Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/75139.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Bandom, My_Chemical_Romance, Panic_At_The_Disco, The_Academy_Is...
  Relationship:
      Bob_Bryar/Spencer_Smith, Andy_Mrotek/Adam_Siska
  Character:
      Bob_Bryar, Spencer_Smith, Andy_Mrotek, Adam_Siska
  Additional Tags:
      Touring, First_Time
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-03-28 Words: 12962
****** Always something to navigate through ******
by redsnake05
Summary
     On tour, everything gets found out, and the stuff that doesn't gets
     made up anyway. But tour is also a good time to try something new,
     and Bob finds out that things he'd always thought just don't matter
     that much.
It wasn't the first thing that Bob noticed about Spencer Smith. That
distinction went to the obvious - the way his hips jutted out with that fuck-me
air, even while his face had that don't-fuck-with-me glare. Bob had heard about
Panic from others talking about Pete's baby band, seen them once or twice in
person, since The Academy Is... and Panic had joined My Chem for a few dates of
their current tour. Spencer had always been perfectly put to gether and remote.
The Spencer Bob was seeing this morning, though, rumpled and tired and wiped
clean of snark by weariness, was different. Different even from the Spencer
Smith behind the drums, who was all focus and fierce passion, but who never
lost himself. Never stopped watching.
"You heading out too, Smith?" asked Bob, settling next to Spencer, who was
leaning up against the gate out of the venue park. It was chilly, grey but not
actively snowing, and most of the buses around were still and silent in the
morning air. Bob's breath plumed in front of him in great clouds, and his
fingers were tingling with cold even through his gloves. Bob watched Spencer
straighten up from his weary slump, seeming to fumble for his public persona.
"Errands," Spencer replied. "You?" His smile was practiced and easy, but Bob
thought he could see the strain in it. His hoodie was zipped right up, but the
hood was down. Bob wanted to put a hat on him and pull it down over the hair
that stood up awkwardly at the back, down over his ears.
"I need to find somewhere that sells health food. Frank's starting to sneeze,
and he's nearly out of snacks, and I can't let him go out by himself or it'll
be fucking bronchitis next," replied Bob. The wet, hacking sound of Frank's
cough and the way he'd held his ribs this morning were worrying. Gerard had
been up most of the night, too, pacing and smoking and drawing, and he'd looked
smaller than usual this morning, curled around Frank in his bunk, with a little
line between his eyebrows, even asleep.
"That's nice of you," said Spencer. Bob looked at him sharply, but could detect
no trace of mockery or anything other than tired agreement in his voice. He
looked like he meant what he said. He looked like he needed someone to do
something nice for him.
"Is someone dropping off a car for you? Do you want to share?" asked Bob. He
had been looking forward to a quiet morning out by himself, but something about
Spencer and the way his stance was tense and tired itched at him, the way
Frank's sniffle last night had done. He wanted to fix it. Besides, Spencer
Smith played the drums with heat and passion; they could always talk about
music.
Spencer's gaze raked over Bob, and Bob was suddenly conscious of the dark
circles under his eyes, and his rumpled clothes. Fuck it.
"Can you navigate?" asked Spencer, face unreadable under the weariness. "Cancel
your car. I'll drive."
Bob smiled. He could navigate. He could find his way through anything, make it
work just how it should. "I'll call," he said, digging his phone out of his
pocket and watching as Spencer shifted from foot to foot, finally leaning back
against the wall and crossing his legs at the ankle, the top foot jiggling
slightly. He kept his head down and his hands shoved in his pocket as Bob
talked. Snapping his phone shut, Bob turned to Spencer and smiled, feeling it
stretch over his skin.
"I have to find some kind of health food store," he said, "and maybe some kind
of artists' supply store. What about you?" Spencer shrugged, hands still shoved
deep in his pockets.
"Some food," he said. He looked at Bob, consideringly, as if unsure whether to
say anything more. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. "A bookshop,"
he finished.
"Any particular kind of food?" asked Bob. He wasn't usually so curious, but
something about Spencer made him want to know. "Frank is hard to feed, and
people steal his food, even if he hides it. He hates hiding it, anyway."
"Does he know you're going shopping?" Spencer asked, tilting his head.
"No, he's asleep now. He was awake coughing quite a bit last night. He needs to
sleep more."
"I need to buy things to make Supersonic Spaceship Treats," said Spencer.
"What?" asked Bob. He watched Spencer shrug, then smile just a little,
straightening up.
"Here comes the car. The Spaceships will become obvious when you see the
ingredients. Just... we try to keep Brendon away from sugar, mostly. But
sometimes it's the only thing."
Bob settled into the passenger seat and took the directions Spencer offered
him, extracting the papers from a pocket of his jeans, even though they looked
far too tight to hold so much as a card. Bob blinked at them a few times before
opening it and refolding it so he could read it as Spencer fiddled with the
heater, humming to himself as he got it working to his satisfaction. Bob found
the first place, quickly plotting out a route. He lifted his eyes and found
Spencer watching him, a real, wide smile stretching his lips and making his
eyes light up. Bob's breath caught, just a little.
"You've got everything sorted out," stated Spencer, looking over at the route
Bob was tracing, and his voice radiated happiness. Looking up, Bob saw him
smile, wide and bright. Bob didn't know Spencer well, but he had the feeling he
didn't often smile like that. He smiled back, wide and pleased. Spencer being
happy made it easy for his worries to fade too.
"Yeah, you too," Bob answered. "Let's go kick some looking-after-our-bandmates-
ass, hmm?"
>>>>
Andy wrapped his hands around his cup of coffee, heat seeping through into his
fingers, and stared out the bus window into the grey morning light. He could
see Bryar and Smith leaning up against the gate that separated the venue from
the road outside, and wondered idly what they were doing there. The bus was
cold, with that empty feeling it had when everyone was asleep, tossing and
turning restlessly. It was too early for speculation. He took a sip of his
coffee, watching the low wisps of fog around the other buses, the dirty slush
piled in the corners of the huge parking area. He watched the two of them climb
into the rental car when it pulled up, letting it idle for long moments just by
the gate. It crouched there, tiny and red against the tired grey and black of
the car park and the road outside. His fingers ached suddenly for a paper and
pencil, wanting to capture the feeling of a couple of people wrapped up against
the elements, sitting together with a common destination.
The shuffle of feet behind him distracted him, and Andy glanced over his
shoulder, smiling slow and happy as Adam half-walked, half-staggered forwards
and into his space, plastering himself up against Andy's back and burying his
face in the nape of Andy's neck. Making a happy, sleepy noise, Adam wrapped his
arms around Andy's waist and relaxed into place.
"I have coffee," said Andy, feeling lighter and happier, even though Sisky was
heavy and digging his chin into Andy's shoulder. He tilted his head back, but
all he got was a mass of Adam's hair in his face. "If you open your eyes and
move a little, I'll totally let you have some," he coaxed.
"M'kay," Adam slurred, fingers twitching on Andy's belly. "Too sleepy. Sit
down, lemme sit on you."
"You want to sit on my knee?" laughed Andy. He loved Adam like this, fuzzy and
still blurry with sleep, kind of pliant and quiet, with grabby fingers and
hooded eyes.
"Mmm," hummed Adam, herding Andy towards the sofa with little tugs and nudges.
Andy held the coffee out at arm's length as Adam curled up on him. Opening one
eye, Adam peered up at him, as if unsure about whether it was safe to engage
with the day.
"Kiss first?" Andy asked.
"Coffee," said Adam, a smile curving his lips. Andy laughed again, quietly. The
inside of the bus seemed closer and warmer now, just with the low murmur of
their voices and the heat where their bodies pressed together. Andy handed over
the coffee, sliding his hand up inside Adam's hoodie instead, rubbing all over
the sleep-smooth skin of his belly. Adam made a pleased noise round his first
mouthful of coffee, but Andy liked to think that the noise was for him, because
of the way his knuckles dragged across his skin, and the way his other hand was
buried in the hair at the nape of Adam's neck, gently scratching and stroking.
"You make the best coffee," mumbled Adam, turning his head to talk into Andy's
neck as his lips, heated by the coffee, brushed over the skin of his throat.
