses a soft kiss to Brendon’s lips before sliding out of the bunk. It should maybe freak him out a little, considering where Jon’s mouth has just been, but mostly Brendon just wants more.

When he stumbles into the front of the bus with the others a few minutes later, Ryan takes one look at him and says, “Spencer, fucker, give me my $50 back; I told you they couldn’t go a week.”

The thing is, Brendon is trying to be good; he really is. He understands that the bus is a communal space, and he supposes he would be pretty grossed out if he had to wonder if someone had been fucked on the couch every time he sat down, but, like, Jon keeps pinning him with these looks all hot and dark and venue closets and venue showers and quick, quiet hand jobs in the bunks are only making him want it more, want it harder, and he would really appreciate a hotel night, okay, because he’s pretty sure Jon’s going to fuck him soon.

He knows this because last night, while he was biting down on Jon’s forearm to muffle his noise while Jon stroked him, Jon said into his ear, “Wanna fuck you, Bren, need to,” and then Brendon came all over the place which was pretty inconvenient because he’d just done laundry the day before. But whatever, Jon is going to fuck him and it’s going to be pretty awesome.

“Guys,” Brendon says as they’re all in the front lounge, waiting for Jon and Zack to get back with coffee, “Guys, I’m going to have sex and it’s going to be pretty cool, I bet.”

Spencer quirks an eyebrow at him, “What exactly have you two been doing if not having sex?”

“They have been having sex,” Ryan says, not even opening his eyes where he’s stretched out on the couch. “Jon’s bunk is right underneath mine, remember?”

“No, no,” Brendon says excitedly, “like, we’re gonna have sex, boy on boy sexy good times, with our dicks.”

“Brendon,” Spencer says, staring.

“Dude,” Ryan says, sitting up on the couch. “Dude, no. You do not talk about that. Like. Ever.” His eyes are really big when he says it, and Brendon figures he must be pretty serious, since he’s making expressions and everything.

Jon and Zack come clambering up the bus steps, and Brendon makes grabby hands at Jon, receiving a hot chocolate and a bonus muffin for his troubles. Jon glances over at Ryan and Spencer and says, “What’s wrong with them?”

“I’m not allowed to tell them about stuff involving our dicks,” Brendon says around a mouth full of muffin. Mmm, blueberry.

“Right,” Zack says. “Leaving. Soundcheck in two hours.”

When Jon grabs Brendon by the elbow as he passes the bunks and yanks him down, Brendon is a little confused. But then also Jon is naked so he’s not going to say no, or anything. “Hey, hey, you’re naked,” he says, and bounces on his knees a little. He’s kind of excited.

“You should maybe be naked now too,” Jon says, reaching behind him to dig between the mattress and the wall. Brendon is not going to argue with this. He is also not going to argue about how he is suddenly pressed flush against Jon, Jon’s cock nudging at Brendon’s ass, because yes, hi, this please. More of this. Jon leans in close, and says, “Brendon? Ryan and Spencer are in the back lounge right now, watching a movie. That doesn’t mean you don’t need to be quiet, though.”

Which okay, Brendon can do that; he can be totally quiet, except for how Jon just started circling a wet finger around Brendon’s hole, pushing in slightly, and Brendon lets out a really loud moan without even thinking about it. “O-Oops?” he says, and then, hey, Jon’s hand is coming up, covering his mouth, and that’s pretty hot, he has to say. Brendon clutches onto Jon’s forearm, squeezes his eyes shut tight as Jon’s finger gets more insistent, and it burns a little, stings, but it also feels really good, Jon wrapped all around him and Jon inside of him. Once Jon gets his finger in a little, it slides in easier, and Brendon can feel it pushing and dragging inside of him.

“Okay?” Jon says, hot against his ear, and Brendon just nods against his hand, lets out a muffled sound of assent. Jon crooks his finger up a little, shifts it a bit and holy god, Brendon’s entire body jerks and he whimpers helplessly against Jon’s hand as sparks shoot up and down his spine. “Yeah,” Jon pants against his ear, “yeah, Bren,” and Brendon feels Jon’s cock hard and a little wet where it’s rubbing up against him, and oh he wants, and it’s not enough, just Jon’s finger.

“Mph,” he says against Jon’s hand, and that’s not getting the point across, he thinks. He bites down on the fleshy part of Jon’s palm, kind of hard, and Jon just hisses, so Brendon struggles against his palm until his mouth is free, whispers, “More, Jon, c’mon,” and then he whines low in his throat when Jon pulls his finger out altogether. “No, no, more, not less,” Brendon says, maybe a little desperately.

Jon just chuckles, and sets a kiss on Brendon’s temple. They’re both pretty sweaty - it’s hot in the bunk, pressed up like this, doing this - but Brendon just wants him closer. “Trust me,” Jon says, low and dark, “you’re going to want more lube.” And he slicks up two fingers this time, leans back down, presses in, and shit, shit. He hits right against that spot again and Brendon can’t even focus on the stretch, the burn of two fingers, because god, god, he wants Jon to never stop touching him.

He whimpers kind of pitifully against Jon’s hand, squirms back against Jon’s fingers, and when Jon twists them Brendon can feel it and he feels like he’s going to explode out of his skin. “Quiet, quiet,” Jon whispers in his ear, and then his hand is gone from his mouth and sliding down to wrap hot and wet around Brendon’s cock and that’s it; Brendon’s gone, spurting over Jon’s fist. He whimpers a little when Jon pulls his fingers out, and he feels a little empty, a lot hot, and when he looks over at Jon, Jon is fisting his own cock, staring at Brendon, and he holds the gaze while Jon comes, panting wetly into the dark of the bunk.

“Jon Walker, did you light a candle?” Brendon asks when he walks into the room. Jon looks down at the carpet, shuffles his feet a little, mumbles something about Spencer being a dick and slipping it into his bag. He’s kind of adorable. Brendon very much wants to have sex with him now.

“I very much want to have sex with you now,” Brendon says, and takes a running start, flopping down onto the mattress, “Take me now, you brute!”

“Brute? Seriously?” Jon asks, and Brendon just shrugs. He’d maybe been covertly reading another one of Ryan’s Harlequins about a rugged farm hand.

Jon’s cock? Turns out to be much bigger than his fingers, but also so much better, and Brendon squeezes his eyes closed, tries to focus on the little surge of pleasure that’s underneath the pain of the stretch. “Bren,” Jon says, and he palms Brendon’s cheek, makes him open his eyes. “I got you, okay? Breathe.”

So Brendon breathes, and the head of Jon’s cock slips inside, and oh, oh. Jon stills, grips down tightly on the back of Brendon’s thighs. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just . . . just a second, just a second,” and Jon nods, leans over to kiss Brendon’s knee, and shit, it’s just so sweet he wants to die a little. “C’mon,” he says, wiggling against Jon; he doesn’t care if it hurts; he wants it all, wants it now, wants Jon.

Then Jon’s moving, pressing in slow, so slow, and Brendon can feel himself opening up around Jon’s cock and it’s, shit, it’s just so much; he feels like there’s something trying to scratch its way out of his chest. That’s got to be it, there can’t be any more, he’s seen Jon’s cock and he does not remember it being four feet long, but Jon’s still pushing in, then finally he stills and Brendon’s so full. He shifts a little, trying to get used to it, and then Jon says, “Hey, look at me,” and when Brendon meets Jon’s eyes they’re dark, wide, searching his face. “Okay?”

Brendon just nods, reaches up and pulls Jon down to get at his mouth. Jon kisses him deep and wet, and when he shifts a little his cock hits something inside of Brendon and then he’s sobbing into Jon’s mouth, can’t even help himself. “Shit, Brendon, can I, please, I need to,” Jon’s gasping against his mouth, holding himself so still that Brendon can feel where his arms are shaking.

