sunsetmog_fics: (Default)
Title: The Holiday [13/?]
Author: [ profile] sunsetmog
Fandom: Panic! at the Disco
Pairing: Brendon Urie / Spencer Smith
Rating: NC-17 overall.
Word count: 3356 (this part)
Warnings (for this part): None
Notes: Thank you to [ profile] hermette 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.

Accompanying mix available here.

Inspired by The Holiday. Sort of. Um.

Summary: In which Brendon and Spencer go for a walk, take pictures, and eat fish and chips. No, really.

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

Part Thirteen

"Wow," Brendon said, turning around in a circle, eyes wide. "The view up here is amazing."

Spencer concentrated on his pamphlet. "Did you know," he said, "that the Pembrokeshire coast supports some of the finest wildlife habitats in the UK?"

"No," Brendon said, "because I'm not a weirdo like you."

"Shut up," Spencer said. "I'm teaching you interesting stuff. Listen."

"Okay, okay," Brendon said, leaning in and pressing his mouth to the corner of Spencer's. "Totally listening."

Spencer blushed a little, unable to help himself, and busied himself staring down at his pamphlet about the coastline, which he'd picked up from the rack in the parking lot at the bottom of the hill. "The coast is home to gannets, puffins and manx shearwaters," he read.

"Never heard of them," Brendon pronounced. "What else?" He slid his arm around Spencer's waist and, even though it was through ten thermal layers and a lurid purple coat, Spencer's mouth went dry.

"Razorbills, guillemots, kittiwakes, fulmars and various species of gull, as well as shags, cormorants and the rarer choughs and peregrine falcons. How do you think you pronounce chough?" He tried it as chugh, but he wasn't sure that was right. "Chowg?"

"There isn't an animal called a shag, shut up," Brendon said. He hooked his chin over Spencer's shoulder. "And that isn't a word."

"It is, look." Spencer showed him the pamphlet, pointing randomly at the page. "And I think it's a bird."

"Foxes, rabbits, squirrels, seals, porpoises and dolphins," Brendon read. "Cool."

They were standing on the top of a headland, jutting out into the ocean, so that all around them on three sides was nothing but endless gray, angry sea, and the cliffs leading away in both directions. It was beautiful, and bleak, and absolutely freezing.

They'd parked up in the lot at the bottom of the headland, next door to Gareth's fish and chip restaurant, and walked—huffing and puffing a little, for the incline was steep, and the ground kind of treacherous—up one side of the headland. Forty-five minutes later and they were at the topmost point of the hill, with a view that genuinely took Spencer's breath away. Only part of that was due to the fact that Spencer was going to die of cold if he stood here much longer.

"You should take pictures," Brendon said, wrapping his other arm around Spencer's waist and tugging him in closer. It felt—it felt intimate, and kind of possessive, and Spencer really, really liked that, especially as Brendon drew him in for a kiss, gloved hands sliding up over Spencer's cold cheeks. Part of him really wanted Brendon to be possessive. He let himself be kissed.

"It's too cold," he said finally, when there was only so much feeling left in his face. It was really, really cold. He rubbed his nose against Brendon's cheek to demonstrate just how cold. "My fingers will fall off if I try and take pictures."

"You'll regret it," Brendon said, which was the truth. Spencer really would. He loved taking pictures, even when it was cold enough to die of hypothermia. "Get your camera out, Spence. Stop being a giant loser."

Spencer grumbled, trying to shrug off his backpack with minimum amount of effort. His gloves were so huge that getting his backpack open was a lot like trying to thread a needle with a machine gun. In the end, exasperated, Brendon pulled his own gloves off and unjammed the zipper, tugging out Spencer's camera and holding it up like a trophy.

"Not that hard, Spence," he said, rolling his eyes. "You want me to hold it up and press the buttons too?"

Spencer shrugged. That didn't seem like too bad an idea. "MySpace shot?" he suggested.

"No one has uploaded a picture to MySpace since 2007," Brendon pointed out, but he hooked his chin over Spencer's shoulder again, holding the camera up. "Smile for the camera."

Spencer frowned instead, making a face. Brendon took a look at the picture on the display screen and laughed.

"Again," he said. "Smile this time."

"Never," Spencer pronounced. Brendon held the camera up again, and pressed a kiss to Spencer's cheek as he took the picture. Spencer felt himself blushing, even as Brendon continued to hold the camera up, pressing the shutter over and over, but then Brendon was making a soft, whining noise in his throat and kissing him again, for real.

