As close as it gets to home (3/3)
Title: As close as it gets to home
Pairings: Gerard/Frank, Ryan/Brendon, Spencer/Jon, Brendon/Mikey
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction, no disrespect intended.
Warning: Pseudo-character death.
Notes: Telepath police consultant AU. Title taken from the BTE song ‘Our Finest Year.’
Thanks: To adellyna, who has claimed this story as her own and provided more support and encouragement than I have ever deserved; to maleyka and ficklish for reading and sharing their thoughts; and to impasto for the amazing beta.
part one ~ part two
The last day in February, there’s trouble. Toro’s people have a run-in with local law enforcement, and there’s a cop down and three members of the syndicate dead. None of the bodies have ID, of course, which leaves Gerard pacing a hole in his carpet, willing Frank’s phone to ring.
He leaves a message on Mikey’s voicemail and chokes out, “Call me, you cunt,” before he hangs up. Mikey might not check his voicemail for days, he knows, but it’s the only thing he can do.
He wants to go down to the morgue, but Frank won’t let him. “You know it’s being watched, what are they going to think if they see you go in there to ID a body? It’s not worth the risk. They’ll call us as soon as they have names.”
“I’m a cop, the morgue will be crawling with cops,” Gerard argues.
“You’re not a cop, and how are you going to feel if you go down there and end up getting him killed?”
Gerard is on the verge of screaming something extremely childish like ‘you can’t tell me what to do!’ when Frank’s phone rings.
Frank immediately starts writing in his notepad, and Gerard is holding his breath. “Okay,” Frank says finally, and he looks up at Gerard, shakes his head quickly. Gerard’s legs wobble, and he falls back against the office door, relief washing every other thought out of his mind.
“Okay. Thanks.” The phone clicks shut and Frank says, “They got IDs on all of them, it’s not Mikey. Not Brendon, either.” He sounds weary, though, like he’s thinking the same thing Gerard is, that it could very well have been and now it’s only a matter of time before they do this all over again. And again.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Gerard says.
“Gee.” Frank comes back into his line of sight, worried and tired. “It’ll be fine. Go home, get some sleep.”
“No,” Gerard insists, pushing off the door and starting to pace again. “Fuck that, I want him home. I can’t do this.”
“Yes you can,” Frank argues firmly.
“No, I fucking…” is as far as Gerard gets before Frank has him against the wall and his tongue is in Gerard’s mouth.
It’s a surprise, and that’s rare; usually Gerard can feel Frank’s impulses before he acts, especially a surge like this one. But it only takes him a second to adjust before he’s kissing back just as fiercely, hands fisted in Frank’s hair and teeth scraping his lip.
He hates being pinned, so after a minute he pushes free and gets Frank shoved against the other wall, struggling all the way across the room and taking out the coat rack in the process. It hits the carpet with a muffled thud and Frank moans, scrabbling at Gerard until he basically crawls up his body and wraps his legs around Gerard’s hips.
The two of them are making enough noise that Gerard fervently hopes everyone else has gone home for the night. He gropes until he finds the chair, dislodges Frank for long enough to jam it under the door handle and then tackles him onto the couch.
Frank wriggles under him until they’re grinding, still devouring each other’s mouths, and Frank’s hands have pushed under Gerard’s shirt to rub maddeningly over his nipples. Gerard attacks his neck in response, finding every sensitive spot he’s ever known about, until Frank is thrashing and they’re both moaning and the whole thing is on its way to being over very quickly.
“Wait,” Gerard gasps, worming a hand between them. “I want your cock.”
Frank gets out, “Fuck,” before Gerard yanks his pants open and goes down on him.
It’s over fast, and not just because Gerard is cheating mercilessly by reading Frank’s responses and playing him like a harp string. He can’t keep himself from merging with Frank when they’re like this, he never has, and Frank’s mind blanks out white over his own when Gerard swallows and he comes.
He could take care of himself, but Frank is already pulling at him, still panting and dizzy. Gerard claims another kiss, this one some twisting combination of heated-dazed-urgent-lazy, and Frank manhandles him until he has enough leverage to stick a hand down his pants.
Gerard gasps, and Frank takes full advantage of his distraction by teasing, biting his lip and licking his cheek, whispering to him in filthy broken words Gerard isn’t even hearing because he’s too busy shaking. Frank might not be telepathic, but he knows Gerard’s body, his reactions, and he remembers what happens when he does that thing with his thumb and forefinger just right.
Gerard sees stars when he comes, and then Frank is kissing him again, their limbs tangled together and leaden. “Haven’t had sex on this couch in a while,” Frank murmurs, and Gerard ignores him, busy licking his way into Frank’s mouth.
“Are you off-duty now?” Gerard asks, when the sweat starts cooling and reminding him of how uncomfortably sticky his pants are.
“Yeah.” Frank’s eyes are heavy-lidded, his hands stroking lazily down Gerard’s back.
Gerard lifts his head and says quietly, “Take me home.”
Brendon shows up as a cacophony of noise and light and motion in Ryan’s head, in the middle of the night when he ought to be sleeping but isn’t. He’s confused for a second, because it feels like Brendon but it doesn’t, off-balance and strange somehow, until the chaos clears a bit around the edges and he hears, help.
He takes the stairs two at a time, out of his apartment building and down the street, and finds Brendon huddled next to a tree in the rain. Ryan throws his arms around Brendon and hugs him so tightly it probably hurts, but Brendon’s teeth chatter and he just says, “Gerard. Get me to Gerard.”
Ryan pulls out his phone and dials, one hand still on Brendon, because there’s no way he’s letting go. He tries to link, but Brendon’s mind is a swirling haze of confusion and bright colour, and Ryan pulls back within seconds, unable to keep in contact.
He doesn’t try the office or Gerard’s apartment, but goes straight for the emergency number, the one they all have programmed in just in case something happens while they’re on call and they can’t handle it alone. Gerard picks up on the second ring, probably just-woken but still sharp and alert. “Hello?”
“It’s Ryan, I’m with Brendon and he says he needs to get to you.” He doesn’t give any more explanation than that, because he’s not sure what he would say, exactly. Brendon starts shaking under his hand, the fabric of his sweatshirt damp but not enough to give him that kind of chill. Ryan wraps an arm around his back and pulls him closer.
Gerard’s instructions are quick and concise. “I’m texting you an address in the Ida district, I’ll meet you there. Has he been followed?”
Ryan opens his mind and can’t feel anyone paying them any sort of attention, but he could be missing something. Brendon’s wreaking havoc with his telepathy, a constant blare of dissonant sound and flashing light. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know.”
“Be as careful as you can, if his cover is still good they shouldn’t see you come to this house.” There are sounds in the background of the call, like hasty dressing, and the jangle of keys.
Brendon isn’t close enough to hear Gerard’s voice through the phone, but he must be picking up on Ryan’s thoughts, because he chants, “Blown. So blown,” through still-chattering teeth.
Ryan hesitates, knowing he needs to get Brendon in a car as soon as possible, but he feels like Gerard should probably know this now. “He’s on something. I don’t know what, but his head is a mess, I can’t link with him and I don’t think he can shield at all.”
Gerard pauses on the other end of the line, and then asks, “Do you need help with him? I can meet you first, but I’m on the other side of town, it’ll take more time.”
Brendon starts slowly sinking to the ground. Ryan hauls him back up, already dragging him towards the car, and says, “No, I’ll call Spencer.”
“I’ll meet you in ten minutes,” Gerard says, and Ryan hangs up. Brendon sways a little, and the noise-light-sound-noise grows dangerously louder before suddenly fading. Ryan’s phone beeps with a text, and he pushes Brendon into the car and clicks his seatbelt shut before flipping it open to read the address.
“Sorry,” Brendon says beside him. There’s a song playing in his head, rambling and sharp, loud enough that Ryan can’t block it from his mind without completely shutting Brendon out, which he refuses to do. He can still focus enough to drive, although his nerves are shot to hell so they fluctuate between crawling along at a snail’s pace and speeding fast enough to get him a ticket if he’s not careful.
Brendon starts singing, no words, just sound, and it’s not the song in his head, but something that jangles oddly in juxtaposition. Ryan reaches out to see if he can calm him down, but once again he has to grit his teeth and pull back. Brendon falls suddenly, suspiciously quiet, and Ryan looks over wildly to make sure he’s still conscious and alive.
“Don’t you fucking leave me,” Ryan orders, and puts his foot down on the gas.
“It’s Brendon,” is all Ryan gets out before Spencer is out of his bed and getting dressed, pulling on jeans and the first shirt he comes across. He’s out the door right as Ryan’s car pulls up, a dark blur behind the hazy curtain of rain.
Brendon looks like shit, and Ryan’s not doing well either, his hands clenched tight on the steering wheel. “Can you stay with him?” Ryan asks, as Spencer slides into the backseat and slams the door shut. “He’s fucked up, I can’t drive and pay attention to him at the same time.”
Spencer almost tells Ryan to pull over the car so he can drive, but Ryan’s already on the highway looking determined, so Spencer puts a hand on Brendon’s shoulder and squeezes. “Hey.”
He understands immediately what Ryan meant; Brendon’s head feels like electricity sparking off a live wire. For the first time in the past three-and-a-half weeks, Spencer wishes desperately for Jon. He isn’t sure whether it’s for Brendon, or for him, or for both of them, but he does.
Ryan jerks the car to a stop in front of the building they’re headed for and glares like he dares Spencer to say anything. Spencer is too busy unbuckling Brendon’s seatbelt and pulling him out of the car to complain about a crappy parking job.
