Jon liked to pull Spencer into the shadows backstage after a show, trap him against a wall and kiss him breathless. And Spencer, high from the show, his arms aching a little bit, would laugh into his mouth out of adrenaline and delight and the vaguely illicit way it felt, making out just beyond where feet were thundering by and musical paraphernalia was being carted away. And he'd keep laughing right up until Jon sank his teeth into Spencer's lip and his hand down Spencer's pants.

Then he'd go silent, locking his mouth over Jon's again and again just to stifle the noises he wanted to make, his blood pounding through his chest and his cock, where Jon's calloused hands jerked them both off.

And when he came, reality blinking out for a second of white blind bliss, Jon's teeth on his neck, the unsteady jerk of Jon's hips against his would bring him back, gasping for breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. The world would resume turning on its axis and the regular backstage noise would resume like they'd never been interrupted and Jon would smile against his skin and say, "You took a risk in 'Esteban' tonight. It was the coolest thing I've ever heard."

And then they'd go back and join Brendon and Ryan, sighing autographs. Spencer knew his smile was smug after that, always, but he couldn't help it, and whenever Jon glanced over at him, eyes full of laughter and heat, he didn't care that he couldn't help it, couldn't stop smiling for anything.




Heh, don't worry. I'm bored, too. And you're the only one requesting bandslash, which I have all sorts of ideas for :D

"Sweeeeet, sweeet fantasy baaaby, when I close my eyes, you come and you taaake me!" sang Brendon. Loudly. His earbuds were in and he was shoveling cereal in his mouth and humming between lines.

"All in favor of banning Mariah Carey from the bus?" asked Spencer. Jon, Spencer, and Ryan all raised their hands.

Ryan popped one of Brendon's earbuds out. "We've vetoed Mariah," Jon said.

"I was broadening my range," said Brendon, with dignity. But he obligingly yanked his other earbud out and finished his cereal merely humming.

"Jon! Your favorite sexual fantasy. Go!" said Brendon, after he'd drunk the last of his milk.

"Um," said Jon. "I'm pretty much just in favor of sex. I'm not picky."

"Well, that's boring," said Brendon, disappointed. "Spencer?"

"I don't have any," said Spencer, even as he blushed a little. Ryan couldn't help but elbow him and smile knowingly. Spencer was kinky as hell on the inside.

"Shut it, Ryan, or I'll shave your eyebrows while you sleep," said Spencer. And then to Brendon, "I'm not going to tell you, so you might as well give up now and ask Ryan about his."

"Fine, Spencer, if you're not man enough to answer. Ryan?"

Ryan shrugged. He rifled through his mind for a suitably vanilla one. No way was he going to tell Brendon anything good.

"You can whisper it in my ear, if you want," said Brendon, and this time there was a new quality to his voice. It had gone deeper and some of the playfulness had dropped out. Brendon was still smiling, but his eyes had gone all dark and intent. Ryan swallowed. Suddenly his brain was filled with a million images, none of them vanilla, and all of them involving Brendon in some blindingly hot capacity or other.

"I--," said Ryan. And then he slid out of his side of the breakfast table and walked out of the bus before he spontaneously combusted, or worse, told Brendon exactly what was on his mind.

Brendon, of course, caught up with him on the side of the stage opposite from where the buses had parked an hour ago.

"Hey," Brendon said, and his voice still sounded a little rough from their show last night.

"Hey," said Ryan.

"You want to know what my fantasy is?" he asked, barely a foot from Ryan, now.

Ryan felt himself give a confused shrug-nod and Brendon took a step closer. Ryan took a step back until he felt his shoulders hit the side of the stage.

"Okay," he said, and he could hear the rasp in his voice, but couldn't make it go away.

"My fantasy is us. Where we stop pretending we don't want to rip each other's clothes off and fuck." Brendon was close enough now that Ryan could feel his breath. Brendon's mouth forming the word 'fuck' was as obscenely hot as it was when he sang it. His voice dropped low. "My newest fantasy is sucking you off, right here."

