sunsetmog_fics: (Default)
Title: The Holiday [11/?]
Author: [ profile] sunsetmog
Fandom: Panic! at the Disco
Pairing: Brendon Urie / Spencer Smith
Rating: NC-17 overall
Word count: 4700 (this part)
Warnings: Sex without a condom.
Notes: Thank you to [ profile] octette for the beta. Any remaining errors are my own. For [ profile] ohohstarryeyed.

Further notes can be found in part one. Also posted here at AO3.

Inspired by The Holiday. Sort of. Um.

Summary: Sex, on the other hand, was totally Spencer's hobby of choice. He was going to take it up as a competitive sport. He'd totally win points for style.

Previously: [I] [II] [III] [IV] [V] [VI] [VII] [VIII] [IX] [X].

Part Eleven

When Spencer woke up, the sun was streaming through the bedroom window, and there was a cold spot in the bed next to him where Brendon should have been. He groaned, and reached for his phone—which, even though it wasn't working to make calls, he still kept on him all the time, just in case. He blinked at it blearily, and dropped his head back down to the pillow. Half past ten. Not late enough, bearing in mind what time they'd fallen into bed last night.

He didn't remember all that much of the cab ride home the previous night. They'd spent most of the journey making out, that much he did remember, Brendon crawling into his lap and kissing him over and over as they tried to remember the address of the cottage for the cab driver. It felt like someone had flipped a switch inside of him while The Hollies had played on the stereo; all he could think about was Brendon, and touching him and kissing him and everything besides. Even now, only half-awake and still contemplating whether to give sleep another try, he itched to touch him. That overrode any half-assed plans he had to go back to sleep, so he shoved back the comforter and reached for his hoodie, tugging on a pair of fluffy neon socks so that his feet didn't freeze.

Brendon was in the kitchen, frying bacon and drinking coffee. When Spencer came in, Brendon's mouth curved up into a smile.

"Morning, sleepy-head," he said.

"Morning," Spencer said, sliding his hands over Brendon's hips. He lined his dick up with Brendon's ass, and pressed a kiss to the back of Brendon's neck. He nudged his dick against the curve of Brendon's ass, half-hard, and Brendon slid his hand behind Spencer's neck, twisting up so that he could meet Spencer's mouth in a kiss. "You weren't there when I woke up," he complained. "The bed was cold."

"I was going to wake you up when breakfast was ready," Brendon told him, in between kisses. "You ruined my plan."

Spencer hadn't brushed his teeth, but then neither had Brendon, and Spencer wasn't about to interrupt this to go find his toothbrush. Brendon could just deal. "Secret breakfast plans," he murmured, against Brendon's mouth. He slid his hands inside Brendon's sleep pants, and curved his palm around his dick.

"Nefarious breakfast plans," Brendon said, over his sharp intake of breath. He rocked his hips up just a little, just enough, his dick sliding through Spencer's fist. "Bacon, Spence. Cooking. The stove."

"Don't care," Spencer lied, rubbing his cheek against Brendon's jaw. It was rough with stubble, but Spencer liked the burn, especially when Brendon tipped his balance so that he was leaning up against Spencer's chest, Spencer holding him up. "Missed your dick."

Brendon snorted, but Spencer hadn't been lying, so he let Brendon shift the bacon around the pan a little, and then mouthed at Brendon's neck. "My dick is pretty awesome," he said.

"Uh-huh," Spencer agreed, kissing at the pale skin behind Brendon's ear, hands under Brendon's shirt, stroking his stomach. "Is the bacon cooked yet?"

"I don't care," Brendon said, fumbling for the burner. He turned it off, and shoved the pan to the back of the stove, turning around and wrapping his arms around Spencer's neck. He stood up on his toes and pressed a kiss to Spencer's willing mouth.

"Hello," Spencer said, which was a totally reasonable thing to say when Brendon Urie was kissing him. Both of them seemed filled with the same kind of urgency. His heart beat like a drum in his chest, heavy and true. It felt like next week, when they flew back to L.A. and reality, was a million light years away. There was just this, and now. And Brendon.

