About a month or so ago, emilyray was writing a fic and I was writing a fic and we sent each other what we had so far. *She* posted hers the next day, whereas I got distracted by Shane Valdez and then Brendon threw-up on stage and then there was a Harlequin thing. But *now* mine is finally finished.
Title: Believe In Something Like A Summer
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer, Jon/Ryan (I don't have Panic OTPs, I just *look* like I do, okay?)
Summary: “Spence,” Ryan said. He put his hands on Spencer’s shoulders. “Generally it’s a bad plan to have a one night stand with the guy you’re in love with."
A/N: This is for emilyray for
A/N 2: Huge thanks to miscellanny for betaing this for me even though she's busy.
“There’s no room,” Brendon giggled. He was slurring, but Spencer didn’t think he had any right to mock, not with the way the room was spinning in lazy circles around him.
“Plenty of room,” Spencer told him, sprawling across most of the twin bed that his parents kept for guests in what used to be his bedroom.
Brendon butted against Spencer’s shoulder with the top of his head, still laughing. “This is your fault for getting all mansized,” he scolded, “We used to fit.”
Spencer let himself be urged over far enough that there was just enough space for Brendon to fit beside him. He felt drunk and loose so he draped an arm over Brendon’s back. “Ryan and I used to fit,” he said, amazing himself by successfully picking up the flow of the conversation. “With you it was always kind of squashed.”
It was always kind of squashed with Brendon because sleeping next to Ryan was normal, ordinary, done, but sleeping next to Brendon was an event, a conflict between wanting to touch as much as possible and not wanting to humiliate himself in any way that would scar Brendon for life.
Ryan would have been pissed if Spencer had scared off their singer by accidentally coming on him or something.
It was a good thing, Spencer reflected, that there would never be enough Thanksgiving alcohol – finally, finally he was twenty-one and didn't need to rely on his father to sneak him drinks under the counter when his mom's back was turned - to get him to say that out loud.
Brendon wiggled so the point of his chin was digging into the soft part of Spencer’s chest, right where it met his shoulder.
“Ooh no,” Brendon said, sing-song, “Dude, you did not just call me fat.”
Spencer just smirked at him.
“I am svelte, Spencer Smith. Svelte and petite and, and something slightly more manly sounding that still means cute and pocket-sized.”
Spencer bit his lip, but it was still damn hard not to smile. Stupid alcohol had loosened his smiling muscles or something. “Hmm,” he said as dubiously as he could when he was having to work not to laugh.
Brendon squawked. It was loud enough that they both immediately shushed each other which made them laugh all over again.
The wall above their heads shook when someone hit it from the other side. Apparently they were annoying Crystal. Spencer rolled his eyes before thumping back; she was just pissed because their dad wasn’t letting her and Jackie drink yet.
Brendon lifted his head. “Oops?” he asked, his eyes all wide and brown.
Spencer shook his head. “She’s just jealous she’s not sharing her bed with someone so svelte," he told him, totally ruining it with a giggle right at the end.
Brendon smacked him. “I am so. Shane’s mom asked me if I had an eating disorder the first time she met me. ‘Course, she also asked me if I was boning her son, so…” He trailed off for a second then seemed to swing back around to the point. “Give me your hand.”
He groped around until he had hold of Spencer’s wrist and Spencer let himself be manhandled, too pliant and comfortable to really resist and curious as to where this was going.
“See?” Brendon crowed, pressing Spencer’s hand down flat over his belly. Even full of tofurkey, Brendon was disgustingly skinny. “See?” Brendon repeated, shimmying his hips so Spencer’s palm slid over soft, tight skin and softer hair and-. Oh.
“Oh,” Brendon breathed. His hand tightened around Spencer’s. He pressed down.
The heel of Spencer’s hand was low enough to make him aware of Brendon’s cock beginning to stir and he felt his eyes go wide, heard his breath catch. “Shit,” he said because wow, wow was this never supposed to happen and he should stop it right now and-
Spencer added just the tiniest amount of pressure, just to see.
“Shit,” Brendon agreed. He rolled his hips and made a sound that would probably have been a moan if he’d let it out. “Oh God,” he whispered, splaying a shaking hand over Spencer’s chest. “Can we?”
It was stupid, so stupid. They’d both had too much beer and punch and whatever was in those orange bottles from his aunt in Texas but God, Spencer wanted.