His hands yanked Ryan's pants open and Ryan swallowed hard right before Brendon kissed him, rough enough to make Ryan feel a little trapped, and sweet enough to make him bite Brendon's fat bottom lip, asking him silently for more. They broke for a moment and then moved back in at the same time, Ryan's hands going to Brendon's head of their own accord, his mouth pressing and twisting and sucking Brendon's.

Brendon licks him and then pulls away, even as Ryan leans forward to follow him. Instead, Brendon drops to his knees, yanking Ryan's pants down enough to trap him like that, and gripping his hips hard. He leans in and closes his mouth over just the tip and Ryan's breath stutters out of him.

"What's your fantasy?" Brendon asks, lips vibrating against Ryan's cock. Ryan can't take his eyes away from Brendon, kneeling and wet-mouthed, looking up at Ryan from beneath his eyelashes, his expression...coy. Or evil. Or something between.

"This," Ryan said, simply. He slid his hand into Brendon's hair, soft and thick and trapping Ryan's hand the second he touched it. Brendon flashed a grin before he slid his mouth back over Ryan. He braced one palm across Ryan's stomach and the other wrapped around the base of Ryan's cock, twisting as his cheeks hollow. Ryan thought it was possible he pass out from how hot that looked, not even counting what Brendon was doing with his tongue.

It was over way too soon. Ryan didn't have any control over it. He came, his mouth parted around a surprised sound, right into Brendon's mouth. Brendon's chest rose and fell in quick breaths against Ryan's chest as he kissed Ryan again. When Ryan's fingers wandered down to slip inside of Brendon's pants, he encountered soft skin and sticky warmth.

"Like I said," Brendon said, grinning. "My fantasy."




"I'll bet they get a lot of girls," observed ten-year-old Spencer Smith. He was holding the remote poised to change the channel on the music video, but Ryan stopped him.

"We could do that," said Ryan Ross, his best friend.

"What, get a lot of girls?" Girls had been largely theoretical up to this point, having only recently lost their cooties. But Spencer had kissed Brianna White behind the play shed because she'd told him to.

"No," Ryan gave him a look of derision, something he was fast perfecting, but that was okay, because Spencer had been working on his "fuck off and die" look and it worked on his sisters perfectly. "We could dance and sing like that."

"Okay," said Spencer. "Let's try it."

It only took them half an hour to work out the routine. Spencer's mom gave them cookies when they showed it to her and she was technically a girl. Maybe they could do it for the sixth grade talent show.




"Dude, this shirt is so gross. I can't put it on again until its been dry cleaned." Brendon threw his ruffled stage shirt across the room toward his haphazard laundry pile.

"We have the afternoon," said Spencer, trying not to watch Brendon. He'd been trying not to watch Brendon a lot lately. It had gotten really difficult for some reason. "We could do laundry. I'm out of underwear, anyway."

"Yeah, I'm wearing my socks from yesterday," said Ryan. "It's gross."

"You have to wear them for at least five days to be a real boy," said Jon. "But my favorite hoodie has barbeque sauce on it. I'm in."

The nearest laundromat was in the basement of the really cheap motel they were staying at. They took over all the washing machines.

"Fuck," said Ryan from his perch on his machine, not five minutes after they'd started. He shook his pen and said, "I gotta go find a new pen."

"Are you going to go to an actual store?" asked Jon.

"Yeah, probably."

"I'm coming with you. These flip flops got a hole in them this morning."

Which left Spencer and Brendon. Spencer was sitting kicking his heals against his machine and reading. Brendon had his ipod playing and was doing some form of interpretive dance in the scant floor space, pausing only to wave goodbye to Jon and Ryan. Spencer was continuing not to watch him, and he was actually doing a pretty decent job of it, but that didn't stop his mind from filling in the blanks.