"Breakfast was a stupid idea, I see that now," Brendon said into his mouth. His hands were in Spencer's hair, and Spencer slid his hands down until they rested on Brendon's ass. The empty bacon packaging fell to the floor, and Spencer had to shove all of the plates and stuff out of the way so that they didn't break anything. They bumped into the fridge, and some of the magnets fell onto the floor.

Spencer laughed, and crowded Brendon back against the wall, one hand splayed across the tiles as Brendon kissed him, grinning into their kiss. Brendon pulled at Spencer's hoodie, and fumbled with the zip, dragging it down, Spencer shrugging it off until it hit the floor with a metallic clunk as the zip hit the tiles. His phone was in the pocket, and that was probably at least part of the clunk, but Spencer couldn't bring himself to care, not when Brendon's hands were underneath Spencer's shirt.

"Take it off," Brendon told him, in between kisses, pushing him towards the kitchen table. "Come on, come on."

Brendon's mood was infectious, and Spencer couldn't help it; he lifted Brendon up so that he was sitting on the table, and then he pulled his sleep shirt over his head, dropping it down onto the floor so that he could step in between the v of Brendon's legs. He kissed him again, tugging at Brendon's shirt, urging him to take it off.

It felt totally fucking ridiculous, but Spencer didn't care. He just—he wanted. He wanted this so much, he wanted Brendon. He was so fucking in love. He'd never felt like this about anyone, like there was no one else in the whole world apart from the two of them. He knew, somewhere deep down inside, that objectively this was stupid, but he still couldn't help it. He couldn't stop touching him, his hand on Brendon's back, sliding under the waistband of his sleep pants.

"Want to touch you everywhere," he breathed, his mouth sliding over Brendon's cheek.

Brendon's head tipped back. "Want you to," he said, and then he kicked his pants off and on to the floor—and then he was naked on the kitchen table, with his dick in his hand.

"Oh, fuck," Spencer said succinctly. His gaze met Brendon's. "What do you want?" he asked.

"You," Brendon said steadily, and Spencer's dick jumped. He couldn't help it, he leaned in and covered Brendon's mouth with his own, kissing him again. He put everything that he felt he couldn't say into the kiss, and Brendon met him with equal intensity. Spencer slid his hand down between them, and wrapped his palm around Brendon's, around his dick.

"This?" Spencer asked, and Brendon shook his head.

"Fuck me or blow me," he said breathlessly. "That's what I want."

"Jesus," Spencer managed. "Which?"

Brendon tangled his fingers in Spencer's hair, nudging Spencer's chin up so that he could meet Brendon's gaze head on.

"Both," Brendon said, and Spencer let out a long, helpless groan.

"One after the other?" Spencer asked. He caught Brendon's mouth in a long kiss.

Brendon nodded, and pushed at Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer took the hint, and went down on his knees in the kitchen. The tiles were freezing and uncomfortable, though, so he grabbed Brendon's hand and dragged him into the living room and onto the couch. At least the carpet was warmer and softer, so he wasn't going to end up with bruises in weird places and freezing cold knees.

"Spencer," Brendon begged, and Spencer nudged Brendon's knees apart, pressing closer. Brendon's fist still circled his dick, and Spencer pushed it out of the way, sliding his mouth down over Brendon's dick, swallowing down Brendon's gasp of approval.

He was kind of uncomfortable and he wasn't sure he gave the best blow jobs in the world, but Brendon didn't seem to care. He pulled at Spencer's hair, keeping him close, and Spencer breathed wetly around Brendon's dick, trying to figure out how to blow Brendon at the same time as remembering to breathe when he needed to. He wasn't sure it was that big of a deal; Brendon seemed to be enjoying himself, anyway.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been down there, with his mouth around Brendon's dick, when Brendon urged him up and onto the couch.

"Fuck me," Brendon pleaded breathlessly, rolling onto his front. "I'm close, Spence."

Spencer thought, Vacation romance. He needed to talk to Brendon and see if there was any chance of this thing that they were sharing expanding beyond this week. He hardly dared let himself hope that it might. He shook his head, though, to get rid of the thought. What he needed to do right now was fuck the fuck out of Brendon.