“Yeah, c’mon, c’mon,” Brendon says and there’s only a slight twinge when he lifts his legs up, wraps them around Jon’s waist, and then Jon’s moving, these shallow, short little thrusts that make Brendon’s breath stutter out. “Jon, more,” he says brokenly, and there’s this weird feeling as Jon pulls out a little, this drag that’s not entirely unpleasant, and when Jon thrusts back in he hits that spot again, and Brendon’s entire body feels like it’s about to fall apart.

Jon keeps his thrusts steady, so that every time he pushes in there’s this explosion of pleasure up Brendon’s spine. “Bren,” Jon says, strained, “You gotta, I can’t . . . so tight,” and then he’s wrapping his hand around Brendon’s cock, and he doesn’t even get a full stroke in before Brendon’s coming in hot stripes across his own belly. Jon pushes in, deep, and Brendon can feel Jon’s cock twitch inside of him as he comes, and shit, SHIT, that was awesome.

“Jon, Jon, that was awesome,” he says, and Jon grins down at him, leans down to kiss him softly.

“This is gonna feel a little weird, okay?” Jon warns as he slides slowly out, and it does, it really does. It feels like Jon’s pulling him inside out, but when he’s gone Brendon feels a little empty, and he makes grabby hands at Jon. Jon just smiles down at him, wide and blinding. He says, “I’ll be right back, condom, washcloth, unsexy things,” and Brendon cringes a little when he twists his body around to settle down into the bed.

He watches as Jon walks to the bathroom, and as soon as the door closes he lowers one hand, runs his finger lightly over his hole. His skin feels a little puffy, tender, but Brendon feels loose and happy, because he totally just had awesome sex with Jon Walker. Jon walks back out with a washcloth in one hand, wipes off Brendon’s belly, and oh, Brendon wants to keep him forever. “Jon,” Brendon says, and smiles when Jon tosses the cloth at the chair in the corner, crawls up Brendon’s body on the bed.

“Good?” Jon asks Brendon’s hair once he’s settled against Jon’s side. “So, so good,” Brendon says, and he twists around to kiss Jon, light and easy. “When do we get to do it again?” Jon laughs a little against his throat, pulls Brendon down to rest against him.

“As soon as I finish my internet post about your dick, Bren, I’ll be good to go.”

Brendon nods, snuggles down against Jon’s chest, and then, wait. “Joking, right.” Brendon says, “Joking, Jon, right?”

</div>

That Teenage Feeling, Jon/Brendon, NC-17, 1/2

boweryd — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 03:32:50 GMT

So, Brendon has this problem where he’s maybe a technical virgin. Well. Not really technical virgin. More like, he’s half of a virgin. Maybe ¾ if we’re getting specific. The thing is, he’s definitely still a technical teenager, which means it’s not a huge deal, right? There are lots of people who are still sorta virgins at his age; it’s not a big deal at all, except for oh my god, Jon Walker.

He’s not even overstating, okay, Jon Walker, and he’s totally theirs now; there’s an official contract stating that they own him now, or close enough, whatever, Jon Walker, and Brendon just wants to tell everyone, maybe start a fringe religion or something, but then he’d have to share, so maybe not. Maybe he’ll just stick to throwing himself between Jon and Spencer, wiggling between them, using his sharp elbows to his advantage to get Spencer out of the way, because whatever they were talking about couldn’t be that important.

“Hi!” He says from Jon’s side, smiling up at him, and Jon wraps his arm around Brendon’s shoulder and lets Brendon burrow into his side.

“Oh my god,” Spencer huffs, and Brendon can’t see, but he can almost hear Spencer rolling his eyes. Whatever, he’s totally within his rights, they have a contract now. “There’s a contract, Spencer,” he says, muffled against Jon’s shoulder.

“Brendon,” Spencer says slowly, evenly, using the voice he uses when he feels the need to explain things to Brendon like he’s a five year old. “The contract says that Jon is our bassist, not your pillow. I read the contract, and I’m pretty sure that there were no provisos about hugging, and cuddling, and moon eyes, and secret hair sniffing-”

“Oh my god, Spencer, shut up!” and seriously, what the hell; Brendon was being covert here, he was a ninja and Spencer was ruining things.

“It’s okay,” Jon says, and Brendon can feel the words rumble around in his chest, “You can sniff my hair if you want.”

Brendon sticks his tongue out at Spencer, who huffs off, mumbling to himself about glitter pens and puff paint and unicorns, which can either mean that Spencer is mocking him or planning out a homemade shirt design, but whatever; Jon smells really really good and he’s not pushing Brendon away when he noses at his collarbone, under his throat.

“Jon Walker, you smell like happy!”

Brendon is pretty sure he wants to have some sexy time with Jon, quality boy on boy action, total gay sexy sexing. He’s just not sure how one goes about making that happen. Whatever; he’s got moves, okay, moves, but most of them are designed to work on girls because he learned them from watching a lot of teen movies when he was 14, and he doesn’t know if he can manage to turn Jon into a prom queen and win his heart when they’re on tour. It just seems really complicated, and also Brendon feels kind of jealous at the thought of Jon in a tiara because they’re awfully sparkly and it goes way better with his aesthetic than Jon’s. Jon is all about wearing flip flops and having manly stubble and broad shoulders and these awesome rough hands.

“Ryan,” he says, flopping down across the breakfast table and snaking a bite of fruit loops, “would you say that a tiara would work better with my general aesthetic, or Jon’s?”

“Yours,” Ryan says, not looking up from his magazine, “Jon’s all about, like, boy stuff.”

“Yeah,” Brendon says, and, okay, maybe it comes out a little dreamy, “boy stuff.”

“Seriously?” Spencer asks, glaring at them from next to the coffee pot. “Seriously?”

Right, Operation JWalk Prom Queen is out then; he needs to move on to phase two. He has no phase two.

“Jon Walker,” Brendon says from Jon’s lap, “would you say that grand gestures or subtle maneuverings are a more effective seduction technique?” Jon makes this awesome little hmm noise, like he’s really considering, and also he is currently skritching his awesome hands through Brendon’s hair, letting his awesome callused fingers scratch at the back of Brendon’s ears, like he’s a kitty or something. Brendon is tired down to his bones, he feels a little fuzzy headed, and Jon‘s fingers feel so amazing, he can’t even. “I’m a kitty!” he thinks, and wonders if he could convincingly purr.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing!” Okay, talking out loud, that’s not good, that could have been embarrassing. Jon’s hands are still in his hair, though, and he really does feel like purring, arching up into Jon’s hands like a cat, and he’s a little preoccupied thinking about arching up into Jon in general when Brendon realizes that Jon is talking. “-depends on who you’re trying to seduce? I like just letting things happen.”

“That’s your seduction plan,” Spencer pipes up from the other couch. “Sitting around and letting things happen?”

“Yeah,” Jon shrugs, and it jostles his hands away from Brendon’s head. Brendon maybe whines until Jon is touching him again. He’s not proud.

“And what,” Spencer asks, voice a little strained like it gets when he argues logic with Ryan, “happens if both parties in said seduction are too totally dense to initiate these happenings?”

“It’ll happen,” Jon replies, lets his hand swipe down to Brendon’s nape, tapping out a beat. “All in good time, young Spencer.”

Brendon’s a little scared that Spencer’s going to snap and, like, impale them on something, but he just gets up and walks slowly into the bunk area. Brendon hears a muffled “Seriously?” before he gets distracted by the warm weight of Jon’s hand resting on the back of his neck, fingers curled just enough that one of them brushes against Brendon’s throat on every exhale.

