fics_by_maple: (Bden/Spence)
[personal profile] fics_by_maple
My apologies if you got the couple seconds of coding fail there! *pets your f'list page*

Title: Pins and Needles
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Word Count: 3100
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort

Many thanks to [livejournal.com profile] mrsquizzical for the encouragement and [livejournal.com profile] hermette for the beta help! <3

Prompted by Spencer's post and this picture.


I've been dealing with quite a bit of sorrow & distress in the past months due to family issues...





Brendon’s kind of gone quiet. He does that, sure. He’s not actually always loud, like people expect, but all of them were loud over breakfast, rehashing ideas during make up and wardrobe and on the drive over.

But now they’re in the crisp open air of this cemetery, and the morning sun is still low enough it’s casting long shadows behind the tall statues and tombs while Brian and his crew set up the lighting rig.

Spencer looks at Brendon's face and then in the direction he’s looking. It's just a few trees up on the hill but they're making that high elevation wooshy sound like they're up in the mountains rather than deep inside an urban cemetery. Spencer decides Brendon is just trying to be still so they can catch an angle, take some test shots. It makes Spencer wonder if he should be doing the same thing but he’s anxious, having a hard time focusing, and he’s cold.

He paces behind Brendon again, going the other direction this time, the snow crunching like styrofoam under his feet and he can’t keep himself from gravitating towards Brendon's still and warm body. Spencer bends forward at the waist so his forehead rests on Brendon’s shoulder. He hears huffy little exhale that Spencer knows is him smiling and he feels Brendon straighten, distributing his weight onto both feet to bear Spencer's weight. Spencer smiles and makes the same kind of breathy noise, knowing that Brendon will hear.

“S’up? You good?” Brendon asks. Spencer nods, forehead shifting slightly on his shoulder.

“'m great. ‘Cept it’s fucking cold.”

Brendon kind of snorts in agreement but doesn’t say anything. Spencer leaning on him like this is maybe more than they usually do in front of strangers. Brian, Zack, they’re okay, but they don’t know the rest of the small crew very well.

“It’s so quiet here. It’s not like, I don’t believe in ghosts or whatever, I don’t mean it to sound stupid, but it feels kind of …”

“Dead?” Spencer asks, finally standing up.

Brendon huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Like it’s extra quiet. Not just like nothing is making noise but more like, something is listening? I don’t know.”

“I was thinking how great the storyboard was, loved the art, but now that we’re here—” Spencer turnes his head to the side, warming his ear on Brendon's shoulder, “I’m not sure we’re helping convince anyone we’re not emo by filming in a cemetery.”

Brendon shrugs the shoulder Spencer's not leaning on and makes a dismissive noise. “Eh. We’ll just dump it if it doesn’t work.”

Spencer makes an effort not to roll his eyes. ‘Just dump it’ has been their go-to phrase since everything changed. Since they decided to nut up and own all their decisions, to hell with the consequences. Artistically, it’s awesome. Financially? They’re running it pretty close. He just never wants to have to limit their band, Brendon, because of money.
Brendon turns then, eyes bright, eyebrows raised and like he wants to smile but is assessing Spencer’s mood before he does. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Just cold.” He wants to stand closer to Brendon, put his cold nose behind Brendon’s ear, put his cold hands inside Brendon’s jacket to warm them, shove one hand inside the waistband of his pants and cup the sharp edge of hipbone. He wants to smell him, knows his deodorant will be fresh under his arms because he hasn’t sweat yet today, and the hotel soap had a woodsy scent, eucalyptus or cedar or something, and knows he could chase the smell on Brendon’s skin.

“What’s the difference between a tomb and crypt?” Brendon asks.

“It’s …” Spencer is about to reply, standing upright again and frowning. “I’m not sure. I can look it up.” He pulls out his phone and brings up his Wikipedia app.

“These shoes are gonna get ruined. My toes are freezing.” Brendon kicks the snow, already on a tangent. “But you.” He tilts his head slightly, ducking into Spencer’s field of vision so he looks up at him. “You look good,” Brendon says quietly, voice low.

