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Untitled telepathy ficlet

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Everything about Brendon's dream is going awesome until he is--inexplicably--underwater.

"Mffph!" Brendon sputters. He blinks. There's water running down his nose. His pillow is soaking wet.

"Fuck.You." Spencer says, deliberately. He's holding an empty water glass in one hand. He looks both half-awake and murderous. "Ryan? Really, Brendon? Really?"

"S'wasn't Ryan," Brendon mumbles, sitting up and swiping at his face. His dream is coming back in bits and pieces. Mostly Brendon just remembers having some fucking hot sex with someone, and it was great, and they were all tall and skinny, and--

"Dammit," Brendon says, feeling his face flush. "Oh. Oh god."

"If you don't find a way to fix this, I'm going to end you," Spencer says, pointing at Brendon threateningly.

He leaves the room.

Brendon shakes his head at the door. He fumbles around on his floor for something to dry his head off with, and then he leans back against his single unsodden pillow and starts jerking off because whatever, it was just a dream, right? He's definitely not going to jerk off thinking about Ryan, but the person-who-possibly-looked-sort-of-maybe-kind-of like a Ryan Ross type person in his dream was pretty flexible. Brendon can get down with that.

All he has to do is switch the faces, and voila! Instant orgasm.

Mmm, Brendon thinks, rolling his shoulders a little, sinking back further into the bed.

The door flies open again.

"Take your hand off your dick," Spencer snaps.

Brendon's so surprised that he actually complies.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" Spencer says. "Obviously, I can still hear you. Obviously. Since you woke me up because you were dreaming about fucking my childhood best friend."

"You're really cranky," Brendon says, swallowing a little at how he's like. Completely sort of naked in front of Spencer, and also really hard, and probably this should be awkward but mostly he would just like to continue jerking off, because he was kind of getting into something, there.

"It's three-o-clock in the morning and I'm being kept awake by your non-stop libido," Spencer says. "Of course I'm fucking cranky."

"You do realize there's an obvious solution to this problem," Brendon says, and then ducks the t-shirt that Spencer throws at his head.


"Brendon," Spencer says, with a long suffering sigh. "Put the Crisco down."

"But--" Brendon says, wounded. He wasn't even thinking thinking about it. He was just kind of vaguely considering it, and then he started wondering what the hell was in Crisco anyway, and then he picked it up and now Spencer is yelling at him.

"Just," Spencer says. "Just. Brendon."

"Fine," Brendon says, and puts it down. "But we're still making cake tonight. I want cake like whoa."

"Are you going to fuck the cake?" Spencer says.

"What?" Brendon says, frowning. "Uh, no, dude."

"Then awesome," Spencer says. "Fantastic. Let's make cake."


"No more licking the beaters," Spencer says, pulling them out of Brendon's hand. "Just. No."

"I wasn't even--!"

"It was close enough," Spencer says. "No one needs to see that."


"Is there anything that doesn't make you think about sex?" Spencer says, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. "Anything at all."

Brendon looks down at the Monopoly board.

"We could take Bogart for a walk," Brendon says, helpfully. "Watching dogs pee is totally not a turn-on for me."

"Oh my god," Spencer says faintly, covering his eyes with one hand.

"Okay," Spencer says, setting his beer down on the table with a clunk! "That's it. I give up. It's been six days. I'm going to go jerk off. I quit."

"Finally," Brendon says, gleeful. He wiggles farther down into the couch cushions, palming himself and getting comfortable. He should probably move, but Spencer's been busting in on him every night, and waking him up from perfectly good dreams, and watching him shower, and generally being a creepy fucking cockblocking stalker and Brendon just does not care anymore. He is going to whip it out and Spencer can suck it.

(Metaphorically speaking.)

"No," Spencer says, batting Brendon's hand away. "See, that's where you come in. Or don't come in, actually. All I want is some goddamn peace and quiet in my own little fantasy world, so you are going to sit here and not think about sex for the next fifteen minutes, okay? I don't care what you do. I don't care if you have to get blind drunk to do it. Just don't think about sex," Spencer says firmly.

Brendon stares at him.

"You are such a buzzkill," Brendon says, finally. "Look, if I do this, can I finally go get myself off?"

"Sure," Spencer says. "Sure, whatever."


Except now Brendon's stuck in the living room, thinking about Spencer jerking off, with very strict instructions not to think about anyone, including Spencer, jerking off.

"Um," Brendon says, out loud to the room. He closes his eyes and tries to thing about things like primary colors and rainbows and unicorns and ninjas and various other things, but mostly he just keeps seeing flashes of himself fucking Spencer.

The way Spencer might arch his back when Brendon--

--and the smell of his skin--

--and his long legs wrapped around Brendon's waist, his heels digging in at just the right moments, and--

There's a loud, surprised groan from the other end of the house. Brendon can feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He closes his eyes and thinks about kissing Spencer afterwards, just to make sure--long, lazy kisses, full of heat and promise.

There are footsteps behind him.

"Goddammit," Spencer mumbles, leaning over the back of the couch. Brendon has to twist his body into the kiss, but it's worth it, it's totally worth it, fuck, why couldn't they have done this way before tonight, there's so many awesome ways to take advantage of this weird telepathy thing before it goes awa--

"Oh my god," Spencer says, breaking away. "You want me to spank you?"