"It brings the boys to the yard," agreed Andy, and Adam bit him lightly,
huffing into Andy's throat. "Kiss now?" he asked. Adam smiled and tilted his
head up, opening his lips under Andy's. They were a little dry, but he pulled
back and licked them before leaning forward again, pressing Andy back into the
cushions. He tasted like coffee, and was still slightly uncoordinated under
Andy's hands and mouth. The way he opened to the kiss made Andy's breath catch,
his hands pulling tighter on soft skin, easing Adam closer till they curled
around each other as tightly as they did when sleeping in the bunks.
Andy moaned softly into the kiss, the slick wet heat of tongues and the bite of
teeth in his lower lip turning him on quickly. He hadn't been doing this with
Adam for long, though he'd wanted to for years. It still had a dreamlike
quality, whenever Andy lost himself in the way Adam wrapped them together, the
way his breath hitched, the way his fingers splayed possessively on Andy's
skin. He'd thought about being with Adam for so long, and still couldn't quite
believe it. Adam nipped at Andy's lip, pulling back and grinning bright and
happy.
"Good morning, Andy," he said, licking his lips. His smile was open and warm in
the coolness of the morning. Andy loved the way Adam said his name when no one
else was around. He loved it, even though he knew Adam would draw back just a
little, when everyone else woke up. Then they would laugh and joke and call
each other Butcher and Sisky, but here, pressed against each other and palms
flat on each other's skin, the name was special. The itch for a pencil and
paper came back, and Andy wanted to capture the two of them with their heads
pressed together, heading in the same direction.
Adam got them both more coffee, and a bowl of cereal each, then they curled
back up on the couch together. Bill rolled his eyes at them as he staggered out
of the bunks, slumping onto the kitchen bench seat. Mike trudged up the stairs
from outside minutes later, fresh from a night spent fuck knows where, bringing
in the smell of snow and a blast of cold air.
"Dude," he said, "I totally saw Bob Bryar and Spencer Smith getting into a
rental together. What the fuck is up with that?"
Andy snorted into Adam's neck and stretched his arms out, ready to get up and
get dressed. The morning stillness had completely faded now. Adam made a
protesting sound and grabbed at him as he slipped out from underneath.
"Butcher, don't go," he said. "I was all cozy, and who's gonna keep me warm
now, huh?" Andy ruffled his hair and grinned, heading for the bunks.
"Come and get dressed with me," he invited.
"Fuck, guys, keep it down in there," groused Bill. "Chizzy's still asleep."
"We'll be really quiet, won't we, Sisky?" said Andy. Adam just smiled at him
and followed.
>>>>
Bob waited for Spencer backstage the next night. Panic was just winding up to a
finish, and The Academy was drifting round, Siska and Mrotek with their heads
bent together while Carden and Beckett argued. Bob stood with his back to a
wall and watched Spencer play. Spencer's mouth opened as he concentrated on his
kit and he was sweaty with exertion.
Bob saw less of the fuck-me hips and don't-fuck-with-me glare when he saw
Spencer Smith now, after their shopping expedition of the day before. Well, he
didn't really see them less, because they were always there, but now he saw
them for a mask Spencer put on to hide the exhaustion around his eyes and the
way his hands clenched and released in tension and worry. Bob wasn't fooled by
the hips or the glare. He looked at Spencer, instead, and read the tiredness
and determination in every line of his body. He had seen Spencer gather up his
bags and his public self, when they got back from shopping. He had watched him
slip back into something different, more distant.
Bob shifted from foot to foot and watched Spencer push the hair out of his face
and gather up his sticks, another successful set done. Spencer smiled at Wilson
and laughingly fended off Urie's grabby hands. Spencer's own hands were gentle
as he wrapped them around Ross's bony shoulders and folded him close in a hug.
Bob felt like he was intruding on something intimate, like he should look away,
but Spencer pulled back and smiled and the moment passed like it had never
been. There were just four guys walking off stage, and Spencer Smith had an
unruly piece of hair sticking up at the front and looked sweaty and elated
under his habitual smirk.
"Smith," said Bob, stepping forward as Spencer came off the stage. "I need to
run some errands tomorrow. Gerard's been complaining about his pencils. Want to
come?" Gerard hadn't really been complaining, but Bob had found three pencils
snapped and discarded on the floor in the front lounge, and Gerard had been
curled, tiny and vulnerable looking, on the sofa above them, while Mikey had
looked pinched and more withdrawn than usual when he emerged from the bunks.
Bob watched as Spencer's eyes slid over each of his bandmates in turn, quickly
over Wilson and Ross, lingering on Urie. As Bob watched, he thought he could
maybe see something brittle in the laugh Urie was sharing with Ross. The way he
was deliberately angled away from Wilson, and the way Wilson slid from the area
like he had nothing to tie him there. The expression on Spencer's face slid,
for just a second, out of that vaguely amused smirk he liked to paste on and
into something a little darker, edged with frustration and concern.
"Yeah," agreed Spencer. "Errands." The look he turned on Bob was searching,
making Bob conscious of the ache in his wrists and the tired lines he knew had
etched themselves in around his mouth. The edge of concern was still there. Bob
told himself it was for Urie, a remnant of Spencer's worry. "I could go with
you."
"You want to navigate this time, and I'll drive?" he asked, falling into step
beside Smith as he followed his bandmates towards their dressing room. Spencer
took a moment to answer, and Bob glanced at his face and saw him frowning at
Ross and Urie's backs. Bob could feel a frown starting on his face too, but
then Spencer turned to him and smiled, and Bob found himself smiling back.
"Yeah, okay," said Spencer. "Got any particular art store in mind?"
"Something that's likely to stock things with a unicorn theme," said Bob,
without thinking. Wincing, he raised his eyes again, hastily, hoping that maybe
Spencer wouldn't have noticed. But Spencer wasn't smirking, just looking
thoughtful. He sighed in relief.
"I think I can make that happen," Spencer said, finally. "Yeah, that'd be
good." Bob reached out and smoothed down the spiky lock of hair. When Spencer
turned his head, looking at him questioningly, Bob's hand brushed over his
cheek just a little. Snatching his hand back, Bob cast around for something to
say, something to draw attention away from the fact that he just smoothed back
Spencer Smith's hair and touched his goddamn face. Spencer smiled, something
like the one he'd given Ross as they came off stage, and Bob's breath caught,
even as his fingers still tingled from the brush over Spencer's skin. Spencer's
smile was wide and bright, and it lit up his face in ways that Bob wasn't sure
he could adequately explain. He smiled back, and it wasn't fake.
Spencer looked like he understood Bob's intent, and the two slowed to a
standstill outside the door to the Panic dressing room. Ross and Urie had
already disappeared inside, leaving them alone, off to the side and out of the
flow of people. Spencer's smile hadn't faded at all.
"Do you have a time in mind?" Spencer asked, tilting his head and canting his
hips just a little. Bob dragged his gaze up, ignoring the insistent voice in
the back of his mind that said invitation. He thought instead of the set
tonight, and the likelihood of getting to bed early against the probability of
Gerard hunched over and into himself in the tiny kitchen of the bus.
"You choose," he said, instead. Spencer considered carefully and Bob watched
his face turn thoughtful. He wanted to reach out and smooth his thumb over the
crease of the frown between Spencer's eyebrows, but he kept his hands to
himself. After they agreed on a time, Spencer smiled once more, blindingly, and
ducked into his dressing room, leaving Bob to wander in the direction of his
own dressing room. He was thinking less of Mikey's uncommunicative silences and
more about what Spencer's smile might look like if it was all he was wearing.
>>>>
Andy found Adam sprawled over the ratty couch in the back lounge, limbs splayed
wide and boneless, eyes drooping closed. When Andy sank down to kneel next to
him, Adam smiled and tugged him forward with surprising strength. Andy opened
his mouth under the pressure of Adam's lips, letting him in. The familiar high,
thrumming pressure of the performance was still under his skin, jostled now by
the less familiar rush of kissing and touching Adam like this. He pulled back
from the kiss, knowing that he was smiling wide, probably goofily. Adam dragged
his thumb over Andy's cheek and smiled back, no trace of sleepiness in his face
now.
"Good show, Butcher," he whispered. "I watched you behind your kit."