Jon in the morning is his favorite kind of Jon, when he’s still warm and loose from sleep, with pillow creases on his face, and he smells a little like sweat and fading deodorant and stale toothpaste. It makes Brendon want to turn him around, force him back into his bunk, crawl in behind him, and wiggle until he’s wrapped up in Jon like a blanket. Brendon always gets cold in his sleep; it’s not fair that Jon has all that warmth and Brendon thinks it’s only logical that he should share.

“Jon Walker, let’s sleep together,” he says sleepily, nudging at Jon’s (soft, warm) belly with his head, because if Jon is going to stand there, right next to Brendon’s chair like that, he can’t be blamed. Ryan quirks an eyebrow over his spoon, and Spencer starts laughing so hard he spills the orange juice all over the counter. “Shit, fuck, Brendon,” he hisses, grabbing the entire roll of paper towels and dropping it down into the puddle of orange juice.

“Sure,” Jon says, petting the top of Brendon’s head, “I like to nap.”

Napping with Jon is like the best thing that’s ever happened to him, okay, ever, and he’s so excited that he can’t actually make himself take a nap; he keeps looking down at where Jon has a heavy arm thrown around his middle, where Jon’s face is pressed into his neck, and he wiggles his toes, raises his free arm in a fist bump with the bunk ceiling, whispers out a quiet little, “Score!” into the dark.

And this is totally okay. If this is all that Jon ever wants, he can do this, he can totally do this. Brendon Urie: Asexual Cuddling Master; he might even get some business cards made up. Who needs fun sexy times when they’ve got their very own Jon Walker breathing into their neck? Not Brendon Urie: Asexual Cuddling Master. He’s totally got this.

Jon shifts in his sleep a little, his arm slips a bit, and when his hand curls back into Brendon’s side his fingers are digging into the dip of Brendon’s hipbone and it’s maybe a good thing he didn’t order those business cards yet because he is suddenly, painfully, desperately hard.

“Dammit, penis, you are ruining everything,” he hisses to the bunk’s ceiling, and then nearly jumps out of his skin when Spencer pulls the very edge of the curtain back and snaps, “Brendon, stop talking to your dick.”

“Whose dick?” Jon mumbles against his neck, and he nuzzles a little, and his stubble scrapes over Brendon’s throat, and oh my god he is maybe going to die.

“No one. No one has a dick. Well. I mean. I have a dick?” That wasn’t supposed to be a question, Brendon is quite aware that he has a dick as it’s currently trying to rip through his sweatpants.

“Mmm, we both have dicks,” Jon says, pulls Brendon over closer, and that shouldn’t be hot, that Jon can pretty much position him with the strength of one arm, and yet here he is, and Jon’s pulling him back against his chest; he’s letting Brendon be the little spoon and Brendon loves being the little spoon. Jon’s hand slips under his shirt a little, rests heavy and warm against his belly, and Brendon is going to die. His dick is going to kill him.

“Stupid, stupid penis,” he thinks to himself, as Jon makes a sleepy noise against the back of his neck.

“Ryan, you’re kind of a slut, right?” Ryan glares at him, and, okay, maybe not the best opening line ever, but, like, Brendon needs to know. “I mean, you are a fully developed person who is comfortable in their own sexuality and thus free to express that sexuality with a lot of different people, right?”

“Ryan’s a slut, Brendon, get to the point,” Spencer says from behind him, and oh my god, Spencer has got to stop doing that, popping up like a scary ninja.

“I’m going to put a bell on you,” Brendon hisses in his general direction. “Anyway, Ryan, lots of sex, right? Lots of sex with girls. Lots of sex with girls who aren’t really all that girly, and are in fact guys and not girls at all?”

Ryan gives him this confused look, then shoots his eyes over to Spencer, and great, they’re gonna do that creepy brain twin thing where Spencer translates Ryan-talk for Brendon and Brendon-talk for Ryan. “He wants to know if you’ve had a dick up your ass, Ryan, because he’s a great big virgin who’s in love with Jon.”

“Hey!” Brendon shouts, because, hey, that is . . . kind of accurate.

“Oh yeah, sure,” Ryan shrugs, and goes back to the book sitting in his lap. Brendon flounders a little, opens his mouth, closes it, waves his hands around.

“Oh my god, come the fuck on,” Spencer says, tugging Brendon up by the neck of his t-shirt, “Is that Jon’s shirt?” he asks incredulously, and whatever; it just happened to fall out Jon’s bunk and into Brendon’s hand, and that wasn’t his fault. Spencer heaves a sigh, hustles him into his bunk, climbs up behind him, and oh my god, no! “Spencer, this is really nice, but I’m saving myself for Jon Walker, and I don’t like you that way.”

Spencer’s eyes narrow and he turns this really interesting (terrifying) shade of red and reaches behind him, and Brendon lets out a breath when Spencer pulls out his laptop instead of like, a sword, or throwing stars or something. “Brendon,” he says slowly, carefully. “You should shut up before I kill you.” Spencer opens his laptop up, types a few things that result in startup-y chime noises, passes it over to Brendon, and climbs out of his bunk. His head pops back in about half a second later. “On second thought, go to your own bunk, I don’t want to have to burn my bedding. And if you get come on my laptop I am going to end your life.”

Spencer sent him to, like, this porn youtube, and how did Brendon not think of this? He enters his birth date, his actual one, but then gets kind of paranoid about it and makes himself 38, but then he feels a little skeevy, so he goes back and makes himself 23 instead, which he feels is an acceptable age to be looking at online porn on a borrowed laptop on a moving bus. It makes sense. He searches for “gay sex” and gets something like a gazillion results. The first one he clicks features two massive guys covered in baby oil with giant, giant cocks growling while they fuck each other, and it’s a little scary, so he hits the back button, clicks on the next result. And okay, that’s a fist. In someone’s ass. Brendon isn’t positive, but he’s pretty sure you’re supposed to work up to that, so it’s not actually helping.

He opens a new tab, goes to Google, types in, “a beginner’s guide to gay sex ,” and gets so distracted taking the “How Gay Are You?” test on the first link that he doesn’t notice Jon Walker climbing into his bunk until he’s settling himself at Brendon’s side and Brendon wants to die. “Umm,” Brendon says, and his hands refuse to move, and he’s taking a quiz that asks him how often he fingers himself while jacking off, and there’s clearly labeled porn on the other tab and oh my god, oh my god. “Oh my god.”

Jon raises his eyebrows a little, and Brendon’s hands finally unfreeze, he snaps the top of the laptop down, considers throwing it out of the bunk before he remembers that its Spencer’s, and then buries his face in his hands. “Sencerult,” he says into his hands. Jon wedges his fingers under Brendon’s chin, makes him raise his head. “Try that again, buddy.”

“It’s all Spencer’s fault, he made me.”

“I didn’t know Spencer was the kind of guy who forced gay porn on people,” Jon says evenly, and he’s not making fun of Brendon or, like, running away, he is in fact running a very comforting and very distracting hand across Brendon’s back.

“I’m not,” Brendon hears from a few feet away and seriously, seriously, “Spencer, dammit, stop being a ninja who is intent on ruining my life and just GO AWAY with your gay porn because it didn’t even help,” Brendon yells.

Spencer flings the curtain of Brendon’s bunk back, snatches his laptop up, grins really wide (terrifying) at Brendon, and turns to say to Jon, “Brendon wants to have super gay sex with you, Jon, but he’s a great big gay virgin who doesn’t know how to make that happen.”

