User: jenish (posted by fizzyblogic) Date: 2007-08-16 13:59 Subject: (no subject) Security: Public Tags: brendon/spencer, fandom:bands:patd

A Narrative Disjointed; Or, How Spencer Smith Lost His Sanity and Learned Not To Worry About It
{Panic! At The Disco RPS. R. Brendon/Spencer. 100% untrue. Beta by Laura, extra gaming information from Blayne and Quinn.}

vii.
Spencer wasn’t sure what the buzzing in his ear was, but he had a pretty good idea that Brendon was behind the sound. It was a fair assumption to make, since the door was locked on their hotel room and Brendon had a tendency to sleep into Spencer’s neck. More than once Spencer had woken up of a morning with his shoulder damp from Brendon’s drool. It was gross, yet somehow, when Brendon actually closed his mouth and smiled and mumbled, “Hey,” voice rough from sleep, Spencer couldn’t find him anything other than endearing.

Really, Spencer had left his sanity somewhere in his wake a couple of days after meeting Brendon Urie. He had come to a place now where he had accepted it, embraced it, and moved on with his life, safe in the knowledge that he was, in fact, completely nuts. (There could be no other explanation for actually getting up early in the morning to put Pop Tarts in the microwave and wake Brendon up with sugary goodness and a blowjob. Granted, that had only happened once, and after that he’d abandoned anything that produced that amount of crumbs and just went straight for the blowjob, but still. The craziness was no less apparent.)

He cracked open one eye, and registered three facts simultaneously.

Firstly, he felt really, really weird.

Secondly, Brendon was already awake, and looking at him with what could only be called concern.

Thirdly, Brendon was asking him if he was alright. But the sound was muffled and stretched wrongly.

He opened his mouth to reply, to say something, anything, only he discovered it was intensely difficult to prise his lips open. He frowned, trying to concentrate hard on opening his mouth, but instead found himself feeling like he was folding inwards and outwards at the same time, and this pretty much had to be a dream. An extremely vivid, rather painful dream, in which he seemed to be shrinking and Brendon seemed to be yelling something.

Then everything stopped. Spencer tried to blink, but found that he couldn’t. He tried to move, but found that he couldn’t do that either. He looked upwards, and noticed that Brendon seemed really kind of large. And further away than he normally was.

“What the fuck is going on?” he tried to ask. He was thinking about getting annoyed. He’d be there already if he could just stop feeling like every atom in his body had simultaneously changed frequency. Whatever the fuck that even meant.

Brendon reached towards him, very carefully, and Spencer felt hands under his body and how very, very oddly he was sitting in them. Because. Because Brendon’s hands appeared to be wider than Spencer’s entire body and it was time, Spencer decided, to freak the fuck out.

He shook, and something rattled. Brendon dropped him. “Holy shit,” he heard, muffled and weird-sounding. Brendon’s face loomed closer, eyes wide and fucking huge, and since when was Brendon so big? Or was Spencer small now, or, what the fucking fuck was fucking going on?

“Uh, Spence?” Brendon gingerly picked him up again, and Spencer was sort of feeling out his new shape, because he definitely, definitely had changed shape. Somehow. He felt long, and flat, and thin, and … really fucking odd.

From the next room came a thump and what sounded like a lot of very small feet moving very fast in unison, and a bang. Spencer only noticed because sound was clearer somehow, suddenly. He thought he heard a very quiet hiss that might have been “Oh shit,” but he couldn’t be sure. In any case, Brendon’s hands were still bigger than him, and he was really fucking starting to get annoyed now.

“Brendon. What. The fuck. Is going on?” he asked. Except that no sound came out, and he didn’t appear to have a mouth.

He was definitely really fucking annoyed.

Ryan grunted when the banging on the door started. He stumbled over his suitcase, put his eye to the peephole, saw Brendon, and opened the door resignedly. “What?” he asked.

“I have to talk to you.” Brendon pushed past him, and sat on the edge of his rumpled bed, reaching over to the other one to poke Jon. “Jon. Jon, wake up, Jon. Jonathan Walker, wake the fuck up.”

“Whfzt,” Jon snorted, his eyes opening quickly. “Brendon? What do – what time is it?”

“Morning, I don’t know.” Brendon was holding a belt in his hands. He was being unusually careful with it, Ryan noticed. Ryan also noticed that it was a really, really great belt. He hadn’t seen it before, and wondered where Brendon had got it. “So uh, I have to talk to you guys.”

Ryan sat on the end of Jon’s bed. “Okay.” Years of practice had taught him that with Brendon, sometimes it was better not to put up a fight. He was done sooner that way.

“Okay so.” Brendon looked down at the belt in his hands, laying it across his lap. He touched it like he was afraid to break it. “Something really weird happened just now when I woke up.”

“Brendon, we’ve had the conversation about how private stuff needs to stay private between you and Spence, right?” Jon yawned. “Where is he, anyway?”

“No, see, that’s the thing. Spencer –” Brendon paused, took a deep breath, and said, “Spencer turned into a belt this morning.” He gently picked up the belt in his lap and held it up. “This one, in fact.”

“Spencer … okay, if this is some joke you two are pulling, I’m not seeing the punch line.” Jon sat up, slowly, rubbing at the corner of one eye with a knuckle.

“I promise you, I am deadly serious. Okay, I woke up this morning, and uh.” He blushed. “Kind of just uh, watched Spence sleep for a while. He does this really cute thing when he’s dreaming –” Brendon looked up and seemed to notice Ryan and Jon were there. “Uh yeah, so, he uh, after a couple of minutes he kind of started looking … weird. He was still asleep, I think, but he like, I don’t know. He just looked weird. Then he woke up and I asked him if he was okay but then he just started changing and it was like something out of – actually, no, there isn’t anything it was like something out of, it was just fucking weird, and he shrank and he turned into this belt.” Brendon held the belt up again, holding it as if he daren’t even breathe on it. “And I don’t know what the fuck just happened but my boyfriend is a belt and unless, like, this is a really fucking vivid dream – which, by the way, I would like to wake up from – something fucking weird is going on and I don’t know what to do.” He inhaled, at last.