"You've watched me behind my kit hundreds of times," said Andy, bringing his
hand up to capture Sisky's and bring it to his lips so he could kiss over his
knuckles.
"But before, I couldn't look at you, not really. Not the way I can now," Adam
answered. "Then, we were Butcher-and-Sisky and I didn't know what you look like
when you come." Andy groaned softly at his matter-of-fact tone, in contrast to
the words. Adam's smile was sweet, almost wistful.
"And now that you do know?" asked Andy, knowing that his voice had dropped into
a low growl. Adam tugged him forward into a kiss, deep and dirty. Their tongues
met in a slow dance, and Andy couldn't stop the instinctive jerk of his hips
against the couch when he felt teeth graze over his lower lip.
"Now that I know," said Adam, leaning back with his mouth red and wet from the
kiss, "now that I know, I get to see you as part of Andy-and-Adam, and I was
hard during the whole set, looking at you."
"Fuck," said Andy, fervently. He couldn't believe this, how was this even his
life? Adam fucking Siska, spread out in front of him, all sharp angles and
smooth skin, telling him these things. "How did I get so fucking lucky?"
Adam laughed softly, pulling Andy forward and kissing him again, just as dirty,
making little noises into Andy's mouth. Kissing back, Andy tried to put
everything he was thinking and feeling into the slow slide of his tongue, the
twist of his lips. The first time Adam had kissed him, Andy had pulled back
almost immediately, worried about the implications, terrified of how young Adam
was, but Adam had fisted a hand in his shirt and whispered against his lips,
waited so long for this, you can't even know. Adam had always been the one to
make the next move between them, more fearless and forward than Andy could ever
be. Adam was so adult in many ways, from long years of touring, but sometimes
he had all the reckless bravery of a child. Andy smoothed a hand down Adam's
chest, feeling his heart beating under his skin.
"It's my birthday soon," said Adam, pulling back again.
"I know," replied Andy. "What would you like, little soon-not-jailbait
boyfriend?" Adam's grin was a wicked twist of his lips, punctuated by the slide
of his hand down the fly of Andy's pants, firm and knowing against his cock.
Gasping, Andy struggled not to push forward against the friction.
"Want you," said Adam, twisting on the couch and showing off every line in his
body to Andy's gaze. "We haven't done that, and I want you. I want to fuck you,
want you to fuck me" Andy moaned a little, overwhelmed and shoving forward to
kiss Adam, hard. Adam's teeth dug a little too hard into Andy's lower lip and
he groaned, simultaneously terrified and elated. They hadn't fucked, not yet;
just handjobs and blowjobs and the slow rub and grind of their bodies. Andy
opened his mouth, not sure what to say, but the door banged open and Mike and
Bill practically fell through, arguing heatedly over something. They stopped
when Bill saw Adam, still stretched out on the couch, Andy next to it.
"Hey, hey, none of that in the bus!" he screeched, grabbing Mike's arm. "Back
me up, Mike Carden. Tell the Butcher to get his corrupting hands off my bass
player until he's not jailbait anymore."
"Fuck, guys, you couldn't wait?" grumbled Mike. "Or at least lock the door?"
"Fuck you," said Adam. "Go and argue somewhere fucking else. I'm about to suck
Andy's cock."
"TMI, Sisky," moaned William. "Sorry, but I have to stay and protect your
precious, precious virtue now." He let go of Mike and flung himself over the
back of the couch and rolled too far, with a helpful push from Adam's hands,
ending up on the floor. Andy buried his face in his hands and then in Adam's
shoulder.
>>>>
The diner was quiet this late at night in some city that Bob didn't recognise,
though he was sure he should. It was big and spreading, with long hills rising
and falling for them to walk up side by side with hands shoved into the pockets
of their hoodies and hoods pulled low against the chill wind. They hadn't
bothered looking for anywhere special, just the first place that was open and
clean. Spencer's eyes were edged with shadows and Bob was more interested in
those shadows than in figuring out what city they were in. They would be
somewhere else tomorrow, anyway. The waitress was bored, and didn't know who
either of them were, and that was good enough.
Bob and Spencer had been shopping the day before, huddled together into another
rental car with Spencer reading off the directions and Bob driving. Tonight,
Spencer had sought Bob out while MCR waited for The Academy to finish their
set, and Bob had agreed to come with him in an instant. He hadn't even bothered
to look at his bandmates to see if they were okay or if they might need him.
Bob pushed back his hood and raked his hands through his hair, watching as
Spencer unwound his scarf and laid it out on the table before taking off his
hoodie. Unzipping his own hoodie, Bob leaned back in his chair and read the
menu slowly, mostly watching Spencer scroll through it instead.
"Pie, I think," said Spencer, finally, raising his eyes. "Have you decided, or
are you not done looking at me?" Bob caught the challenging slant of his mouth
and snapped the menu shut. The waitress appeared back at their table with
thick, chipped white mugs and a pot of coffee in hand. She put the mugs down
and poured in the coffee. Bob could already tell it was going to be strong and
bitter on his tongue. She took out her pad and pencil, looking at them
questioningly.
"I'm gonna let Spencer order for me," said Bob. "He seems like he has good
taste." Spencer snorted and a blush crawled along the very top of his
cheekbones, but he smiled up at the waitress with a touch more warmth than most
people ever saw in him.
"I'll have the apple and blackberry pie," he said. His gaze raked over Bob,
speculative and alive with laughter, and the waitress smiled back at him
through her own tiredness. "Bob seems like a cherry sort of a guy, don't you
think? Cherry, with French Vanilla ice-cream, and extra whipped cream." The
waitress nodded and gathered up both the menus.
"Sure, we can do that," she said. "Just call me when you need some more
coffee."
Bob listened to her heels click on the floor and looked at Spencer, whose hands
were spread over the table. His smile had widened impossibly. He looked so
happy and buoyant and Bob felt his skin prickle a little under the force of the
smile. He wanted to see that smile on a naked Spencer in his bed. He would do
anything to make Spencer smile, he knew. It wasn't the same sort of feeling he
had towards his bandmates or the urgent need to fix them that was always there
under his skin. When Frank coughed, or Gerard didn't sleep, then Bob would feel
that too, like an itch or a weight across his shoulders. He wanted solutions,
or, if they were too hard or impossible, then he wanted patches and stop-gaps
and things to make it easier.
Bob didn't feel that need to fix Spencer. He watched him hold his band together
and wanted to be the one standing there for Spencer to lean on when it was
over, as much as it could be. He wanted Spencer in a way that was filthy, hot
and twisted in all the best ways. He looked at Spencer again across the table,
drumming unfamiliar beats onto the Formica surface, and wanted to fuck him to a
thousand new rhythms. Bob wanted to wrap Spencer up in his arms and be the one
to break him down and put him back together.
"I look like the sort who likes cherry?" he said, picking up his coffee with
careful fingers.
Spencer smiled again, softer this time. "Sure," he said, easily. "You like
being the one who gets to be careful and sensitive. Even though you try to hide
that."
Bob couldn't help his look of surprise. It wasn't often people saw past his
need to fix things and into past his need to take things apart and put them
back together. Spencer pasted on a look of fake commiseration and patted Bob's
hand with false sympathy. Bob took a deep breath and turned his hand over,
capturing Spencer's fingers in his. Stroking his thumb over the palm, Bob felt
the thrill of that little contact all down his spine.
"Would you like me to be careful and sensitive with you?" he asked, and he knew
his voice was rough. Spencer bit his lip, and Bob focused on the skin trapped
under the sharp whiteness of Spencer's teeth. His red lips looked shiny and
inviting.
"I might want something a little more challenging," said Spencer, and Bob
stifled a groan. He could nearly taste how that might go, and his fingers
tightened on Spencer's hand as he imagined holding his wrists together and
pressing him into a wall, or into the soft sheets of a bed. The waitress slid
the plates onto the table with a soft clatter, and Bob looked away from Spencer
and thanked her with a smile. She smiled back, looking from him to Spencer.
"Extra cream for you too, honey," she said, sliding Spencer's plate in front of
him. "Enjoy it," she finished, and left them alone. Bob watched Spencer take
the first bite, mouth closing over the fork and a tiny smear of whipped cream
lingering on his lower lip. Spencer chased it with his tongue as he moaned a
little, just softly. Bob shifted uncomfortably in his seat, stopping abruptly
when Spencer opened his eyes again and looked straight at him. He looked
sinful, and Bob's nerves were thrumming with anticipation, already imagining
him pinned against the side of a bus with that tongue tracing over Bob's lower
lip instead.
