
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/86267.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Bandom, Panic_At_The_Disco
  Relationship:
      Spencer_Smith/Brendon_Urie
  Additional Tags:
      Crossdressing, Breathplay
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-05-13 Words: 1066
****** Overlap ******
by fictionalaspect
Summary
     "No," Spencer says, his voice strangely breathless. "No, Brendon,
     come on. Pull it tighter."
"No," Spencer says, his voice strangely breathless. "No, Brendon, come on. Pull
it tighter."
"I"m trying," Brendon mutters. Spencer feels careful fingers tucking themselves
under the lacings, and then all of a sudden Brendon pulls. Spencer sucks in a
breath; he can feel all the bones in his back shifting into place, forcing his
spine into alignment. Brendon traces one hand down the side of the corset,
keeping the laces pulled tightly in his other hand.
"That okay?" Brendon says softly. He sounds just as breathless as Spencer
feels. He's almost afraid to look in the mirror; his bangs are hanging down in
his eyes, and he can't seem to look up at his reflection. He can see it in his
head, though; pink cheeks, broad shoulders, the smooth satin of the corset. One
of Brendon's hands is on his waist, his fingers tan against the cream-colored
fabric. His fingers are shaking, just a little.
"Spencer," Brendon breathes out, nosing at the back of his neck. Spencer tips
his head forward, swallowing back a tiny noise.
(He still can't believe they're doing this, even after all the conversations,
all the blushing and stammering they'd had to push through before Spencer had
admitted what he'd really wanted. Brendon had looked at him with wide eyes, and
swallowed firmly. Then he'd said, I think you'd look good like that.
Stop fucking with me, Spencer had answered, something to that effect. There was
no way Brendon really---there was just no way. Spencer was never that lucky.
No, I, Brendon had said, and looked away. When he'd looked back, his cheeks
were bright red, his breath coming in short pants. I'm serious.
And then later, when they were tired and sore and sticky, he had said
hesitantly, Would you let me fuck you like that?
Yes, Spencer had whispered, tucking his face into Brendon's shoulder. Please.)
Spencer can feel the transferred movement of Brendon's hands as he ties the
laces, knotting them several times so they won't come undone. Spencer knows
this is real, knows it because he's standing in Brendon's dirty bathroom and
through the mirror he can see the large scratch mark on the wall from a
previous tenent. He still feels lightheaded.
Brendon wraps both of his hands around the span of Spencer's waist, so much
smaller now, streamlined. His breath is hot on the back of Spencer's neck as he
mutters, "We should probably go in the bedroom before I just shoot all over
you," and Spencer snorts.
The movement causes his ribcage to expand--or to attempt to expand, meeting the
sudden resistance of boning and fabric--and it's suddenly not quite a joke
anymore. Spencer breathes shallowly and thinks about how it would feel, Brendon
pressing him down on the sink, a hot rush of liquid over the exposed skin
between the lacings. Behind him, Brendon's nipping his teeth over Spencer's
shoulder, pressing his hips into Spencer's back like he can't quite contain
himself.
"Bed," Spencer says, all in a rush. "Bed. Yes. I think. Now."
"Yeah," Brendon says. Spencer pushes himself away from the sink and walks
unsteadily; movement feels different. His center of gravity is higher. His hips
swivel more.
Brendon watches him go, and Spencer can feel the heat building on his cheeks.
Part of him wishes he were wearing underwear, stockings, anything to hide
behind; part of him wants the attention, wants Brendon to see exactly what
Spencer looks like in nothing but this.
"Jesus fuck," Brendon says, and then he's stumbling over to the bed behind
Spencer, pulling him down with two hands wrapped around Spencer's hips.
Spencer's taller, probably stronger, but he likes it when Brendon pushes him
around a little. Brendon tends to get a little forceful, sometimes even a
little rough, when he's got a goal in mind. Spencer likes being that goal.
Brendon digs his fingers in and then soothes them over the bruise, biting at
the curve of Spencer's neck. Spencer just arches out, pushes himself into the
sensation of Brendon on top of him. Brendon drags his tongue over the abused
skin and then pulls away slightly, hovering just over Spencer. Spencer licks
his lips, looking up at Brendon through his eyelashes. He's being coy, and
Brendon must know it, but it still works.
God, you're so fucking pretty, Brendon whispers. The words sound filthy in his
mouth, spoken in that low growl that Brendon sometimes falls into without
meaning to. Spencer shivers, closing his eyes. It's an instinctive reaction. He
feels Brendon's fingers tighten around the span of his waist.
Brendon takes his time getting Spencer ready. He's not gentle with him, but
he's not hurried, either. He sucks a bruise into the top of Spencer's thigh,
moving his fingers slowly inside him.
Spencer knows he's being loud; he can't help it. His skin feels like it's
crackling, like every nerve is standing on edge, and Brendon just keeps pushing
him forward, slow and steady.
The corset restricts his movements. He can't draw a full breath. The satin is
slick against his skin, and Brendon never lets go. Sometimes he's tucking his
fingers into the laces; sometimes he's scratching his nails over the fabric, or
leaning up to sink his teeth into the hard ridge of it against Spencer's hip.
He pushes his tongue underneath the fabric, and Spencer jerks, pressing back
onto three of Brendon's fingers with a startled groan.
When Brendon hikes Spencer's legs up around his waist and actually pushes into
him, Spencer has a moment where he really, honestly can't breathe. The new
angle restricts the boning; it presses down at the base of his ribcage and
Spencer throws his head back and gasps for air. Brendon snaps his head up, eyes
wide, and then shoves his hand under the place where the boning has shifted,
giving Spencer room to breath.
They wait, panting, until Spencer nods.
Brendon leans back, taking more of Spencer's weight on his knees, so that
Spencer's torso can stay straight while they fuck. It's an new angle, a deeper
one, and Spencer hears himself let out a broken moan as if from far away. The
burn is thick and good, and Spencer pushes back weakly into Brendon's thrusts.
It feels like he's flying; his vision sparkles slightly around the edges.
You're beautiful, Brendon whispers, just before he comes. So, so beautiful.
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