“I’m not a complete invalid,” Brendon objects when Spencer ducks under his arm to support him, but he stumbles and nearly goes down a second later, so Spencer ignores him.
Gerard jerks the door open when Ryan bangs on it, and motions for them all to head upstairs. Brendon starts talking while they’re still moving, disjointed but coherent.
“Something happened to tip them off, they gave me a talky-truth-thingy, I don’t know what but there were an awful lot of questions, and I’m pretty sure I answered most of them, I just don’t know what I said.” Brendon trips over a stair and Ryan swears, but together they finally make it into the room upstairs and get Brendon onto the couch.
Gerard crouches in front of him, hands cradling Brendon’s head although Spencer is sure he feels the same way he and Ryan do, the instinctive urge to back away from the swirling chaos of Brendon’s mind. “Do they know about Mikey?” he asks, and there’s suddenly a collage of images splashing over Spencer’s brain, dark hair and pale skin and soft lips.
He sees Ryan jerk, but Brendon seems to pull himself together a little and shakes his head. “No. I don’t think so. They didn’t ask me.”
“Do they know about you?” Gerard asks, and Brendon starts laughing.
“Yes. Definitely yes.” More images, none of them fitting together this time, and Gerard tenses a little at the onslaught but doesn’t let go.
“Are you in any shape for one of us to get in your head?” Gerard asks.
Spencer wants to tell him flat-out that the answer is obviously no, but Brendon thinks about it and finally nods. “I think you’d better,” he says quietly. “I don’t remember what I said.”
“I’ll do it,” Ryan says, and there’s a panicked burst of jagged technicolour from Brendon that hits Spencer like a physical blow.
“Spencer. I want Spencer,” Brendon says, and Spencer feels the stab of hurt that comes from Ryan along with the sharp intake of breath, sliding right through his mind like a knife blade while he’s still reeling from Brendon.
“How about me?” Gerard suggests gently, and Brendon studies him for a long, serious moment before he nods. “Spencer, come help me with this. Brendon, focus on Spencer. Don’t worry about me, just focus on him.”
Spencer takes Brendon’s hands and holds his eyes, aware in the back of his mind that Ryan is still hovering, desperate to help. He’s pretty sure he knows why Brendon doesn’t want Ryan in his head right now, but one of his secrets has already been blown, and the other one Ryan has managed not to see for the better part of a year, even when it’s right in front of him.
He feels Gerard slip in, smooth and practiced, and Brendon twitches a little when he feels it, grip tightening on Spencer’s hands. Spencer keeps holding him, keeping as much of a link as he can open between them, and Brendon’s thoughts clash against his like an orchestra tuning while Gerard calmly sorts through his memories and puts every one back in place.
“Okay,” Gerard says finally, and Spencer lets go, sagging a little in relief when he’s no longer buffeted by Brendon’s mind. “I’m going to get an officer here just in case you were followed, and you’re staying put. Ryan, is there somewhere else you can go?”
Spencer opens his mouth to volunteer, but Ryan has moved to the couch and his hand tightens protectively over Brendon’s arm. “I’m staying here.”
“I’m staying too,” Spencer puts in before Gerard can ask, because even if Brendon doesn’t need him there, Ryan will.
Gerard’s expression shifts a little, like he’s trying not to smile. “I have some things I need to go set in motion,” he says, standing up. “The drugs should wear off in a few hours, but if anything goes wrong, you call me or you call 911, and get him to a hospital. Got it?”
Spencer and Ryan both nod, and Gerard gives them a last worried look before he goes. “Lock the door,” he orders before he shuts it, and Spencer gets up to slide the bolt home.
Ryan is curled around Brendon in a way that reminds Spencer of a wolf protecting her cub, determined and fierce. Spencer sits next to them and nudges him over gently. “We can’t fit three people on this couch,” Ryan objects, but Spencer doesn’t relent and it turns out they can.
Brendon has started shaking again, little tremors that he can’t keep in. Spencer tugs off the wet sweatshirt he’s wearing and gives Brendon his, wrapping him up before he and Ryan settle again with Brendon tucked firmly between them. Ryan links with him, and together it’s a little easier to touch Brendon’s restless mind, to project calm and control.
“How are you feeling?” Spencer asks, his leg hooked around Ryan’s and one hand rubbing circles against Brendon’s trembling back. Ryan pulls them both in tighter against his chest, Brendon’s head on his shoulder and Spencer’s other hand clasped tightly in his.
“Like I’m going crazy,” Brendon answers, grinning up at them before closing his eyes. “But it’s not really all that bad.”
Gerard would swear in a court of law that he hadn’t fallen asleep over his desk, but the first awareness he has of Frank is his hand gently touching the back of Gerard’s, enough to wake without startling him.
“Mmm.” Gerard forces his eyes open, feeling sleep-gummy and still tired. “You smell good.”
“I brought Chinese.” There’s laughter in Frank’s voice, and the crinkle of a plastic bag. Gerard peels himself off of the desk and begs with outstretched hands. “Hussy,” Frank accuses.
Gerard’s stomach is growling like an angry lion, so he doesn’t argue. “Brendon’s cover is completely blown,” he tells Frank as they break open the cartons of lo mein and sticky rice. “I put him in the Ida safehouse.”
“I saw that,” Frank comments, twirling noodles on the end of a chopstick. He eats Chinese with one chopstick and a plastic fork, in a way Gerard has never seen anyone else accomplish. It’s somehow both impressive and horrifying at the same time.
“Mikey’s still under,” Gerard says.
“We have Brendon to thank for that, from what I saw.”
It’s true; Brendon hadn’t given up any information on other undercover officers or past reports, chattering instead for a good hour about nothing in particular, including the best places to get ice cream in Las Vegas and a five minute speech on how much Spencer loved cappuccinos with whipped cream and a little bit of cinnamon.
“You know, for having no interrogation-resistance training whatsoever and being, by all accounts, hopped up like a bullfrog on truth drugs, he did pretty well,” Frank says. Gerard cuts his eyes sideways to see if Frank is being sincere. He agrees, of course, but he thinks it might have less to do with interrogation-resistance and more to do with the fact that that’s how Brendon’s brain actually works.
“He got us a place and a date,” Gerard says quietly. He’s still not sure whether to breathe an immense sigh of relief over that one yet or to worry even more. When his questioners had started looking for information, they either hadn’t taken into account the fact that Brendon was a telepath or hadn’t realized his brain wasn’t scrambled enough to keep him from picking up every single thought in their heads from the moment they first came into the room.
Brendon’s shields had been down, and he’d been in close contact for over an hour with two high-ranking members of the syndicate who had information on a major deal going down that would involve Toro personally, as well as at least three other crime lords. It really was everything they’d been hoping for with this assignment, wrapped up in a perfect package.
“You think Toro’s going to change it,” Frank says.
Gerard throws a tired but genuine smile over at him, and steals a piece of his broccoli. “Stop reading my mind.”
Frank smiles a little. “You think Toro’s going to change it, because he’ll figure out who Brendon is and what he might know, and then you think he’s going to go through his ranks looking for other spies and find Mikey.”
Gerard rubs his temples. “Really,” he says honestly. “Stop.”
Frank pulls his hand down and squeezes it. “We’ve got a few days until this either goes down or it doesn’t. Even if it doesn’t, it’s not the end of the world.”
Gerard looks at Frank’s hand covering his, and can’t figure out whether he’s still hungry or not. He’s also thinking that he knows what every one of Frank’s tattoos tastes like, but he wouldn’t mind a refresher.
He looks up, and Frank’s expression goes from worried to wary. “Uh-oh. I know that look.”
Gerard turns his hand over to catch Frank’s wrist and pull. Frank slides into his lap at an awkward angle, but luckily manages to miss all of the take-out cartons along the way. “You don’t usually complain about seeing it,” Gerard points out. He’s already unknotting Frank’s tie.
“No, but are we really doing this?” Frank doesn’t object to Gerard’s hands sliding under his shirt, but he isn’t doing much in the way of reciprocation yet, either. “Last time I checked, we were still broken up.”
Gerard is of the opinion that this is no excuse to turn down mind-blowing sex, but he does at least feel a little guilty about it. He knows the only reason Frank went along with it last time was for him, and if he goes along this time it will be for him as well. “We still have a valid reason to be broken up,” he replies, hedging. His hands seem to have settled on Frank’s waist all on their own, waiting for permission.
“Right, because I’m not a telepath. Fuck.” This last is added as Gerard gives into temptation and curls his tongue around the lobe of Frank’s ear, sucking it gently into his mouth.
“It’s not a valid reason not to have sex,” Gerard says hopefully. He’s missed Frank, a lot, which shouldn’t be possible since Frank practically lives in his office most days, but it’s still true.
Frank’s hands slide up his arms, frame his face. Gerard has a sinking feeling even before Frank pulls him back and says seriously, “It’s a reason not to have sex with you.”
That stings. Gerard sits back, although there’s not far he can go with Frank on his fucking lap, and tries to think of something hurtful to say in return.
“I just…you mean more to me than that. You did. You still do.” Frank is using his best pleading look. Gerard wishes he could fall for men with less scruples, who wouldn’t object when he tried to have strings-free sex with them in his office.
He exhales, more than a bit annoyed, mostly with himself. “It’s not going to change. The problem is always going to be there, so we either have sex or we don’t, but there’s no use talking about it.”
“The problem being that I’m never going to be enough for you, because I’m not an equal?”