Spencer looks down again but knows Brendon can see his smile. “I slept better than I thought I would.” And then adds, “thanks.”

They hadn’t even made out when they went to bed. They hadn't slept much on the red-eye to New York the night before, spent a hectic day in meetings, walking the city, and crashed into their hotel bed by 9:30. At least Spencer had. He’d kicked off his socks and pants and crawled into bed, faceplanting into Brendon’s chest, slinging an arm and leg over him. He hadn’t even been considerate enough to turn out any of the lights or made sure Brendon could reach the TV remote. He just tried to settle and mold into him and Brendon wrapped an arm around him tight, mouth pressed to Spencer’s head until he fell asleep. He woke up a few times because the hotel silence was so different from home, but Brendon was always there, pressing a shoulder, a knee, or his ass, into Spencer so that they maintained contact.

“Mom said they’ll call you later,” Brendon says. It's not a question, just a reminder. “It’s only, what, like 6:30 in Vegas? The doctor appointment’s not ‘til nine, so maybe by ten, eleven at the earliest, so you'll hear after lunch sometime.” Brendon outlines the timeframe that Spencer already knows.

“Yeah. It’ll be awhile.”

“But hey, I’m here. We’re here,” Brendon offers.

“I know. You are.” Spencer shifts his feet and squints into the sun at a tomb – crypt? – up the hill behind Brendon. “Sorry. Guess I’m the one not really here.” Spencer waves his hand around them and quasi points at his own head. “Just tell me if I’m screwing anything up, today, okay?”

“You’re not. But, I will. If that ever happens.”

Spencer looks at him for a moment. Brendon’s nose is pinking up in the cold, but his eyes are bright and he looks very ready for his close up, Mr. De Mille, Spencer’s very own beautiful starlet and he just, he really fucking loves him. He’s in the middle of a family crisis and the promo launch of their new album and everything they do has giant negative dollar signs hanging over their heads and the one sure thing Spencer knows is that he can count on this guy, his best friend, his front man, this stupid-faced talented gorgeous idiot in front of him. They’re in the middle of cemetery, on a Tuesday morning in January, in the snow, freezing their balls off and just, “our life is weird,” he blurts.

Life is weird,” Brendon agrees. “Want to make a weird ass video with me?”

“Yeah.” And then he picks up the enormous funeral wreath near their feet and hopes this wasn't some twisted art-imitating-life foreshadowing moment. Definitely weird.

~

His mom is talking but after the first few sentences he already knows everything she is going to say. He's sitting up at the end of the bed “uh-huh”ing in all the right places when his mom pauses and he doesn't mean to be disrespectful but he doesn't want to hear anymore. The humid scent of hotel shampoo is wafting out the bathroom, Brendon's quiet humming just audible over the shower water. He didn't just wash his face to get the make up off, he actually showered, which wasn't all that out of the ordinary, but Spencer knows he was trying to give him some privacy while he talks to his mom.

He knows so many multisyllabic words for medications and tests now that he didn't just six months ago.

Brendon comes out of the bathroom stark naked, finger combing his hair, his skin flushed pink from the hot water. He gives Spencer a questioning look on his way to his suitcase but whatever he sees in Spencer makes him pause. Instead he just approaches and climbs behind Spencer on the bed, arms and legs wrapping around him. Spencer lets himself lean back against Brendon's chest. He slides his hand up inside his shirt, hand settling on his chest and Spencer thinks Brendon might actually be keeping his heart from breaking.

“I could come home,” he offers his mom. “I could help.”

Brendon nods, his nose bobbing up and down behind Spencer's ear. Brendon wouldn't hold it against him. He's said so before.

His mom declines the offer. Spencer knew she would but he had to anyway.

“I'll talk to Dad later, okay? ...Love you, too,” he finishes and then ends the call because he knows she listens until the line disconnects.

“No change, then?” Brendon says. His question gentle, always like he's not sure he's allowed to ask. Spencer shakes his head.

“No. And the doctors have shit for ideas. Big surprise.”

