“You still sure you wanna do this?” Brendon asks.
Spencer lets his head fall forward, bracing himself a little more firmly against the tiled wall he’s pressed up against. They’re in the shower--have been for a long time by now. Brendon’s taken his time, fingering Spencer until he was begging for more, fucking him until he was just begging. Spencer shifts his weight, spreads his legs a bit wider. He feels loose and relaxed, warm from the water. If they’re going to try this, now seems like a good time.
Brendon leans forward, kissing his neck. Spencer leans into it, closing his eyes when Brendon’s hands move down his back to his hips. Brendon’s hands fit perfectly there, always knowing just how hard to grip to give Spencer exactly what he needs. Right now, they’re settling on his hipbones, ten points pressing down just on the side of too hard. Spencer moans and presses back, spreads his legs even more.
“I’ll start slow,” Brendon murmurs, and Spencer wants to protest, because they’ve fucked for what feels like forever at this point. Then again, he thinks, shuddering as Brendon works first one finger and then a second one into him, slow’s probably a good idea if they’re going to get to the end of this exercise without Spencer coming all over himself.
Brendon works in a third finger, spreading them inside Spencer’s body. Spencer ducks his head lower, biting his lip to keep himself from telling Brendon exactly how fucking amazing it feels.
(As much as Brendon loves it when Spencer talks, he loves it even more when he has to fight Spencer for it, and Spencer’s determined to keep himself together for as long as he can.)
Brendon works a fourth finger into him, and Spencer bites down around a groan. Brendon’s fingers are fucking him slowly, stretching him to the point where Spencer’s dizzy with it, pain and pleasure melting together until all he can think about is how fucking full he feels.
Brendon twists his fingers sharply, making Spencer fumble desperately for the base of his cock. He can’t come yet. Not now. Not when they’ve got this far and he’s so fucking close to getting what he wants. He pushes his ass back against Brendon’s hand.
“I said more.”
He feels Brendon’s thumb brush against the back of his balls, sliding towards his hole and stroking the rim of it. Spencer holds his breath, waiting, unable to keep a whining sound from escaping his mouth, because this is fucking it. Another couple of seconds, and Brendon’s going to be completely inside him.
The thought is enough to push him right up to the edge again, and Brendon must sense it, because he stops moving and takes a step back, pulling his fingers out, steady and torturously slow.
“Breathe,” Brendon tells him, stroking the base of Spencer’s back in a way that’s probably meant to be consoling but that mainly just manages to make Spencer want to cry in frustration. “Trust me, okay?”
He reaches for something behind them, and Spencer hears the familiar sound of a condom wrapper being opened.
“I’ve been thinking about this since I saw it at the store,” Brendon says. “The way it’s perfectly shaped and I can barely fit my hand around it. I haven’t been able to take a shower in weeks without imagining how fucking hot it would look pushing into you, stretching you so fucking wide...”
Spencer cranes his head, looking back over his shoulder, breath hitching in his throat when he sees what Brendon’s holding.
The shower at Brendon’s house is a study in decadence, with a huge overhead shower head as well as two hand-held ones, massage features and a thing that creates hot steam. About a month ago, Brendon switched one of the hand-held pieces, claiming the old one didn’t supply enough water and replacing it with a huge, silver thing about the size of his lower arm.
“Relax,” Brendon says, pressing up close to Spencer’s back. “Just push back and breathe, okay?”
Somehow, Spencer manages a nod, and then there’s pressure against his hole, Brendon pushing the shower head into him, slow and unrelenting.
The muscles gives and Spencer feels the warm metal push inside, splitting him open and making him scramble for something to hold on to. His legs feel like they’re going to give out, every single nerve in his body feeling like it has relocated to his ass. It’s complete sensory overload, the pain and pleasure almost too much to bear and not enough at the same time.
He’s never been a size queen. Never even knew he liked being fucked until Brendon came along, and yet here he is, stretched to the breaking point by a fucking metal shower head, letting Brendon fuck him into the wall with it and loving every second.
He barely notices when he comes, the orgasm taking him over between one thrust and the next, and it’s only when Brendon pulls the metal out of him, replacing it with his hand—his entire hand, holy fucking shit--that Spencer realises that his body is cramping down around it.
Hd doesn’t know what he says or does (or moans and shouts, more like it), just lets himself go boneless in Brendon’s arms and let him fuck him through it. Brendon eventually slows down, withdrawing his hand carefully, and Spencer whines at the loss, pushing back against Brendon until Brendon relents and gives him two fingers back.
The water keeps running down their bodies, still hot and soothing. Spencer is vaguely aware of Brendon jerking off behind him, feels Brendon’s fingers twitch inside him and the movement of his fist on his cock against Spencer’s back. He’s too tired to do much more than moan encouragingly, happy the wall is there for him to lean against when Brendon collapses against him, adding his own dead weight to Spencer’s own.
“That was awesome,” Brendon mumbles, sounding blissful and fucked out. Spencer doesn’t need to turn his head to know that Brendon is smiling.
He manages a nod, angling his head just enough to meet Brendon’s lips for a soft, lingering kiss.
Spencer loves his fucking life.