Gerard has rarely heard Frank with so much bite in his voice. He blinks, both at the tone and the words. “No. Fuck no. I told you when we broke up, it’s not because of you. That. It’s because you deserve to have a relationship with someone who isn’t constantly reading your mind and invading your thoughts, usually without you even knowing about it.”
Frank is studying him like he’d missed something the first time they’d had this discussion. Gerard shifts a little and sort of wishes Frank would get off of his lap. It’s becoming awkward.
“There’s nothing I don’t want to share with you,” Frank says finally. “Is that seriously why you broke it off?”
Well, yes. “It’s not fair to you. Sharing or not, you should still have some privacy, and I always fuck it up and see things I don’t mean to, even when I’m not trying.” Frank has always been the exception to Gerard’s usual control. The closer they’d gotten, the more he started hearing, until being in Frank’s mind reading his thoughts was like drawing breath, only Frank never knew he was doing it.
“Gee, I sort of expected that as a consequence of dating a telepath,” Frank points out, with something like disbelief in his voice. “You told me flat out at the beginning that you couldn’t control it during sex, or when you were asleep, or half a dozen other times. I knew that. I know that.”
“But you don’t know me.” They’re still not communicating, which is basically the point of this whole thing. The flow of information can only go one way. “I’m invading your thoughts and poking around in your head and you don’t have any way to do the same. It’s a permanently tipped scale. What happens when we fight, and I use ammunition you never gave me, or you start resenting the fact that I know every gift you plan to give me in advance?”
“I know you.” Frank shifts until he’s straddling Gerard’s hips, looking seriously into his eyes. “I know what you’re thinking, sometimes before you do, and I can still surprise you. If you’re not with me anymore because I’m not enough for you, then fine, that’s one thing. But if you broke up with me because you think you’re not enough, then you’re a fucking idiot.”
It’s hard to argue the truth of any of those points. Particularly the one about Gerard being a fucking idiot. “What if I screw it up again?” he asks, sounding a lot smaller than he intended.
Frank kisses him, soft and light with the slightest hint of tongue. “I’ll probably forgive you,” he says. “But we can worry about that when we get there.”
Gerard kisses him again, sliding his hands up to cover more of the ink staining Frank’s torso. “Does this mean we’re back together?” he asks.
Frank grins and leans back, tipping himself out onto Gerard’s desk. “Convince me.”
Ryan wakes up from a sound sleep in the middle of the night, with one thought ringing clear in his head like the peal of a bell.
He reaches for the phone, and doesn’t even think before punching in the number. Gerard picks up sounding somewhat muzzy, which is fair because it’s somewhere around four in the morning.
“Brendon,” Ryan says. “Where is he?”
“At the safehouse,” Gerard says after a second, sounding much less bleary than he had when he’d answered. “Ryan?”
“Something’s wrong.” Ryan feels it with absolute certainty, even though there’s no way Brendon could have reached him from this distance, no way he could actually know.
“He’s contacted you?” There’s no doubt in Gerard’s voice at all. Ryan wonders if unquestioning faith and trust is a side-effect of working so long with other telepaths, or if it’s just an innate Gerard quality.
“Sort of.” Ryan is hedging, but he’s not letting this get written off as a nightmare or the result of too much worrying. “I just know.”
“Do not go to the safehouse,” Gerard orders, and the rumble of an engine starting in the background tells Ryan he’s already on the move. “Go to the office if you have to and I’ll meet you there. But do not come anywhere near that district, do you understand me? I’m on my way.”
“Okay,” Ryan says. He hangs up and sits perfectly still for a second, and then starts getting dressed. He calls Spencer to let him know what’s going on, even though he doesn’t really; and then, for reasons he doesn’t even understand, he calls Jon.
“I think Brendon might be in trouble,” he says when Jon asks him if everything’s all right, and Jon doesn’t even question it, he just says, “I’ll be right in.”
Ryan is going to make Jon get together with Spencer if it’s the last thing he does.
Spencer and Jon have both beaten him to the office, but there’s no sign of Brendon or Gerard. “Do you think…I mean, are you sure?” Spencer asks, with more than words, and Ryan can only answer with his conviction, but thankfully that’s when Brendon walks in.
“Holy fuck, you’re bleeding,” Spencer says, and Brendon waves him off, looking bruised and battered but amazingly cheerful about it, Gerard and Frank behind him like an honour guard.
“It’s okay, I was totally rescued, swept off the street in a hail of bullets and everything, it was awesome.”
Ryan’s eyes widen just as Gerard says, “There were no bullets,” and Frank laughs. “He was doing pretty well on his own, though, before we showed up.”
“I was not,” Brendon argues. “I was totally fucked. I mean, I took out the two guys, but it wasn’t like…I couldn’t do that thing you do, Spence, with the knocking them out and all, so I just, uh, confused them a lot and then hit them over the head with a frying pan.”
His voice is shaky, and Ryan realizes that he’s not actually all as together as he’d first appeared. Jon seems to know it, too, and moves in before Ryan can say anything, placing a gentle hand on Brendon’s arm. “Let’s go to my office for a little while, okay?” he suggests. “Just you and me. We can breathe together, it’s gonna be awesome.”
Brendon follows on legs that look too wobbly to hold him up, and Ryan turns his full undivided attention on Gerard, feeling Spencer do the same. “He knocked out two gangsters?” Spencer asks, caught somewhere between incredulous and impressed.
“Yeah, and he’s going to be paying for that any minute now,” Gerard answers, rubbing a hand over his face. Ryan understands completely; telepathic overextension is a fucking bitch. “We need to find him a place to stay so he can sleep it off.”
“He can stay with me,” Ryan suggests, but he knows they’ll shoot him down even before Gerard shakes his head. Brendon’s been there once, it’s not any safer for him than his own apartment. Spencer’s is probably not a whole lot better.
Frank is arguing for a motel room, and Gerard is objecting on the grounds that Brendon should be surrounded by the familiar when he wakes up, but he’s giving ground. Jon and Brendon appear just as he’s capitulating and Jon surprises them all by saying, “He can stay at my place, I’ve got a couch.”
Gerard hesitates, but Jon just continues making his case. “There’s plenty of room, Spencer and Ryan can crash too if they want. No one’s going to think of me, I’m not even technically in your department. It’s better than a hotel.”
“Okay,” Gerard says after another second, obviously watching the way Brendon’s fingers are digging into Jon’s arm. “But you call if anything happens, anything.”
Ryan has made his way over to Brendon’s side, and is standing as close as possible without physically being absorbed into his skin. Brendon smiles at him, although his skin is chalk-pale and his eyes look like bruises. “You heard me,” he says quietly. “Gerard told me.”
“You called,” Ryan says stupidly.
“Everyone into the car before Brendon passes out on his feet,” Jon orders, steering them towards the door. Spencer is obviously torn between staying with Brendon and being that close to Jon, but Ryan gives him a reassuring nudge and he gives in.
Ryan has every intention of following them, but Gerard’s voice stops him before he reaches the door. “Ryan, I need you.” He turns around and Gerard is looking at him, apologetic but firm. “We’ve got two syndicate members on their way in under police escort, and we need to know how they knew about the safehouse, and what else they know.” His voice softens, but it’s no less implacable. “I wouldn’t ask if there was any other way.”
“Spencer,” Ryan says immediately.
Gerard shakes his head. “You’re better.”
Ryan’s hand tightens involuntarily on Brendon’s arm. Gerard looks sympathetic, but he doesn’t back down. “I know, and I’m sorry, but I need you.” Ryan believes him. It doesn’t make him feel any better about it, though.
Spencer’s mind is suddenly linked with his, a flood of reassurance and calm. “I’ll be there,” Spencer promises. “Come over as soon as you’re done.”
Brendon sways a little, halfway to unconsciousness. It feels like the hardest thing Ryan has ever done to let go of his arm, but he does it.
Brendon reaches out and brushes his mind, softly, on his way out the door.
They get Brendon settled on the couch and he’s asleep even before Jon comes back with a blanket. Spencer stuffs his hands into his pockets, at a loss, wondering if he should try to catch some sleep on the floor or stay up and wait for Ryan. It could be hours, he knows. It probably will be.
Jon tucks the blanket in around Brendon and looks over at him. Spencer can’t read Jon’s mind, not at all, but he knows what that look means. He’s certain of it, and it gives him the courage to take two steps over and press his lips against Jon’s in a determined, earnest kiss.
“Spencer,” Jon says softly, but he hasn’t moved away yet, and Spencer isn’t going to let him.
“I need you,” he says, putting everything he has into the words. “More than I need a shrink, Jon. I need you.”
Jon just looks at him for a moment, and then he takes Spencer’s hands and leads him to the bedroom.
Spencer isn’t letting either of them regret this, not now or later. He peels Jon’s shirt off and covers his chest with kisses, soft sparse hair tickling his chin, and undoes his own zipper and Jon’s without a shred of hesitation.
“Have you done this before?” Jon asks, hands moving down Spencer’s shoulder blades, and Spencer hasn’t, exactly, but this is also his first time without any input coming back at him from his partner’s mind, so he just laughs a little and says, “Not like this.”
Jon kneels between his legs and they just make out for a while, deep, heady kisses that leave Spencer arching up for more and not getting it, not until he inhales Jon’s breath and whispers against his lips, “Please, please.”
“Turn over,” Jon murmurs, and Spencer rolls and settles, heart racing, while Jon urges his hips back and tucks a pillow underneath. Jon’s mind behind him is a complete blank, and Spencer has never felt more exposed in his entire life.