Spencer forgot about the camera and kissed him back.

Afterwards, Brendon touched his mouth to Spencer's jaw, and handed him the camera. "Your turn," he said, pink-cheeked.

It took Spencer a moment to realize that Brendon wasn't inviting Spencer to photograph them kissing again. "Thanks," he said, deliberately not looking at the LCD screen. He held the camera to his eye instead, adjusting the focus with way too much concentration, and focused on the cliffs in the distance, at the endless rocky outcrops and wet-rich green fields tapering suddenly off into the harsh hew of the cliff face.

He took picture after picture, of everything, in all directions. He wanted every single moment of this documented, wanted tangible evidence that this wasn't just a fever dream. Wanted something real to look back and remember.

He turned and focused the camera on Brendon instead, setting it up with a few clicks to catch the way the light hit Brendon, his smile fond and easy. Spencer knew what Brendon looked like when his smile didn't meet his eyes, and this wasn't one of those times. Brendon looked—he looked like he was happy, and having a good vacation, and even if he wasn't in love with Spencer the way Spencer was in love with him, and even if he thought this was just a vacation fling, then at least there would be a picture of him looking happy.

Spencer clicked again and again, and Brendon started to laugh, gloved hand to his mouth. He cupped his hands together and rubbed them for warmth; he waggled his eyebrows at Spencer and pushed his tongue into his cheek. Spencer got it all, picture after picture, and when he was finally done, Brendon tugged him closer and into a kiss, cold mouth against cold mouth, and Spencer couldn't help but wish that things were different.

"Hey," he said, pulling away. "Do you—"

"What?" Brendon asked, and Spencer shook his head. He'd been going to say, Do you ever think that we might be able to do this again in LA? but he'd lost his nerve at the last moment.

"We should go back down," he said. "I'm getting hungry."

"Sure," Brendon agreed. "I could eat a horse. Or a lot of fish and French fries."

"Pysgod a sglodion," Spencer corrected, since that was probably the only Welsh he was going to take back to California with him, and he only knew that from the sign above Gareth's restaurant. He knew that and araf, which he assumed meant 'slow', since it was painted all over the roads. Totally enough to get him through.

Brendon rolled his eyes. "Come on," he said. "I'll pay. My treat."


"Gareth," Brendon proclaimed, bounding into the almost-empty fish and chip restaurant and waving his arms in the air. "A feast. We need a feast. Fit for kings. We have walked for hours. Days."

"We went up the hill," Spencer said, rolling his eyes. He hooked his fingers into the crook of Brendon's sleeve, anyway.

Gareth laughed. "Hi," he said. "You've been all the way up the Head? You must be frozen stupid."

"We are," Brendon said, coming over to the counter and resting his hands on the warm glass screen that separated them from the cooked fish. "I think we probably need all of the food in the world."

"And tea," Gareth supplied.

"And tea," Brendon agreed, and to his credit he only sounded a little doubtful. "And I don't want curry sauce."

"I do," Spencer said, joining Brendon in plastering himself to the warm counter. He didn't care what he looked like—the only other people in the restaurant were an aging waitress flicking through a magazine and not paying either of them any attention, and an old man who was eating bread and butter and staring at them with undisguised interest. "I'll have his."

"Great," Gareth said. "Are you eating in? Do you want the works?"

Spencer was only sure what half of those things meant, but whatever. "Sure," he said.

"Go sit down," Gareth told them. "I'll bring it over."

"Awesome," Brendon said. "And on that note, I'm going to find the bathroom." He darted in and pressed a kiss to Spencer's cheek, and Spencer very carefully did not blush an unbecoming shade of tomato-red.

Spencer ducked his head instead and made for the table in the corner, Keeping an eye on the door through to the bathrooms, he pulled his camera out of his backpack, and switched to playback mode. He hurriedly flicked through the pictures until he came to the ones he was looking for, the ones where he and Brendon were kissing and Brendon kept pressing the shutter.

Most of them were blurred, and more than one of the focused on the stone cairns behind their heads, but there were eleven pictures in total, each one of the two of them together, and Spencer knew he'd never seen himself so in love. "Holy fuck," he said to himself, and bit his lip. He put his camera down in his lap, and tried to remember how to breathe.

"Hey," Brendon called from the counter. Spencer hadn't even seen him come back out of the bathrooms. "Spence, do you want to go see Gareth's band play tonight?"