Ryan and Jon looked at each other, and then at Brendon and the belt. Then at each other again.

“He’s insane,” Ryan concluded. Jon nodded.

“I’m not – I’m not insane, okay, please just fucking. Look, why the fuck would I say this if it hadn’t happened? Why the fuck would I come in here and pretend Spencer had turned into a fucking belt, if it hadn’t just fucking happened right in front of my eyes, and I swear to God, that is something nobody should ever have to see. Ever.” He looked down at the belt. “I liked Spencer the way he was,” and something about the way he said it, the way he was sitting, Ryan thought, He’s scared, and either Brendon had finally snapped and gone crazy (though, a voice at the back of his head pointed out, why would Spencer play along and not come to them to help out?) or – but people don’t turn into belts.

He thought about pointing this out to Brendon, and figured, he probably already knew that. But then, he thought, maybe he could do with reminding. “But Brendon,” he said, voice even, “people don’t just turn into belts.”

“You don’t think I fucking know that?” Brendon snapped, cradling the belt to his chest just slightly. “Seriously, Ryan, I fucking saw it happen, so don’t – look, just, please, you have to believe me. Because I don’t know what to do or how to get him back and it fucking sucks, okay?”

“Hey.” Jon got up, went over to the other bed and put one arm around Brendon. “It’s okay. It’s just … I mean, this is crazy, what you’re saying.”

“I know,” Brendon snapped, but he continued leaning against Jon’s shoulder. “I fucking know, alright? Just, please, help me, I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

Jon hugged him, careful not to smush the belt. Ryan pulled his legs up, knees to his chin. “I’m not saying I believe you,” he said, looking intently at Brendon and the belt. “But, if Spencer is that belt, what are we – I mean, what do we even do?”

“That’s what I’m asking you,” Brendon sighed, and maybe, from the looks of him, he was a little bit close to crying. “I don’t fucking know, Ross, I just woke up and had to watch Spencer become a belt and I don’t have a fucking clue about anything right now, alright?”

“Okay. But. So how do we change him back?” Ryan asked, not that he was ready to suspend any disbelief yet, despite the fact that he hadn’t seen Brendon this upset since the time right before they’d recorded the first album.

Brendon made a strangled sound in his throat and buried his face in Jon’s neck.

i.
“Okay guys, this is Brendon, the kid I told you about.” Brent waves one hand at a guy with glasses and mussed dark hair over a nervous smile. “Brendon, that’s Ryan and that’s Spencer.”

“Hi,” Brendon says, two parts sure of himself and one part awkward. He’s clutching a guitar, and Spencer decides that he looks like an okay kind of a guy.

“Hi,” he replies from the best couch seat. (He whose grandmother provides the space gets the softest cushion.) Ryan nods at Brendon, and Brendon takes a step closer, just a little hesitant.

“So uh, why don’t you guys like, tell me what you’re doing and uh, I could join in, or – I mean, unless you want me to audition or –”

“No, yeah, an audition would be cool,” Ryan stops him. “I mean, a kind of a one. Want to show us what you can do?”

“Um, okay.” Brendon hooks the strap of his guitar over his neck and settles it against his body. “I guess I could play one of my favourite songs, right?”

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees, settling back, leaning almost near Spencer’s arm. Brent takes the chair.

Brendon strums a couple of times, checking the strings, and starts to play. Spencer recognises the song pretty much instantly. He almost automatically opens his mouth to sing, “Maybe I’m wrong but I don’t know how to back down,” but stops himself in time. He notices that Brendon is good. He notices also that Ryan’s feet are tapping.

When Brendon finishes, Ryan leans forward and says, “You like Third Eye Blind?”

“Yeah, I love them,” Brendon replies. Spencer hides a smile.

“Us too,” Ryan indicates them. That Brent is included in the gesture as well as him would be up for debate to the casual observer, but Spencer knows there was the right amount of expansion in it towards the chair.

“Awesome,” Brendon grins at them, and Spencer decides that the band is pretty much complete. He looks at Ryan and telegraphs Keep him? Ryan moves his eyebrows in answer, Yeah.

Spencer looks at Brendon and smiles.

“So I don’t.” Brendon stopped. “You do believe me, right?”

They were in Brendon and Spencer’s hotel room. Ryan had become pretty sure that Spencer was not, in fact, hiding somewhere as part of an elaborate practical joke. For one thing, his Sidekick was still on his side of the bed. Jon and Ryan glanced at each other.

“Well, it’s kind of – I mean, this is the craziest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Jon pointed out. “And you’ve said some crazy shit, Brendon.”

“I know. And fucking believe me, I know how crazy this sounds. But it really is that crazy, because seriously, guys. Spencer. Is a belt.”

Ryan kind of wished he’d stop saying that.

“Alright, but I don’t think – I mean, what can we actually do?” he asked. He peered more closely at the belt, and it was fucking weird because he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was, in actual fact, his best friend. Just pressed into a different shape, somehow. “It’s not like we know what caused it, right?”

Brendon rounded on him. “What are you saying? We should just sit back and do nothing?”

“Maybe he’ll turn back on his own,” Jon suggested. “I mean, he – changed on his own, right? No weird voodoo magic shit going on or something?”

“Yeah, because I would have forgotten to mention that,” Brendon sniped. Ryan was really starting to dislike Brendon when he was freaking out.

“Come on, Jon, let’s at least get breakfast or something. Leave Brendon with his pissyfit.”

“Oh fuck you too, Ryan. How would you like it if you woke up and your girlfriend turned into a shoe or something?”

“You know, I would have thought if anything, Spencer would have turned into a shoe,” Jon said, thoughtful. “Or maybe a pair.”

“He’d be one of those limited edition Nikes he loves so much,” Brendon said, too fast for it not to have been automatic. Ryan snorted.

“You’ve thought about that before, haven’t you?” he laughed.

