Fic: Tastes Just Like Cherry Cola (Brendon/Spencer)
Title: Tastes Just Like Cherry Cola
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer, Ryan/Spencer, Ryan/Jon
Rating: NC17?
Disclaimer: Completely made up
Warning: Cross dressing
Summary: In which Spencer meets a girl at a club, who turns out to not be a girl after all
Word count: ~10k
A/N: Betaed by the wonderful mintyfiend and makesomelove. Written because...I like the idea of Brendon in makeup and a skirt? Title belongs to the Kinks
The club is loud and dark, just the way Ryan likes them. Spencer hangs back by the bar, his usual haunt on their nights out, trying not to roll his eyes as Ryan goes on what can only be described as a prowl, searching out tonight’s conquests. Spencer watches as Ryan eyes people up, checking them out- girls and boys, always a certain type, always very scene.
Usually Spencer’s only here as company, making sure Ryan doesn’t do anything too stupid, and that he gets home safe and sound. On occasion he’ll hook up too, so he keeps his eyes open, looks around, checks out the girls on the dance floor, the ones sitting around one of the tables, sipping drinks with their fake ids stashed away in purses or in pockets, like Spencer’s is.
He turns towards the bar, contemplating another beer, and spots a girl.
She’s pretty- fairly tall and slim, with dark hair cut short enough that it curls against the pale skin of her neck. She has long fingers that are wrapped around a beer bottle, and they remind Spencer of Ryan’s hands, big and strong and soothing.
“Hi,” he says, and the girl looks up, full lips stretching into a smile as she looks Spencer up and down. There’s a smear of lipstick on the lip of the bottle she lowers from her mouth.
“Hi,” she says back, leaning in to speak into Spencer’s ear. Her voice is low, melodic, as she asks “What’s your name?”
“Spencer,” Spencer says, knowing Ryan would be shaking his head. Ryan has strict rules about this sort of thing- give a fake name, don’t accept drinks, don’t make any more conversation than necessary, don’t show too much interest. Spencer isn’t Ryan though, so he lets his eyes rake over her body, taking in her short skirt, black band shirt tight enough that he can just make out the lines of her bra underneath, and coming to rest on her face, noting the shiny lipstick, black lined eyes, sparkly eyeshadow. She’s hot, and Spencer lets this thought show on his face as he meets her eyes.
The girl’s smile broadens, and she leans in to introduce herself. The music is loud, and Spencer’s not sure he heard her right.
“Brenda?” he repeats, and the girl’s lips quirk, but she nods.
Someone jostles Spencer and he takes advantage of it, stepping closer into her space. She’s pretty much the perfect height, just short enough that Spencer knows their bodies would fit together perfectly, that he could kiss her and wrap her leg around his waist and fuck her against the wall without having to hold her up or get a crick in his neck. These are the things Spencer wants, from these nightclub rendezvous.
He doesn’t think about how quick they’ll be, if he’ll be able to get off again and again and again before the night is out, or whether they’re wearing the right clothes, drinking the right drinks, dancing to the right music, like Ryan does. Spencer just wants it to be easy, two people who fit and can get each other off and go their separate ways. It’s about killing the time while Ryan does whatever he needs to do and lets Spencer take him home, to sleep in Spencer’s room in the twin bed that’s too small for them to share, and yet they share it anyways.
Spencer always insists they shower before bed, even though Ryan sighs and complains. Spencer likes it when he can’t smell some random stranger on Ryan’s skin when Spencer’s nose is pressed against Ryan’s shoulder as they sleep. He thinks sometimes that to Ryan, that’s the whole point of these nights out, the smell, the taste, of some nameless stranger covering him.
“Do you come here often?” Brenda asks, and Spencer laughs.
“Isn’t that supposed to be my lame line?” he asks, and watches as she blushes, ducking her head.
“Hey,” he says, reaching out, brushing his hand against her arm. “This song- it’s kinda awesome. Do you want to dance?”
She hesitates for a second, the nods, letting him take her by the hand and lead her towards the dance floor. Her hand is hot in his, and they pass by Ryan, who turns his attention away from the boy who’s got his tongue down Ryan’s throat to look her up and down and give Spencer an approving look.
The music is fast and there’s a distance between them as they dance that Spencer tries to bridge, but she keeps twisting away, moving in time with the music so that Spencer’s not sure if it’s a rejection or part of her dance.
They dance until Spencer is breathless, until he leans in close, grabbing her around the waist and holding her there as he says “do you want to go somewhere more…private?” into her ear. He leans back in time to see a moment of surprise and doubt cross her features, and then she grins. It makes Spencer’s stomach flip-flop, and that’s something new, something he’s never felt before, not even that first, drunk and fumbling time with some girl that Ryan had introduced him to.