"We need lube," he said. "And a condom."

Brendon looked back over his shoulder. "I'm clean," he said, and it took a minute for Spencer to parse what he meant.

"Fuck." He grabbed his dick and squeezed, just because. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Brendon said. His face looked curiously shuttered, just for a moment. "I was the one having the fucking physical."

"I didn't mean that," Spencer said. "If you say you're clean, you're clean. I meant... are you sure you want this? Without a condom?"

"Unless you've got some weird sexually transmitted disease you don't want to tell me about—which, dude, if you have, it might have been pretty cool if you'd told me that before I went down on you all those times."

"I had the same physical you did, B," Spencer said. When they'd signed their last contract, they'd had to switch healthcare insurance because the record company had changed their benefits program, and they'd both had to sit through a morning of boring tests before they'd been signed up.

"And?" Brendon asked.

"Clean bill of health," Spencer said, imagining what it would look like to see his come sliding out of Brendon's ass.

"Awesome," Brendon said. "Do you want to put your dick in my ass or not?"

"Jesus fucking Christ," Spencer managed. "Yes, yes, I do."

Brendon let out a long, ragged breath. "Upstairs," he said, since he'd clearly thought through the logistics of fucking on the couch, too. Especially when there was a bed upstairs, which they could probably come on without leaving too much of a lasting stain.

Spencer slid his arm around Brendon's waist, and pulled him up for a kiss. He thought, I love you, but he didn't say it. He figured they had to have that whole other conversation first. The Is there a way we can continue with this? conversation.

Everything else could come later.

Brendon came easily, tumbling to his feet and winding his arms around Spencer's neck and tilting his chin up for another kiss. "Want to feel you come in my ass," he whispered, breath hot against Spencer's cheek.

Spencer couldn't breathe. "Okay," he finally got out. "Want that too." He slid his hand into Brendon's. "Come on."

"Yeah," Brendon said, bumping his shoulder against Spencer's. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to Spencer's ear. "I can do it to you, afterwards. If you want."

Spencer wanted. He really fucking wanted. "Yeah," he managed, and wondered how long he was supposed to last when he was fucking Brendon in the ass without a condom.

Upstairs, Brendon went up on his hands and knees on the bed, and Spencer rid himself of his sleep pants and fluffy socks, positioning himself behind Brendon on the bed. He was so fucking hard, and all he could think was Gonna fuck Brendon bareback, and there was no coming back from that. This was so fucking hot.

And it was so fucking intimate. He couldn't get over how intimate this was, and how amazing it felt to rub the head of his dick over Brendon's ass. He was slick and hard and he wanted. He wanted.

"Brendon," he choked out, slicking himself up. He might be going in without a condom, but he was going to use all the fucking lube he could, both on his dick and fingering Brendon's ass open. "Fuck. You have no idea what you look like."

"You're hotter," Brendon gasped. "Please, Spence. I can feel you. Fuck me, please. I want you inside of me."

Spencer took a breath, lined himself up, and pressed inside.

He was never ever going to get over how this felt. Brendon clenched down around him, and it was so hot, and so tight, and it was all he could do to wrap his fist around the base of his dick and squeeze.

"Move," Brendon groaned, his own hand moving on his dick.

"In a minute," Spencer said, through clenched teeth. "Trying not to come."

"My ass is awesome, I know." Brendon wriggled breathlessly. "It brings all the boys to the yard."

"Oh my god, stop that." Spencer tried not to laugh. "If I laugh, I'm going to come. You don't want me to come yet."

"Not yet, no," Brendon said. He kept jerking himself off. Spencer couldn't stop watching the way his arm moved, fast and sure. "Oh fuck, Spence. You have no idea what you feel like. You're inside me. Fuck, you're inside." He whimpered, breathless. "Please, move. Please."