He snatched his hand out from under Brendon’s, ignoring Brendon’s complaining whimper, cupping it around Brendon’s half-hard cock instead.
From there, things got faster. Their t-shirts were easy to rip off and drop who knew where and Spencer was left to fumble with his own fly while Brendon kissed the column of his throat, licked his collarbones.
“Bren,” Spencer tried to scold, ended up just saying, whispering. “Brendon, get naked.”
“Mm,” Brendon agreed, but didn’t move, just bit down on Spencer’s shoulder and Spencer maybe growled, just a little bit, because this was serious business, serious naked business and Brendon was distracting them both.
Brendon shivered and Spencer couldn’t work out why, but he didn’t care because Brendon finally scrambled off him, losing his pants in a flurry of kicks. Spencer forced himself to look away before Brendon's boxers came off because he had his own clothes to get rid of and some things were distracting enough to sidetrack him from his goal. His naked Brendon goal. Spencer was a maker of awesome plans.
“Success,” Brendon breathed, when all their clothes were gone. He sprawled back down on top of Spencer and Spencer automatically rolled them, wanting to feel Brendon underneath him.
“Wait,” Brendon said, but too late and next thing they went down off the side of the bed and smacked into the carpet.
“Shit,” Spencer swore, trying to blink through his happy daze enough to remember that falling off the bed was bad. “Sorry, shit, you okay?”
Brendon was laughing. “Ow,” he said, fingers tightening on Spencer’s shoulders when Spencer tried to move back enough to check he hadn’t killed him or anything.
Crystal banged on the wall again and Brendon was shaking with laughter and Spencer didn’t care. Spencer had a naked Brendon underneath him, wrapping his legs around Spencer’s waist and meeting his first tentative thrusts and this was fine, Spencer thought, this was good.
He could freak out in the morning if he had to.
Spencer did have to freak out in the morning, it turned out. Well, first he had to drink a fuckload of water and convince it to stay down, but then he had to freak out.
He’d woken up on the floor, hands plastered to Brendon’s sticky, cool skin and pretty much hadn’t stopped freaking out until he was out of the house and in his car.
He didn’t know where he was heading but apparently his hands and feet did. If he’d stopped to think about it, it would have been pretty obvious anyway.
No one answered the door at Ryan’s for long enough that Spencer started to consider using his key but he’d traumatised himself that way before and today he wasn’t sure he’d find it funny.
It was Jon who answered, wearing boxers and looking half asleep – actually half asleep as opposed to just the way he always looked. He broke into a grin when he saw Spencer and Spencer felt guilty for greeting him with nothing better than, “Where’s Ryan?”
Jon’s smile faltered. “In the shower. Is something up?”
“Yeah, no, uh.” Spencer found he was already halfway up the stairs and forced himself to turn around. “Everything’s fine,” he said in as normal a voice as he could manage. It would have fooled his mom even, but unfortunately Jon knew him better than that.
Jon didn’t say anything though, just waved him on.
Ryan and Jon’s room smelt of sex and Ryan was singing J-Lo under cover of the running shower and normally Spencer would be killing himself laughing by this point, but all he felt was worse, clogged up by his best friends’ domesticity.
He banged on the door then again louder when that had no effect. Finally the water shut off (and thank God for that, Ryan seriously was not still Jenny from the block oh my God) and “What?” Ryan called.
Spencer rested his head against the doorframe. “S’me,” he said.
The door rattled for a second while Ryan unlocked it. Water was dripping from his head to the towel tied haphazardly around his waist and there was shower gel smeared across his chest.
Spencer only just managed to resist falling into him and asking him to please, please find him a DeLorean.
“What happened?” Ryan asked, reaching out and curling damp hands around Spencer’s wrists. Apparently Spencer’s poker face really sucked these days.
There were ways to say this so it didn’t sound as bad as it was, Spencer was sure. He just couldn’t think of any, not with Ryan looking worried and wet and wearing stark red hickeys all across one shoulder. “I slept with Brendon,” he said and he was impressed by how calm it sounded.
Ryan’s hands tightened. “Oh holy shit,” he said and pulled Spencer into the bathroom with him.
“What the hell?” Ryan hissed when the door was closed behind them. Spencer wasn’t sure who they were hiding from; Jon was going to find out about ten seconds after Spencer left, or when Brendon called him, whichever was soonest.
Spencer leaned back against the towel rail and tried to tell himself that he was amused by watching Ryan's mostly-naked freak out. “We were pretty drunk last night,” he said at last.