Brendon’s mouth is open, like really, really wide, and he snaps it shut a few times, tries to make words come out of it, but no dice. He tries to give Spencer a murderous gaze, but mostly he feels like he’s going to cry, and Spencer just smiles again, says, “Have fun, you two!” and Brendon hates him hates him hates him so much oh my god.

He doesn’t actually realize Jon is staring at him, because he’s kind of in the middle of a really elaborate fantasy about choking Spencer to death with his hands, but then Jon says, really quietly, “Brendon?”

“I’m sorry!” Brendon says, and his voice sounds really really loud in the dark bunk, and as counterintuitive as it is, he kind of wants to bury his head in Jon’s chest right now, and then, oh, hey, Jon is kissing him, just a soft brush of his lips, and when he pulls away, he says, “Does Spencer Smith speak the truth?” Brendon means to say no, but Jon just said a lot of S’s and Brendon wants to curl his tongue around Jon’s lisp, and that doesn’t even make sense so instead he just shakes his head yes, and presses himself as far into the corner as he can get.

Jon rolls his eyes a little, snatches at one of Brendon’s ankles and yanks him back over, and hey, the rugged manly strength, hot again. Still hot. Has not in fact stopped being hot. “Sex,” Jon says, and his lips are trailing across Brendon’s ear as he says it and oh my god, “Is not that scary. You just have to kind of let it happen. Besides, we don’t have to have it right away, because I, Brendon Urie, am a gentleman who says what he means.”

Jon’s lips are on his throat now, not pressing, just ghosting over his skin. Brendon doesn’t think his voice is going to work right now, but he tries anyway, “So what do you say, Jon Walker?” and that sounded so smooth, he’s totally got moves.

“I say that you should kiss me now, if you want,” Jon whispers against his lips, and Brendon is a pretty smart guy, all things considered, and boy, does he want. So he does as he’s told.

Making out with Jon is epic, totally epic, and Brendon loves Spencer Smith, he is the best friend in the world for making this happen. Jon kisses all slow and lazy, just like Brendon thought he would, and the tight ball of nerves in Brendon’s stomach relaxes as Jon strokes down his sides.

“Is that my shirt?” Jon asks as he glides a hand beneath it.

“Yep,” Brendon grins into his mouth. “I totally stole it. I don’t regret it.” And Jon giggles, like, he giggles, and who knew Jon Walker giggling like a little girl would be so hot?

Jon works his hand around to the small of Brendon’s back, gives a tug, and there he is on top of Jon. He’s a little breathless from that, so it’s not his fault that he says, “Jon, hey, Jon, you’re strong,” and then he buries his face in Jon’s neck and blushes, but Jon just huffs out a laugh, shifts a little, and, wow. So there’s Jon’s cock! Imagine that. Brendon’s throat is a dirty rotten betrayer, because it lets out this surprised little half gasp when he feels it, and Jon’s cock just rubbed against his cock, and gay sexy times are really neat, okay?

“Hey, Jon,” Brendon says, “We both have dicks, remember?” He’s not sure why he can’t stop talking, but Jon just says, “Indeed,” against his throat, and he’s holding his hips away from Brendon now, but he’s also nipping really lightly against the underside of Brendon’s jaw, and that’s, that’s nice. He can keep doing that. “You can keep doing that,” Brendon says, and seriously, why can’t he shut up? “You sure?” Jon asks, his voice low, different from usual, and then he pulls back, looks more closely at Brendon.

“You can tell me,” he says, brushing his hands over the back of Brendon’s head, skritching behind his ears in that way that Brendon loves, “if you want to, like, stop, at any point, okay?”

Brendon feels really hot and flushed, a weird combination of embarrassed and turned on, and he rolls off of Jon and onto his back, brings his arm up to cover his eyes, “Oh my god, you think I’m a blushing virgin bride, you are totally freaked out, how is this my life?”

How is this his life, and why can’t he shut up? “Blushing virgin bride?” Jon asks, pulling Brendon’s arm from over his eyes, leaning over him.

“Do not let Ryan Ross fool you,” Brendon says, “he totally has Harlequins stashed in his bunk.” He does too; Brendon’s favorite is the one about the pirate and the stowaway who is not really a boy but actually a girl in disguise. “I like the one about the pirate,” he says, and then, “I can’t stop talking.”

“Bren,” Jon says, and he leans down, kisses Brendon light, so light and sweet, and Brendon makes a little lonely noise high in his throat when Jon pulls back. “No, no, kissing, more kissing!” he says, and twists himself to chase Jon’s lips.

Jon Walker is amazing, so Jon Walker indulges him, and they make out slow and deep, and it’s enough that the ache in Brendon’s cock fades a little, lets him focus on Jon, the soft little noises he makes when Brendon kisses at his ear, the weight of his palm against Brendon’s back, and Brendon thinks he could fall asleep like this, heavy and boneless with Jon’s mouth sweet against his. He figures this is exactly what happens when he wakes up as the bus rolls to a stop, face pressed into Jon’s neck, Jon’s arms tight around him. He never wants to move.

“Convenience store,” Ryan yells from the front of the bus. “And I’m not going to buy your Red Bull because you’re too busy getting laid, get the fuck up.”

It’s not that Brendon is complaining, because hi, Jon Walker, he has his very own Jon Walker now, but his Jon Walker keeps giving him these gentle little kisses and pulling him down and spooning him into submission just when Brendon’s sure they’re about to get to the good part. It’s a little frustrating, and Brendon keeps having to jerk off in the venue showers because he’s spending every night pressed up against Jon in Jon’s bunk, and everything is warm and snuggly and Jon-smelling and every time Jon wakes up hard against Brendon’s ass, he manages to pull back right as Brendon has worked up the nerve to snake his hand back. It’s getting kind of ridiculous because Brendon is always hard, and he’s a little scared that Jon is maybe rethinking this, or is only gay above the waist or something. That would be a tragedy, okay, and a total tragedy because Brendon wants Jon to fuck him kind of a lot.

There’s an after party tonight, and then hotels, hotels, and Brendon, well, he has some pretty big plans. Pretty big plans involving his dick and it’s going to be so, so awesome, Jon will see. Jon will totally learn to love Brendon’s dick if Brendon can make his dick behave and be, like, polite and stuff. His plans are kind of complicated when Spencer shoots Ryan a grin and steals all the room keys from Zack and gives Ryan and Brendon matching ones because he is a little bitch, oh my god.

“Spencer, Spencer, Spence, no. No. Gimme the key. Gimme now.” He’s maybe a little manic here, but, plans. Spencer is trying to talk Brendon out of first shower for the next two weeks when Jon walks up, plucks Spencer’s key out of his hand, and hands it to Brendon. “Ha!” Brendon shouts, pointing his finger at Spencer. “You can’t even pick on me anymore because I have a Jon Walker to defend me! OWNED, Spencer, you just got owned.”

“Brendon,” Jon says from his spot halfway down the hall. “You coming?” Brendon spares a second to stick his tongue out at Spencer and toss his old room key to Ryan before he scurries after Jon, who has both of their bags, and the muscles in his arms are doing really, really great things.

“Jon,” Brendon says. “You have arms,” and because he wants to be sure Jon is aware of how much Brendon appreciates this fact, he leans down and nips at Jon’s bicep, rubs his nose over the slight wet spot he left on Jon’s t-shirt. Jon lets out a breath, kind of shaky, and says, “That I do, Brendon,” right as the elevator dings.

Part 2

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Carry On and On and On, Ryan/Spencer, NC-17

boweryd — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 15:10:31 GMT

Title: Carry On and On and On
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Spencer
Summary: "You are so awesome, Spencer, Gerard Way is going to sweat on us!"
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Teenage frottage shenanigans! Gerard Way!
Author Notes: Written for anon_lovefest prompt, “Pre-fame Spencer/Ryan, frottage in the crowd at a MCR concert.” My knowledge of MCR is admittedly fuzzy, so let’s just accept that Wikipedia is a totally valid source and enjoy the boy rubbing.