“Shut up, so what if I have? And like, if you were a car, you’d be a Mercedes, and Jon, if you were an animal you’d be one of those really placid cute mammals, an Irrawaddy dolphin or something.”

“Yeah?” Jon smiled, but Ryan rolled his eyes.

“Look, I’m hungry, so are we going to get breakfast? They’ll stop serving here soon, come on.”

“Ryan … shouldn’t you be more upset?” Brendon wrinkled his forehead. “I mean, your best friend is now a belt.”

“A really great belt,” Ryan couldn’t help adding.

“Well, come on, this is Spence. It’s not like he’d turn into some cheap crap you couldn’t get second-hand, right?” Brendon grinned for a second, then stopped. “But Ry, this – this is Spencer. I mean, I’d have thought you’d be more …”

“Yeah. Well.” Ryan shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t really believe you yet.”

v.
“You want the bass or the lead?” Brendon holds the small imitation guitar to his chest, pressing the controls and watching the screen.

“Bass,” Spencer replies, and Brendon fiddles with the controls some more.

“Only because you know I’m unbeatable on that thing,” Brendon grins over, and Spencer snorts.

“Oh, I am so going to beat you,” he says. “I am going to beat you, and I am going to enjoy it.”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that, Spencer Smith.” Brendon finishes with the controls, and they hold their guitars. He presses the button to start the game, and the music blasts out. On the screen, small pixel-formed rock stars start moving, and they begin playing.

“Are they still playing video games?” Ryan sighs, peeking in at them. Brent’s head appears around the door, followed by Jon’s and William’s.

Brendon and Spencer, intent on the game, ignore them. Brendon executes a particularly difficult guitar lick, and Spencer shoots him a glare, stepping up his own playing.

“Gonna take you down,” Brendon mutters. Spencer grunts.

“In your dreams,” he replies, his score jumping marginally ahead.

William glances at Jon and giggles. Four heads disappear from the doorframe. Ryan leans against it. “So,” William hisses, not all that quietly, “how long have they been fucking?”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “They aren’t.”

“We’re sure,” Brent adds as William opens his mouth again. “We had to live with them for five weeks in a tiny apartment for recording.”

”Shit,” Jon sympathises.

“Hah!” Brendon crows, raising his score above Spencer’s and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Spencer plays harder.

“What are we going to do about the show tonight?”

Ryan had finally persuaded Brendon to come down for breakfast. He’d laid the belt carefully on the seat next to him. It was starting to seriously disconcert Ryan.

“Well I guess, if he hasn’t turned back before then,” Jon began, thoughtfully, “either we cancel it or we get a temp to play.”

Ryan glanced at him. “Are you saying you believe Brendon?” he asked.

“Well, yeah, maybe.” Jon scratched his nose, looking at the belt. “I mean, doesn’t it feel like it’s Spencer to you? Because it does to me.”

“Nice to know you wouldn’t take my word for it,” Brendon huffed.

Ryan just looked at him. “Dude, you told us Spencer turned into a belt. Would you believe it?”

“I guess not,” Brendon conceded after a half-minute staring contest. “But I mean, I saw it, so.”

“Yeah. Well.” Ryan looked at the belt again, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I still don’t really – I mean, a fucking belt, seriously?”

“So it doesn’t at all feel like Spencer is sitting in that seat?” Jon prodded, gently.

Ryan said nothing. He just fiddled with the packets of sugar on the table.

“Told you,” Brendon said.

“Shut the fuck up. So what are we going to do about the show tonight?” Ryan asked, again.

“I kind of don’t want to cancel,” Jon sighed. “But I mean, what do you guys think? Should we play without Spence?”

“Maybe.” Ryan nodded slowly. “If he isn’t back by then, I mean – we could just say he’s sick, get someone to – who’d we find to temp?”

“Good question.” Brendon was being unusually quiet. “I – think you guys are right, we should play tonight. What if Spence turns back before then and we’d cancelled, right?”

“Yeah. Exactly.” Ryan sipped his coffee and tried to think of someone who could fill in at such short notice.

iii.
“I don’t believe this. Spencer?”

“What?” Spencer looks up from where he is trying to get the microwave to go faster by staring intently at it.

Brendon walks in – though really, Spencer thinks with a raised eyebrow, the only appropriate word to describe the movement is a stomp – wearing nothing but a towel. “Okay, so I just got out of the shower, and you know how I said to hang your towel up? Yeah, you didn’t. And I could have broken my fucking neck, Smith.”

“God, you’re such a girl,” Spencer rolls his eyes. The microwave pings. Apparently ignoring it is the trick to making it actually cook things. “You’re nagging me to hang my towel up? What are you, my mother?”

“Oh fuck you. I’m lucky I don’t have broken bones. That floor is fucking slippery.” Brendon stomps out of the kitchen again, and Spencer takes the bowl of spaghetti-Os out of the microwave. He dips a spoon in and tests it. Nope. Still not cooked. He puts it back in and sets the timer for longer, the temperature higher.

“If you two could hold off from killing each other until after we finish making our album, I would be happy,” Ryan comments from where he is ensconced at the kitchen table, re-stringing a guitar.

“Don’t worry. My elaborate schemes for murdering Brendon will not go into effect until the second tour,” Spencer replies, turning back to watch the bowl spin.

In the end, Ryan tried a lot of people and nobody could get in contact with any temps for that night. Just as he was about to give up and suggest they cancel, his phone rang, and the display read ‘DARREN (CELL)’. He wondered briefly why he hadn’t thought of him before.

“Hey Darren,” he answered, “just the guy I should have called right away.”

“You know, it’s really not often I hear that. People should say that to me more.” Darren was pretty much smiling. “What’s up, Ross?”

“I could ask the same of you, since you called me, but I was wondering, are you free tonight?”

“Actually, tonight’s what I was calling about. I know you’re playing Chicago, and right up until ten minutes ago I had unfortunate plans. Well, the plans were with Chris and they weren’t unfortunate, but I mean – okay, so the plans have changed now, and we wanted to come see your show, wondered if you could score us a couple tickets. It being sold out and all.” He paused, the sound a little sheepish. “We’re not the best forward planners.”