The face Ryan made at him spoke volumes. “So you decided to fuck Brendon? That’s not good logic. That’s not even me logic. Spencer, what the fuck?”
Spencer shoved away from the wall but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to pace; Ryan had two rooms for guitars, and books in pretty much every other nook. What he needed was a bathroom big enough for Spencer to pace his troubles away in.
“I don’t know! It- we were drunk.”
Ryan’s eyebrows flew up. “Right, I forgot how that was always a good excuse,” he snapped. “And anyway, no way were you that drunk.”
Spencer wanted to snap something bitchy in response, but no, Ryan was right, they hadn’t been that drunk. He banged his head back hard against the wall and with it came the memory of them falling off the bed last night, Crystal banging on the wall and Brendon laughing.
“Spence,” Ryan said. He put his hands on Spencer’s shoulders. “Generally it’s a bad plan to have a one night stand with the guy you’re in love with, just so you know.”
His tone was mocking but his eyes were worried and Spencer’s “Fuck off,” was more defeated than annoyed.
Spencer’s hair was curling by the time they left the bathroom. Jon was leaning back on the bed and Spencer felt irrationally guilty even though they’d hashed out his rights as the best friend ages ago and they totally included bathroom skulking.
“You’ve got a visitor downstairs, Spence.” Jon’s tone was casual but he had a look in his eye that Spencer recognised. It was a toned-down version of the way he looked at William now, a you’re my friend and I love you but you made my other friend sad kind of look.
Spencer winced. “Short, brunette, bounces a lot?”
Jon nodded slowly. “The very same.”
Ryan poked him in the back. “Go on,” he said, “Go fix shit.”
Spencer wanted to argue. Well, no, Spencer wanted to do something totally humiliating like sit down on the floor and refuse to move ever again, but Jon was watching Ryan with a lazy sort of interest and Spencer lived with them enough to know that that look was an early warning to get out if you didn't want nightmares for weeks.
Brendon was sitting in the lounge, holding Hobo in one hand and nudging her towards a disinterested Clover.
“They won’t play,” he said sadly when Spencer stepped into the room and accidentally announced his arrival by making a floorboard squeak.
“They’re supposed to be natural enemies,” Spencer told him.
Brendon smiled slightly but Spencer wasn’t fooled. “Shh, don’t tell them that.” He was wearing the grey hoodie and black jeans that he’d worn to dinner at Spencer’s parents’ house the night before, his hair was a mess and there were still pillow creases in his cheek.
It was easy to picture that he’d woken up, found himself alone, and rolled straight into the car to track Spencer to the one place he was obviously going to be. Spencer tried hard not to picture it.
“So,” Spencer said. He’d never had an awkward morning after before. He couldn’t say he liked it.
“So,” Brendon mimicked. “Weirdest thing. I woke up this morning all alone in someone else’s bedroom and had to sneak out past their parents. It was like being nineteen again or something.”
Spencer’s heart flipped. “Brendon. Come on. You didn’t have to sneak out; my parents knew you were staying.”
Brendon was still for a second then he gave a short, sharp laugh. “Right, let’s focus on the dramatic embellishments, not the important part of what I just said.”
“No, Spence, I get it. You left because you didn’t think it was serious. You think you’re the first person who’s done that? It’s not like I care.”
Brendon's face was washed-pale like it got when he was upset and Spencer wished he didn't know that.
“Brendon, look. I left because I knew you weren't serious about-" me "And-” and I couldn't look you in the eye while you told me it was just a one time thing. Spencer wished he could say that aloud; it might help.
Brendon jumped to his feet, Hobo sliding to the ground with a confused, disgruntled whine. “Why the fuck would I not be serious? That makes no sense!”
Brendon was mad, that was pretty obvious. Spencer really wasn’t but it was easier to pretend to be than to look at what he was feeling.
“You do it all the time! You’re always hooking up for the night. I live with you Brendon, I do see these things.”
Brendon blinked at him and Spencer got a sinking feeling around his heart. There was really no way to dig himself out of that hole.
“So I’m a slut?”
Spencer sat down hard on the sofa. He was so tired. He and Brendon weren’t supposed to fight, they never fought. People fought around them, sometimes with them, but the two of them stayed calm and solid in the middle, playing Guitar Hero and eating Pop Tarts. “That’s not what I said,” he said softly, pushing a hand back through his hair.