“Breathe,” Jon whispers over his skin, and Spencer laughs, feeling Jon’s smile in the kiss he presses against the curve of Spencer’s ass.
He’s expecting fingers, but what he gets instead is Jon’s tongue, warm and wet and slippery, coaxing him open with soft, persuasive pressure. “Jon,” Spencer gasps, and Jon’s tongue wriggles in response, going deeper until Spencer is humping the pillow and panting.
There’s Jon’s tongue, and then a finger, and then Jon’s tongue and a finger, which is quite honestly probably the best thing Spencer has ever felt. He pushes back into it, letting Jon open him wider, moaning softly when one finger turns into two with Jon’s tongue sliding slick and clever between.
“Please,” Spencer says again, hips working helplessly, and Jon says “All right,” breathing the words against wet skin, and gives Spencer one last lingering swipe of his tongue before easing him up and back.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Jon whispers, and then he’s pushing inside so, so slowly and Spencer arches his spine and begs silently until he feels Jon’s weight against his back, solid and warm.
“Up,” Jon says, and Spencer shifts back with him, shaking a little at the slide of Jon’s cock inside him as they move, until Jon is kneeling and Spencer is in his lap, leaning back against his chest and struggling to breathe.
“Will you ride me?” Jon asks, and Spencer is already moving, tentative at first, growing bolder when sparks skitter down his spine and Jon’s breath hitches like a benediction. Spencer tips his head back onto Jon’s shoulder, gasping, and Jon’s hands roam over his chest, stroking his ribs and teasing his nipples.
“Jon, Jon,” Spencer begs, and he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for until Jon’s hands settle on his hips and lift him, moving him in counterpoint to Jon’s thrusts. Yes, Spencer thinks sharply, perfectly, and barely remembers, several moments later, to say it out loud.
“Spencer,” Jon whispers into his ear, and one of his hands massages Spencer’s cock, not even properly stroking but it’s still enough, that and the feel of Jon moving inside him, and Spencer comes shaking all over, in helpless waves under Jon’s hands.
Jon pushes him down and Spencer melts, boneless, sighing when Jon bites the back of his neck, gently, and drives into him hard, a handful of times before he’s coming as well, and it feels so intimate Spencer doesn’t even mind that he can’t share in it.
“I quit therapy,” Spencer whispers when Jon pulls him close, cradles him against his chest. Jon laughs and strokes sweaty strands of hair back from Spencer’s forehead, presses a kiss there instead.
Jon says, “I need you more too.”
The unexpected presence of someone in his house wakes Gerard up in the early hours of the morning, but as soon as he reaches out he recognizes it, hears the thoughts projected towards him, it’s me, it’s all right, it’s just me.
He leaves Frank curled up under the covers, snuffling a little in protest when Gerard slips away, pulls on a pair of pajamas and quietly closes the door to his bedroom. Mikey’s waiting for him in the hall, and Gerard goes straight to him and hugs him so fiercely he thinks he can hear bones creak.
“It’s over,” Mikey says when Gerard finally eases off a little. “They took down Toro and the other key members of the syndicate early this morning. The information you got was right, the cops were waiting for them. I was officially pulled out about an hour ago.”
“I’m never letting you work undercover again,” Gerard tells him sincerely. He still hasn’t relinquished his hold, but Mikey doesn’t complain, just rubs his back and laughs like he understands.
“I’ve missed you too.”
“I’m not kidding,” Gerard warns, finally letting go enough to move them into the kitchen, where he can turn on a light. “Do you want some coffee? A place to crash?”
“Nah, I’ll head back soon. I just wanted to make sure you knew, so I came straight here after they let me go.” Mikey swings one long leg over a kitchen chair, straddling the back. “Besides, it looks like you’ve got company.” He nods significantly in the direction of Gerard’s bedroom. “I take it this means you’re back together?”
“Ah.” Gerard scratches the back of his neck and feels faintly ridiculous, and also a little like a teenager. “Yeah. I think so.”
Mikey just smiles, small but familiar, a smile Gerard knows is heartfelt. “Good.” He leans back, preparing to stand. “I should leave you to it.”
Gerard recognizes the same reluctance in Mikey that he feels, though, and pushes him back down. “I’m serious about the coffee,” he says. “Stay a while. Frank’s sleeping anyway.”
“You could wake him up,” Mikey suggests, with a straight face that Gerard sees right through.
“I’m your brother, don’t be a pervert.” He takes the special Hawaiian blend that he saves for special occasions out of the freezer, and fills up the coffee pot. “Besides,” he says, looking back at Mikey with a crooked smile. “I’d rather spend some time with you.”
Mikey rests his chin on his elbows and considers. “I could make us some eggs,” he offers.
Gerard flips the switch on the coffeemaker and grins. “Deal.”
Ryan shows up at Brendon’s apartment the day after he finally moves back in, chest pounding and heart in his throat. “Look,” he says. “I know you have someone else, but I just really need…”
Brendon says, “I love you.”
Ryan gapes, and then forces himself to pull it back together again. “What?”
“I love you.” Brendon leans against the frame, a funny little smile playing around the corners of his mouth, like he wants to laugh but is maybe not sure whether he’s allowed. “I thought you knew.”
“I...” Ryan says, and Brendon tugs him in, shuts the door, and opens his mind.
Ryan links with him like they have a hundred times, a thousand, and the feeling of Brendon is all around him, like dozens of tiny effervescent bubbles exploding on his tongue. Brendon pulls him in and that wall, that fucking annoying as hell blank wall, goes down without a sound, and suddenly Ryan is enveloped in something so strong it takes his breath away.
“Bren,” he whispers. He doesn’t realize they’re kissing until he can’t breathe anymore, and then he’s gasping, pulling at Brendon’s clothes, and the two of them trip over every fucking thing in the apartment on their way to the bedroom, but it’s worth it to feel Brendon’s bare skin under his hands, the warm flex of his muscles.
“Want you,” Brendon mumbles against his lips, and Ryan wholeheartedly agrees with that sentiment, but he can’t decide what he wants first, so he just takes it all. Brendon’s thoughts glide against his, entangling and merging, and when Ryan draws his tongue down the flat of Brendon’s chest he can feel his own heart skip when Brendon gasps.
“You,” Ryan says, and Brendon says it back, or maybe again, and they’re tangled up and kissing again, hands stroking over skin and emotions bleeding into each other, until Ryan has no idea where he ends and Brendon begins.
“Inside,” Brendon says, or thinks, and Ryan is moving before he even fully understands, following Brendon’s impulses and reaching for the lube he now knows is in the drawer next to the bed, sliding it over his fingers without ever breaking away from Brendon’s lush mouth.
His lips feel swollen, and he almost raises his hand to them when they finally do stop to breathe, but Brendon just laughs, in his head and against his skin, and pulls him down again.
He feels it when he slides inside Brendon, feels both the tight, aching pressure around his cock and the stretch and burn of himself pushing inside. This isn’t going to last long, Brendon thinks, or maybe Ryan does because Brendon suddenly laughs again, throwing back his head against the pillow, and it turns into a gasp when Ryan pulls out and pushes back inside.
He can feel everything, every nerve ending in both of their skins, the sizzle that sparks when his cock hits Brendon’s prostate and the duller throb when Brendon pulls him close to kiss him again, suckling his tongue until it turns slow and sweet.
I love you, Brendon whispers into his mind, a streak of white and a starburst of red. I love you, I love you.
“I love you,” Ryan says silently against Brendon’s mouth, and feels the curve of his lips when he smiles.
“Fuck,” Brendon whispers, his entire body tensing, and it feels like drowning, Ryan goes under so fast, slip-sliding into climax with Brendon clinging to him inside and out, the two of them crashing together so hard Ryan can’t even breathe.
Brendon traces Ryan’s lips softly, and Ryan feels his fingertips tingle, the ghost of a touch. “I love you,” Ryan says, out loud into the nonexistent space between them, and Brendon echoes him with their lips already sliding together for another kiss.
Jon looks up when Spencer walks in, surprised. “Hey,” he says, not unhappily. “What’s up?”
Spencer closes the door behind him. “It’s Friday at noon,” he reminds Jon. “I have an appointment.”
“I thought we decided…” Jon trails off as Spencer bypasses the armchair completely, clearing a space on the desk and leaning back on his elbows, exercising every iota of come-hither eyes.
“You thought?” Spencer echoes, and pulls Jon on top of him for a kiss.
They’re just getting into some enthusiastic groping and necking when Spencer feels two very interested minds hovering around the edge of his own. Making a little noise of outraged annoyance, he pushes Jon off of him and marches to the door, ignoring Jon’s bewildered confusion.
“Out,” he orders, yanking open the office door to glare at his co-workers. “Get out.”
Brendon is trying hard to look wide-eyed and innocent. Ryan is just smirking. As if he has any right, the bastard. Spencer caught the two of them making out on the stairs on his way in this morning.
“Assignment,” Gerard calls down from the balcony, Frank lounging in his doorway like he has absolutely no better place to be. “There’s been a murder in one of the casinos, they’ve got everyone in one place and want to see if they’ve gotten lucky enough to actually have the killer there, too. There’s over a hundred people in the building, so I want all three of you on it. I’ll call one of you off if anything else comes up.”
“Be good,” Frank chimes in from behind him, grinning.
Spencer turns around and sees that Jon has come up behind him, listening from the doorway. “Hey,” he says reluctantly. “I have to go save the world.”
“I heard.” Jon smiles and kisses him, lingering. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”
Spencer says, “I know.”