"Oh, shit," said Brendon, ripping his earbuds out and then hauling his white t-shirt over his head. "That is definitely a white." He shoved it into the slowly filling machine and then went back to dancing, except now Spencer was distracted.

It wasn't that Spencer had never seen Brendon shirtless before. Hell, he'd seen him shirtless almost as many times as he's seen himself shirtless at this point. But Brendon was...undulating was the word that came to mind. Spencer swallowed and tried to go back to his book but he was unable to block out his peripheral vision and he couldn't concentrate on the words any more.

"What are you listening to?" Spencer finally managed.

"Old school Prince," said Brendon, a little too loud. "Little Red Corvette! Baby you're much too fast. C'mon, Spence, dance with me."

And he pulled Spencer off the machine. Spencer resisted half-heartedly, but in reality his will to resist was badly lacking. Brendon put a hand on each of his hips and started moving them to the beat. Then he put one of his earbuds into Spencer's ear and said "Dance!"

Spencer thought about just standing there, but really, who just stood there during Prince? Plus, Spencer was at least as good of a dancer as Brendon, and Brendon's warm hands were on his hips, forcing him to move.

"Move over baby, give me the keys, and I will try to tame your little red love machine," sang Brendon, right in Spencer's face, his mouth forming around the words and his hips inching in toward Spencer's. Spencer was, frankly, kind of dumbfounded and was moving on pure reaction now. And suddenly Brendon was right there, an inch from Spencer's face, each breath making their chests brush, the song fading to background music. Spencer stopped moving and then so did Brendon.

"Are you going to kiss me, or what, Spencer?" he said, his voice rich with laughter.

"I...you. What?"

"Or you could go back to pretending you don't want me, and I could go back to taking off my shirt and making suggestive comments," said Brendon. "But I'd really prefer it if you kissed me."

Spencer pulled himself together. He was in charge thank you very much. "Fine," he said evenly, and gripped Brendon's hair and pulled him in hard. He could feel Brendon smiling into the kiss so Spencer bit him hard enough to make him stop and then muffled his noise of protest with his tongue. He angled Brendon's head and kissed him hard. Brendon's fingers dug into Spencer's hips and he was moving slightly against him, their bodies lined up.

"I think," said Spencer, almost thoughtfully as he yanked Brendon away from his mouth. "I think you should blow me." A small little flash of surprise rippled across Brendon's face, but then he was grinning, licking his lips, popping the buttons on Spencer's jeans.

Brendon's hand wrapped around Spencer's cock and he said, breathlessly, "What, you go commando now, Smith?"

Spencer felt the smirk slide over his mouth, even as he tried and failed not to twitch forward into Brendon's fist. "I told you I was out of underwear." He raised an eyebrow pointedly and Brendon slid to the floor.

It was...well, it was hotter than Spencer's imagination had made it, if he was even going to admit to himself that he'd imagined this. For one thing, Brendon's mouth made obscene look good, and for another, he was moving his tongue in strange patterns and didn't even seem out of breath.

Spencer cradled the back of his head and watched, legs trembling and feeling surreal but so, so fucking turned-on. He was holding it together just fine, if you counted trembling fine, until Brendon started humming, and then the only thing that kept him from collapsing were Brendon's hands, bracing him against the also-humming washer.

He knew he was panting and shaking and possibly making foreign undignified noised, but the blood was pounding so hard in his ears he could barely tell.

"Brendon," he managed, giving Brendon's head a sharp yank, a warning. But Brendon, instead of pulling off, slid all the way down and was that--that was the chorus of Little Red Corvette and that was the last thing Spencer processed before he came, breath stopped and hips rocking involuntarily. Brendon rode it out, still humming softly, and when he pulled off finally, his mouth stretched and red, he let Spencer slide down to straddle his knees.

"I think you should renounce underwear, Spencer Smith," murmured Brendon.

"I'll take that under advisement," said Spencer. Then he shoved Brendon back, hands dropping to his jeans. "We still have the spin cycle."