Brendon didn’t say anything for long enough that Spencer risked a glance up at him then wished he hadn’t. Brendon had heartbreak written all across his face. “That wasn’t what I meant,” Spencer tried, but he knew it was too late.
“Okay,” Brendon said, nodding sharply. He turned around with a spin that was too jerky to be a flounce then stopped, turning back. “I meant it last night,” he said, voice that shade of deceptively calm that Spencer hated the most. “I knew what I was doing and I knew who I was doing it with. I don’t, I didn't regret it and I’m fucking sorry that you do.”
He took a loud, shaky breath and stamped out of the room.
Spencer dropped his head into his hands. “Jesus fuck,” he swore angrily, digging his fingernails into the skin just above his eyebrows.
“Uh,” said a voice from the doorway and he looked up to see Jon standing there. “I’d say I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was kind of hard not to. Plus I totally did.”
Spencer nodded. He thought about wiping his eyes but they weren’t that wet and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, not even to Jon, who cried from start to end of Finding Nemo every time.
“So normally,” Jon said conversationally, walking into the room with two mugs of something steaming, “I’d be punching you out for calling our Brendon a ho, but I really don’t think that was what you meant.”
Spencer lifted his legs out of the way for Jon to climb around him and sit down. “It really wasn’t,” he agreed, accepting the mug of whatever that Jon held out to him and taking a sip. It was tea, which was unexpected, but helped calm the ragged something eating away inside his chest.
Jon swung his legs up onto the sofa and tucked his feet under Spencer’s thighs. “What’s happening in your brain, Spencer James?”
Spencer laughed harshly. “Well at the moment, my brain is calling me an idiot because apparently Brendon wants me and I just fucked it up.”
Jon’s toes wiggled. It tickled but it was still weirdly soothing. “Yeah, that wasn’t your shiniest moment.”
Spencer thought about making a face at him because jeez, way to be supportive, but it wasn’t like he deserved any support.
“It’s just,” Spencer said then had to stop. He’d been so certain that Brendon was going to regret what they’d done but he hadn’t, he didn’t. Well, he probably did now, but that was only because Spencer was a prize A asshole. "I don't know," he finished lamely.
Jon hummed sadly into his tea and tapped out a slow, soothing rhythm against Spencer's thigh.
When Spencer got home, his mom was sitting at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out in front of her. “Brendon went home,” she said. She didn’t sound mad, but she didn’t look up either, which was how Spencer knew he was in trouble. “He said he needed to walk Dylan.”
Spencer contemplated going to hide upstairs but he wasn’t a kid anymore and the only place he could go was a room he really didn’t want to be in at the moment, so he was stuck down here. Awesome. “Right.” He sounded fine, normal. He hadn’t really expected Brendon to have come back here but it would have been awesomely convenient if he had.
“I didn’t think you were the sort of man to fuck and run,” his mom said, “I thought I raised you better than that.”
Spencer died. Honestly, he really did. The fact that he was still upright and breathing was a weird quirk of nature or something.
“Mom,” he choked.
“Spencer.” He hated it when she did that. “You should have seen that boy’s face when he came downstairs and realised you’d gone.”
Spencer took a step back. “I-” He wasn’t actually going to explain the inner workings of his brain to his mother. “I’m sorry.”
When she looked up at him, she didn’t look as angry as he was expecting; she looked sadder though and that sucked twice as hard. “Brendon’s a good boy,” she told him, “And I saw enough of his brave little toaster face when you were growing up. I don’t want to ever see it again. Okay?”
Spencer closed his eyes. His eyes were really hot all of a sudden, probably lack of sleep. “I've got to go make a call,” he said, mumbled really, before hurrying away and up the stairs.
There was music blaring from both ends of the corridor – The Cab competing with The Hush Sound and maybe he was an absentee brother, but he’d done awesome things for his sisters’ musical taste – so Spencer took his phone and locked himself in the bathroom.
Brendon didn’t answer the first time he called, nor the second or third. Between the fourth and the fifth, Spencer caught a whiff of himself and made a face. He called for the fifth time while standing in the shower, his head ducked out through the curtain and shampoo stinging his eyes because he hadn’t had the patience to wait until he was done to try again.
When he was finished with his shower, he sat down against the side of the bath, the towel around his waist doing shit to protect his ass from the cold tile floor and the one around his neck only catching half the drips.