Pairings: Gerard/Frank, Ryan/Brendon, Spencer/Jon, Brendon/Mikey
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction, no disrespect intended.
Warning: Pseudo-character death.
Notes: Telepath police consultant AU. Title taken from the BTE song ‘Our Finest Year.’
Thanks: To adellyna, who has claimed this story as her own and provided more support and encouragement than I have ever deserved; to maleyka and ficklish for reading and sharing their thoughts; and to impasto for the amazing beta.
part one ~ part two
The last day in February, there’s trouble. Toro’s people have a run-in with local law enforcement, and there’s a cop down and three members of the syndicate dead. None of the bodies have ID, of course, which leaves Gerard pacing a hole in his carpet, willing Frank’s phone to ring.
He leaves a message on Mikey’s voicemail and chokes out, “Call me, you cunt,” before he hangs up. Mikey might not check his voicemail for days, he knows, but it’s the only thing he can do.
He wants to go down to the morgue, but Frank won’t let him. “You know it’s being watched, what are they going to think if they see you go in there to ID a body? It’s not worth the risk. They’ll call us as soon as they have names.”
“I’m a cop, the morgue will be crawling with cops,” Gerard argues.
“You’re not a cop, and how are you going to feel if you go down there and end up getting him killed?”
Gerard is on the verge of screaming something extremely childish like ‘you can’t tell me what to do!’ when Frank’s phone rings.
Frank immediately starts writing in his notepad, and Gerard is holding his breath. “Okay,” Frank says finally, and he looks up at Gerard, shakes his head quickly. Gerard’s legs wobble, and he falls back against the office door, relief washing every other thought out of his mind.
“Okay. Thanks.” The phone clicks shut and Frank says, “They got IDs on all of them, it’s not Mikey. Not Brendon, either.” He sounds weary, though, like he’s thinking the same thing Gerard is, that it could very well have been and now it’s only a matter of time before they do this all over again. And again.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Gerard says.
“Gee.” Frank comes back into his line of sight, worried and tired. “It’ll be fine. Go home, get some sleep.”
“No,” Gerard insists, pushing off the door and starting to pace again. “Fuck that, I want him home. I can’t do this.”
“Yes you can,” Frank argues firmly.
“No, I fucking…” is as far as Gerard gets before Frank has him against the wall and his tongue is in Gerard’s mouth.
It’s a surprise, and that’s rare; usually Gerard can feel Frank’s impulses before he acts, especially a surge like this one. But it only takes him a second to adjust before he’s kissing back just as fiercely, hands fisted in Frank’s hair and teeth scraping his lip.
He hates being pinned, so after a minute he pushes free and gets Frank shoved against the other wall, struggling all the way across the room and taking out the coat rack in the process. It hits the carpet with a muffled thud and Frank moans, scrabbling at Gerard until he basically crawls up his body and wraps his legs around Gerard’s hips.
The two of them are making enough noise that Gerard fervently hopes everyone else has gone home for the night. He gropes until he finds the chair, dislodges Frank for long enough to jam it under the door handle and then tackles him onto the couch.
Frank wriggles under him until they’re grinding, still devouring each other’s mouths, and Frank’s hands have pushed under Gerard’s shirt to rub maddeningly over his nipples. Gerard attacks his neck in response, finding every sensitive spot he’s ever known about, until Frank is thrashing and they’re both moaning and the whole thing is on its way to being over very quickly.
“Wait,” Gerard gasps, worming a hand between them. “I want your cock.”
Frank gets out, “Fuck,” before Gerard yanks his pants open and goes down on him.
It’s over fast, and not just because Gerard is cheating mercilessly by reading Frank’s responses and playing him like a harp string. He can’t keep himself from merging with Frank when they’re like this, he never has, and Frank’s mind blanks out white over his own when Gerard swallows and he comes.
He could take care of himself, but Frank is already pulling at him, still panting and dizzy. Gerard claims another kiss, this one some twisting combination of heated-dazed-urgent-lazy, and Frank manhandles him until he has enough leverage to stick a hand down his pants.
Gerard gasps, and Frank takes full advantage of his distraction by teasing, biting his lip and licking his cheek, whispering to him in filthy broken words Gerard isn’t even hearing because he’s too busy shaking. Frank might not be telepathic, but he knows Gerard’s body, his reactions, and he remembers what happens when he does that thing with his thumb and forefinger just right.
Gerard sees stars when he comes, and then Frank is kissing him again, their limbs tangled together and leaden. “Haven’t had sex on this couch in a while,” Frank murmurs, and Gerard ignores him, busy licking his way into Frank’s mouth.
“Are you off-duty now?” Gerard asks, when the sweat starts cooling and reminding him of how uncomfortably sticky his pants are.
“Yeah.” Frank’s eyes are heavy-lidded, his hands stroking lazily down Gerard’s back.
Gerard lifts his head and says quietly, “Take me home.”
Brendon shows up as a cacophony of noise and light and motion in Ryan’s head, in the middle of the night when he ought to be sleeping but isn’t. He’s confused for a second, because it feels like Brendon but it doesn’t, off-balance and strange somehow, until the chaos clears a bit around the edges and he hears, help.
He takes the stairs two at a time, out of his apartment building and down the street, and finds Brendon huddled next to a tree in the rain. Ryan throws his arms around Brendon and hugs him so tightly it probably hurts, but Brendon’s teeth chatter and he just says, “Gerard. Get me to Gerard.”
Ryan pulls out his phone and dials, one hand still on Brendon, because there’s no way he’s letting go. He tries to link, but Brendon’s mind is a swirling haze of confusion and bright colour, and Ryan pulls back within seconds, unable to keep in contact.
He doesn’t try the office or Gerard’s apartment, but goes straight for the emergency number, the one they all have programmed in just in case something happens while they’re on call and they can’t handle it alone. Gerard picks up on the second ring, probably just-woken but still sharp and alert. “Hello?”
“It’s Ryan, I’m with Brendon and he says he needs to get to you.” He doesn’t give any more explanation than that, because he’s not sure what he would say, exactly. Brendon starts shaking under his hand, the fabric of his sweatshirt damp but not enough to give him that kind of chill. Ryan wraps an arm around his back and pulls him closer.
Gerard’s instructions are quick and concise. “I’m texting you an address in the Ida district, I’ll meet you there. Has he been followed?”
Ryan opens his mind and can’t feel anyone paying them any sort of attention, but he could be missing something. Brendon’s wreaking havoc with his telepathy, a constant blare of dissonant sound and flashing light. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know.”
“Be as careful as you can, if his cover is still good they shouldn’t see you come to this house.” There are sounds in the background of the call, like hasty dressing, and the jangle of keys.
Brendon isn’t close enough to hear Gerard’s voice through the phone, but he must be picking up on Ryan’s thoughts, because he chants, “Blown. So blown,” through still-chattering teeth.
Ryan hesitates, knowing he needs to get Brendon in a car as soon as possible, but he feels like Gerard should probably know this now. “He’s on something. I don’t know what, but his head is a mess, I can’t link with him and I don’t think he can shield at all.”
Gerard pauses on the other end of the line, and then asks, “Do you need help with him? I can meet you first, but I’m on the other side of town, it’ll take more time.”
Brendon starts slowly sinking to the ground. Ryan hauls him back up, already dragging him towards the car, and says, “No, I’ll call Spencer.”
“I’ll meet you in ten minutes,” Gerard says, and Ryan hangs up. Brendon sways a little, and the noise-light-sound-noise grows dangerously louder before suddenly fading. Ryan’s phone beeps with a text, and he pushes Brendon into the car and clicks his seatbelt shut before flipping it open to read the address.
“Sorry,” Brendon says beside him. There’s a song playing in his head, rambling and sharp, loud enough that Ryan can’t block it from his mind without completely shutting Brendon out, which he refuses to do. He can still focus enough to drive, although his nerves are shot to hell so they fluctuate between crawling along at a snail’s pace and speeding fast enough to get him a ticket if he’s not careful.
Brendon starts singing, no words, just sound, and it’s not the song in his head, but something that jangles oddly in juxtaposition. Ryan reaches out to see if he can calm him down, but once again he has to grit his teeth and pull back. Brendon falls suddenly, suspiciously quiet, and Ryan looks over wildly to make sure he’s still conscious and alive.
“Don’t you fucking leave me,” Ryan orders, and puts his foot down on the gas.
“It’s Brendon,” is all Ryan gets out before Spencer is out of his bed and getting dressed, pulling on jeans and the first shirt he comes across. He’s out the door right as Ryan’s car pulls up, a dark blur behind the hazy curtain of rain.
Brendon looks like shit, and Ryan’s not doing well either, his hands clenched tight on the steering wheel. “Can you stay with him?” Ryan asks, as Spencer slides into the backseat and slams the door shut. “He’s fucked up, I can’t drive and pay attention to him at the same time.”
Spencer almost tells Ryan to pull over the car so he can drive, but Ryan’s already on the highway looking determined, so Spencer puts a hand on Brendon’s shoulder and squeezes. “Hey.”
He understands immediately what Ryan meant; Brendon’s head feels like electricity sparking off a live wire. For the first time in the past three-and-a-half weeks, Spencer wishes desperately for Jon. He isn’t sure whether it’s for Brendon, or for him, or for both of them, but he does.
Ryan jerks the car to a stop in front of the building they’re headed for and glares like he dares Spencer to say anything. Spencer is too busy unbuckling Brendon’s seatbelt and pulling him out of the car to complain about a crappy parking job.