Spencer rolled his hips. "So tight, Brendon. You're so tight, and so hot, and my dick's in your ass." He kept watching in wonder. He wasn't ever going to get used to what it looked like to see his dick moving in and out of Brendon's ass. The fact there was no condom just made it that much hotter. "I can feel," he said, which was kind of ridiculous, since it wasn't like he hadn't done this before, but this time he was doing it without the added layer of latex, and it felt like his ability to feel sensation had increased by a factor of about fifty. He steadied himself with a hand to Brendon's hips.

Brendon's hand was a blur. "Feels so good," he managed. "You feel so good."

Spencer couldn't hold on much longer. He just—he couldn't. "I'm going to come," he gasped. "Gonna come in your ass, B. In you."

"Do it," Brendon pleaded. "Please, Spence. Do it."

Spencer's hips rocked up, and his stomach dove and swooped, and then he was coming, and his dick pulsing in Brendon's ass. "Brendon, Brendon," he said, and then he was sliding out of him, and dropping down on his knees. He touched his fingertips to Brendon's asshole, to the come that was sliding out of his ass, and Brendon hissed in a breath.

"Do that again," he begged. "Don't stop, Spence."

Spencer ran his fingers over Brendon's hole. They were covered in come, and he kept on playing with it, fingering Brendon's ass like he hadn't just had his dick in there, like he hadn't just come. Like this wasn't his come he was playing with. He pressed himself to Brendon's side, and covered Brendon's hand on his dick with his own. He took over the rhythm, and Brendon concentrated on holding himself up as Spencer jerked him off with one hand, fingering Brendon's ass with his other one.

It was the most intimate thing that he'd ever done in his whole life.

"Come for me, B," he said, still fingering Brendon's ass. "Come for me."

"Going to," Brendon said, through clenched teeth, and then his dick was pulsing in Spencer's fist, and Brendon was coming, all over Spencer's hand and the sheets.

Spencer kept on stroking him through it. "There you go," he said. When Brendon's arms finally gave out and he collapsed down onto the sheets, Spencer went with him, wrapping his arms around Brendon and holding him tight.

Brendon was shaking.

"I've got you," Spencer told him, over and over. "I've got you."

Brendon hid his face in the crook of Spencer's neck, and Spencer pulled the comforter up over them and, kissed every part of Brendon's face that he could reach.

They must have fallen asleep, because when Spencer opened his eyes again, the sun was in a different part of the sky, and Brendon was curled up into Spencer's side, hand on Spencer's chest.

Spencer brushed Brendon's hair away from his face, and watched as Brendon's eyes fluttered open.

"I fell asleep," Brendon said, blinking away sleep. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Did I drool?"

"No," Spencer said, trying to hide the way that his heart was pounding. He felt dizzy with affection. "You're good."

"We're good," Brendon said, shifting so that he could rub his nose against Spencer's jaw. He tilted his chin up. Spencer splayed his fingers over Brendon's cheek and drew him in for a kiss, smiling against Brendon's mouth.

"We are," he said, and kissed him again.

"Hey," Brendon said, pulling away after a minute. "We should get dressed if we're going to make it to that Christmas fair." He rolled out of bed, standing up and rolling his shoulders, picking up his phone and checking the time. "Quickest shower ever, Spence."

Spencer blinked. "What?" He wrinkled his nose. "What Christmas fair?"

"The one they told us about yesterday in the pub," Brendon told him, rolling his eyes. "Have you forgotten already?"

"Clearly," Spencer said. He felt kind of woolly-headed. He blinked. He maybe kind of remembered a conversation about the Christmas fair in the village hall. There was a competition for the kid with the best Christmas outfit, he remembered that part. He didn't remember the part where they were supposed to be going.

"I'm showering," Brendon said, waggling his eyebrows in what Spencer supposed Brendon considered a come hither kind of a way. "Come join me?"

Spencer was surprisingly engaged with that plan.


The Christmas fair was so popular that the cab driver ended up having to drop them off at the corner, because he couldn't get any closer. Their car was still in the parking lot by the grocery store from the previous night. The street had been closed off to traffic, and stalls were lined up along either side of the road, people milling between them, wrapped up warm in scarves and hats and gloves. A large hand-painted sign said, This way to the decorated Christmas tree competition.

