all fics are hereby disclaimed. i do not know, own, or have any knowledge of the people depicted in them. fics rated R or NC-17 contain strong adult themes and graphic sexual content, so if you are below legal age and choose to read them, you do so at your own discretion. the plots are my own, and as such are not to be recreated in any way outside of this journal.

( my words are weapons. )

Spencer finds the file on Brendon's laptop, completely by mistake. He's just borrowing it because his froze, and he doesn't even mean to open it, it just sort of. Happens.

It opens up a movie player, and at first, just buffers. But then dark, grainy footage comes onto the screen, wobbly, like someones just setting up a video camera, or a cell phone even, judging by the quality. It’s pointed directly at- at a bed, and seconds later, Brendon walks into the frame. He’s shirtless, and his dark jeans are slung low on his hips. His hair is short, so it must be recent, and it's tousled like he just woke up. Brendon looks directly into the camera, and licks his lips.

Spencer swallows hard.

Brendon takes a few steps backwards, towards the bed, snapping open the buttons on his jeans at the same time. His eyes never leave the camera, and he slides his jeans down his legs, and sits down on the bed. He’s not wearing any underwear, never does, and even without the right lighting, Spencer can make out his cock, hard and defined against the milky white of Brendon’s stomach.

Brendon doesn't touch himself straight away; he runs his hands up and down his thighs, completely silent. His gaze is still leveled at the camera, like it’s someone else in the room he can’t look away from. His raises his right hand to his mouth, licking the palm liberally, and every move is slow and deliberate. For show. He grasps his cock, and Spencer can tell he’s keeping the touches light, bare. Brendon moans, a tinny reverberation, and he spreads his legs wider, pushing his hips up and forward. He leans back a little at the same time he sucks two fingers on his left hand into his mouth, and Spencer’s breathing catches somewhere behind his ribs.

His own cock is hard, pressing against the rough denim of his jeans, and Spencer pushes the heel of his hand down against it, trying to find relief. On screen, Brendon’s got one finger inside himself, knuckle deep, and Spencer watches, mouth open, as he slides the second one in as well. The hand Brendon has on his cock works faster, pumping rhythmically. Spencer shifts uncomfortably, rubbing his palm against himself harder, as Brendon’s head tilts a little to the left, like it’s just too much effort to keep it up. He’s staring into the camera, still, but Spencer’s too busy watching the slide of his hand over his cock, the barest of coil to his wrist, to really feel guilty about it.

He’s embarrassed to be this close, already, he can feel warm heat in his belly, slow tendrils creeping down to his thighs, but then he hears a broken moan spill from Brendon’s mouth and he forgets about everything but the curve of Brendon’s shoulders, the sharp line of muscle flexing in his forearm, the way his mouth drops open when he comes, eyes clenched shut.

Spencer tries really hard not to come all over Brendon's laptop, but figures fuck it, he's got enough money to replace it.