“I’m not a complete invalid,” Brendon objects when Spencer ducks under his arm to support him, but he stumbles and nearly goes down a second later, so Spencer ignores him.
Gerard jerks the door open when Ryan bangs on it, and motions for them all to head upstairs. Brendon starts talking while they’re still moving, disjointed but coherent.
“Something happened to tip them off, they gave me a talky-truth-thingy, I don’t know what but there were an awful lot of questions, and I’m pretty sure I answered most of them, I just don’t know what I said.” Brendon trips over a stair and Ryan swears, but together they finally make it into the room upstairs and get Brendon onto the couch.
Gerard crouches in front of him, hands cradling Brendon’s head although Spencer is sure he feels the same way he and Ryan do, the instinctive urge to back away from the swirling chaos of Brendon’s mind. “Do they know about Mikey?” he asks, and there’s suddenly a collage of images splashing over Spencer’s brain, dark hair and pale skin and soft lips.
He sees Ryan jerk, but Brendon seems to pull himself together a little and shakes his head. “No. I don’t think so. They didn’t ask me.”
“Do they know about you?” Gerard asks, and Brendon starts laughing.
“Yes. Definitely yes.” More images, none of them fitting together this time, and Gerard tenses a little at the onslaught but doesn’t let go.
“Are you in any shape for one of us to get in your head?” Gerard asks.
Spencer wants to tell him flat-out that the answer is obviously no, but Brendon thinks about it and finally nods. “I think you’d better,” he says quietly. “I don’t remember what I said.”
“I’ll do it,” Ryan says, and there’s a panicked burst of jagged technicolour from Brendon that hits Spencer like a physical blow.
“Spencer. I want Spencer,” Brendon says, and Spencer feels the stab of hurt that comes from Ryan along with the sharp intake of breath, sliding right through his mind like a knife blade while he’s still reeling from Brendon.
“How about me?” Gerard suggests gently, and Brendon studies him for a long, serious moment before he nods. “Spencer, come help me with this. Brendon, focus on Spencer. Don’t worry about me, just focus on him.”
Spencer takes Brendon’s hands and holds his eyes, aware in the back of his mind that Ryan is still hovering, desperate to help. He’s pretty sure he knows why Brendon doesn’t want Ryan in his head right now, but one of his secrets has already been blown, and the other one Ryan has managed not to see for the better part of a year, even when it’s right in front of him.
He feels Gerard slip in, smooth and practiced, and Brendon twitches a little when he feels it, grip tightening on Spencer’s hands. Spencer keeps holding him, keeping as much of a link as he can open between them, and Brendon’s thoughts clash against his like an orchestra tuning while Gerard calmly sorts through his memories and puts every one back in place.
“Okay,” Gerard says finally, and Spencer lets go, sagging a little in relief when he’s no longer buffeted by Brendon’s mind. “I’m going to get an officer here just in case you were followed, and you’re staying put. Ryan, is there somewhere else you can go?”
Spencer opens his mouth to volunteer, but Ryan has moved to the couch and his hand tightens protectively over Brendon’s arm. “I’m staying here.”
“I’m staying too,” Spencer puts in before Gerard can ask, because even if Brendon doesn’t need him there, Ryan will.
Gerard’s expression shifts a little, like he’s trying not to smile. “I have some things I need to go set in motion,” he says, standing up. “The drugs should wear off in a few hours, but if anything goes wrong, you call me or you call 911, and get him to a hospital. Got it?”
Spencer and Ryan both nod, and Gerard gives them a last worried look before he goes. “Lock the door,” he orders before he shuts it, and Spencer gets up to slide the bolt home.
Ryan is curled around Brendon in a way that reminds Spencer of a wolf protecting her cub, determined and fierce. Spencer sits next to them and nudges him over gently. “We can’t fit three people on this couch,” Ryan objects, but Spencer doesn’t relent and it turns out they can.
Brendon has started shaking again, little tremors that he can’t keep in. Spencer tugs off the wet sweatshirt he’s wearing and gives Brendon his, wrapping him up before he and Ryan settle again with Brendon tucked firmly between them. Ryan links with him, and together it’s a little easier to touch Brendon’s restless mind, to project calm and control.
“How are you feeling?” Spencer asks, his leg hooked around Ryan’s and one hand rubbing circles against Brendon’s trembling back. Ryan pulls them both in tighter against his chest, Brendon’s head on his shoulder and Spencer’s other hand clasped tightly in his.
“Like I’m going crazy,” Brendon answers, grinning up at them before closing his eyes. “But it’s not really all that bad.”
Gerard would swear in a court of law that he hadn’t fallen asleep over his desk, but the first awareness he has of Frank is his hand gently touching the back of Gerard’s, enough to wake without startling him.
“Mmm.” Gerard forces his eyes open, feeling sleep-gummy and still tired. “You smell good.”
“I brought Chinese.” There’s laughter in Frank’s voice, and the crinkle of a plastic bag. Gerard peels himself off of the desk and begs with outstretched hands. “Hussy,” Frank accuses.
Gerard’s stomach is growling like an angry lion, so he doesn’t argue. “Brendon’s cover is completely blown,” he tells Frank as they break open the cartons of lo mein and sticky rice. “I put him in the Ida safehouse.”
“I saw that,” Frank comments, twirling noodles on the end of a chopstick. He eats Chinese with one chopstick and a plastic fork, in a way Gerard has never seen anyone else accomplish. It’s somehow both impressive and horrifying at the same time.
“Mikey’s still under,” Gerard says.
“We have Brendon to thank for that, from what I saw.”
It’s true; Brendon hadn’t given up any information on other undercover officers or past reports, chattering instead for a good hour about nothing in particular, including the best places to get ice cream in Las Vegas and a five minute speech on how much Spencer loved cappuccinos with whipped cream and a little bit of cinnamon.
“You know, for having no interrogation-resistance training whatsoever and being, by all accounts, hopped up like a bullfrog on truth drugs, he did pretty well,” Frank says. Gerard cuts his eyes sideways to see if Frank is being sincere. He agrees, of course, but he thinks it might have less to do with interrogation-resistance and more to do with the fact that that’s how Brendon’s brain actually works.
“He got us a place and a date,” Gerard says quietly. He’s still not sure whether to breathe an immense sigh of relief over that one yet or to worry even more. When his questioners had started looking for information, they either hadn’t taken into account the fact that Brendon was a telepath or hadn’t realized his brain wasn’t scrambled enough to keep him from picking up every single thought in their heads from the moment they first came into the room.
Brendon’s shields had been down, and he’d been in close contact for over an hour with two high-ranking members of the syndicate who had information on a major deal going down that would involve Toro personally, as well as at least three other crime lords. It really was everything they’d been hoping for with this assignment, wrapped up in a perfect package.
“You think Toro’s going to change it,” Frank says.
Gerard throws a tired but genuine smile over at him, and steals a piece of his broccoli. “Stop reading my mind.”
Frank smiles a little. “You think Toro’s going to change it, because he’ll figure out who Brendon is and what he might know, and then you think he’s going to go through his ranks looking for other spies and find Mikey.”
Gerard rubs his temples. “Really,” he says honestly. “Stop.”
Frank pulls his hand down and squeezes it. “We’ve got a few days until this either goes down or it doesn’t. Even if it doesn’t, it’s not the end of the world.”
Gerard looks at Frank’s hand covering his, and can’t figure out whether he’s still hungry or not. He’s also thinking that he knows what every one of Frank’s tattoos tastes like, but he wouldn’t mind a refresher.
He looks up, and Frank’s expression goes from worried to wary. “Uh-oh. I know that look.”
Gerard turns his hand over to catch Frank’s wrist and pull. Frank slides into his lap at an awkward angle, but luckily manages to miss all of the take-out cartons along the way. “You don’t usually complain about seeing it,” Gerard points out. He’s already unknotting Frank’s tie.
“No, but are we really doing this?” Frank doesn’t object to Gerard’s hands sliding under his shirt, but he isn’t doing much in the way of reciprocation yet, either. “Last time I checked, we were still broken up.”
Gerard is of the opinion that this is no excuse to turn down mind-blowing sex, but he does at least feel a little guilty about it. He knows the only reason Frank went along with it last time was for him, and if he goes along this time it will be for him as well. “We still have a valid reason to be broken up,” he replies, hedging. His hands seem to have settled on Frank’s waist all on their own, waiting for permission.
“Right, because I’m not a telepath. Fuck.” This last is added as Gerard gives into temptation and curls his tongue around the lobe of Frank’s ear, sucking it gently into his mouth.
“It’s not a valid reason not to have sex,” Gerard says hopefully. He’s missed Frank, a lot, which shouldn’t be possible since Frank practically lives in his office most days, but it’s still true.
Frank’s hands slide up his arms, frame his face. Gerard has a sinking feeling even before Frank pulls him back and says seriously, “It’s a reason not to have sex with you.”
That stings. Gerard sits back, although there’s not far he can go with Frank on his fucking lap, and tries to think of something hurtful to say in return.
“I just…you mean more to me than that. You did. You still do.” Frank is using his best pleading look. Gerard wishes he could fall for men with less scruples, who wouldn’t object when he tried to have strings-free sex with them in his office.
He exhales, more than a bit annoyed, mostly with himself. “It’s not going to change. The problem is always going to be there, so we either have sex or we don’t, but there’s no use talking about it.”
“The problem being that I’m never going to be enough for you, because I’m not an equal?”