"Eat faster," said Bob. Spencer smirked at him and licked his spoon.
Bob watched Spencer eat in a state of aroused fascination. Each mouthful just
got him hotter as he watched Spencer hollow out his cheeks over the spoon, or
swirl his finger through the whipped cream and leftover juice on the plate and
lick it off with long swipes of his tongue. The sweet and tart of his own slice
of pie teased his tastebuds, making him think only of how Spencer would crumble
under his fingers and mouth, how sweet his moans would be, muffled in Bob's
skin. Finally, they both pushed their plates away and wrapped themselves back
up against the chill outside.
They walked quickly, side by side, but not touching at all. Bob wasn't sure
he'd make it back to the buses if he actually got to feel Spencer's skin. When
they got there, Spencer didn't even ask, just slanted an unreadable look at Bob
and leading him to his own bus. Bob caught him against the door, sandwiching
him against the metal.
"You gonna invite me in?" he asked, bending his head close to Spencer's.
Spencer's fingers found his beltloops and twined there, two points of heat on
Bob's skin. Bob was already hard, just from waiting and anticipation, and he
was pretty sure Spencer was too. He tilted his head up, and their lips just
brushed. Exhaling into the scant space between them, Spencer tugged Bob even
closer. His voice was light and teasing when he answered.
"Maybe. I'm late, even though Ryan extended my curfew when I turned eighteen."
Blinking, Bob pulled back a little. He couldn't have heard that right.
Eighteen? He shook his head slightly.
"Did you just say eighteen?" he asked.
"Yeah," said Spencer. "I turned eighteen in September. Can we get back to
whether or not you're going to come in and fuck me in the front lounge, now?"
Bob was relieved to see the bitchface in place, even as he reluctantly pulled
back enough that Spencer was visible in the faint light.
"Eight-fucking-teen? Are you serious?" Bob asked one more time. He felt
suddenly cold in the darkness, and Spencer looked suddenly vulnerable, head
tilted back against the side of the bus. The curve of his throat was right
there, waiting for Bob to take advantage of it. He realised that he would be
taking advantage, if he went into the bus with Spencer and did even half of the
things he'd been thinking of.
"Fuck yeah," said Spencer, and his voice had acquired an edge. "Is there some
kind of problem? Because I sure as hell didn't think there was."
"You're eighteen," said Bob again, dimly aware that he sounded like a broken
record. He stepped back from Spencer completely, shaking his head. "I can't do
this," he blurted, turning and stumbling away into the darkness between buses.
If Spencer said anything, Bob couldn't hear it over the rushing in his ears.
>>>>
Andy sat at the little bench seat in the kitchen, sketchbook open on the table
in a little pool of light. The carpark was quiet, for a change, all the parties
and mayhem having wrapped up early for a change, and even Andy's bandmates were
in bed. He dimly heard a thump and the murmur of voices outside the bus next
door but he only lifted his head from the paper when the voices became a single
voice, cursing loudly, followed by the thud of the bus door closing. He shook
his head, not really interested in what could be troubling one of the Panic
boys, and concentrated on his paper again.
The lines on the page weren't co-operating, not really, each image twisting
into something darker and more edged with frustration than he intended. He
wanted to capture two people, faces in the same direction, walking side by
side. Every time, though, one of the figures lagged, or twisted away, and Andy
couldn't work it through.
It wasn't that he didn't want to fuck Adam, or have Adam fuck him. There was no
way he could say that, because there were very few things that he could safely
say he wouldn't be open to trying with Adam, if it was something that Adam
wanted. He wanted him anyway he could have him, spread out underneath him, or
pressing into him on top, or side by side, tangled together in a knot of limbs.
Andy was in no doubt that Adam was so far under his skin they were sharing
nerve endings, but the actual mechanics of being fucked by another guy was not
something Andy had really ever thought about. He was nervous and edgy, worried
that he would fuck things up.
Looking back at his paper, Andy couldn't see what he was looking for, and
turned over to a blank page. He buried his face in his hands and sighed. The
seat next to him dipped and strong hands started rubbing along his shoulders.
Andy turned his head slightly and looked at Adam, who still looked sleepy. Adam
saw him looking and smiled, soft and slow.
"I didn't mean to wake you up," said Andy.
"I was cold," replied Adam. "I don't know how I managed to ever sleep without
you."
"You had more room," pointed out Andy. "Maybe that made up for it."
"Was I wriggling and kicking again?" asked Adam, sounding contrite.
"No, I just couldn't sleep."
"Doing some drawing instead?" asked Adam. He turned the sketch book over before
Andy could stop him, gazing at the night's pictures for a second before Andy
got the book from him and snapped it shut. Sneaking a glance at Adam's face,
Andy read anxiety and fear there.
"It's not-" he started, but Adam cut him off.
"Is that how you see us?" he asked.
"Fuck," said Andy. He wound his arm around Adam quickly, stopping him in his
attempt to get up. "No, no. Stop." Adam subsided next to him on the seat,
looking hurt and worried, and Andy's heart turned over. "Fuck, no, Adam. No. I
love you."
Adam nodded slowly, and relaxed a little on the seat. Andy felt nearly sick,
but gripped Adam close and focused on what he wanted to say. He didn't see them
in the figures he had drawn, with one twisting away and trapped there, and the
other clinging on and oblivious, but he wasn't sure how to say what the problem
really was. He felt kind of hot and embarrassed, and hoped that maybe Adam
would just forget that he was waiting for Andy to say something. But Adam's
eyes were fixed on Andy's face, serious and intent.
"Before you," Andy started, then stopped, shaking his head. He wasn't sure how
to get the words out, how to tell Adam something like this. He was twenty-two
years old, he should be over these kinds of sexual freak-outs. "I don't know
how to say this, even. I've never. You know." he waved his free hand and hoped
that Adam would be able to put the pieces together. "With a guy. And I'm
nervous, okay? Because it's you, and I want it to be great."
Adam pressed the tips of his fingers over Andy's mouth and smiled at him, shaky
and relieved. "Really?" he asked.
"Yeah, really," sighed Andy. "Fuck, I've just felt so fucking stupid." He still
felt stupid, like he should know what to do anyway.
"Hey," said Adam, leaning forward and kissing him gently. "I don't mind. I'm
not some massively experienced manwhore either, you know." Andy opened his
mouth a little, letting the kiss get a little deeper, a little wetter. The slow
swipe of Adam's tongue over his lower lip was somehow both reassuring and
inflammatory. Andy tilted his head obediently as Adam ran his fingers over his
jaw and tugged him slightly, letting Adam set the pace between them. Adam
pulled back just a little, tipping his head until their foreheads rested
together. They breathed together for just a moment, then Andy saw the start of
a mischievous smile form on Adam's lips.
"I totally promise to be gentle with you," he said, stroking Andy's cheek and
trying to look soulful. Andy grinned. He might have known that Adam wouldn't be
able to stay serious for long.
"Fucker," said Andy, shoving at him. Adam shrieked and clutched at him tightly.
They both overbalanced and tipped onto the floor, Adam splayed out with Andy
pressed up against him. Andy leaned forward the last few centimeters and kissed
him, hard and hungry. He licked into Adam's mouth, feeling a moan vibrate in
his throat. His legs wrapped tight around Andy's waist, Adam pushed up eagerly
against him. Andy pressed him down into the floor, hands sunk deep into his
hair and tongue intent on exploring his mouth.
Lifting back off him just a little, Andy gazed down at Adam. "I want to, you
know that, right?" he asked. Adam rolled his eyes.
"I know that. I do." He wriggled just a little against Andy then stopped.
"Wait," he said, "I have the best idea. Go into the back lounge while I get
some stuff." He pushed Andy off and scrambled to his feet, leaving Andy to pick
himself up and shuffle through the doors, laughing quietly to himself. He
should have known that Adam wouldn't care, even though Andy was still unsure
about what he was doing. Relief made him a little giddy, and the kisses had
left him half hard.