Ryan grinned. Clearly, the world liked him today. (Apart from that thing where his best friend was now a very stylish accessory, his brain reminded him, but he was using the I Will Ignore It And Therefore It Will Go Away method of coping, so he pushed that aside.) “We could definitely do that. And uh, I wanted to ask you a favour. See, Spencer’s … Spence is sick, he won’t be able to play tonight, and we were wondering, I know this is short notice but could you maybe help us out, fill in for him? Please?”

“Spencer’s sick? Poor dude. I – yeah, sure, I can play with you guys. Probably best if I come down and rehearse about now, right?”

“Yes. Please yes,” Ryan replied.

“No problem. We’ll be there in about … half an hour?” There was a muffled sound on the other end of the line. “Yeah, about half an hour.”

“Oh God, thank you.”

Brendon was looking anxiously at his watch and the belt in his hands when Ryan got to soundcheck. “Hey, so,” Brendon greeted him, “I’m not sure where to put Spencer. I mean, where he won’t get like, moved or sat on or anything.” He looked mournfully at the belt. “Change back,” he muttered, jiggling it a little.

“Brendon, don’t – don’t talk to the belt,” Ryan sighed. “Okay look, Darren’s free tonight, he’s coming down to rehearse with us. Should be here in about twenty minutes, and nobody is going to mention anything about Spencer being a belt, okay? I told Darren he’s sick, so if anyone asks, Spencer’s at the hotel, in bed, sick. Okay?”

“Okay.” Brendon looked at him. “You believe me, don’t you?” he asked, voice soft.

Ryan sighed. “Let’s just – come on, we have to rehearse.”

Brendon ended up putting the belt on a table in the corner of the room, where he could see it from the microphone. Ryan and Jon went through the soundcheck for their guitars, Brendon did his, and Darren and Chris crashed into the room, ten minutes late.

“Hey, uh, sorry.” Darren was panting. “Got held up a bit.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for helping us out,” Jon smiled at them. “Hi Chris.”

“Hi Jon.” Chris sat on the table next to the belt, and Ryan saw Brendon’s shoulders twitch.

Darren shucked his jacket off and made his way to the drum kit, settling behind it. “Okay, this will be interesting,” he muttered. “So, we listened to your CDs on the way over, and uh, yeah, I remember some parts from that tour we did, but basically, I’ll – yeah, I’ll do my best.”

“Great. Okay, let’s take it from the top, teach you the new intro bit.” Brendon passed by Chris and carefully picked the belt up, moving it further away. He stood behind Darren and said, “May be best if I just show you, at first?”

Darren stood up and offered the seat. “Sure, thanks.”

Ryan glanced at the clock and hoped they’d be ready on time.

iv.
Spencer wakes up and sees Brent watching him. He rubs his eyes and mutters, “What?”

“Dude, you were talking in your sleep.” Brent looks vaguely scandalised, so Spencer figures it must have been a really great dream.

“Yeah?” He stretches and yawns, body settling back and curling inwards. He doesn’t want to get up just yet.

“Yeah.” Brent hesitates. “You said Brendon’s name a lot.”

Spencer freezes for a second. “I did?”

“Kind of a lot,” Brent confirms.

“Oh.” Spencer shrugs. “Must have been dreaming about him or something.”

“Yeah, you weren’t so much saying it as … moaning it.”

Spencer shoots Brent a look. “I was asleep, Brent.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“I’m taking a shower.” He gets up and grabs the nearest clothes from his suitcase, padding to the bathroom and locking the door.

He starts up the water, holding his hand under it until it gets warm enough, and it’s only as he’s getting in that he looks down and notices the morning erection has not subsided. He shrugs, reaching for the soap and letting the water sluice down his back as he lathers his hands up and begins washing.

Was I dreaming about Brendon? He tilts and turns his head into the spray, getting his hair wet, and his eyes pop open as one piece of the dream comes back to him. Brendon; kneeling in front of him; mouth open; looking up. Spencer feels his cock twitch, and gives it a half-hearted tug, as if reassuring it that he is aware of its presence. Then another piece of the dream slots back into place. Expanse of bare skin; tongue; warm wet sensation; Brendon’s eyes looking up at him. Spencer curses softly, shuts his eyes, and begins jerking off in earnest. When he comes, his head tips back, he whispers, “Brendon,” and he gets water in his mouth.

He isn’t surprised to see everyone else in line for breakfast already when he gets there. “Spence,” Brendon yelps, almost knocking him over, “Spence, they’ve got like, crazy kinds of cereal here. They’ve got all the normal kinds, but this stuff as well.” He holds up a box.

“I think he’s already on a sugar high,” Ryan says in answer to Spencer’s raised eyebrow. “We had donuts in the room.”

“You let him near donuts before everybody’s had caffeine?” Spencer asks.

“I’m not his babysitter,” Ryan retorts.

“Hey, hey, I can take care of myself, jerks.” Brendon moves off to bug Butcher, and William slips in the line between Spencer and Brent.

“He’s like a three-year-old,” Spencer says to Ryan. “Except more annoying.”

“At least you don’t have to hear him sleep. Dude, you gotta switch rooms with me.”

Spencer snorts. “Hell no. You’re on your own, Ry.”

“Some best friend you are.” Ryan pokes him in the ribs, and Spencer retaliates. “Brent? Switch rooms with me?”

“No way, dude,” Brent answers.

Ryan sighs, and Brendon returns to put the cereal box back where he found it.

Darren picked up the drum parts pretty quickly, with Brendon showing him when he wasn’t sure. Ryan kept glancing at the clock, and then at the belt. Chris sat near it, watching Darren and talking to Jon. He didn’t seem to notice Spencer.

The belt. He didn’t seem to notice the belt, Ryan amended. Because the belt couldn’t possibly be Spencer Smith. Right.

When soundcheck and rehearsal were finally over, there was just about enough time to grab something to eat before they had to get changed. Ryan saw Brendon hang the belt off a hanger in the dressing room, keeping it out of harm’s way, then move off to the mirror to do his makeup.