On the eighth try, someone answered the phone with a tired “Hey, Spencer,” and Spencer’s heart seized up for the half second it took him to realise that it wasn't Brendon.
“Shane, hi.” Spencer forced himself to sound normal. There was a chance, not a good chance obviously, that Brendon hadn’t told Shane about… anything. Losing two friends in one morning would be a bit much even for Spencer's current levels of fail.
“Bden’s asleep, dude.” There was silence after, which was not normal. Normally by this point, Shane would be telling him all about the awesome picture or movie or cloud formation that he’d just seen and totally forgetting that Spencer had called Brendon not him – there was a reason why Shane and Ryan got on so well - so Shane knew then, fuck.
“For real?” Spencer asked, figuring he might as well go for full-out pathetic.
“He’s asleep,” Shane repeated.
Spencer drew in a noisy breath. The idea of Brendon avoiding him was… not good. Bad even. “Right,” he said, “Thanks.”
He pressed blindly at the phone to end the call and closed his eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered, resting his head against the cold, pink porcelain around the washbasin. He only realised that Shane was still on the line when he heard him say, softly, “You said it.”
Three days after Thanksgiving, they were back in the studio.
Brendon still wasn’t talking to him and not in the way Brendon normally didn’t talk to people, which involved a lot of pointed remarks and asides to other people about how and why he wasn’t talking and what whoever had pissed him off had to do to make up for it. This time he was just… silent. Silent and withdrawn and almost completely lacking in energy.
Spencer had felt better that time he got his wisdom teeth removed.
The first day dragged long and painfully. Going into the studio was usually shit loads of fun, at least for the first few days until Ryan and Brendon started grating on each other's nerves too much. But this time, it started out bad and by the third day even Jon was snapping. Jon was snapping at Ryan and Spencer had never seen that before. It felt wrong, made Spencer feel sick.
“Okay,” Ryan said, cornering Spencer that evening. He sounded pissed and tired. “You know what you told me when Jon and I started? How you’d kick me in the head if we fucked up the band?”
“Yeah?” Spencer asked cautiously. He’d threatened to kick Jon somewhere way more painful.
Ryan folded his arms. “Fix my band Spencer or I will kick you in the head.”
Spencer rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve tried,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as pathetic as he knew he probably did.
Ryan just shrugged. “I don’t care. Try again.” The line of his shoulders was brittle and upset and Spencer wanted to reach for him but he knew he wasn’t the one Ryan needed right now.
“Okay,” he said, nodding sharply. “Okay, I can try.”
Ryan smiled slightly, turning his face away.
Brendon had said something about a cigarette break, so Spencer decided to check the fire escape first. On the way out there, he met Jon coming in. “Hey,” Spencer said, catching his arm. “Go hug Ryan.”
Jon just frowned, so Spencer shook his arm lightly. “Trust me. It’s what he needs.”
Watching Jon hurry off, Spencer sighed to himself. He could fix Ryan’s relationship no problem. It was just his own that was fucked.
Brendon was out on the fire escape, leaning against the railings. There was a lit cigarette between his fingers, but he looked more interested in flicking his lighter open-closed-open than in smoking it. Zack was outside with him, but standing far enough back that they obviously hadn’t been chatting. He gave Spencer a look when he saw him.
There was no doubt that Zack knew that they were fighting and why. Spencer just wasn’t sure if he’d worked it out through his innate, Zack-like awesomeness or if he’d just waited for Jon to get high then asked him.
Brendon looked away when Spencer stepped up to him and took a long, slow drag on his cigarette.
“Brendon,” Spencer said, putting a hand on Brendon’s arm. “Can we-? I need to talk to you.”
Brendon’s arm went stiff under Spencer’s hand but he didn’t move away. Spencer waited, but Brendon didn’t say anything, just continued to look out over the city, eyes hidden by his sunglasses.
“So talk?” Brendon said after the silence had stretched beyond uncomfortable into something that Spencer didn't even have a name for and right, okay. Spencer was not at his best right now, apparently.
“I didn’t,” Spencer started to say. “When we-” He ground to a halt, furious with himself. Spencer didn’t stammer. Spencer was either coherent or he didn’t speak at all. “I’m sorry,” he tried.
Without looking at him, Brendon blew out a breath and second-hand smoke whipped into Spencer’s face. Spencer took a step back, coughing. He fucking hated other people’s smoke and Brendon knew it. “Fine,” Spencer snapped. “Be mad at me. You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”
Brendon turned towards him, expression still muted by his shades. Spencer really hated them all of a sudden. “What?” he said, and if Spencer had been less frustrated he might have thought that Brendon sounded bewildered.