He slipped off his hoodie and shirt while waiting for Adam to come back, hoping
that he'd remember to bring back a blanket, then unzipped his pants. Adam
reappeared with a blanket and a wide smile as Andy pushed the denim down over
his thighs, taking his boxers with them too. Adam's grin turned hot and hungry
as he locked the door and crossed the room to drop the blanket over the back of
the couch and watch Andy slide underneath it. He put down the little bottle
he'd been carrying, but Andy only had eyes for Adam tugging off his hoodie and
t-shirt, then sliding his pyjama pants down his legs and kicking them off.
Slipping under the blanket after Andy, Adam settled between his legs, pressing
a kiss to his throat and then a trail down over the bright lines of his tattoo
and further. Andy moaned softly at the sensation of lips on his skin, cock
sitting hard between his thighs, pressed into the soft flesh of Adam's belly.
Adam scooted even lower, kissing and licking over Andy's stomach and hips,
ignoring his cock.
"Gonna fuck you with my fingers," said Adam, into Andy's skin. "Gonna make you
feel so good." Andy moaned, twisting under him. "I've only done this a few
times," Adam continued, nipping his hipbone softly, "but it feels good. I wanna
do it for you."
"Okay. Show me," he gasped. He wanted whatever Adam wanted to give him, skin
hungry for more of Adam's lips and tongue. It was always hot when Adam took the
lead, and the fact that Andy had never done this before just made it better.
The first wet swipe of his fingers on the outside wasn't unfamiliar. He'd had
girls do this to him before, just touch on the outside where the skin was thin
and sensitive, and Adam had done it once or twice. He breathed deeply and
concentrated on the hot, wet slide of Adam's lips over his cock instead of the
slow wriggling of his finger. Throwing his head back, he gasped and panted as
the first finger slid in. This was new, but Adam sank his mouth fully over
Andy's cock and sucked hard, causing Andy to moan and sink back into the couch,
relaxing around the intrusion.
Flinging his hands up over his head, Andy grabbed the armrest and held on
tight, widening the space between his thighs for Adam to work in. Adam gave a
particularly enthusiastic suck on his cock and slid two fingers into him at the
same time. Andy twisted on the couch, feeling desperate and open under Adam's
fingers as they wriggled inside him. Then Adam got them in all the way and Andy
felt so full and just on the edge of uncomfortable.
"You're so gorgeous," said Adam, kissing Andy's hip. "Relax, you're doing so
well, this is gonna feel so good." He twisted his fingers a little and Andy
gasped as they skated over his prostate. The contact sent shivers up his spine
and his legs opened even further.
"Fuck, do that again," he demanded. Adam pressed more kisses along his thigh
and hip and stomach, sliding his fingers in a slow rhythm in and out of Andy's
body. Gasping and shaking, Andy moved against the slick pressure of Adam's
fingers .
"Knew you'd like this," said Adam. "You're so hot; you moan so prettily. Fuck,
Andy, you're everything I could want." Andy arched his back and shoved himself
down, trying to get more of Adam's fingers inside himself. This was so much
better than he thought it could ever be. Adam opened his mouth over Andy's cock
again, sucking him all the way to the base as he thrust harder and faster with
his fingers. Andy knew he was making too much noise, even with his head turned
to muffle the sound on the inside of his arm, but he'd never felt his skin
crawl with arousal like this before. Adam was everywhere at once and so deep
inside him. His orgasm started at the base of his spine, and Andy moaned Adam's
name as his body started to stutter and clench, and he came hard and long,
finally relaxing into the couch cushions and opening his eyes to see Adam
braced above him.
"Fuck," said Adam, "Fuck, Andy, that was...." He trailed off, and Andy could
see that he was frantically stroking his own cock. Before Andy could even get
his hands to co-operate enough to touch him, Adam was coming in long stripes
over Andy's belly and chest. Adam folded in on himself a little and Andy made
his hands work enough to tug him close, not caring about the mess on his skin.
He closed his eyes and pulled up the blanket, wrapping his arms tight around
Adam's pliant body. He knew they should clean up before the come dried between
them in an uncomfortable crust, but he didn't care about that any more than he
cared about the lecture they would undoubtedly get from Bill in the morning.
"That fucking was," he agreed with Adam, sleepily.
>>>>
Bob examined Mrotek's kick pedal again, turning it over in his hands. "How the
hell did you manage to do this?" he asked, incredulously. He played the drums
as hard as anyone, but he'd never managed to do this to a kick pedal before.
"I told you, Bryar, I have no fucking idea," Mrotek answered. "But we're
playing this evening, and Smith doesn't have a spare, so if you don't have one
either, I need to panic a little."
"You've already asked Smith?" Bob asked. He had only seen Spencer - Smith, he
reminded himself, fiercely - once or twice in the distance, hands shoved into
the pockets of his hoodie and always, always moving away from Bob.
"Well, yeah, since I know he doesn't have a spare," said Mrotek, amping up the
sarcasm. Bob barely noticed. "Jesus, Bryar, concentrate. Broken kick pedal. No
spare. Need one or no drums."
"Fuck, Mrotek, what crawled up your ass?" grumbled Bob. He wasn't
concentrating, and he knew it. It was so bad, Mikey, who possibly wouldn't
notice being set on fire, had asked if he was okay. Still, he was aware enough
to see Mrotek tense along every line of his body. Bob tilted his head,
consideringly, and watched Mrotek open his mouth ready to retort, before the
breath was knocked out of him by one of his bandmates, launching into his back.
"Sisky," groaned Mrotek, and Bob could hear the fondness and, maybe,
nervousness in his voice in just that one word.
"They are after me, Butcher," said the other, wrapping both arms around Mrotek
from behind and squeezing. "Have you found another kick pedal yet? I need you
to save me." Mrotek raised one of his hands and squeezed Siska's hand lightly,
running his fingers over the back of it, and tipped his head back and to the
side, nuzzling into Siska's hair for just a second.
"I don't know yet," he replied, then looked at Bob. "Bryar? Do you have a kick
pedal or not?" Bob jerked, as if waking suddenly.
"Yeah, I've got a spare. My tech keeps them. He'll find one for you." Mrotek
smiled then, and Siska echoed it, his head popping over Mrotek's shoulder.
"That's great," he enthused. "Butcher and I can go and get it, and then Mike
won't know I wasn't with him all along."
"Devious, Sisky," said Mrotek. "Thanks," he added to Bob. "I'll get you a
replacement, just as soon as we're somewhere that isn't East Bumfuck, or
wherever the hell we are."
"Don't worry about it," answered Bob. Siska slid away from Mrotek's back, but
stayed close, and something clicked in Bob's head. "Actually, Mrotek, I had a
question." His gaze slid to Siska and back, uncertain if he could say it in
front of him, considering he was certainly no older than Spencer. Mrotek's gaze
followed his.
"Adam, can you give us a moment?" he asked. Siska looked between the two of
them curiously, but he just smiled sunnily and retreated a few steps down the
hallway. Mrotek looked at Bob, a clear question in his eyes.
"You and Siska," said Bob, mumbling a little. "He's only eighteen, right?"
"It's his birthday tomorrow. Sweet legality in the entire damn country," said
Mrotek.
"How does that. I mean, he's eighteen," said Bob, aware that he wasn't making
much sense.
"So the rumours are true, then," said Mrotek. Bob looked at him sharply. "About
you and one Spencer Smith," he clarified. "And the breaking point isn't your
big gay freak out, it's that he's eighteen."
"Is everyone fucking talking?" growled Bob. Mrotek held up his hands in a
warding off gesture.
"Tour, Bob Bryar. Everything gets found out, and the stuff that doesn't gets
made up anyway, you know that."
Bob scrubbed his hand over his face. "Yeah," he said, suddenly tired. "Tour."
"So. The question?"
Bob just spread his hands wide. "I don't even know," he said.
"Fuck, man. You didn't see eighteen, not right up until you found out. Don't
make that all you see now."
"Is that how you do it?" asked Bob.
"That's never been our problem," said Mrotek. "It's never been a number thing."
"Yours was the big gay freak out, then."
"Something like that," smiled Mrotek, wide and easy. Bob just shook his head
and smiled slightly.
"You should go. Siska looks like he's going to die from curiousity."
"Yeah," said Mrotek. "And thanks for the pedal."