Spencer blinked, because he was pretty sure that two hours ago he'd been fucking Brendon without a condom, and it kind of felt like a different world. Certainly it felt longer than two hours ago.

"Wow," he said. The street was lined with lights, and there was a brass band and a choir whose members were all in matching reindeer ears.

"This is awesome," Brendon agreed, and then he slipped his gloved hand into Spencer's, and grinned. "Come on, let's go see everything."

Spencer's heart beat loud and hard in his chest, but he let himself be dragged into the throng, still holding Brendon's hand.


"When you say mince pie," Spencer asked carefully, as Mary and Dave tried to force a plate with a tiny pie in the middle of it in his general direction. Mary and Dave were manning the refreshment table in the village hall, and had waved Brendon and Spencer to the head of the line, much to the disgruntlement of the old people in front of them. "Are we talking, like, hamburger meat? Because I'm kind of okay without a hamburger pie, thanks." He eyed the plate dubiously.

Brendon hooked his chin over Spencer's shoulder. "It doesn't look like hamburger meat, Spence."

Mary laughed. "It's not. It's mincemeat. Fruit and spices, mostly. No meat. You'll like it, I promise."

Spencer wasn't so sure, but he accepted the plate anyway, and one for Brendon, who was clutching a tray with two cups of coffee on in chipped cups and saucers. There was a bar of chili and lime chocolate, too, which Brendon had just won on the tombola.

"Are you American?" the lady behind them questioned, poking Brendon in the arm with her purse. She was short and hunched over and clutching a cup of tea in her hand. "I went to America once. Las Vegas. My Arthur bought a cowboy hat and insisted on wearing it all the way home on the plane. I've never been so embarrassed."

Brendon grinned at her. "We're from Las Vegas," he told her. "Would you like to sit with us?"

"These are my honeymooning boys," Mary put in, from behind the table. "The ones I was telling you about."

"Oh," the old lady said, nodding sagely as they wove their way through the tightly packed tables to a free one in the corner. Spencer wondered how this was going to go. She leaned in. "My sister never got to marry her Helen. Crying shame."

Something heavy and painful lodged itself in Spencer's heart. He pulled a chair out for her to sit down, and Brendon clumsily managed to put the tray down and take her cup of tea at the same time. Unable to help himself, he slid his hand into Brendon's, and squeezed.

Brendon glanced at him, swallowing, and then back at the old lady. "I'm sorry," he said. Spencer echoed that, and more. He hated the lie they were living in.

He hated that it was a lie.

"They were very happy, mind," she went on, making herself comfortable. "Forty-seven years they were together. My Arthur and I only managed forty-five before he passed. She always did like to beat me."

Spencer, all of a sudden, wanted to cry. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be," she said. "My Arthur was tired, at the end. So much pain. In the end it was just like falling asleep." For a moment, she looked a million miles away. "I used to wish I'd fall asleep, too, and wake up next to him again." She smiled, a little watery-eyed, and then shook her head, shaking it away. "Don't mind me," she said. "Just an old woman with nothing but her memories." She leaned in and covered Spencer's hand with her own, wrinkled and warm. "Wouldn't change any of them. Not even the sad ones. Worth it for the good ones. Lucy wouldn't have changed any of it with Helen, either. Although a wedding would have been nice. They would have liked that. I would have liked that."

Spencer tried to smile, but couldn't. He laced his fingers with Brendon's, though, and didn't try to pretend like he wasn't wishing that they had forty-five years.

"It's not like God wouldn't have welcomed them with open arms," she went on, looking at their joined hands. "All those good things that they did. Helen did the flowers in the church for thirty years. Don't see why they shouldn't have gone up there as wives."

Brendon shook his head. "He would have welcomed them," he said. Spencer knew what it cost him to say that; Brendon's faith had been dead and buried a long, long time.

She smiled. "He would," she said, then she shook her head. "Listen to me going on. Mary tells me you're honeymooning?"

Spencer nodded. "Yes," he said, since that part at least didn't feel like a lie. Out of all of the lies they were telling during this vacation, the fact that this felt like a real honeymoon wasn't one of them.

"It's really beautiful here," Brendon told her.