“I'm sorry, Spence. Shit.” Brendon squeezes him, hugging, hanging on. Spencer feels like he could either cry or laugh equally, they feel the same to him right now. There's so much sadness in his chest it feels like there's no room for oxygen, leaving him hollow. “You want to go walk? Go up to the Park or something??”

Spencer considers the offer for a second. He usually likes to walk off his frustration, the fast pace of New York City foot traffic suits him, but at the moment he feels too listless to move.

“No,” he shakes his head but leans back into Brendon's chest, rubs his forearm just above the wrist, hoping Brendon will know that Spencer appreciates what he's trying to do.

“Okay.” Brendon kisses behind Spencer's ear again and takes a deep breath. Spencer gets it on the second one and inhales with him and they slowly exhale together. Brendon cues him silently like that sometimes, reminding him to breathe. “I wish I could – I want to – fuck this sucks. I'm sorry.”

Spencer nods and turns his head back to kiss him over his shoulder.

Brendon returns it with enthusiasm, holding Spencer's jaw, opening his mouth. Spencer can feel how warm Brendon is, still hot from the shower. Spencer thinks his nose, fingers and toes are still cold from the cemetery shoot but then he realizes that he's not cold. He's numb. All of him. It freaks him out a little to feel so disconnected from himself and he's not drunk, hasn't even smoked anything. But Brendon is warm, gentle and hard in all the ways that Spencer knows him to be.

He can't keep his neck stretched for so long and gives Brendon a purring, desperate sound when he pulls away.

Brendon's palm skims down Spencer's torso, over the front of his pants, cupping him with a cautious hand.

“I could...” Brendon offers.

Spencer holds his wrist for a second, intending to decline. He doesn't feel the least bit sexy but he realizes that Brendon isn't offering playtimes. He's offering comfort and maybe Spencer needs some immersion therapy of Brendon's touch so he can feel something again. The fluttering of anxiety still rattles through the empty feeling in his chest.

“O-okay. Could try?”

Spencer feels the smile in Brendon's lips on his temple as he begins unbuttoning Spencer's shirt. He lets Brendon shift their weight forward to pull his shirt off his arms, then his t-shirt over his head and he slides the pads of his fingertips down Spencer's chest, circling his nipples before scratching through the fine hair at the center.

Brendon kisses his shoulder once before climbing his way out from behind him. Spencer leans forward to kiss him once and then lays back, letting Brendon unbutton and pull off his pants and boxers. He's not aware of the temperature in the room, but Brendon's mouth on his cock is warm and wet, the pressure firm when he sucks and when his circled fingers stroke up to meet his lips.

Brendon doesn't stop, but after a couple of minutes Spencer is still only semi-hard in his hand. He's never had trouble getting it up with Brendon and he vaguely identifies the souring of embarrassment in his gut.

“I don't ...um.” He tries to say something but gives up, rubs a hand over his eyes hard enough that he sees white spots when he opens them again.

“I'm not in any hurry, Spence. It's cool.”

Spencer can't help it. He snorts. It's really anything but cool.

“Hey,” Brendon says, leaning one knee on the edge of the bed, rubbing the outside of Spencer's knee. “Do you want me to fuck you? Or...” Brendon breaks eye contact before he says it, because he isn't trying to entice or tease. He normally loves to make Spencer blush, loves to whisper filthy things in his ear, to coax Spencer into voicing what he wants with words and then growls into Spencer's ear about how pretty he is when he turns pink. Spencer has never admitted how much he loves that Brendon pushes him like that.

But now he can't register any of his normal reactions and Brendon isn't trying to push him or play. He wants to say yes but he doesn't feel brave enough, somehow. It's still kind of scary for him to ask Brendon to fuck him, and he feels very frightened and small at the moment.

Brendon captures his hand at the fingertips, raising his eyebrows waiting for a reply.

“Maybe, I could just watch you?” Spencer still bites his lip and Brendon launches forward, giving him a quick kiss, easing his lip from under his tooth before getting off the bed. He walks easy, and so confident with his body that naked looks completely natural on him. He's not even putting on a show, no prancing, or flirting.