"No problem, man, no problem," said Bob. He shook his head sharply, hoping that
would clear it a little. He missed Spencer, as much as it was possible to miss
someone you had only flirted with for a few days; far more than he should have.
He'd never even kissed him, but the longing for him was deep under his skin,
sharper than the craving for a cigarette or a beer.
>>>>
Andy leaned against the closed door behind him, watching Adam drop his bags
next to one of the beds and spin around with a huge smile lighting up his face.
"Dude, lock the door and come here," he said. "It's my birthday, it's a hotel
night, and how lucky is that?"
"Almost as lucky as avoiding Bill and Mike in the lobby and getting up here
despite their plans for a party," answered Andy.
"Fuck, yes," Adam agreed. "Lock the door. Hell, barricade the door, Butcher. I
wouldn't put it past either of them to try to get another key and break in."
Andy turned and slipped the chain onto the door, smiling when Adam plastered
himself against his back. "Hi," he said.
"Hi," answered Adam. "Can we have a shower now? Then sprawl across that big,
clean bed and get dirty?"
"I am totally with you because of your smooth, smooth moves, Sisky Business,"
said Andy, leaning his head back. He felt Adam press a smile and a kiss into
his neck.
"My moves are made of awesome," he agreed. "Shower now?"
"Yeah, shower now," said Andy. He let Adam steer him over to the bed to drop
his bags and then into the bathroom, pausing only to get out their toiletries
bags. They separated long enough to strip, then Adam pushed him into the warm
water and clambered in behind him, pressing up against his back again. Andy
felt Adam's cock sitting half-hard against his ass and ground back against him.
Groaning, Adam gripped his hips and thrust against him.
"Soap," he mumbled, into Andy's neck. "I bought mine in with me, so there are
no excuses not to be squeaky clean and smelling wonderful." Andy groaned as
Adam swiped his hands over his skin, holding the soap and letting it foam over
him. The scent of sandalwood rose with the steam. He let Adam wash him, moving
as directed, before finally turning right into the spray and rinsing off. Adam
handed him the shampoo bottle with a smile and ducked his head under the water.
"Is this a hint?" asked Andy.
"It's my birthday. Wash my hair," demanded Adam, leaning back out of the spray.
Andy snorted. It wasn't like he didn't wash Adam's hair when it wasn't his
birthday. He dug his fingers into Adam's scalp, massaging all the tension out,
and listened to the blissful noises he made. The first sizzle of arousal worked
its way through his nerve endings. He watched the suds slide off Adam's skin
under the hot water and wanted to follow their trails with his tongue and
teeth. He wanted to leave behind marks that would last through the washing,
that he could look at later and think about how his hand or mouth had been
there, and the way the flesh had felt under his skin. Adam turned and kissed
him, hooking his arms around his neck and pressing up close, all slick clean
skin and demanding lips. Their cocks nudged together and Andy moaned.
"Out time?" he asked. Adam just nodded and turned off the water, pushing Andy
out to drip on the floor until he wrapped himself in a towel and roughly
dragged it over his skin. He was impatient to get his fingers back on Adam's
skin, to taste the faint bitterness of soap and inhale until the lingering
traces of sandalwood were covered up by clean, fresh sweat and come. Adam
emerged from his towel with a grin that skated close to predatory, gaze raking
over Andy with intent.
"Come on," he said, dropping his towel to the floor and dragging Andy, still
clutching his, into the bedroom. "I want you now." His grin turned impish for a
moment. "I'm anxious to get to deflower you, after all."
"Fuck you," replied Andy, laughing and letting the towel drop next to the bed.
He knew, whatever he and Adam did, it would be spectacular. Adam let go of his
wrist to dig through his bag and Andy crawled up onto the bed, shoving the
scratchy polyester bedspread down and settling onto the crisp white sheets.
Adam pulled a bottle of lube and a box of condoms out of his bag and smiled
triumphantly.
"Aren't you the boy scout?" Andy teased. Laughing, Adam bounced up onto the bed
next to him.
"How do you want to do this?" he asked, stroking his fingers up Andy's thigh.
"I don't know what you're thinking, but I haven't done this a huge number of
times either, so you have to tell me, okay?"
Andy nodded, linking his fingers with Adam's. "Yeah, I can do that," he said.
"But it's your birthday, you should get everything you wish for."
"I just want you." Adam looked up at him seriously. "It doesn't matter what we
do. I want you to choose. Let that be my present."
"Okay." He tugged Adam up and kissed him. "I want you to fuck me. Then, when
we've recovered, I want you to ride me."
"You give me the best presents," said Adam, smiling happily. He reached for the
lube, pressing another kiss to Andy's jaw, trailing little bites and licks up
to his earlobe, before sucking gently on the soft skin. Andy squirmed
underneath him, like he always did. Adam made him so happy and made him so hot
at the same time. It was the perfect combination, and Andy felt his stomach
tighten with arousal. Andy spread his legs wide and gave himself up to whatever
Adam wanted, desire humming hard under his skin and his cock already curving up
against his belly. The drag of Adam's fingers up his thighs made his nerves
prickle with anticipation, and the first press of one finger inside him made
him groan.
"This was a great idea," he said, fervently. Adam laughed, lightly, pulling
back enough to add another finger as he kissed down Andy's neck and over his
collarbones. Twisting his fingers, he rubbed them over Andy's prostate and bit
his nipple at the same time. Andy jerked and moaned. "More," he said.
"Slowly," insisted Adam, his voice a little rough and uneven. "Want you so open
and ready for me, baby. Want you begging me." He twisted his fingers again,
scissoring them and stretching Andy open. Andy felt raw, on fire for Adam, and
they'd only just started.
"Ready to beg you now," he said. Adam licked over his other nipple and added a
third finger, easing them in and out gently, easing Andy through his momentary
tension, until he was relaxed and pliant under him on the sheets. Adam hummed
into Andy's chest, moving his fingers gently until Andy was nearly ready to cry
with need, his voice cracked and strained around moans, endearments and pleas.
"Now?" Adam asked. He slid his fingers out slowly and fumbled a condom wrapper
open.
"Fuck, yes, now," said Andy, keeping his legs spread wide. He reached for a
pillow and shoved it under his ass. Adam's mouth was still shaped into a giant
smile, edged with hunger and lust and he moved back between Andy's legs and
pressed forward, slowly. Andy groaned and tried to relax, tried to open around
the stretch and faint burn. Adam leaned his forehead against Andy's collarbone.
"Breathe through it," he urged. "Just breathe, it'll help." Andy concentrated
on his breathing, and on the feeling of Adam all around him and above him,
still smelling just a little like sandalwood but mostly like himself - sweaty
and hot, skin damp even in the chill of the hotel air conditioning. He groaned
again and snaked his hands up, clutching onto the headboard and arching up into
Adam. "Fuck," Adam swore. "Fuck, Andy, just..." He eased in even further, and
Andy moaned and opened around him.
He felt vulnerable, like he was stripped bare in front of Adam in a way he'd
never been before. He hoped Adam could tell, like maybe this was his present to
him after all. When Adam was buried as deep as he could go, he paused and
pressed their faces together, breath gusting harshly in Andy's ear.
"Love you," murmured Andy. "Fuck, so much, want you so much." Adam pressed a
rough kiss to his temple and pulled back, starting a slow rhythm of long smooth
thrusts that scraped over Andy's prostate each time. Andy moaned and wrapped
his legs high around Adam's waist, letting him move more easily. He was
adjusting, relaxing more with each stroke, as the pleasure sparked over him
every time. Then Adam did something, changed the angle, hitting even harder.
Andy keened, high and loud and he would have been embarrassed, but he couldn't.
He was being fucked, open and spread out for Adam, and he loved it. Adam's hand
moved, sliding between them to wrap round Andy's cock, and he made that noise
again, a long counterpoint to Adam's short, panting breaths.