Ryan edged closer. He looked at the belt, and gingerly reached out to touch it with one hand. It was excellent quality, white with gold studs and a beautifully simple buckle, and Ryan lifted it off the hanger and threaded it carefully through the loops on his pants.

Brendon came back over, patting his hair down. “Ryan, are – where’s Spencer? Ryan, where did –” He stopped, eyes going to Ryan’s waist. “Ryan, you. You’re wearing Spencer,” he hissed.

Ryan looked him squarely in the eye. “Yeah, I am.”

“Oh, that is wrong on so many levels.” Brendon reached for the buckle. “Take him off.”

“No,” Ryan slapped his hands away.

“Ryan, you are wearing my boyfriend, it – he’s your best friend, how can you just wear him like that?”

“Brendon, shut up,” Ryan whispered. “It just – just fucking stop trying to get him off me, okay, I –”

“You just called him him!” Brendon stopped. “You’ve been calling him it all day, and now you – suddenly, now you believe me, so you put him on?”

“Shut the fuck up, Brendon.” Ryan shifted uncomfortably. “It just doesn’t feel right, us going out on stage and Spencer not … not being there.”

“Oh.” Brendon stopped, and thought about that. “Well I mean, I guess I – I guess.” He looked at the belt again. “I just wish I could ask Spence if he’s okay with it, you know?”

“He’d do the same for me,” Ryan said, pushing past him. “I have to do my makeup, okay?”

“Oh – okay.” Brendon stepped aside, fidgeted for a minute, then went to find Darren and see how he was doing with the costume they’d run out for earlier.

vi.
The lights are hot and bright as Spencer steps out into them, drumsticks in his hands, drum strapped to his chest. He takes his place in the line and squints over at Brendon, nods, grins, and they start playing.

Spencer hits a beat, then Brendon matches it. Spencer hits the beat again, watching Brendon’s hands; back, and forth, and then both at once, and the sweat runs in beads down his back. He looks over at Ryan, at Jon and then at Brendon again. Brendon is grinning at him, and Spencer grins back, challenge in it. They pause, beat, pause, beat, and work up to the big finish, all the while Spencer watching Brendon and Brendon watching Spencer, their eyes narrowed.

Coming off stage that night, Brendon puts his arms around everybody’s shoulders but Spencer’s. He plants a resounding kiss on Ryan’s cheek, bounds off to lean briefly against Jon’s shoulder, waltzes a few steps with Zack and heads for the shower.

Spencer struggles out of his costume. Brendon, he thinks, must be pissed about something. Spencer, he decides, cannot be bothered.

“Okay, so what’s up with you two?” Jon asks him when they’re back on the bus, on the short ride back to the hotel because this time, they’re playing not far tomorrow and can actually stay in a real bed.

“What two?” Spencer shrugs, not taking his eyes off his Sidekick.

Jon snaps his fingers in front of Spencer’s face. “You and Brendon. You two have a fight or something?”

“Not that I know of.” Spencer looks up, finally. “Why?”

“He’s been like, avoiding you for weeks. And then tonight he won’t even – Spence. You haven’t noticed?”

“I,” Spencer starts. “Well, I mean, I guess, but I don’t think – we haven’t fought, so I figured, I don’t know, maybe he’s mad at me for something. Maybe he’ll even tell me what it is, maybe he’ll forget about it. Happens sometimes,” he adds. “I mean, it kind of happened more last year, I guess, but I mean. It’s just Brendon.”

Jon looks at him without speaking for such a long time that Spencer starts getting paranoid.

“What?” He shifts.

“Dude, you’re serious.” Jon shakes his head and gets up. Spencer stares at Jon’s retreating back for a minute before concluding that he must be the only sane one left and going back to checking his email.

They get to the hotel, and Spencer is about to head for his room when he feels someone grab him. He thinks about yelling for Zack, but a second later he recognises a smell and turns around. “Jon? What the fuck?”

“Come with me.” Jon pulls him down the corridor, yanking open the door to the room four away; the room he’s sharing with Brendon. He pushes Spencer inside, shuts the door after him, and Spencer hears a lock click.

Brendon is sitting on his bed. “Uh, hi?” he says.

Spencer opens his mouth to ask what the fuck is going on when his phone rings. He glares at Brendon and answers it. “Jon, you had better have a fucking good explanation.”

“Put us on speakerphone.” It’s Ryan’s voice, but Jon’s number, and from the sound of it, they’re on speakerphone too. Spencer hits the button and holds the Sidekick in his outstretched palm.

“Okay, jackasses, what’s the joke?” he asks.

“This isn’t a joke,” Jon replies, “this is an intervention. Now we’ve locked you in there, and we’re not letting you out until you’ve had sex.”

Spencer almost drops the phone. “What?” he and Brendon chorus. Spencer doesn’t look at him, just stares in bewilderment at his own hand.

“You heard Jon,” Ryan says. “You’re not coming out of there until you’ve had sex. We’re sick of you fighting and not talking and not just screwing already, so do it and stop being fucking unbearable.”

“Ryan,” Spencer closes his eyes, “Ryan, what the fuck is this?”

“It’s me talking about it, Spencer,” Ryan tells him, and his voice is a bit more gentle. Spencer still wants to kill him, though.

“So what, we’re supposed to have sex, and then you’ll let us out? You’ve locked us in here?” Brendon sounds incredulous. Spencer doesn’t blame him.

“Yes, Brendon,” Jon says, firm. “And you have to prove you’ve had sex. And you can’t just like, call us and make sexy noises, anyone can fake those.”

“How are we supposed to prove – look, I am not having sex with Spencer,” Brendon says, but Spencer finally looks at him, and he’s looking back, and his eyes are dark.

“Spencer,” Jon sighs, “Brendon doesn’t get mad at you. He just, sometimes isn’t touching you. Okay?”

Spencer thinks about that. “Oh.”

“Brendon,” Ryan adds, “Spencer’s a really good kisser.”