"You have a band?" Spencer asked, stuffing his camera back into his backpack and hoping that Brendon hadn't seen him looking at the pictures.

Gareth made a face and pulled on another pair of blue disposable gloves. "We're not great," he said. "It's my sister's school Christmas ball, and it turns out she's got more faith in us than we have, because she's bugged the ball committee into paying us to play tonight." He shrugged his shoulders, and poked around in the vats of oil with some kind of utensil. Spencer wasn't sure what he was doing, and he didn't care to ask. "First billing, mind. They've got a DJ from Haverfordwest doing the main part. It's sixth form, too, so they'll all be out necking vodka in the car park whilst we're playing, so you should come. Cheer us on. We're doing covers, mainly."

"Who's us?" Brendon asked, shifting so that the waitress could get back behind the counter.

"Me, Griff on drums, Becca on keyboards and me and Clare on guitar. Well. Clare's only learnt four chords but she's definitely getting better."

"Awesome," Brendon said, sneaking a look across at Spencer and risking a ghost of a wink. "You need a couple of willing roadies?"

Gareth grinned. "We haven't got that much stuff. We had to borrow an amp."

"We'll be your roadies," Brendon said. "Won't we, Spence?"

Spencer couldn't help but grin. Brendon's enthusiasm was infectious. "Sure," he said.

"That's great, guys," Gareth said. "Honestly, it's been so great meeting you both. Like, really great. You should give me your email addresses so we can all keep in touch."

"Definitely," Brendon said. "Have you got a napkin?"

"Serviettes are over there," Gareth said, pointing at the table in the corner. Brendon looked nonplussed for a moment, and then scooped a handful of paper napkins up and sat back down at the table with Spencer.

"Write your email on there," Brendon said, sliding a napkin across the table.

"You do it," Spencer said. "You know it as well as I do."

"Huh," Brendon said, and wrote both of their emails down on the napkin with a leaky ballpoint pen stolen from Gareth. Sliding it to the edge of the table, he pulled another one off the pile and shielded it from Spencer's view, writing something secret on it.

"Hey," Spencer said. "Show me."

"No," Brendon said. "Look out the window or something. I'm busy."

"Show me," Spencer begged.

"In a minute." Brendon ran his tongue over his lip, and then grinned, holding up the napkin. In the middle of it were two stick figures, standing so close that they may or may not have been holding hands, and above that, in capital letters, Brendon had written best vacation.

"Awesome," Spencer said, his heart in his throat.

"What a talent," Gareth said, coming over with two huge plates of battered fish and golden-brown chips, so hot that they were steaming. "Move it out of the way, though, unless you want chips all over it. I've done you fish, chips, mushy peas, a bit of fish cake because I had one left over, two pickled onions and you, Spence, have double the curry sauce. Violet's bringing you your bread and butter and your tea, so I hope you're hungry."

"The hungriest," Brendon said, shooting an awkward look at Spencer across the table. "Right, Spence?"

"Right," Spencer echoed and looked down at his plate.

The food was pretty amazing, even though Brendon wasn't exactly sold on pickled onions and Spencer wasn't sure he and mushy peas were going to have a long and lasting relationship. The fish was delicious though, bright white and fresh, the batter golden and crisp and hot. The fishcake was good, although Spencer preferred the battered fish, and both of them gave the tea and bread and butter a cursory nod of approval, especially when they realized they could make their own French fry sandwiches.

Gareth came over and told them to come over to his place for six, and they could help load the stuff into the back of their cars. "Bet you're sorry you offered to help now," he said, passing them a white takeout box and a carrier bag. "But here's some afters for you to take home. To say thanks in advance, like."

"Afters?" Spencer asked.

"Dessert. Pudding," Gareth told them. "It's just a couple of slices of double chocolate gateau, but I thought you might want to take them with you."

"Thanks," Brendon said, and pulled out his wallet. He'd already paid for the rest of their meal when they'd ordered it. "How much do we owe you?"

Gareth put his hands up. "Gateau is on me," he said. "To say thanks for tonight."

Afterwards, Spencer leaned across the table. "Gateau?" he asked.

"Absolutely no clue," Brendon said with a grin. "It'll be a surprise."

"Better not have anything to do with fish," Spencer said, blowing out his cheeks and rubbing his stomach. He was so fucking full. He couldn't eat another mouthful of anything, if someone paid him.