His toes curled, his body tightening up and his skin prickling as he gasped and
moaned Adam's name. He came hard, hands tightening on the headboard and body
curling up in spite of that. Adam groaned, thrusts turning erratic, and
shuddered to a halt a few moments later, bending over Andy and breathing hard,
barely holding himself up on shaking arms. He slowly folded himself down,
dropping off to the side as he carefully pulled out, sliding off the condom
with trembling fingers. Andy rolled over and buried himself against Adam,
snuggling into him as closely as possible. He sighed in relief when Adam threw
the condom somewhere off the bed and wrapped his arms around him. He hadn't
expected to feel this rush of emotion afterwards, but the hot press of Adam's
hands down his back, and the rise and fall of his chest, reassured him. They
lay curled together closely, giving themselves a breathing space from the rest
of the world. Andy slowly felt more like himself, more balanced and more like
he fit inside his own skin.
"I told you I'd be gentle," said Adam, finally, and his voice was soft, almost
hesitant. Propping himself up on one arm, Andy smiled down at him.
"Yeah, you did. I'm glad I saved my ass virginity for you," he said, and even
though his words were sarcastic, his tone was heartfelt. Adam tugged him down
for a kiss. He broke it off to laugh when there was a sudden banging on the
door.
"Butcher! Sisky! We know you're in there, and we totally heard you having sex.
You've finished now, so you have to come out and party, and also, Butcher moans
like a whore," shouted Bill, through the wood.
"Fuck off," shouted Adam. "If we have to get up, there has to becake. And we're
gonna come straight back here for more sex."
Andy just laughed into the sheets. How was this even his fucking life?
>>>>
Bob shifted from side to side outside the door, stepping out of the way as
Beckett and Carden stalked down the hallway, arguing quietly but viciously, by
the looks of it. He raised his hand to knock, letting it fall again without
touching the wood. He still didn't know what he should say, what he could
possibly say. He squared his shoulders and knocked sharply. He would figure it
out, but there was no point if Spencer wouldn't even talk to him.
The door opened, and Bob blinked. Ryan Ross stood in front of him with his arms
folded over his chest, glaring. He looked a little like a ruffled kitten, but
Bob was sure that Ross would be able to fuck him up in some devious and hideous
way, if need be.
"Bryar," he said. "Did you suddenly think of some new way to make Spencer feel
like shit and have to share it?"
"No," Bob replied. Ross snorted and started to shut the door. Bob jammed his
foot into the space. "I was wrong," he said, "and I want to apologise to
Spencer."
"That's all?" Ross's face was still mostly expressionless, but Bob was fairly
sure he could see scepticism there.
"No. Fuck, no," confessed Bob. He wanted to push Ross out of the way and just
find Spencer himself, but he didn't think that annoying Ross would do him any
favours when he did get to talk with Spencer. "I want more. I want him to give
me another chance."
"Spencer is in the shower right now," Ross announced. "So I'm afraid you have
to start by convincing me, in the next two minutes, that you deserve another
chance. I do not have any kind of inexplicable and bizzare thing for you, so
I'm afraid just looking hot and glowering is not going to work on me. Try some
explaining."
Bob glanced over his shoulder, but the corridor was deserted. The last thing he
needed was for someone to see him crawling meekly in front of Ryan Ross, of all
people. "Can't I do this inside?"
"No, and the two minutes I have given you are wasting away."
"Fuck, Ross, I freaked out, okay? I really like him, like, more than just a
tour hook-up." Bob looked down at his feet. He could hardly believe he was
spilling his guts to Ryan fucking Ross, who was fucking nineteen himself, but
he'd been desperate since he'd left Spencer next to the bus. "And teenagers
aren't usually interested in anything serious." He kept his eyes cast down,
hoping that that would be enough to get him in to see Spencer.
"Ryan," said Spencer, and Bob looked up to see him, towel wrapped round his
cocked hips, standing in the middle of the room. "Can you give us some time?"
Ross turned, and Bob thought he might have said something, but he couldn't hear
anything; he was too totally wrapped up in Spencer. Ross pushed past him,
finally, and Spencer looked directly at Bob for the first time.
"Are you going to come in?" Spencer asked, face carefully blank. Bob stepped
inside and shut the door behind him, unsure of where to go from there. Spencer
uncrossed his arms from across his chest and put his hands on his hips instead.
"I don't know what to be most angry about," he said. "But I think I'm most
angry that you thought that me being eighteen meant that I couldn't be actually
interested in more than just fucking you."
"I was wrong. I hope I was wrong."
"You were so fucking wrong. I was so into you, you can't even know."
"Is it too late?" Bob asked. This was the important question. He didn't have
anything more to say, just hoped that what he had was enough. He looked at
Spencer, considering him from the middle of the room, still just wrapped in his
towel. Bob couldn't even concentrate on the smooth, pale planes of his body, he
was too nervous that maybe Spencer wasn't into him anymore, that maybe he'd
fucked up too much.
"It should be too late," said Spencer.
"It should be?"
"I should kick your ass out of here for being a dick."
"But you're not going to?" Spencer dropped his hands from his hips, looking
lost and a little troubled. Bob's palms itched with the need to touch him.
"Please, Spencer, I'm sorry," Bob said. "I just want to make it better."
Spencer smiled then, tiny and a little shaky, but it was there, and Bob sighed
in relief. "Come here," Spencer said, opening up his arms to Bob in invitation.
Bob crossed the room in three strides, arms sliding round Spencer like they
were meant to fit together. He felt Spencer's hands on his back, clenched tight
in the thin cotton of his t-shirt, face buried in Bob's shoulder. Spencer
smelled like soap, vaguely like apples, maybe, and clean skin underneath it
all. Bob breathed deep, his hands spread wide under Spencer's shoulder blades
so he could memorise the feel of his skin under his palms. Spencer pushed
closer, nuzzling into his neck and breathing deeply himself. Bob thought that
he probably smelled like cigarettes and the cold outside.
Spencer shifted, just a little, bringing his hips up against Bob and changing
the embrace instantly from comfort to foreplay. Bob bent his head lower,
brushing his lips over Spencer's temple before drifting down to touch the shell
of his ear, eliciting a little shiver. Bob felt the dig of nails into his
shoulders for just a second, then the slow slide of Spencer's palms down and
under the hem of his shirt, rucking it up just enough to get the tips of his
fingers on skin. His own fingers twitching against the smooth skin of Spencer's
back, Bob sunk his teeth gently into Spencer's earlobe.
"If you want me to stop," he said, whispering into Spencer's ear, "you'd better
tell me now."
"Your chivalry is touching," said Spencer, pulling back just enough to glare at
him. "But don't you fucking dare stop."
Bob grinned, looking down at the high flush starting to crawl over Spencer's
cheekbones, and the way his lips parted and his tongue flickered out over them,
leaving them shiny and inviting. Spencer reached up and twined his hand in
Bob's hair, tugging hard to bring his head down.
"You take too damn long," he muttered, tilting his face to match Bob's and
kissing him hard. Digging his teeth into Bob's lower lip, then tracing his
tongue over his lip ring, Spencer opened Bob up and licked, wet and so hot,
into his mouth. Bob groaned into the kiss, the first rough slide of their
tongues together sending sparks over his skin. He was already hard, trapped
uncomfortably in his jeans, and he could feel Spencer's dick digging into his
thigh even through the thick cotton of his towel. His hands roamed restlessly
over Spencer's back, tugging him even closer.
Spencer pulled back finally, licking his lips. They were red and swollen, and
his eyes were dark. He stepped back, out of Bob's reach, and twitched the towel
open, letting it drop to the floor. He let Bob look for a long moment before
turning and walking over to the bed and tugging back the blankets. He crawled
up and settled on his back against the pillows. He looked sinful, all sprawled
pale limbs and inviting gaze. Bob took a step closer.
"You should be naked now," Spencer said. Bob thought he could maybe see just a
slice of anxiety, like maybe Spencer hadn't done this very much before, even
though he was trying to hide that. He wanted this to be everything Spencer
thought it might be; he wanted to give Spencer things he hadn't even known he
wanted. Tugging up his t-shirt, Bob stripped slowly, putting on a little bit of
a show. He watched Spencer watch him, as he kicked off his shoes and stripped
off his socks before dropping his jeans and shoving down his boxers. He crawled
across the bed, lying on his side, facing Spencer and propped up on one elbow,
his hand resting possessively on Spencer's belly.
"So you don't want chivalry," he said, "and you don't want me to mess around.
What do you want, Spencer Smith?"
Spencer tipped his head on the pillow and smiled at Bob, just a little
nervously. "I told you once that I wanted something a little more challenging.