Spencer only feels a little bit ridiculous while he stands in line next to Ryan, but that feeling intensifies pretty quickly when the guy in front of them (hair dyed inky black, bangs totally obscuring one of his eyes, jeans even tighter than Ryan's) turns around and gives Ryan the up and down. He's mostly successful at tuning them out ("It's just that Gerard's music matters, you know?" "He totally understands what it's like, high school is hell.") but he doesn't miss the guy scribbling his number on Ryan's palm before slipping away with vague noises about having an in with the venue and that Ryan should call him after the show, they'll totally hang.

"Yeah, Ry, don't forget to call," Spencer grabs Ryan's palm, "Archie so you can totally hang. Archie? Seriously?" Ryan rolls his eyes, smirks at Spencer a little before schooling his features back into a carefully practiced mask of disinterest in his general surroundings.

The disinterest is pretty much totally gone as soon as My Chem takes the stage, Ryan's eyes are huge and bright, hands joining the sea of others stretched toward the stage, and when Gerard Way opens his mouth and wails the opening lines of "I'm Not Okay," Spencer's a little scared that Ryan might actually swoon and faint. The kids get wild pretty quickly, and Spencer's all for feeling the music, fuck he's feeling it now, the bass vibrating up from the floor, into his legs, making him a little dizzy with adrenaline, but Ryan had insisted on pushing as close to the barrier as he could and he's catching some pretty vicious elbows in his quest to get the full effect of Ray Toro's thighs. Spencer's considerably bigger than most of the kids surrounding them, and he presses up tight against Ryan's back, winds an arm around his skinny waist and throws his other elbow out, clearing a pretty effective path through the four or five deep crowd between them and the barrier. He drops his arm from Ryan's waist once he's pressed against the metal, but sticks close out of necessity and the weird rush of protectiveness he always, always feels around Ryan. Ryan wiggles around a bit, leans into Spencer, shouts, "You are so awesome, Spencer, Gerard Way is going to sweat on us," and Spencer laughs into the back of Ryan's neck when he turns back to the stage, rapt.

There seems to be a fundamental flaw in Spencer's "Get Ryan To The Stage" plan, and that flaw is the fact that My Chemical Romance does, in fact, make Ryan dance and also Spencer has a cock. A cock that Ryan is repeatedly wiggling back into, brushing up against as he jumps, and Spencer is seventeen, okay, there is only so much he can be expected to take. He's trying his best to keep his hips a safe distance from Ryan's ass, but the surging crowd takes care of that pretty quickly, and Spencer can tell when Ryan realizes what's going on because Ryan goes absolutely still and Spencer is going to die of embarrassment. Except for how Ryan closes his eyes, tips his head back onto Spencer's shoulder and grinds back into Spencer. Holy shit. Spencer's breath stutters a bit, he leans in, says, "Ry?" as quietly as he can while shouting over the crowd, over the music pounding around them.

Ryan just reaches back in response, grabs at Spencer's arm and wraps it back tight around his waist as he moves against Spencer in dirty rhythm to "Venom." Spencer's hand is flat against the skin of Ryan's belly where his tiny shirt has ridden up, he can feel the muscles flex beneath his palm as Ryan moves against him and his cock is so hard it's throbbing. He closes his eyes, buries his face in the crook of Ryan's neck, and before he can tell his body no he find himself thrusting forward into the steady grind of Ryan's hips, hard and desperate, the movements lost in the motion of the crowd that's pushing them up hard against each other, against the biting metal of the barrier.

He feels more than hears the groan that Ryan lets out and then Ryan's hand is covering his where it rests on his belly, pushing it down, cupping it over his erection, and christ. Spencer doesn't know if it makes it better or worse that Ryan is as hard as he is. Ryan lets go of his hand, curling his long fingers around Spencer's forearm and holding on tight as Spencer presses his palm down onto Ryan's cock through the tight denim of his jeans. He feels . . . he feels both private and exposed at the same time, he's basically dry humping his best friend in public in a crowd of people, but he knows that no one can distinguish the movement of their bodies from the rest of the writhing crowd, no one but him can hear the harsh little pants breaking free from Ryan's chest.

Spencer's not breathing too evenly himself, and he gives up all pretense of control right around the time the first driving chorus of "Helena" rolls over the crowd. He grips Ryan's hips with his free hand, hard, curling his fingers tight under the sharp jut of Ryan's hipbones. Ryan's hips stutter against Spencer's palm, his hand clenches down painfully hard against Spencer's arm, and Spencer can feel Ryan's cock twitch a little under his hand as he comes, feels the slight tacky warmth start to seep through the denim and then Spencer's gone, pushing his hips hard into Ryan's ass, pressing him tight against the barrier as he comes in his pants.

The ride home is maybe not as awkward as Spencer was expecting, aside from the whole "came in my pants earlier tonight" issue. Ryan just quirks an eyebrow at Spencer when he's getting out of the car, calls, "Hey Spence? Good concert." Spencer snorts a little, and yeah, good going, that's attractive.

"Gonna go home and call Archie?" he asks, leaning over into the window. He's feeling equal parts bitchy and bold, can't quite help himself. Ryan just holds up his palm, covered in obscure black smudges, and nods his head at Spencer's right arm, the one he'd been holding onto earlier. There are matching smudges staining his skin and Spencer can feel his cheeks heat up just a bit at the thought of how they got there.

"Give me some credit, Spence, he was wearing a My Chem shirt to the show. I have standards." Ryan's tone is light, but his eyes are searching Spencer's face, dark and a little intent. It makes something warm bloom through Spencer's belly.

His voice only catches a little bit when he says, "Yeah, everyone knows the cool kids save their My Chem shirts for LJ camwhoring," and the smile Ryan gives him before flipping him off his wide and bright, crinkling up the corners of his eyes.

</div>

Hover Like Bees - Girl!Spencer/Jon - NC-17

boweryd — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 04:14:58 GMT

Title: Hover Like Bees
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Always a Girl! Spencer/Jon
Summary: She slides into Ryan's bunk that night, presses her self against his side and says without preamble into his shoulder, "I'minlovewithJondon'tgetpissed."
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: General Het sex, descriptions of girly parts, Disney lyrics, the usual.
Author Notes: Baby’s first bandom fic! I’ve been kind of lurking for a while but couldn’t get failboat girl Spencer being totally in love with Jon and COMPLETELY freaked out about it out of my head, so here we go! Songs/movies referenced, in order: “Good Girls Don’t” by The Knack, The Princess Bride, “Kiss The Girl” from The Little Mermaid. Title and cut text are from "Outro With Bees" by Neko Case.

"What's with all the skirts?" Brendon asks one morning between mouthfuls of cereal. "I thought you hated them. Remember, you said, "I fucking hate skirts," when Ryan put you in one for the tour, and now you're wearing them all the time."

"Ryan keeps stealing my pants," Spencer snaps back, trying to control the blush creeping down from the tips of her ears, where it always starts.

"What if I stole your skirts, then what would you wear? I mean, you spend the whole show behind the drums, people probably wouldn't notice if you just didn't wear pants OR a skirt, and I really liked that plaid one."

"Brendon." He looks up from his cereal at her tone, and then says, "Fine, fine. I'm just curious is all."

She tries not to jump when Jon's voice pipes up, "Come on, Ross changes his wardrobe once a month, at least this time it's Spence getting in touch with her feminine side. I don't know if I could take another round of rose vests."