"It won't," Brendon said, leaning over the table and curling his fingers into Spencer's for a moment. "Are you ready to go?"

I want to go to LA like this, Spencer thought, but he didn't say that. "Yeah," he said instead. "Come on."


Gateau turned out to be two slices of chocolate layer cake with approximately six inches of chocolate cream frosting on the top and on the side, and another two layers in the middle.

"Wow," Spencer said and blinked.

"It's like a heart attack in a slice of cake," Brendon said. "Let's eat it now."

"How can you have space for anything else to eat?" Spencer asked, yawning and unzipping his coat. They'd snuck a look inside the box Gareth had given them as soon as they'd got inside, but Spencer couldn't have eaten it if he tried. He unlaced his boots with stiff fingers, and then toed them off, leaving them in the entrance to the kitchen. "All I want to do is lie on the couch and not move again. Ever."

"Loser," Brendon said, following suit and kicking off his shoes. "Does not moving again, ever, include not making out with me?"

"Never," Spencer said decidedly, without looking up. He knew he meant never, ever. He was, after all, a guy who was in it for the long haul, even though Brendon wasn't. He resolved to speak to Brendon about it when they got home, see if there was a space for the two of them to hook up when they weren't in Wales. It wouldn't be the same as it was here, he knew that, but right now he'd take something. Anything.

"Awesome," Brendon said, scooping up the box with the cake in, and a couple of spoons. "Come lie on the couch with me and make out."

"How could anyone resist," Spencer told him dryly, hoping his want didn't show on his face.

Brendon just waggled his eyebrows. "Come on," he said and led the way into the living room, only stopping to make sure the lights on the Christmas tree were switched on. "It's sad we're not going to be here for Christmas," he said, perching the cake on the edge of the coffee table.

"Yeah," Spencer said. He'd flicked the switch on the boiler in the kitchen so the room should start to warm up at some point. They didn't have that long before they needed to go out to meet Gareth, so there wasn't time to light the fire properly. Instead, he tugged the heart-shaped blanket off the back of the couch, and sprawled over the cushions, pulling the blanket over him.

"Hey," Brendon complained. "Leave some blanket for me." He made Spencer shift back on the couch so that he was lying on his side; then he slid into the space Spencer had left, and wrapped his arm around Spencer's waist. "Don't want to fall off," he said, wriggling until he was covered with the blanket too.

Spencer ducked his gaze and let his forehead rest against Brendon's for a moment. Just for these few minutes it felt like it was only the two of them, with a relationship that stretched back across the albums and forward through the years. Brendon pressed his lips to Spencer's cheek.

Spencer let his eyes fall closed, letting out a breath, and then Brendon cupped his face in his hand and tilted Spencer's chin up, touching his mouth to Spencer's. Spencer let himself be kissed, Brendon's hand in his hair, and then it was easy to slide his hands under Brendon's sweater and pull him closer and kiss him back.

He had no idea how long they stayed there, just kissing, but when they were interrupted by the alarm going off on Brendon's phone, Spencer was breathless and flushed.

Brendon pulled away and fumbled awkwardly on the table for his phone. "We need to go soon," he said, and Spencer complained, pulling Brendon down for another kiss.

"Stay here," he said. "Make out with me some more." They were both hard, in a lazy, comfortable kind of a way, but Spencer hadn't any particular desire to take things any further right now. He just wanted to make out on the couch for the rest of the night. Brendon's mouth was red and well-kissed, and Spencer felt a strange sense of pride knowing that that was him.

"I pressed snooze," Brendon said, grinning lopsidedly.

"Awesome," Spencer said, and slid his hands into the small of Brendon's back. He nipped at Brendon's bottom lip with his teeth, and Brendon whined in the back of his throat, tilting his chin. It was so easy just to kiss him again, over and over until the alarm went off again.

"We have to go," Brendon said regretfully. "Come on."

Spencer groaned, and readjusted himself in his pants, awkwardly hard. "Okay, let me get changed."

"No time for jerking off," Brendon rolled his eyes and touched a kiss to Spencer's temple. "Change your shirt, let's go."

"There's always time for jerking off," Spencer grumbled, sneaking a look at Brendon's erection.

"There would have been, if we hadn't pressed snooze. But we did, and now we're late. Get off, fuck, okay, one more kiss—"

Spencer grinned against Brendon's mouth, and kissed him again.

It didn't matter if they were a bit late.



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