Do you think you can give me that, Bob Bryar?"
"I can give you whatever you need," said Bob. "But, for now, why don't you tell
me what you want us to do right now? For our first time together?" Bob felt
Spencer inhale deeply, and leaned a little closer to press a kiss to his
shoulder.
"I want you to kiss me," said Spencer. "Then I want your mouth, want you to
hold me down and suck my cock. Then, when I'm shaking and incoherent and you've
taken me apart, I want you to fuck me, and let me come back together underneath
you."
Bob's breath caught. Spencer was asking him for exactly what he wanted. He
couldn't believe his luck. "I'm so fucking glad I got my shit together," he
said, fervently, and didn't wait for an answer before he pushed forward,
bracing himself over Spencer and leaning in for a kiss that was all slick
tongue and rough brushes of lips. Spencer moaned underneath him, hands coming
up to dig into his shoulders. "You're so fucking perfect," Bob said, breaking
from the kiss to mouth over Spencer's neck and throat. Spencer moaned again,
and Bob smiled into his skin, edging lower to suck his nipples one at a time.
Spencer squirmed against the sheets and gasped. Bob carefully kept his body up,
away from Spencer's, unwilling for either of them to get off yet.
He wriggled down the bed, kneeling between Spencer's thighs. Spencer's hands
dropped from his shoulders, fisting instead in the sheets. Bob looked up at
him, at his eyes so dark and hungry, the faint red marks of his mouth on
Spencer's throat and chest, then down to where his cock rested on his belly,
hard and leaking already. Bob's mouth went dry and he swallowed hard.
"Lube," he said. "I'm going to open you up while I suck your cock." Spencer
moaned, like just the thought was driving him closer to the edge.
"In my bag," he gasped. "Side pocket."
Bob slid off the bed and grabbed the duffel, digging through the side pocket
and pulling out a box of condoms and a half-full bottle of lube. He turned back
to the bed, looking at Spencer laying where he left him, looking wrecked and
desperate with his hands still clutching the sheet. "Fuck," Bob said, dropping
the supplies on the bed by Spencer's hip and shifting to kneel up between his
thighs. He rubbed his hands slowly up the length of Spencer's thighs and
dropped his head to nuzzle at his hip. "Touch me," he said, pressing a kiss
into the skin.
Spencer dug one hand into Bob's hair, threading through the strands, twisting
hard as Bob opened his mouth over Spencer's cock and sank most of the way down.
Bob didn't mess round; he knew that Spencer needed this hard and fast. He
fumbled open the lube and slid one finger in as he opened his throat around the
rest of Spencer's cock and sucked hard. Spencer sobbed above him, rocking
between his finger and his mouth.
"More, more, please," he begged, and Bob complied. He added more lube, twisting
his fingers and feeling the answering twist of Spencer's fingers and the hitch
in his breathing. Bob felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin with
wanting Spencer, whose moans and broken voice were addictive; who wanted him.
Maybe needed him in a way Bob had long since stopped looking for. He sucked
hard and stretched his fingers apart, wanting this to be perfect for Spencer.
Bob pulled off and panted into Spencer's hip, needing a moment to breathe and
regain some control. Spencer's hand softened in his hair, stroking through it,
but he didn't stop the quick rocking of his hips.
"You're beautiful," said Bob hoarsely, pulling back and slicking his fingers
again, adding a third. He looked up the long lines of Spencer's torso to the
way his head was flung back on the pillow, breathing in great gasps. He smiled
down at Bob, tugging on the strands between his fingers. Then Bob slid all
three fingers back in, and Spencer arched in a graceful curve, a broken moan
ripping from his throat. "Want this to be the best you've ever had," Bob said,
twisting his fingers.
"It already is," gasped Spencer. "Never had someone give me this. Not this
way." Bob groaned into Spencer's skin and concentrated on the slow opening of
his body, determined not to rush, and clinging to his own control. He felt a
fierce surge of pride and possessiveness as Spencer moaned and shoved himself
down on Bob's fingers, letting Bob take him apart. Trusting Bob to put him back
together.
"Ready?" asked Bob, not sure how much longer he could wait.
"Yes, yes, please," begged Spencer. Bob drew his fingers out slowly, rubbing
his free hand gently over Spencer's side.
"It's okay. You don't have to beg me. I'm gonna give you what you need."
Spencer nodded and tugged Bob up to lie braced over him, kissing him with a
frantic edge of want and desperation. Bob kissed back, soothing Spencer with
the slow rub of his fingers over Spencer's side, and the slow rhythm of his
tongue and teeth. Spencer gradually stilled and quietened, and when Bob drew
back, his face was almost dreamy, except for the lewdness of his wet mouth and
sleepy eyes.
Lifting Spencer's legs over his shoulders, Bob fumbled open a condom and
slicked it on, adding more lube. Bob watched Spencer, folded up and pliant
underneath him, opening for his cock with a soft sigh of satisfaction. His head
rolled on the pillows, mouth open and gasping, so open and vulnerable that Bob
had to stop for a moment and breathe deeply before finishing his long slide
inside. Spencer was all tight heat around him, and he lifted his hands to
feather over Bob's shoulders and down his chest. He looked blissful, like he
was in no hurry, though Bob could feel the hardness of his cock trapped between
their bodies and knew it wouldn't take much for him to come, for either of them
to come.
Bob set a slow pace, dragging it out as much as he could. Spencer sighed and
moaned softly underneath him as he rocked in time with Bob's long, deliberate
strokes. Hands tracing shaky patterns on Bob's skin, Spencer was gorgeous
spread out underneath him. Bob moved a little faster, causing Spencer to groan
louder and dissolve into a string of incomprehensible words. He arched his
back, working himself down on Bob's cock as much as he could, panting. His
moans got louder with each stroke, fingers clutching Bob's skin.
"Fuck, Bob, so close," he said, breaking into a soft sob. He fixed his eyes on
Bob for a long moment before they fluttered closed. He clenched hard around
Bob, toes curling against the air and fingers into Bob's shoulders, cock
jerking between them and spilling over his belly and chest. Bob was transfixed
by his face, barely noticing his own orgasm approaching until it crested and
overwhelmed him with a flood of sensation, hot and sharp all over his skin and
through his spine. He knew he was saying something, maybe Spencer's name, but
he wasn't sure what.
He finally came back to himself, hunched over Spencer and breathing hard, and
pulled out slowly and carefully. He dropped the condom over the edge of the bed
and scooped up Spencer's discarded towel. He carefully cleaned Spencer's
stomach, pressing kisses to the skin as he wiped it clean. He shoved the towel
to the side and lay back with a satisfied sigh. Spencer rolled over lazily and
plastered himself up along Bob's side, half on top of him and breathing into
his neck. Bob looked up at the ceiling and drifted contentedly, feeling Spencer
relaxed and boneless against him.
"That was amazing," Spencer said at last. "I'm glad I gave you a second
chance."
Bob laughed a little, rousing himself enough to card his fingers through
Spencer's hair. "I am so relieved. Thank you."
"Don't think this gets you out of making it up to me," warned Spencer, ruining
his threatening words with a tiny murmur of sleepy contentment as Bob scratched
his fingers over the nape of his neck.
"I'll make it up to you as often as possible," promised Bob. They lay in
companionable silence for a little longer. Bob was just thinking about sleeping
when Spencer poked him gently in the side.
"Pull up the blankets, will you? Ryan might come back."
Bob's eyes shot open. "Here?" he asked.
"It's possible," answered Spencer, sleepily, "though he's probably in with
Brendon and Brent by now."
"He's going to eat my liver with a teaspoon," Bob said mournfully.
"I'll protect your liver," said Spencer. "Pull up the blankets. Your internal
organs will be a lot harder to eat if they're under the covers."
Bob tugged at the blankets and sheets and got them under them as best he could.
"It would probably help if the lights were out, too. No way he can get a spoon
near you if he can't see you, right?" Spencer's voice was sleepy and amused
now, and Bob snorted. He could see how things were going to go between them,
and it felt right, even as he dragged himself out of the bed and stumbled to
the lightswitch. When he stubbed his toe on the way back, and listened to
Spencer laugh at him in the dark, he laughed too. This was perfect.
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