Spencer threw up his hands, he felt exhausted and kind of upset. “Never mind,” he sighed but he didn’t go back inside, standing his ground however much it sucked to be facing off against Brendon of all people.
Brendon just stayed there for a minute more, facing Spencer, before he said, “Fine,” and left the balcony.
Spencer waited until Brendon was gone then kicked the balcony railings as hard as he could. It hurt like fuck.
“Did you break your foot?” Zack asked mildly when Spencer had finished swearing.
Spencer’s head snapped up. His foot was killing him and he hadn’t fixed a fucking thing with Brendon; he was totally prepared to swear at Zack right now. Except, somewhere between staring at his foot and staring at Zack, all his energy seemed to drain out of him.
“I’ve broken everything,” he said. He hated how young it made him sound, but it felt good to say it aloud.
Zack just shrugged. “You’ll fix it,” he said and his tone didn’t invite argument.
They’d had the interview scheduled with Rolling Stone for weeks and there was no way of cancelling it that didn’t involve explaining that their drummer had banged their lead singer and now they weren’t speaking.
“So Brendon,” the interviewer asked, “Still single?”
Some kind of prophetic dread settled over Spencer and he was already holding his breath before Brendon spoke.
"Yep, you know me," Brendon said with that wide, fake smile that Spencer hated. "I'm busy being twenty-one, whoring myself around the country." He laughed his painful, what, you guys? I'm totally kidding! laugh.
The interviewed laughed along with him and Spencer had to give her credit; she didn't sound uncomfortable. "Really?" she asked, dragging the word out.
Brendon's knee was bouncing fast enough for it to become a blur of denim. "Yep." He lowered his voice to a stage-whisper and leaned forwards like they were sharing a secret. "Ask Spencer. There have been complaints."
She laughed again and moved the conversation on. Spencer spent the rest of the interview glaring holes into the side of Brendon's head. Brendon spent the rest of the interview looking at the floor and ignoring him.
"What the fuck was that?" Spencer shouted. The rational part of his brain told him to shut up, to hold it in a little longer because the interviewer and her crew were gone but they were still in the studio, and no way was that private enough for the kind of fight that he could feel brewing.
"Spence," Jon said with a look over at Zack and a couple of techs.
But Brendon was already retorting, "What was what? You're always telling me to talk more in interviews."
"About music." Spencer wanted Brendon to talk about all the work he'd put into the new record, wanted the world to know that Ryan wasn't their only genius. "Not your fucking sex life."
Brendon made a face at him. It made him look ugly and bitter and Spencer felt sick. He hated fighting with his friends. "I was just repeating what you said to me, Spence," he said, calm and easy like it… like it was true.
And finally, Spencer had had enough. Way more than enough. “So what does that say about me then?” Yeah, he was definitely shouting, he realised distantly. That was bad. “If you're a whore what does it say that I’m the one who’s in love with you?”
The silence that followed was sharp and sudden and it buzzed harshly in the wake of Spencer's shout.
Brendon’s lips moved but Spencer wasn’t close enough to catch any sound.
Ryan, in a rare moment of tactfulness, snagged Jon’s hand and pulled him over to the techs who were gaping and Zack who didn't look surprised at all. Jon pushed the back door open and ushered people out.
“That’s what all this was about?” Brendon asked slowly. He didn’t sound mad but he didn’t sound pleased. He sounded lost, young, and Spencer simultaneously wanted to take it back and wanted to promise that he meant it, that he’d always mean it.
Instead, Spencer sat down heavily on the nearest available space. The nearest available space turned out to be the floor.
He spent a long, drawn out minute staring at Brendon's dusty toes, poking out of his flipflops, then he was staring at Brendon's knees and finally Brendon's face as Brendon dropped down in front of him.
"I don't understand," Brendon whispered. His hands fluttered above his knees and he ended up grabbing one with the other, ringing them together.
Apparently all those years that Spencer had spent congratulating himself for being the emotionally mature one had all been a load of crap. “I got scared,” he said. He really wanted to talk to his knees, but he wasn’t going to do that so he made himself lift his head.
The wooden floor squeaked as Brendon shuffled closer. “Of what? Not of me?” he smiled shakily, an uncertain approximation of his most angelic smile. “I’m pretty much entirely non-scary, Spence.”