Gerard has rarely heard Frank with so much bite in his voice. He blinks, both at the tone and the words. “No. Fuck no. I told you when we broke up, it’s not because of you. That. It’s because you deserve to have a relationship with someone who isn’t constantly reading your mind and invading your thoughts, usually without you even knowing about it.”
Frank is studying him like he’d missed something the first time they’d had this discussion. Gerard shifts a little and sort of wishes Frank would get off of his lap. It’s becoming awkward.
“There’s nothing I don’t want to share with you,” Frank says finally. “Is that seriously why you broke it off?”
Well, yes. “It’s not fair to you. Sharing or not, you should still have some privacy, and I always fuck it up and see things I don’t mean to, even when I’m not trying.” Frank has always been the exception to Gerard’s usual control. The closer they’d gotten, the more he started hearing, until being in Frank’s mind reading his thoughts was like drawing breath, only Frank never knew he was doing it.
“Gee, I sort of expected that as a consequence of dating a telepath,” Frank points out, with something like disbelief in his voice. “You told me flat out at the beginning that you couldn’t control it during sex, or when you were asleep, or half a dozen other times. I knew that. I know that.”
“But you don’t know me.” They’re still not communicating, which is basically the point of this whole thing. The flow of information can only go one way. “I’m invading your thoughts and poking around in your head and you don’t have any way to do the same. It’s a permanently tipped scale. What happens when we fight, and I use ammunition you never gave me, or you start resenting the fact that I know every gift you plan to give me in advance?”
“I know you.” Frank shifts until he’s straddling Gerard’s hips, looking seriously into his eyes. “I know what you’re thinking, sometimes before you do, and I can still surprise you. If you’re not with me anymore because I’m not enough for you, then fine, that’s one thing. But if you broke up with me because you think you’re not enough, then you’re a fucking idiot.”
It’s hard to argue the truth of any of those points. Particularly the one about Gerard being a fucking idiot. “What if I screw it up again?” he asks, sounding a lot smaller than he intended.
Frank kisses him, soft and light with the slightest hint of tongue. “I’ll probably forgive you,” he says. “But we can worry about that when we get there.”
Gerard kisses him again, sliding his hands up to cover more of the ink staining Frank’s torso. “Does this mean we’re back together?” he asks.
Frank grins and leans back, tipping himself out onto Gerard’s desk. “Convince me.”
Ryan wakes up from a sound sleep in the middle of the night, with one thought ringing clear in his head like the peal of a bell.
He reaches for the phone, and doesn’t even think before punching in the number. Gerard picks up sounding somewhat muzzy, which is fair because it’s somewhere around four in the morning.
“Brendon,” Ryan says. “Where is he?”
“At the safehouse,” Gerard says after a second, sounding much less bleary than he had when he’d answered. “Ryan?”
“Something’s wrong.” Ryan feels it with absolute certainty, even though there’s no way Brendon could have reached him from this distance, no way he could actually know.
“He’s contacted you?” There’s no doubt in Gerard’s voice at all. Ryan wonders if unquestioning faith and trust is a side-effect of working so long with other telepaths, or if it’s just an innate Gerard quality.
“Sort of.” Ryan is hedging, but he’s not letting this get written off as a nightmare or the result of too much worrying. “I just know.”
“Do not go to the safehouse,” Gerard orders, and the rumble of an engine starting in the background tells Ryan he’s already on the move. “Go to the office if you have to and I’ll meet you there. But do not come anywhere near that district, do you understand me? I’m on my way.”
“Okay,” Ryan says. He hangs up and sits perfectly still for a second, and then starts getting dressed. He calls Spencer to let him know what’s going on, even though he doesn’t really; and then, for reasons he doesn’t even understand, he calls Jon.
“I think Brendon might be in trouble,” he says when Jon asks him if everything’s all right, and Jon doesn’t even question it, he just says, “I’ll be right in.”
Ryan is going to make Jon get together with Spencer if it’s the last thing he does.
Spencer and Jon have both beaten him to the office, but there’s no sign of Brendon or Gerard. “Do you think…I mean, are you sure?” Spencer asks, with more than words, and Ryan can only answer with his conviction, but thankfully that’s when Brendon walks in.
“Holy fuck, you’re bleeding,” Spencer says, and Brendon waves him off, looking bruised and battered but amazingly cheerful about it, Gerard and Frank behind him like an honour guard.
“It’s okay, I was totally rescued, swept off the street in a hail of bullets and everything, it was awesome.”
Ryan’s eyes widen just as Gerard says, “There were no bullets,” and Frank laughs. “He was doing pretty well on his own, though, before we showed up.”
“I was not,” Brendon argues. “I was totally fucked. I mean, I took out the two guys, but it wasn’t like…I couldn’t do that thing you do, Spence, with the knocking them out and all, so I just, uh, confused them a lot and then hit them over the head with a frying pan.”
His voice is shaky, and Ryan realizes that he’s not actually all as together as he’d first appeared. Jon seems to know it, too, and moves in before Ryan can say anything, placing a gentle hand on Brendon’s arm. “Let’s go to my office for a little while, okay?” he suggests. “Just you and me. We can breathe together, it’s gonna be awesome.”
Brendon follows on legs that look too wobbly to hold him up, and Ryan turns his full undivided attention on Gerard, feeling Spencer do the same. “He knocked out two gangsters?” Spencer asks, caught somewhere between incredulous and impressed.
“Yeah, and he’s going to be paying for that any minute now,” Gerard answers, rubbing a hand over his face. Ryan understands completely; telepathic overextension is a fucking bitch. “We need to find him a place to stay so he can sleep it off.”
“He can stay with me,” Ryan suggests, but he knows they’ll shoot him down even before Gerard shakes his head. Brendon’s been there once, it’s not any safer for him than his own apartment. Spencer’s is probably not a whole lot better.
Frank is arguing for a motel room, and Gerard is objecting on the grounds that Brendon should be surrounded by the familiar when he wakes up, but he’s giving ground. Jon and Brendon appear just as he’s capitulating and Jon surprises them all by saying, “He can stay at my place, I’ve got a couch.”
Gerard hesitates, but Jon just continues making his case. “There’s plenty of room, Spencer and Ryan can crash too if they want. No one’s going to think of me, I’m not even technically in your department. It’s better than a hotel.”
“Okay,” Gerard says after another second, obviously watching the way Brendon’s fingers are digging into Jon’s arm. “But you call if anything happens, anything.”
Ryan has made his way over to Brendon’s side, and is standing as close as possible without physically being absorbed into his skin. Brendon smiles at him, although his skin is chalk-pale and his eyes look like bruises. “You heard me,” he says quietly. “Gerard told me.”
“You called,” Ryan says stupidly.
“Everyone into the car before Brendon passes out on his feet,” Jon orders, steering them towards the door. Spencer is obviously torn between staying with Brendon and being that close to Jon, but Ryan gives him a reassuring nudge and he gives in.
Ryan has every intention of following them, but Gerard’s voice stops him before he reaches the door. “Ryan, I need you.” He turns around and Gerard is looking at him, apologetic but firm. “We’ve got two syndicate members on their way in under police escort, and we need to know how they knew about the safehouse, and what else they know.” His voice softens, but it’s no less implacable. “I wouldn’t ask if there was any other way.”
“Spencer,” Ryan says immediately.
Gerard shakes his head. “You’re better.”
Ryan’s hand tightens involuntarily on Brendon’s arm. Gerard looks sympathetic, but he doesn’t back down. “I know, and I’m sorry, but I need you.” Ryan believes him. It doesn’t make him feel any better about it, though.
Spencer’s mind is suddenly linked with his, a flood of reassurance and calm. “I’ll be there,” Spencer promises. “Come over as soon as you’re done.”
Brendon sways a little, halfway to unconsciousness. It feels like the hardest thing Ryan has ever done to let go of his arm, but he does it.
Brendon reaches out and brushes his mind, softly, on his way out the door.
They get Brendon settled on the couch and he’s asleep even before Jon comes back with a blanket. Spencer stuffs his hands into his pockets, at a loss, wondering if he should try to catch some sleep on the floor or stay up and wait for Ryan. It could be hours, he knows. It probably will be.
Jon tucks the blanket in around Brendon and looks over at him. Spencer can’t read Jon’s mind, not at all, but he knows what that look means. He’s certain of it, and it gives him the courage to take two steps over and press his lips against Jon’s in a determined, earnest kiss.
“Spencer,” Jon says softly, but he hasn’t moved away yet, and Spencer isn’t going to let him.
“I need you,” he says, putting everything he has into the words. “More than I need a shrink, Jon. I need you.”
Jon just looks at him for a moment, and then he takes Spencer’s hands and leads him to the bedroom.
Spencer isn’t letting either of them regret this, not now or later. He peels Jon’s shirt off and covers his chest with kisses, soft sparse hair tickling his chin, and undoes his own zipper and Jon’s without a shred of hesitation.
“Have you done this before?” Jon asks, hands moving down Spencer’s shoulder blades, and Spencer hasn’t, exactly, but this is also his first time without any input coming back at him from his partner’s mind, so he just laughs a little and says, “Not like this.”
Jon kneels between his legs and they just make out for a while, deep, heady kisses that leave Spencer arching up for more and not getting it, not until he inhales Jon’s breath and whispers against his lips, “Please, please.”
“Turn over,” Jon murmurs, and Spencer rolls and settles, heart racing, while Jon urges his hips back and tucks a pillow underneath. Jon’s mind behind him is a complete blank, and Spencer has never felt more exposed in his entire life.