She takes Spencer by the hand and leads him off the dance floor, bypassing the door that leads to the alley outside, which is Spencer’s preferred location for this sort of thing (he’s not sure if it’s being away from the music and smoky air and scent of beer, or the likelihood of them getting caught -maybe by Ryan- that he likes so much about it) into the men’s bathroom. She leads him into the end cubicle and closes the door behind them, pushing Spencer against the wall, letting him pull her in closer so she can kiss him.
She kisses like she’s running out of time, like she expects Spencer to push her away, but Spencer just settles his hands on her waist, tries to bring their bodies together. She laughs and pushes away a little, then drops to her knees.
Spencer lets his head tip back, resting against the cold tile as her fingers brush over him. He’s hard, and the feel of her hand cupping him through the fabric of his jeans makes him gasp a little. She makes a small, satisfied noise as she unzips his pants and wraps her hand around him.
“Nice,” she says, and Spencer wants to laugh, because there’s something in her voice that reminds him of the jokes guys make in the locker rooms, the way it’s impossible not to look, not to tease or compliment in that ‘I’m being totally hetero about this, dude’ way.
“Thanks,” Spencer says, and feels like an idiot, but she doesn’t look up, just leans in and licks at him, runs her hand along his length, and then fits her mouth over the head of his dick. Spencer watches, watches those full lips stretched around him, watches her cheeks hollow, how dark her eyelashes look against her pale cheeks. He groans as she takes him in deeper, as she moves her head, and he has to touch, even though it’s not always part of the rules in these sort of situations, so he just reaches out and buries his hands in her thick dark hair, holding her head lightly and forcing himself not to thrust into her mouth.
It’s over embarrassingly quickly, and he pushes her away, grasping his dick as he comes, watching her face watch his. There’s a drop of come on her lip, and she flicks out her tongue to lick it away, before turning and gathering a handful of toilet paper, offering it to Spencer.
He takes it, wipes his hand off, and flushes it away, and when he turns back, she’s on her feet.
“That was…” Spencer trails off, zipping himself back up, and leaning in to kiss her, recognising the taste of himself in her mouth.
“You’re welcome,” she says when he breaks the kiss, and it’s strangely formal, and there’s something in her face, pride maybe, or satisfaction, that makes Spencer want to gather her up in his arms and kiss her for a very long time. But that’s not how he’s supposed to be feeling, not how he’s supposed to act in these situations, so he presses her against the door and runs his non-sticky hand up her thigh, letting his fingers slide just under the hem of her skirt.
She pushes at his chest, and he backs off, looking surprised.
“I have to go,” she says, looking disappointed, sad, and a little scared. Spencer feels like a complete asshole suddenly, like he’d forced her into the cubicle, like she didn’t want this, wasn’t looking for this at all. But she smiles at him, presses a kiss to his lips.
“See you around,” she says, and it’s a half question that Spencer’s sure he’s not imagining the hope in. He watches her go, and then goes back out into the club, to find Ryan waiting for him impatiently.
“Let’s go,” Ryan says, arms folded across his chest, eyes narrowed as he glares across the room at someone Spencer can’t see, but who has apparently made an enemy of Ryan, which is never a smart move. So he takes Ryan home, and they sneak into his room and when Ryan’s hand rests on Spencer’s hip as they settle down to sleep, Spencer thinks about the girl, and how she’d touched him, like it meant something.
~~~
A week passes and they’re back in the same club. Normally Ryan likes to change up the days a little, go on a Thursday, if it was a Saturday they went out last time, but Spencer had bullshitted about prior commitments, about babysitting for his sisters, about having homework, until Ryan had shrugged and sighed and they’d turned up at the club 7 days later. Spencer’s not really ready to admit even to himself why it’s important they go on that exact day, so he ignores Ryan’s demands for an explanation and settles himself in the same place by the bar.
He’s only there for 15 minutes when she appears, sidling up beside him to breathe in his ear, “Fancy seeing you here.”
Spencer can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as he turns to her. There’s a moment’s hesitation from both of them, as if they’re not sure how they’re supposed to act, and then Spencer’s hand is on the small of her back and she’s leaning against him, practically sitting in his lap as they talk. She’s cagey about personal information, but Spencer’s not surprised, especially if she’s here for what Ryan’s here for. That thought makes him clench his jaw, a wave of jealousy washing over him that he quickly dampens, because he knows better to get emotionally involved in these fleeting moments of whatever it’s supposed to be.
They talk for awhile, about music mainly, but other things too, and it’s pleasant and comfortable and easy, in a way that Spencer hasn’t had with anyone besides Ryan in as long as he can remember. It’s a nice feeling, nice enough that when she leans in closer and whispers “do you wanna-“ he feels a stab of disappointment, that in a few minutes the connection is going to be broken, again.