Spencer shook his head because wow was that not true. Brendon had been the scariest thing ever from the moment Spencer realised how he felt about him. “I was okay having a crush on you,” Spencer said and this time he really did have to avoid looking Brendon in the eye. It was self-defence, not cowardice, he told himself. “I was fine with that, but if you’d had sex with me and then turned me down, I didn’t think I could survive that.”
Brendon’s hand crept across the floor and Spencer watched out of the corner of his eye as it stopped just shy of his thigh. “Why would I turn you down? Seriously, do I look that stupid?”
Spencer didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t end up with him calling Brendon a slut again.
Brendon was suddenly a lot closer, fingers dancing lightly over the fabric of Spencer's shirt where it stretched over his shoulders. “Tell me?” he asked softly.
“I’m no good at the whole… the casual sex thing,” Spencer said. He felt Brendon stiffen but not move away. “You. You’re. You are, you are good at it. You’re good at sleeping with someone and pretending like it didn’t matter. You’ve slept with Shane and, and Ryan and you’re still really good friends with them. But I’ve only ever slept with Haley and now you. I’m no good at not getting too invested.”
Brendon’s hands stilled on either side of Spencer’s throat and his thumb pressed down lightly behind Spencer’s ear. “I want you to be too invested, Spence.” He laughed and it was just the right side of hysterical. “I’m so fucking invested in you.”
Spencer opened his mouth to say something intelligent, but what came out was, "Oh."
"Oh God," Brendon laughed. "God, you suck so hard." He climbed up into Spencer's lap and Spencer could only hope that no one was going to come walking in because there was no way that he was going to push Brendon away, no way that he was going to say stop when Brendon was kissing him like this: sweet and determined and like the point he was making was the most important one in their world.
They fell back slowly towards the floor and Spencer was dimly aware of the impact vibrating up his spine but his hands were on the small of Brendon's back, sticky-slick against his perpetually sweaty skin and Spencer didn't care about anything else.
"Seriously?" Brendon asked, pulling back after what felt like hours of kissing. The clock on the wall over Brendon's shoulder told Spencer that it had been seven minutes, but Spencer didn't believe it. "Seriously? You love me?"
Spencer turned his face away, looking out across the floor towards their abandoned instruments. There was something small and multi-legged moving against the far wall near his drum kit. "Since like, we made you sing lead," he told the spider.
Brendon's hands on his face dragged Spencer's gaze back up to him. "You suck," he said again. "That is precisely how long I've been in love with you. There has been pining, Spence."
Brendon's tone was teasing but his eyes were dark and serious. Spencer reached up so he could frame Brendon's face with his hands, pull him down and kiss him again.
"I'm sorry," he said. He wasn't, exactly, he wouldn’t wish away what he'd had with Haley and he was fairly confident that Brendon wouldn't want to give up most of the experiences he'd had either. But Spencer was fucking sorry if Brendon had ever gotten hurt by anything he'd done.
Brendon settled down against Spencer's chest so his head was on Spencer's shoulder and his knee was between Spencer's thighs. "I'll forgive you if you jerk me off," he told Spencer's throat, which was his way of telling Spencer he was already forgiven. Brendon was awesome at forgiving people but not that great at saying it.
"Here?" Spencer asked, running the back of one hand over Brendon's stomach.
Brendon licked Spencer's adam's apple. "No, a bit lower," he said which made Spencer grab his crotch and squeeze.
"I meant here, in the studio?"
Brendon rolled his hips and pressed his hardening cock against the cup of Spencer's hand. "It's where we are," he said simply. "And Zack'll keep everybody out."
The idea of Zack knowing that they were in here having sex was not as comforting as Brendon seemed to think it was but Spencer wanted to feel Brendon's cock in his hand more than he wanted to be contrary so he quickly unbutton Brendon's fly and slid his hand under denim and into Brendon's underwear.
Brendon hissed in sharply through his teeth when Spencer wrapped his hand around Brendon's cock and he started a succession of choked off noises when Spencer began to work his hand up and down. Spencer grinned against Brendon's cheek, enjoying the slide of Brendon's cock through his fist and the bump of the wet cockhead against his wrist and the heel of his hand.
"Oh," Brendon said, moving his hips forward in a fast, jerky rhythm that Spencer could keep time with but not easily. Spencer enjoyed it more for that, for the fact that Brendon made it harder, made him have to work for it. "Oh," Brendon said again and came all over Spencer's fist and the front of his own t-shirt.