“Breathe,” Jon whispers over his skin, and Spencer laughs, feeling Jon’s smile in the kiss he presses against the curve of Spencer’s ass.
He’s expecting fingers, but what he gets instead is Jon’s tongue, warm and wet and slippery, coaxing him open with soft, persuasive pressure. “Jon,” Spencer gasps, and Jon’s tongue wriggles in response, going deeper until Spencer is humping the pillow and panting.
There’s Jon’s tongue, and then a finger, and then Jon’s tongue and a finger, which is quite honestly probably the best thing Spencer has ever felt. He pushes back into it, letting Jon open him wider, moaning softly when one finger turns into two with Jon’s tongue sliding slick and clever between.
“Please,” Spencer says again, hips working helplessly, and Jon says “All right,” breathing the words against wet skin, and gives Spencer one last lingering swipe of his tongue before easing him up and back.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Jon whispers, and then he’s pushing inside so, so slowly and Spencer arches his spine and begs silently until he feels Jon’s weight against his back, solid and warm.
“Up,” Jon says, and Spencer shifts back with him, shaking a little at the slide of Jon’s cock inside him as they move, until Jon is kneeling and Spencer is in his lap, leaning back against his chest and struggling to breathe.
“Will you ride me?” Jon asks, and Spencer is already moving, tentative at first, growing bolder when sparks skitter down his spine and Jon’s breath hitches like a benediction. Spencer tips his head back onto Jon’s shoulder, gasping, and Jon’s hands roam over his chest, stroking his ribs and teasing his nipples.
“Jon, Jon,” Spencer begs, and he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for until Jon’s hands settle on his hips and lift him, moving him in counterpoint to Jon’s thrusts. Yes, Spencer thinks sharply, perfectly, and barely remembers, several moments later, to say it out loud.
“Spencer,” Jon whispers into his ear, and one of his hands massages Spencer’s cock, not even properly stroking but it’s still enough, that and the feel of Jon moving inside him, and Spencer comes shaking all over, in helpless waves under Jon’s hands.
Jon pushes him down and Spencer melts, boneless, sighing when Jon bites the back of his neck, gently, and drives into him hard, a handful of times before he’s coming as well, and it feels so intimate Spencer doesn’t even mind that he can’t share in it.
“I quit therapy,” Spencer whispers when Jon pulls him close, cradles him against his chest. Jon laughs and strokes sweaty strands of hair back from Spencer’s forehead, presses a kiss there instead.
Jon says, “I need you more too.”
The unexpected presence of someone in his house wakes Gerard up in the early hours of the morning, but as soon as he reaches out he recognizes it, hears the thoughts projected towards him, it’s me, it’s all right, it’s just me.
He leaves Frank curled up under the covers, snuffling a little in protest when Gerard slips away, pulls on a pair of pajamas and quietly closes the door to his bedroom. Mikey’s waiting for him in the hall, and Gerard goes straight to him and hugs him so fiercely he thinks he can hear bones creak.
“It’s over,” Mikey says when Gerard finally eases off a little. “They took down Toro and the other key members of the syndicate early this morning. The information you got was right, the cops were waiting for them. I was officially pulled out about an hour ago.”
“I’m never letting you work undercover again,” Gerard tells him sincerely. He still hasn’t relinquished his hold, but Mikey doesn’t complain, just rubs his back and laughs like he understands.
“I’ve missed you too.”
“I’m not kidding,” Gerard warns, finally letting go enough to move them into the kitchen, where he can turn on a light. “Do you want some coffee? A place to crash?”
“Nah, I’ll head back soon. I just wanted to make sure you knew, so I came straight here after they let me go.” Mikey swings one long leg over a kitchen chair, straddling the back. “Besides, it looks like you’ve got company.” He nods significantly in the direction of Gerard’s bedroom. “I take it this means you’re back together?”
“Ah.” Gerard scratches the back of his neck and feels faintly ridiculous, and also a little like a teenager. “Yeah. I think so.”
Mikey just smiles, small but familiar, a smile Gerard knows is heartfelt. “Good.” He leans back, preparing to stand. “I should leave you to it.”
Gerard recognizes the same reluctance in Mikey that he feels, though, and pushes him back down. “I’m serious about the coffee,” he says. “Stay a while. Frank’s sleeping anyway.”
“You could wake him up,” Mikey suggests, with a straight face that Gerard sees right through.
“I’m your brother, don’t be a pervert.” He takes the special Hawaiian blend that he saves for special occasions out of the freezer, and fills up the coffee pot. “Besides,” he says, looking back at Mikey with a crooked smile. “I’d rather spend some time with you.”
Mikey rests his chin on his elbows and considers. “I could make us some eggs,” he offers.
Gerard flips the switch on the coffeemaker and grins. “Deal.”
Ryan shows up at Brendon’s apartment the day after he finally moves back in, chest pounding and heart in his throat. “Look,” he says. “I know you have someone else, but I just really need…”
Brendon says, “I love you.”
Ryan gapes, and then forces himself to pull it back together again. “What?”
“I love you.” Brendon leans against the frame, a funny little smile playing around the corners of his mouth, like he wants to laugh but is maybe not sure whether he’s allowed. “I thought you knew.”
“I...” Ryan says, and Brendon tugs him in, shuts the door, and opens his mind.
Ryan links with him like they have a hundred times, a thousand, and the feeling of Brendon is all around him, like dozens of tiny effervescent bubbles exploding on his tongue. Brendon pulls him in and that wall, that fucking annoying as hell blank wall, goes down without a sound, and suddenly Ryan is enveloped in something so strong it takes his breath away.
“Bren,” he whispers. He doesn’t realize they’re kissing until he can’t breathe anymore, and then he’s gasping, pulling at Brendon’s clothes, and the two of them trip over every fucking thing in the apartment on their way to the bedroom, but it’s worth it to feel Brendon’s bare skin under his hands, the warm flex of his muscles.
“Want you,” Brendon mumbles against his lips, and Ryan wholeheartedly agrees with that sentiment, but he can’t decide what he wants first, so he just takes it all. Brendon’s thoughts glide against his, entangling and merging, and when Ryan draws his tongue down the flat of Brendon’s chest he can feel his own heart skip when Brendon gasps.
“You,” Ryan says, and Brendon says it back, or maybe again, and they’re tangled up and kissing again, hands stroking over skin and emotions bleeding into each other, until Ryan has no idea where he ends and Brendon begins.
“Inside,” Brendon says, or thinks, and Ryan is moving before he even fully understands, following Brendon’s impulses and reaching for the lube he now knows is in the drawer next to the bed, sliding it over his fingers without ever breaking away from Brendon’s lush mouth.
His lips feel swollen, and he almost raises his hand to them when they finally do stop to breathe, but Brendon just laughs, in his head and against his skin, and pulls him down again.
He feels it when he slides inside Brendon, feels both the tight, aching pressure around his cock and the stretch and burn of himself pushing inside. This isn’t going to last long, Brendon thinks, or maybe Ryan does because Brendon suddenly laughs again, throwing back his head against the pillow, and it turns into a gasp when Ryan pulls out and pushes back inside.
He can feel everything, every nerve ending in both of their skins, the sizzle that sparks when his cock hits Brendon’s prostate and the duller throb when Brendon pulls him close to kiss him again, suckling his tongue until it turns slow and sweet.
I love you, Brendon whispers into his mind, a streak of white and a starburst of red. I love you, I love you.
“I love you,” Ryan says silently against Brendon’s mouth, and feels the curve of his lips when he smiles.
“Fuck,” Brendon whispers, his entire body tensing, and it feels like drowning, Ryan goes under so fast, slip-sliding into climax with Brendon clinging to him inside and out, the two of them crashing together so hard Ryan can’t even breathe.
Brendon traces Ryan’s lips softly, and Ryan feels his fingertips tingle, the ghost of a touch. “I love you,” Ryan says, out loud into the nonexistent space between them, and Brendon echoes him with their lips already sliding together for another kiss.
Jon looks up when Spencer walks in, surprised. “Hey,” he says, not unhappily. “What’s up?”
Spencer closes the door behind him. “It’s Friday at noon,” he reminds Jon. “I have an appointment.”
“I thought we decided…” Jon trails off as Spencer bypasses the armchair completely, clearing a space on the desk and leaning back on his elbows, exercising every iota of come-hither eyes.
“You thought?” Spencer echoes, and pulls Jon on top of him for a kiss.
They’re just getting into some enthusiastic groping and necking when Spencer feels two very interested minds hovering around the edge of his own. Making a little noise of outraged annoyance, he pushes Jon off of him and marches to the door, ignoring Jon’s bewildered confusion.
“Out,” he orders, yanking open the office door to glare at his co-workers. “Get out.”
Brendon is trying hard to look wide-eyed and innocent. Ryan is just smirking. As if he has any right, the bastard. Spencer caught the two of them making out on the stairs on his way in this morning.
“Assignment,” Gerard calls down from the balcony, Frank lounging in his doorway like he has absolutely no better place to be. “There’s been a murder in one of the casinos, they’ve got everyone in one place and want to see if they’ve gotten lucky enough to actually have the killer there, too. There’s over a hundred people in the building, so I want all three of you on it. I’ll call one of you off if anything else comes up.”
“Be good,” Frank chimes in from behind him, grinning.
Spencer turns around and sees that Jon has come up behind him, listening from the doorway. “Hey,” he says reluctantly. “I have to go save the world.”
“I heard.” Jon smiles and kisses him, lingering. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”
Spencer says, “I know.”