"I can hear you, asshole," Ryan says from the sofa, eyes still closed.

Jon just smirks as he walks towards the cabinets, letting his hand trail lightly across Spencer's back on the way, and she hides her smile around a bite of frosted flakes, because well -

----

"Shh," he whispers against her neck, stubble scraping across her collar bone. It's going to leave big red patches, it always does, but she can't even care right now, because all she can think about is Jon's fingers, which are currently ghosting under her skirt and up her inner thigh, torturously slow until he reaches the crease of her leg and she smiles when he lets out a sound somewhere between a growl and a moan when his fingers encounter her bare skin.

"Spencer Smith," he grits out, face still buried in her neck. "Good girls don't," he says, the melody shaky, and she grins as she whispers back, "But I do."

----

She's not even sure when it happened, when he stopped being just Jon, who was always warm and brought her lattes and borrowed her lotion after swearing her to secrecy to being JON, who knew all the right places to kiss her and all the secret backrooms at every venue and could get her off in a minute if he had to. Not that she's complaining, but really the lines had just kind of blurred. They'd never really talked about it. It's not like he's Brendon, who had shown up to practice three weeks after he'd joined the band with a charm bracelet he got out of a quarter machine and sincerely professed his love as Brent rolled his eyes and dragged him up off his knees.

Jon had left a ring of hickeys around her bellybutton once, so maybe that counts.

It's not like it bothers her, really, and it even kind of makes sense, not realizing that she wanted him until she did, not realizing that. . . well, okay, maybe it was kind of a problem, because -

----

"Spence, JESUS," he pants against her shoulder, and it sounds desperate, almost pained, so she slams her hips down hard one last time, tightens her legs around him while digging her heels into the bed for leverage, and grinds down into his lap. His arms clench around her waist and his teeth drag lightly against her collarbone as he tenses, comes, and lets out a shaky sigh as he drops his head to her chest, breath coming in short, harsh gasps, and she LOVES hotel nights. "Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," he mumbles against her skin, pushing her up the bed with his wide hand flat on her belly, and she shivers as his stubble scrapes a line down her body, his lips kissing a trail behind it. He sweeps his tongue over a hipbone, nuzzles his nose into the crease of her leg, and that's when she hears it, "Spence, love you, Spence," and she comes almost before he can get his mouth on her, shaking so hard it feels like her entire body is going to come apart. He presses light, open mouthed kisses to her inner thigh like he always does as she comes down, then slides back up her body, pulls her against him, solid and warm and reassuring. She's still shaking, and he pulls the bedspread around them, but she's not cold. She's -

---

She's fucked. Spencer is in love with him, and she is FUCKED. Sex is fine, sex isn't what ruins bands, friendships, lives. It's love that fucks everything up. Not to mention she's being a total idiot about it, and has barely spoken to Jon in a week, ever since that damn hotel room, and he's just being so Jon-like about it, not pushing, not speaking, just careful, measured glances and dammit. This is going to fuck it all up. Brendon's going to cry. Dammit.

She slides into Ryan's bunk that night, presses her self against his side and says without preamble into his shoulder, "I'minlovewithJondon'tgetpissed."

She hears his sidekick snap shut, feels his chest heave in a sigh, and braces herself, but all he does is laugh. What?

"WHAT?" She lifts her head and he obviously finds this hilarious, his face is screwed up, one hand flitting about in the air above their heads. She gives him about 30 seconds, then punches him, pretty hard, right in the chest. "Asshole," she whispers, "I'm serious about this. Now stop being a dick and tell me no."

"Oww," he chokes out, rubbing his chest. "That HURT," he pouts in her general direction until she slumps back down against his arm and mumbles a quick sorry, and then says, "What do you mean, tell you no?"

"Tell me no. If you tell me no, then I can't."

"Spence," he turns on his side, drops a too large hand on top of her head, and considers her for a minute. It makes her more nervous than it should, that there's something there Ryan doesn't already know about her, something he has to look for.

"I thought it was just sex," he says, finally, and at her face, adds, "Please, you're not as quiet as you think. I had to take Brendon out for ice cream and give him The Talk."

And, okay, fine, that's pretty funny, so she lets out a laugh, and buries her face into his bony chest when it turns into tears, and it's like they're sixteen again, Ryan petting her hair while she cries over a boy, only this time, this time -

----------

Brendon is mumbling something about gummi bears as Jon steers him towards his bunk, Ryan is shuffling behind them, and she knows she should get up but the couch is so comfortable and her bunk is so far away. She feels a weight plop down beside her, feels Jon's hand start rubbing her upper arm, soft, comforting. "C'mon, Spence, time for good little girls to go to bed."

"Fuck being good," she says around a yawn, wiggles up to lay her head in his lap, "moving is hard."

She feels his leg move beneath her as he laughs, nuzzles her face into the flannel of his pajama pants as he cards his hand through her hair where it's long since fallen out of her ponytail. "You know that if you sleep here, you're going to wake up with a sore neck and then you'll be grumpy and scare Brendon."

And, fine, that's a point. But also, "My bunk is cold. It's warm here."

He sighs, and then all of a sudden she's in the air, and she yelps a little, and Jon's arms tighten around her waist, beneath her knees, and oh.

He gets her into her bunk with only one bumped elbow on her part, and he's tucking the blanket from the couch around her when his hand brushes her hip and she's suddenly very, very awake.

Before her mind catches up with what her body is doing, she's grabbed his wrist, is pulling him down, mumbling, "Still cold, Jon, it's still cold," against the inside of his arm.

"Spence - " but he lets her pull him down, and she presses herself against him, nuzzles her nose beneath the vneck of his t-shirt, and he's always so warm.

"Always so warm, Jon Walker," and her lips brush his chest through the t-shirt when she speaks, and he groans, but he doesn't move.

"Go to sleep, Spencer," he says, and his voice is tight, but he stays perfectly still even when she wraps a leg around his, snuggles deeper into his side.

He's gone when she wakes up the next morning, and she spends the day feeling like she's going to split open or something, awkward and buzzing anytime he's around. She actually uses the separate dressing room the venue provides this time, ignoring Ryan's quirked eyebrow and Brendon's whine at the loss of her far superior eyeliner, ignoring the way Jon's shoulder's tense most of all, until -

------

She's pretty sure she locked the door, but somehow Jon is there anyway, crowding her into the corner of the small room, staring at her in a way that makes her stomach seize up, makes her squeeze her thighs together. "We have ten minutes," he says in a voice that's not entirely his own, and she can feel his breath against her cheek, he's so close. "You need to tell me if I'm wrong about this," and then his lips are on hers, hard and insistent, but his hand on the back of her head is gentle, tangling the strands of her hair between his fingers, and she lets out a moan she didn't know she could make, low and deep and coming straight from the pit of her belly. Jon breaks off at the sound, buries his face in her neck, and gasps out, "Christ, Spencer," broken and deep and something inside of her breaks until she's pressing even more tightly against him, using the little space she has between his body and the wall to wedge herself against his thigh, the fabric of his slacks lightly scratching at the inside of her thighs beneath her skirt and she needs, she needs -

"Son of a bitch," he chokes and then there are hands on the back of her thighs, lifting her up, and she drops her hand to his zipper, and then -

"Five minutes!" accompanies the sharp rap on the door, and she struggles out of his grasp, drops to her knees when Jon sets her feet back on the floor, hisses a hurried "shut up, Jon," at his protests, and pulls his zipper the rest of the way down, wraps her lips around the head of his cock before she even has it all the way out of his pants. He's already leaking and she can taste him, a little bitter against the roof of her mouth.