“Jesus, Ryan, do you have to bring that up now?” Spencer rolls his eyes. “We were like, fifteen,” he says to Brendon, whose eyebrows are raised. His pupils are also definitely dilated. Spencer licks his lips.

Brendon stands up and paces over to him, their eyes locked. “Yeah, guys? We’ll call you back,” he says, reaching for the phone. He presses the button to end the call, fingertips brushing against Spencer’s palm.

Spencer thinks about saying something, but Brendon is leaning closer. Their noses graze, and Spencer’s heart skips a beat.

“Okay?” Brendon breathes, with his mouth an inch away.

“Okay,” Spencer replies, and then Brendon is kissing him, and Spencer kisses back. He hears a soft thud that might be his Sidekick hitting the floor, but he doesn’t pay much attention because Brendon’s hands are sliding under his shirt and his are brushing up and down Brendon’s arms. He opens his mouth a little, and Brendon’s tongue comes out, licks at his bottom lip. Spencer pulls him closer, kisses him harder.

“Oh God,” Brendon groans as Spencer breaks away after a while to stamp a line of kisses over his neck, “why the fuck have we not done this before?”

Spencer pulls away to look at him. “I thought you didn’t want to.”

“I thought you didn’t want to,” Brendon replies.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Spencer sighs, leaning in again to nibble at Brendon’s clavicle. Brendon shivers.

Spencer pulls him backwards, fingers bunching in his shirt, until their legs hit Brendon’s bed. Spencer breaks away to pull his shirt off and over his head, and Brendon takes the opportunity to discard his own. “Okay, so just so I’m sure, you’re not just doing this so Jon and Ryan will let us out, right?” Brendon asks, fingers splayed over Spencer’s chest.

“Does it fucking look like I am?” Spencer yanks him closer by the belt loops, and Brendon starts to grin.

“I guess not,” he says, and catches Spencer’s mouth again, lapping at the corner of it.

They sink onto the bed, Brendon’s fingers working at the button of Spencer’s jeans. His thumb rubs over it and Spencer twitches. “Brendon,” he breathes, “just put your fucking hands down my fucking pants, for fuck’s sake I’ve been waiting, like, three years or something.”

Brendon’s breath comes out in a rush against Spencer’s skin. “Fuck, me too,” he murmurs, and slips one hand into Spencer’s back pocket, squeezing and pulling him closer. Spencer fumbles with Brendon’s jeans, unzipping them quickly and pushing his hand inside. Brendon’s neck arches. “Spencer,” he exhales quickly, and then his hands are unzipping Spencer’s jeans, then they’re inside and Spencer feels fingers wrapping around his cock. His lips fall apart and Brendon’s tongue flicks out to lick at them, and he grasps blindly at him with his mouth.

They shift, Brendon’s hands moving to push Spencer’s pants down, Spencer matching the motion. His cock registers the loss of contact with a throb of protest, but he ignores it. He kicks off the rest of his clothes, more skin contact broken while Brendon does the same; then he’s there again, fingers and mouth and everything touching. Spencer turns onto his side and murmurs, “Turn around.” He motions with a hand.

“You mean like – oh.” Brendon shifts until his head is level with Spencer’s waist, Spencer’s head level with his. “Like this?” He looks up at Spencer.

“Yes.” Spencer reaches, closing the distance, and having a cock in his mouth would be weird enough as it is but from above it’s even weirder. He adjusts his neck, tilts to get a good angle, and gives a soft experimental suck.

Brendon curls closer. “Oh holy fuck,” he whispers. He’s silent for another second, and then – Spencer feels something hot and wet close over his cock, and he closes his eyes and sucks a little harder. He feels Brendon suck, moving his tongue around and over, and fuck. Fuck. He slides one hand over Brendon’s hip, ghosts over his stomach, brushes against the base of his cock. Brendon shivers and swirls his tongue and Spencer groans. “Gnpnh,” Brendon mumbles, mouth full; the vibrations make Spencer groan again, fuck it just – feels so fucking good.

Spencer pulls his mouth away to say, “Brendon – fuck, Brendon, I’m close, I don’t think I can –”

Brendon pulls away and makes a sound that is half whine, half whimper. “So am I.”

Spencer curls back closer and takes Brendon’s cock back into his mouth, feeling Brendon do the same, and he forces himself to concentrate, not slacken his jaw and let his mouth fall open like he wants to. He feels the pool of warmth at the base of his spine and shudders, sucking and feeling the heat build, Brendon’s mouth, and Spencer shuts his eyes and tries hard not to bite down as he comes. Brendon comes as he is shuddering through the last spasms, and his mouth fills.

They pull away at the same time, simultaneously reaching for the box of tissues standing next to the bed. Spencer spits into a wad of them and drops it into the trash can. Brendon crawls closer, and they lie next to each other, sides pressed together.

Spencer kisses him. He tastes good, and their tongues meet in the middle.

“That was awesome,” Brendon says into the kiss. Spencer smiles. “So I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

“I kinda just ate,” Spencer raises an eyebrow. “But yeah, actual food would be nice.” He stretches languidly. “Don’t feel like moving, though.”

Brendon pauses before cracking a grin and rolling away to fish his Sidekick out of the tangle of clothes half falling off the bed. He rolls back and presses against Spencer again, angling the phone to face their stomachs. He presses a button and moves it up, typing something.

“What’re you doing?” Spencer asks.

“Proof that we’ve had sex. And I’m asking Jon to get us some pizza or something.”

“Think he will?” Spencer curves closer and presses a kiss to Brendon’s jaw, slowly. Brendon smiles.

“You going somewhere with that?” he murmurs, putting the Sidekick down.

“Not really,” Spencer replies, answering smile. “Could if you wanted me to, though.”

“Oh, really?” Brendon raises his eyebrows and yanks Spencer closer by the hips. “Would you fuck me?” he murmurs, breath hot against Spencer’s ear.

“Fuck yeah.” Spencer rolls on top of him and gently presses down. “Would you fuck me?”