Even though it was gray and cloudy and dark and it had rained a lot, the countryside was beautiful and striking, and everyone had been so fucking nice to them. Spencer felt like a dick for letting them believe that they were married.

"Lived here all my life," she said. "I'm Grace, by the way."

"Same name as my mom," Brendon said. His smile was a little lopsided. Spencer swallowed. "I'm Brendon, and this is Spencer."

"I think she's probably very proud of you, isn't she? Proud mum when her boy got married."

"Something like that," Brendon said.

Grace leaned in. "She'll come around. My da, he couldn't bring himself to say Helen's name until 1962." She bumped elbows with Brendon. "Called her his daughter-in-law after that."

"He sounds like a good guy," Spencer said, since there was a muscle pounding in Brendon's cheek and he could recognize the signs.

"He was," Grace said. She smiled a little nostalgically. "Come on, then. Try your mince pie. And then when you've had that, get your young man to run over and get us all a nice buttered Welsh cake. Minnie's made them, and don't let her hear me say it, but they're the best in the county."

Hesitantly, Spencer picked up his mince pie. It was like a miniature pie, the size of a cupcake, but in a foil cupcake case, and dusted with powdered sugar. He carefully removed the foil case and narrowed his eyes. In his head, he was still convinced it was going to taste a lot like hamburger meat.

Brendon grinned at him. "Go on, Spence. Dare you."

"Shut up," Spencer said, but his knee bumped into Brendon's under the table, and Brendon didn't move away. He returned the pressure instead, and the he took a bite.

It was—interesting. It was dried, sweet fruit and spices inside, but kind of weird to explain.

"It's kind of like—I think it tastes like a Fig Newton," he said, after a while.

"Huh," Brendon said, and took a bite. "I like it," he said.

"Converts," Grace said. "Knew there was hope for our American cousins yet."

Spencer wasn't sure. He took another bite. He'd never been the hugest Fig Newton fan, growing up. He'd been fourteen before he'd stopped spitting raisins out, too.

Brendon leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

"What was that for?" he asked, surprised.

Brendon shrugged. "Just because," he said, and did it again.

They spent another half-hour in the refreshment room with Grace, letting her talk. She was sweet and kind and talked a lot. They found out that she and her husband had been all over the world in the sixties. In the end, though, her daughter-in-law came to collect her, and so both Brendon and Spencer kissed her on the cheek before leaving to go wander the rest of the fair.

There were stalls selling homemade holiday cards, and knitted dolls, and stalls inviting passers-by to guess how many jelly beans were in the jar. They tried to guess the weight of the cake, too, but everyone was guessing in grams and neither of them had any idea at all. Brendon bought him a paper cone of candy and red licorice laces, sliding his hand into Spencer's and telling him that they should try to re-enact the scene from Lady and the Tramp with the spaghetti.

It all felt so easy, and so relaxed, and Spencer couldn't remember feeling this happy, or this much in love.

It was so easy to take Brendon's hand and sneak away from the fair and down the path by the side of the church, to lean up against the wall and press his mouth to Brendon's. To rub his cold nose against Brendon's cheek and feel him laugh, and push him away, and then pull him back in for another kiss. He thought, I love you, and kissed him again.

"Best vacation ever," Brendon said softly a while later, sneaking his gloved hand into Spencer's again as they walked down the road towards the decorated Christmas tree exhibition, trying to avoid the crowds of kids with toffee apples and bags of chestnuts. "Best vacation fling ever, right?" He snuck a sidelong glance at Spencer, and grinned, biting his lip.

Spencer nodded, and tried to smile. Vacation fling, he heard, over and over.

Next week they'd be back in L.A., and all this would be over, and Spencer didn't know how the fuck he was supposed to keep his heart from breaking.

"Come on," Brendon said, tugging him into the church hall, where a pathway had been set up, weaving in and out of the decorated trees, a neatly calligraphed sign by each of them with the name of the group that had prepared it. The one closest to the door had knitted slices of cake hanging from the branches. "Cool," he said reverently.

"Yeah," Spencer said, and tried not to wish that things could be different.



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