His cock is heavy on her tongue, and okay, maybe she's only does this once or twice, back in high school, but she remembers, and sometimes she reads back issues of Cosmo, and she only realizes that she's not actually moving when Jon lets out this pained moan above her, a garbled, "Spencer," and right. Right.

She pulls off of him, licks down his shaft, wraps the hand not holding onto his thigh around the base, and okay. She gets her mouth back around him, and he bucks a little when she accidentally presses her tongue right under the head and oh, okay, so she licks around, a little firmer, keeping up the suction and the twist of her hand until she gets a rhythm going. His hands are clenching helplessly against her shoulders and she pulls off, "Jon, Jon, you can touch, touch me," and he lets out this deep groan, shifts a hand up to rub his thumb over the hollow of her cheek, pressing in against it a bit to feel himself moving inside her mouth, the other twining into the hair at her nape, not pulling, just softly tangling, his thumb brushing against the shell of her ear and that, that feels pretty good. She hums out a little noise around him and then, "Shit, Spence," and he's trying to push her away, warn her off, but she pulls him in closer, swallowing when he tenses above her and this is new, she's never . . . it's not bad, it's just a lot and she tries her best but she can feel a little slip out, down the corner of her chin, so she darts her tongue out to catch it because, well, she doesn't exactly want to explain come stains on her stage clothes to Zack. When she looks up, Jon is staring at her, eyes dark and she suddenly feels . . . not scared, maybe exposed. It makes this hot pressure build up in her belly and she feels frozen, pinned by his gaze.

"Spence, seriously, go time," and the loud pounding on the door breaks whatever was building. She springs up, brushes the dust off her knees, and shouts back, "Okay," and it's a good thing she doesn't sing because her voice is kind of wrecked. She spares a quick glance in the mirror, straightens her skirt, finger combs her hair back into place, but Jon's not moving, he's still there just staring, and when she takes a step toward him he grabs out, catches her wrist, and then he's kissing her hot and deep, licking into her mouth, over her teeth, behind her tongue and oh, he can taste -

"After the show," he says, pulling away from her mouth to bury his face in her neck. She can feel the words shape against her skin, and she suddenly feels itchy everywhere, like her skin can't hold her in the way it's supposed to. "After the show, get back here. Not fair, Spencer Smith," and he slides a hand up the outside of her thigh, under her skirt, lets his fingers skim over her, and she knows she's wet, can feel it making her panties stick to her skin, just a little, and she feels this weird mixture of embarrassed and really, really turned on as he breathes out hot against her neck, "Jesus fuck, Spence." She pulls back, she has to, has to clear her head before she walks out of the room, so that everyone doesn't see, "Ask Me About Blowing Jon Walker!" written all over her face.

She hurries out the door without looking back, lets herself be shuffled toward the stage, just shakes her head when someone asks, "Spence, you seen Jon?" and the entire assumption here was that it would be easier to play wet than it would be to play hard, but about halfway through the set she's starting to seriously rethink that. All she wants to do is cross her legs and bear down, or squeeze her thighs together, and she's pretty much playing on reflex at this point, trying to focus on channeling all the energy that's buzzing inside of her into her sticks and out onto the drums and she is seriously, seriously going to die because she didn't even know it could be like this and that's when she looks up, notices Jon turned, playing at her, and even from her riser she can see the heat in his eyes. She lets herself take a deep shuddery breath, breathes out a little heavier than is proper in polite circles and -

------

She has no idea where Jon is, but she walks toward the small private dressing room on autopilot, if he's not there she's just going to have to make do because Jesus, her entire body feels like it's vibrating. She barely has the door open before he pulls her inside, pushes her back against the door and reaches around to twist the lock. "Shit, shit, Spencer, c'mon, Spence," he's mumbling against her throat, and she realizes his hands are pushing on her waist, trying to guide her, and she convinces her legs to move, let's him guide her over to the vanity table, hops up and spreads her legs, pulling him toward her by the shirt, but he just gives her this smirk, and drops to his knees in front of her and oh. Oh, Jesus.

"Jon, no, no, the show, I'm sweaty and gross and - " she's pretty sure she just cracked her head open on the mirror and also that she made some sort of swamp monster noise, but he just bit her thigh and oh, there were his hands, pulling her panties down, and he moves back just enough to get them free of one leg, and then just kind of, well, buries his face between her legs, and she's never done this before. It feels like he's everywhere, licking and touching and stroking and god, she needs, needs, "Jon, please," and she doesn't know what she's asking for but he closes his lips around her clit and sucks, darting his tongue out and she honestly didn't know she could come this fast.

Jon, apparently, is also impressed. He looks up at her with wide, dark eyes, his mouth and chin a little shiny, says, "Spence, JESUS," and she shivers a little, goosebumps springing up as he trails little kisses to her thigh, the back of her knee. When he stands up again she can feel his erection brush against her and she reaches out a hand, but he pulls back, lets out this pained groan.

"If we - no, no, can't, I have to get back, Ryan'll, shit, Spence," and he presses up against her, places his forehead to hers and just breathes for a second, long, deep breaths and when he pulls back again he looks more collected, more like regular Jon, not this new Jon with flushed cheeks and dark eyes that pin her down. "Get changed, okay? I'll try to save you third shower before the hot water runs out."

He presses a kiss to her temple and slips out the door, and she's sitting there bare assed on the vanity table, panties around one ankle, and she honestly doesn't trust herself to stand up right now, her legs still feel like jello and this, this can't be good. This is going to fuck everything up because -

------

She kind of wants him, all the time now, and this is a problem because Jon is being a great big girl about things. All, "I know we kind of jumped into this and I understand if," and "I just don't want you to feel pressured because," and "We don't have to, Spence," and fuck, fuck, fuck, she mostly just wants to TOUCH him, be touched, and after a week of buddy hugs and overly careful physical contact on his part, she's kind of had it, okay? There's this low, constant thrum of energy beneath her skin, and it's getting really, really old, so one week and two days after the Dressing Room Incident, Spencer breaks her own rule and tries to get herself off in her bunk.

The thing is, these are tight spaces, with curtains for doors, and she can hear the boys. And if she can hear them, she knows they can hear her and it's just kind of embarrassing, no matter how many times Vicky-T has lectured her about embracing her womanhood on her own terms and how they can totally go shopping for vibrators the next time they’re in the same place and the rest of the band can just deal, but, it's just awkward. So far she's gotten by with showers and hotel nights and begging off when the boys go out, but of course this entire week she's had absolutely zero chance for alone time and there's only so much she can take, okay?

She waits until she hears Brendon start to snore and Jon's breathing even out, cringes and plugs her ears while Ryan jacks off with absolutely no qualms right below her, then settles her hand on her belly, beneath the ratty old Blink t-shirt she's using as a nightgown, closes her eyes, and tries her best to think of anything but Jon. It's just some guy who's pressing her tight against a wall when she slips her fingers beneath the elastic of her panties, some dude she's never met who's pressing hot open mouthed kisses to her neck, stubble dragging over her collarbone, wide hands pushing up her skirt, sliding underneath, brown eyes locking onto hers, and dammit, dammit, dammit. She lets out this frustrated little moan as her eyes snap open and her fingers press against the side of her clit because this isn't working. Well, it's working, but not so much with the whole not thinking of Jon thing, and fuck this, fuck it.

She lets her eyes slip back closed, pictures Jon's smile, thinks about it pressed against her thigh, the way his mouth had felt against her, hot and wet and overwhelming, and she starts pressing harder against her clit, moving her fingers faster over the top of it and bites down hard on her lip to stay quiet but she knows some noise is escaping, desperate little gasps, and all of a sudden the curtain of her bunk is pulled back and oh my god, shit, she is never going to live this down, Ryan is going to make fun of her until she dies, and oh.