“Oh hell yeah,” Brendon breathes, arching up and reaching for his mouth again. “Hell fucking yeah.”

There is a click and the door opens. “Okay, guys, I am not going to get you oh okay then,” Jon blinks as he sees them. Spencer rolls off Brendon and waves.

“Hi Jon,” he says. Brendon giggles into his shoulder, and Spencer bites his lip to keep from laughing.

“It worked, then.” Ryan is wheeling Spencer’s suitcase behind him and sets it next to the bed. “Come on, Jon, grab your stuff, we’re switching rooms. Figured you’d need clothes in the morning,” he adds to Spencer.

Spencer doesn’t need to say thanks; he just smiles at a particular angle and Ryan returns it.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Brendon’s voice boomed out of the speakers as the strains of the introduction melted away. “Thank you so much for attending this evening. We are Panic! At The Disco, and you may notice tonight that our very attractive and talented drummer has been replaced with another very attractive and talented drummer. Our very own Spencer Smith is sick tonight and can’t be with us,” he paused as the audience emitted a collective ‘awwww’ and the noise level raised several notches, “but I want you to give a warm welcome to Chi-town’s own, from The Hush Sound, Mister Darren Wilson!” He made an expansive gesture towards the drum riser, grinning up at Darren, who raised his drumsticks in the air. The crowd roared, and Darren knocked his sticks together to set the pace, one two three four, and Ryan played the opening notes to the first song.

He kept his eyes on the guitar strings until the chorus, watching the belt (Spencer) out of the corner of his eye. It felt a little like his entire waist was looking back up at him.

This is so weird, he thought at it.

For a moment, he could have sworn it was agreeing.

He concentrated on the song for a while, sneaking glances back at the belt. Look, it is okay that I’m – y’know, wearing you, right Spence?

He didn’t get an answer beyond a vague feeling of yeah, it is.

A hand moved into his line of vision and he looked up to see Brendon, inches away. Oh. Right. Ryan tilted his body slightly towards Brendon’s, their hips angled together, and Brendon rested his hand on Spencer for a minute, singing into Ryan’s cheek. His fingertips stroked gently over Spencer, and then he was gone again.

Ryan blinked. It had seemed to get hotter while Brendon was there. He looked down at Spencer and thought, Dude.

Spencer seemed to be both agreeing and smug. Ryan shook his head and concentrated on playing.

They came off stage after the encore, sweat collecting at the back of Ryan’s neck. “Man, that was hot, out there,” he said, starting to take his costume off.

“Yeah, dude, that really was. But it was awesome.” Brendon put his arm around Ryan’s waist, fingers dipping to butterfly against Spencer again, and then he was away, leaving a damp patch on the side of Ryan’s shirt.

“How you put up with him,” he muttered to his waist, “I’ll never know.”

They invited Darren and Chris to hang out on the bus after, Brendon talking to Darren about how great the set had been that night, how well he’d played. “You really came through for us,” Brendon beamed at him, clapping one arm across his shoulders. “Thanks, man.”

“’S what friends are for,” Darren shrugged. “Besides, I haven’t had to play like that in a while. It was … exhilarating.”

“Yeah. Spencer’s really something, isn’t he?”

“Dude,” Chris laughed, “I don’t know how you two have kept away from the rumours and shit, it is totally obvious you’re madly in love with him.”

“Shut up. I notice you two have managed to stay away from that too,” Brendon pointed out.

“For one, we’re not nearly as famous as you are,” Darren said, pulling Chris closer. “For two, I’ve been posting pictures on my myspace for a couple of years now of me kissing boys. The closer you are to danger, the further you are from harm.” He winked.

“So you out-gay yourself and everybody thinks you’re straight?” Brendon grinned. “Why do you think I’m all over Ryan all the time?”

“Deflection. Sneaky,” Darren observed.

After dropping Chris and Darren off at their place, the bus made for the hotel again. Brendon cradled Spencer in his palms. “You know, it would be really awesome if I just woke up tomorrow and you were back to normal,” he said to his hands.

“Are you hoping like, saying that will trigger some kind of magic spell and it’ll come true?” Jon asked him.

“Maybe.” Brendon sighed, leaning his head back. “You know, there hasn’t been much time in the last like, four years or something that I haven’t spent with Spencer. Or, okay, you guys as well, but Spencer. You know?”

“Hey, dude.” Jon rubbed a small circle on Brendon’s arm with the heel of his hand. “Ryan and me miss our girlfriends. We get it.”

Brendon stared mournfully at the belt. Ryan didn’t say anything, just continued typing on his Sidekick.

It had taken Spencer a good two hours that morning to go from ‘really pissed’ back down to ‘fucking annoyed’. Around lunchtime, he’d settled on ‘frustrated, with the ghost of hunger where he knew it should be’ and by the time Ryan had put him on, he’d kind of wanted just to be a part of the show somehow, because he may be a belt but he was still a fucking musician and didn’t want to miss a concert.

The vantage of Ryan’s waist had turned out to be an interesting one for seeing this show. Especially when Brendon came closer.

They got back to the hotel that night, Brendon still holding him carefully. He said goodnight to Ryan and Jon, closed the door to their room, and sat on the bed, laying Spencer down a few inches away.

“I guess now, I can say some stuff I haven’t really kind of. Said before,” Brendon began, and Spencer looked up at him curiously. Brendon’s eyes were fixed on his lap. “Thing is, Spence, I kind of might be in love with you, and I kind of liked you when I met you, and I know I’ve said that stuff before but I haven’t – okay look, we’re, what, we’re like, twenty-one, right? And I worry, you know like, if anything happened, like, with us, what it might do to the band, and that’s – that’s really why I didn’t like, try to jump you sooner or whatever. I wanted to, it just, we were friends and we had this band and I didn’t know what I was missing out on. And now I do and I wouldn’t give it up for anything, and okay, I know we said we’d keep this between us and it’s nobody’s business but ours and all that shit, and I know if we I don’t know, announce it or whatever, they’re gonna ask about it in every interview and shit, but. Spence, I’ve had to go this entire day without once hearing your voice, and I just want you to say something, even if it’s telling me to shut the fuck up, because I like it when you do that. Sometimes. And I don’t. Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m saying, like I want us to come out or anything, I don’t even know if that would hurt the band and be a bad idea, I don’t know, I just want my fucking boyfriend back, okay? God.” He dropped his head into his hands.