When he returns he straddles Spencer's thighs, pours lube into his fingers and pulls up on his cock a few times. “Just this?” he asks Spencer, as he lets his hand start gliding his down his shaft then closing over the head on the upstroke.

“Yeah. I like watching you.”

Brendon nods just a little with a slight smile that shows more in his eyes than on his mouth and Spencer's breath catches. He pushes up on his elbows enough so that he can touch Brendon's cheek. Brendon turns his head and kisses Spencer's palm and then nuzzles his cheek into Spencer's hand again.

This fucking beautiful guy that obviously loves him, just. Spencer doesn't know how to cram such a good thing together with so much sad stuff inside his head.

Spencer lays back, both hands on Brendon's thighs, knees bent on either side of him and just watches. Brendon's eyes keep fluttering shut and the vein that runs up the inside of his right arm is starting to raise with his blood pressure as he jacks off. Brendon stops suddenly, rests his hands flat on top of Spencer's hands on top of his legs and blow out a breath. His dick is standing straight up, shiny and dark.

“Fuck. I'm about to come already.” His head is tilted up to the ceiling, eyes closed as he licks his lips.

“That's kinda what I was hoping for, B,” Spencer says and Brendon opens his eyes, looking down at Spencer with a half-smile.

“I see how it is. And you gonna join me now?” He takes his own cock into his right hand and Spencer's into his left. Spencer hadn't even realized he'd got hard.

“Ah, thank fuck. Yes. Okay.”

Brendon snorts and makes a cocky little 'uh-huh' sound when Spencer lets out a groan because it feels so good, not to mention the relief of seeing himself hard. His groan and sigh rolls into a giggle of ...maybe hysteria? Because he's really too fucking young to be too stressed to get it up.

Brendon switches the hands he's using to stroke him with, using the slick, lubed up hand.

Spencer sucks in a sudden inhale, holding his breath and squeezing his eyes shut.

Too much. It's too much and he can tell that if he laughs or if he comes he won't be able to control everything he's been very neatly and systematically bottling up inside.

“Spencer.” Brendon says his name softly, like a reproach. He's shifting to lay over Spencer, to talk into his ear and kiss his face and his hand is still moving over Spencer's dick. “I know what you're doing. Stop. It's okay. Come on.”

“Brendon.” Spencer moves his hands from clenching the sheets to clutching Brendon's arms.

“Yeah. I'm here, man. Hang on to me.”

Spencer's body shakes, feeling like he's coming unglued. He bends one knee and turns his face into Brendon's neck, letting out a pathetic stuttered guttural laugh just as his orgasm hits him.

Spencer gasps and it turns into another hiccuping laugh and it almost feels inappropriate like that time he knew Ryan was mentally adding “in my pants” to the end of everything said at the dinner table until his dad got so annoyed at their giggling that he sent them to eat in the kitchen.

He tries to slow his breathing, to concentrate on pulling himself.

Brendon's jerking himself off, letting out quiet breathy laughs, like Spencer's giggling is contagious but it doesn't keep him from coming either, so quick and easy Spencer would be jealous if couldn't feel the cooling jizz on his belly.

“I'm sorry,” he says, swallowing hard and wiping his eyes. “I don't know why I'm laughing. I'm fine.”

Brendon smirks as he wipes off Spencer's stomach and the back of his own hand. “You're not. But you will be.” He kisses Spencer again, quick and sweet, and tugs on the hotel bedspread until he can cover them with it. “Is this where I'm supposed to make you talk about it? Because I figured this was one of those things where you just want to focus on work and I could distract you with sex but then I thought I should ask you if you want to talk? Um, wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Spencer takes a breath and his belly quivers as he exhales, letting go the last of the tension.

“Wait, shit. What time is it?” Spencer tries to sit up and look at the clock.

“No, lay down and let me comfort you and shit. We've got about twenty minutes.”

Spencer complies, opening his arms so they're all tangled up and cocooned under the blanket and he shivers. “I didn't realize how cold I was.”

“Hmm.” Brendon sounds like he knew. “You'll feel warmer soon.”
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