Oh. Jon is there, and he's pushing her against the wall of her bunk, climbing in, looking down at her with open, hot eyes and her hand is still in her panties, frozen, and she squeezes her eyes shut, squeezes her thighs together, and she wants to die. "Spencer," he says, and she shakes her head a little, screwing her eyes shut tighter. "Spence. Look at me." She can't, she's so close, and then his hand is sliding beneath her panties, fingers tangling with hers, and he's looming over her, talking in her ear, his breath hot and wet as he starts to move his fingers over her. "Jesus, Spence, you can't just. You're killing me here. I'm trying to do the right thing but you can't just - god, the way you sound," and she's about to draw some serious attention to them because his fingers are brushing over her, callused and rough in just the right places, and he's working one short, broad finger inside, crooking it up, so she sinks her teeth into the bundle of muscle between his neck and shoulder, muffles the moan that spills out. She's working herself up against his hand, straining for release, and when he lets out a shuddery groan against her neck, says, "What were you thinking about Spencer?" she raises her head, comes around his fingers, and gaps out, "You," before she can even think to filter herself, and yes, yes -

------

No. No. If she doesn't think about it, it doesn't have to matter. Jon isn't making a big deal about it, but he's doing this thing where he keeps watching her, looking at her like he's studying her, waiting for something to click that makes her make sense. It's surprisingly easy to not love him, though. It's easy to just worm her feet beneath his hoodie when they're all watching movies on the couch, easy to fuck him in hotel rooms and suck him off at venues, easy to let him touch and lick and fuck her until her mind is only focused on more, more, more. It's really easy until it's not anymore, until -

------

She gets crampy and bloated and miserable when she's on her period, and she snaps at Ryan over everything and glares at Brendon when he talks about herbal remedies for her "lady times" and won't let Jon touch her, at all, even though he wants to. They're in the back lounge watching The Princess Bride because it was Brendon's turn to pick, and he's excitedly mouthing along and reenacting sword fights with Ryan using Twizzlers and she hates them both. She's freezing, even under two blankets and one of Jon's hoodies. Ryan had quirked an eyebrow at her, and she had snapped that Jon was the only one who had any actual boy clothes and that had lead to a fifteen minute discourse on whether Brendon's Spiderman briefs could count as boy clothes. The point is, she's cold, so it's not her fault that she gives in right around the sixth time that Jon lightly touches his fingers to the inside of her wrist under the blanket, gestures at his lap with his eyes. It's not her fault even a little, and she has to admit, she feels a little warmer and a lot better when he tips them over so he's spooned up behind her, face resting in her neck and one big, heavy hand sliding beneath the layers of hoodie and tshirt and cami to rest on her aching belly, a warm weight centering her, thumb lightly stroking just below her belly button.

Her eyes droop a little, and she's warm and comfortable and about thisclose to falling asleep when Brendon turns around to excitedly shout, "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to - SNUGGLES?"

"That's not how that goes, buddy," Jon says into her neck, and she snorts out a laugh against the arm her head is pillowed on.

"No one told me that this was a snuggles optional viewing, guys," Brendon says, and he sounds honestly pissy about it, which just makes her giggle more, until her belly cramps up a little more, and she hisses out, "Dammit, Brendon, stop it, that made it worse." Which of course earns a pout, which earns a, "These are Spence's snuggles, I'll give you snuggles next time it's your lady times, Bren, promise," from Jon, and when Brendon turns back to the movie with a huff Jon tightens his grip on her, snuffles into her neck a little, whispers, "You okay? Want some tea? I know where Ryan hides his Sour Patch Kids," and his thumb dips a little lower, a firm pressure between her hip and thigh, right where it hurts, and oh, oh.

"I love you," she thinks. "I'm gross and puffy and you love me and I love you," and there's an iron ball in her throat, getting stuck there so she can't talk, just shakes her head no and shuffles back against him, buries her head into the fabric of his hoodie, breathes him in. This is bad, not good at all, and if she's honest -

------

They didn't have any actual sex until about a month after that first time in the dressing room, a combination of Jon trying to be a gentleman and her own stupidity because she's maybe only done this once, and it was kind of a disaster and kind of a long time ago, and when she'd shown up at Ryan's crying, he'd gone to find Chris Johnson and tried to punch him, and his eye had been black and swollen for almost two weeks. She somehow tells Jon all this, all in one breath, almost, as soon as he steps into her hotel room and he just smiles at her, this bright, wide, open thing that makes something twist in her belly, and moves to kiss her. "Spence?" he says into her hair, "It's not - we don't have to do anything you don't want to do," but oh she wants, she wants in a way that's making her whole body feel keyed up and tight, and she pulls him down on top of her, spreading her legs around him, and the second time she has sex is so, so much better than the first time. She comes clutching at his neck with her mouth pressed against his, gasping into it, and it all feels so big that she has the sudden urge to cry, and feels really, really stupid until he moves his hand from her clit to her hip, grips down and oh, she can feel him, feel him go tense inside of her as he comes, and he leans down and kisses her deep before he pulls out. She feels both strangely empty and really full, full of all these big and scary things she doesn't have a name for.

She’s a little awkward after, a little too big for her body, and she wants to stretch out on top of the bed, on top of Jon, and wiggle around, settle back into her skin. She doesn't know if she's supposed to feel like this, what she's supposed to be doing, and then Jon's there, "Spence? Stop freaking. C'mere," and he pulls her down to his chest, wraps a hand around her hip and pulls the comforter over them. "I, Spencer Smith, am a cuddler, and you should just be thankful I'm resisting the urge to talk about my feelings." He's trying to make her feel better, calm her down, but his voice is all slow and floaty and it just starts a slow burn in her belly, and she wants, gets itchy with it, wriggles around at his side until he slits his eyes open, squeezes her hip, "You okay?" and she's okay. She's really, really okay, and then she takes a deep breath and straddles him, leans down, presses her mouth, her skin, her hands against him, and she kind of wants to touch him everywhere, until she knows what to do to get each sound out of him, wants to make them all hers and -

------

So fine, she's kind of an idiot, kind of an idiot who's been in love with Jon Walker for a while, but it doesn't mean she knows what to DO about it. She mostly just keeps her mouth shut, climbs into Ryan's bunk sometimes and presses against him while he texts, lets his bones dig into her, let's Brendon do her hair more often than usual, let's Greta take her shopping, buys ridiculous bras and panties she's too embarrassed to wear, and spends every night climbing into Jon's bunk, wrapping herself around him until her throat hurts with the want of telling him.

She's in the back lounge with Brendon a couple of weeks after her Big Stupid Love Ephinany, singing along loudly and obnoxiously to Kiss The Girl, letting Brendon twirl her around in time to the "sha la la la la las," and on one go around she twirls toward to the door to see Jon, leaning against the door frame, watching, wearing this soft little smile and something bursts open in her chest as Brendon dips her and the rowboat tips over on screen. She's back on her feet, a little flushed and her hair is everywhere, and Jon's still there, still looking, and oh, she loves him. She doesn't mean to but she finds herself walking toward him anyway, leaning up into him, lifting her mouth to his ear, says, "Okay, me too, I love you too." As declarations of love go it's maybe a little lacking, but he circles an arm around her waist, huffs out a laugh against her neck. "Do what the music say, Spencer Smith," he says, and tilts her head toward him, brushes his lips against hers light and easy.

"Guys, guys? I can't promise anything, but I think there's at least a 40% chance I can convince Ryan that our next album should be an epic cartoon musical all about your never ending love," Brendon says from behind them, and she flips him off over her shoulder, buries her face in Jon's neck, presses a smile into his skin.