Spencer had gone beyond wishing he could move somewhere around 2pm. So he just watched.

“Fuck, okay, I’m gonna go to bed, and you’re gonna be back to normal by the time I wake up, you just are.” Brendon stood up, looked at Spencer for a minute, then went into the bathroom.

Spencer heard running water. He was starting to feel really kind of weird, and not just because he was a belt. He heard something else, coming from somewhere nearby but he couldn’t tell where. Tiny feet, a lot of tiny feet, and what sounded like something wooden with a lid closing, and a noise suspiciously like “Ook”.

There was a puff of smoke, his entire body hurt like fuck for eight seconds, and Spencer felt right again.

He looked down at his body. The smoke was a leafy green and dissipating, and with it went a very quiet “Sorry,” unless Spencer’s ears were malfunctioning as they got used to being ears again.

Spencer stood up. He was naked, but that didn’t matter; the door to the bathroom was open, and Brendon was brushing his teeth at the sink. Spencer walked up behind him, watched him choke on his toothpaste in the mirror and stepped close, snaking his arms around Brendon’s waist. He kissed the top of his back, his shoulder.

“If you want us to come out, maybe we could,” he murmured against the skin. “But we should probably talk to Ryan and Jon first, about the impact it’d have on the band.”

“Right. Right. And uh, Spencer, what the fuck happened today and oh my God you’re back.” Brendon spat his mouthful of toothpaste out and turned around, catching Spencer’s mouth in his own. He tasted minty.

“I don’t know,” Spencer breathed when they broke apart, though their hips were moving, grinding slowly together. Movements almost imperceptible and undulating. “And Brendon?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Brendon grinned and nudged his nose against Spencer’s, coaxing his mouth nearer. “Make me,” he murmured.

Spencer sent a text to Ryan as Brendon drifted to sleep against his shoulder that night. Am no longer belt. Thanks for taking me to the show. Sleep now, but we want to talk to you tomorrow. xx

ii.
“Hi. So, Ryan invited me over, said maybe you’d want to play some games and stuff?” Brendon scuffs his shoe against the doorframe. “I’ve got Halo,” he adds.

“Sure, come on in.” Spencer stands aside and Brendon passes him. “This is uh, kind of my house though. Ryan’s is three down.”

“Oh. Yeah, no, I know, he just uh, said to come here today. He’s here, right?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” comes Ryan’s voice from the TV room. Spencer leads Brendon towards it. “We’ve been wanting to play Halo, Brent’s got my copy.”

“Cool. Well, here it is.” Brendon holds out the box and Ryan takes it, eyes crinkled in a smile at him, and Brendon seems to relax. Spencer perches on the arm of the couch and watches them set the game up, waving away Ryan’s silent offer of the controls. “So uh, by the way, thanks for letting me join your band,” Brendon continues as the game starts. “I really,” he pauses to concentrate for a second, “you know, I really think you guys have something good.”

“Thanks,” Ryan says, eyes fixed on the screen but the set of his shoulders aimed at Spencer.

“And you’re crazy awesome on the drums, Spence,” Brendon adds, twisting his neck to look up. Spencer thinks he looks strange from this angle, but his heart is beating alternately against his sternum and his hip. “Like, even better than me. And I don’t say that often.” Brendon grins, and Spencer smiles back.

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m gonna, you guys want something to eat? I’m starving.”

“You got any of those – what are they, those things your mom made?” Ryan asks, not looking up. Spencer leans over to thwack him in the head, soft contact that almost isn’t there.

“No, you ate them all, Ryan.” He laughs. “But Mom did make some of these huge cookies yesterday she said were for next time you came over.” He turns to Brendon. “I swear, sometimes I think my mom loves Ryan more than she loves me.”

“Everybody loves me more than they love you,” Ryan finally looks away from the game to grin up at Spencer. It earns him a punch to the arm.

“No they don’t, Ross. They just tell you that so you won’t feel bad,” Spencer says as he moves out of Ryan’s reach. He disappears out of the room, laughing as Ryan tries to unfold himself to follow him. Ryan catches up in the kitchen and grabs Spencer around the waist. Spencer giggles and twists out of his grasp, reaching for the jar.

“Just now,” Ryan whispers so only Spencer can hear, mouth millimetres from Spencer’s ear, “I heard Brendon say that he might like you more than he likes me. But it was really quiet and I don’t think I was meant to hear it.” He leans away and watches Spencer’s face.

Spencer bites his lip and is almost sure he’s blushing. “Really?”

Ryan buries his face in Spencer’s shoulder to muffle his laughter. “Spence,” he starts, but Spencer shushes him with a hand on his arm.

“We are not going to talk about this,” he whispers. “Ever. Okay?”

“But what if –”

“Ever, Ryan. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Spencer takes the jar back to the TV room and hands it to Brendon. “We called a truce,” he says, jerking his thumb at Ryan, who settles on the floor and takes up the controls again.

“Alright. But you’re playing me after Ryan,” Brendon grins up at him, and Spencer settles on the sofa behind Brendon’s back to watch the game.

Brendon wins by a margin of ten points, and wriggles in a celebratory dance. He turns around and puts his head on Spencer’s legs where his calves cross. “Play me next, Spencer Smith,” he says, beaming up at him. Spencer feels himself grinning back and sliding to the floor, almost on top of Brendon, taking the controls from Ryan’s outstretched hand.

“Okay. But I’ll beat you, Brendon Urie. I’ll beat you.”

“Oh yeah? Wouldn’t bet on it.” Brendon blows him a kiss and starts the game up.

Looking back on it later, Spencer will recognise this as the moment he lost his sanity. But, he’ll figure, he gained a lot of other things, so really, it wasn’t a bad trade-off at all.