Spencer leaned up, searching blindly for a kiss. Brendon obliged, or tried to, bumping uncoordinated lips against Spencer's mouth. "I-," he panted into the space between Spencer's parted lips, "Am totally going to blow you. The minute I get out of this," he added, sitting back and tugging at his come-sticky t-shirt with a disgusted expression.
He crawled back from Spencer, which Spencer didn't like at all, pushing up onto his knees and then his feet as he stood and pulled off his t-shirt. He looked down at Spencer and grinned, stretching his arms above his head.
His pants were open, his softening dick tucked half-way back into his underwear, his flat stomach going tight as he stretched, his stupid tattoo catching the light and it hit Spencer like a tidal wave to the brain that this was Brendon, this was Brendon who Spencer had wanted for almost the entire time he'd known him.
Something hot and sweet-sick rolled through Spencer's belly and he scrambled to his feet, "Fuck," he said, burying his face in Brendon's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Brendon's waist.
He'd only been planning to hold Brendon, needing not to be out of touching distance, but Brendon sighed, going limp and content against him, arms coming up to loop around Spencer's neck and the next thing Spencer knew, he'd tightened his arms and hoisted Brendon up a little, just far enough that his feet no longer touched the floor.
Brendon yelped and laughed and clutched him, thighs clamping down against Spencer's hips. Spencer flattened one hand against the small of Brendon's back and walked them over to the shuttered and curtained window set into the far wall.
It took Brendon a few seconds to let go of Spencer after Spencer had set him down on the sill. Then he laughed again and cleared his throat.
"Very manly," Brendon said, but it didn't come out as flippantly as he'd obviously wanted it to, it came out breathless and thick and his eyes were nothing but huge, dark pupil. He lifted a foot and nudged it against Spencer's inner thigh and flexed his toes a little. His big toe brushed Spencer's balls and Spencer groaned, pushing into the V of Brendon's spread legs.
Brendon wrapped his legs around Spencer's thighs and urged him into another thrust. "Spence," Brendon whispered in his ear, biting the lobe gently. "Spence. Room with me tonight."
"Yeah," Spencer agreed vaguely, pushing their hips together. It was good but it wasn’t enough.
"Then you can fuck me," Brendon told him conversationally, dropping a hand between them and freeing Spencer's cock. He licked his palm and circled it around the head.
"Yeah," Spencer said again. His knees were trembling, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps and he didn't want to come yet but it looked like he didn't have much choice.
Spencer groaned as his orgasm hit, cupping his hand over the head of his cock at the last minute because as much as the idea of coming all over Brendon's bare chest appealed to him, they had pretty much nothing to clear up with in here.
His knees were shaking worse than before and he folded down onto the floor, resting his head against Brendon's thigh until Brendon hopped down from the windowsill and insinuated himself into Spencer's lap.
Spencer put his hands on Brendon's hips and kissed him lightly. "So, hey," Spencer said, pulling back. "I'm sorry I accidentally implied you were a slut."
Brendon wrinkled his nose. "Yeah. And I'm sorry that I’m going to be on YouTube forever calling myself a manwhore."
Spencer laughed. He couldn't help it and it turned out that he also couldn't stop. He slid his hands up Brendon's sides and tightened his grip when Brendon started to move in protest.
"Oh fuck you, it’s not funny," Brendon snapped but he sounded like he was trying not to laugh too. "There are innocent message boards that are going to explode. Someone somewhere is going to decide I've gone David Duchovny and got myself a sex addiction."
He sounded so put out that Spencer just laughed harder because yeah, that was totally going to happen, but it didn't matter. He'd gotten Brendon, he'd finally fucking gotten Brendon and he had a feeling that it was going to be hard to worry about anything else ever again.
"Shut up," Brendon moaned. He leaned into Spencer's space and very slowly, very deliberately, slicked his tongue across Spencer's bottom lip.
Spencer's laughter cut off abruptly.
"There now," Brendon said, sounding satisfied. He combed his fingers up through Spencer's hair and kissed him.
They were still kissing when someone started pounding on the door a while later. "Busy!" Brendon broke off long enough to call, then put his tongue straight back in Spencer's mouth.
Spencer just laughed and didn't let go.
NB - title from Counting Crow's Ballet D'Or. My titles are getting increasingly obscure. I blame Pete Wentz.