He tries to take control once they’re locked in the cubicle, pushes her up against the wall and kisses her hard, wet and dirty, and then kisses down her neck, across her collarbones. He lets one hand slide up from her waist, up to her chest, and rubs his thumb over the seam of her bra, feeling the soft give of padding and flesh as he moves his hand. His other hand slips under the hem of her shirt, and he gently presses his knee between hers, wanting to get their bodies closer, to feel the friction. But she just pushes him away again, mutters “please, let me,” and gets her hands on his dick, jacking him off slowly.
She hums in time, and it’s a song Spencer almost recognises, but not quite. He’s too busy trying not to think about her hands, how her nails are trimmed short just like the way Ryan keeps his so they don’t get in the way when he’s picking out tricky chords. Spencer can’t help but wonder if this is what Ryan’s hands look like when he’s jerking someone off, and the thought makes him feel uncomfortable, like he’s cheating on Brenda by thinking of someone else, if only for a split second, even though cheating shouldn’t be something that’s possible when the relationship is nothing more than a hand or a mouth on his dick while someone takes a piss three feet away.
When he looks up she’s looking at him, lips parted, eyes focused on Spencer’s mouth, and so he kisses her hard enough to make his lips tingle afterwards. She moans, says something against his mouth and it sounds hot and dirty and right and Spencer can’t help himself when her hand tightens around him at the same time. He comes, spurting over her hand and skirt, apologising profusely when he’s able to coherently string sentences of “oh shit, I’m sorry” together.
She shrugs and smiles, and it’s a little wicked as she lifts her hand and licks at her palm.
“I’m just going to go and wash this off,” she says, indicating her skirt and slipping from the cubicle.
Spencer rests his head against the partition and breathes deeply, straightening his clothes once he’s regained his composure. He waits, and waits, and after a minute or two, he pokes his head out the door, but the bathroom is empty. Frowning, he wanders back into the club, scanning the crowd, but she’s not there, and all he’s faced with is a smug looking Ryan who slides his hand into Spencer’s back pocket as they walk to the car, who wraps himself around Spencer when they’re in bed, twining their legs together, in that way he only does when he’s happy and satisfied and sated.
~~~
It’s a Wednesday, the next time they’re in the club. Ryan insists and Spencer can’t think up an excuse quick enough, so he’s surprised to see her there. She looks surprised to see him, too, and the pleased smile that spreads across her face makes Spencer’s hands tremble and his dick twitch. Things go the same way- a couple of hours chatting then back to the bathroom where she blows Spencer again, won’t let him push her off when he’s close and swallows as he comes, then makes up an excuse before he can get his hand down her pants to return the favour.
It leaves Spencer confused, unsure, and a little desperate to get her off. He can’t help but wonder if that’s the whole point, if she’s trying to drive him slowly insane until he picks her up and fucks her hard against the wall. He promises himself that next time he’ll do just that, if she’ll let him, but the following week (a Friday) she blows him again, taking him in deeper than before and then claims she’s late for something. And the next time (a Tuesday) she’s not there, so Spencer insists on going back on the Saturday night, which results in a hurried handjob and a missed phone call that she “has to return, right now”.
It’s getting frustrating, and when he mentions it to Ryan, he doesn’t seem to understand what the problem is, not if Spencer is getting off every time. Spencer doesn’t quite know how to explain, so he just punches his pillow a few times and settles down to sleep. He’s on the edge of drifting off when Ryan props himself up on his elbow and frowns down at him.
“This is the same girl?” Ryan asks, something in his voice that Spencer can’t quite place. “Every time? And it’s been going on for weeks?”
Spencer nods, closing his eyes again. “Yeah,” he says.
“Oh,” Ryan says, “so that’s how it is,” and rolls away a little when he lies down, until their bodies aren’t touching anymore, until the familiar cool press of Ryan’s skin is gone completely. The bed’s not big enough for that to happen naturally, and Spencer doesn’t understand why Ryan is keeping himself away, and wishes he wasn’t.
Ryan acts strange and distant for half a week, before he shows up and drags Spencer back to the club, making a beeline for a tall scene kid the moment they enter the place. Spencer heads to his usual spot, and finds Brenda there already, waiting for him.
“Hi,” she says, and hands him a beer that he takes carefully, letting their fingers brush. He takes a swig, and swallows, and she leans in to kiss him, lightly and sweetly. It makes Spencer smile, and they settle into their usual routine, talking about nothing and yet everything, and lets his eyes roam the room, checking for Ryan just like he always does. He finds him in the corner, talking to some chick, but he’s looking over at Spencer, looking pissed off.
Spencer hates it when Ryan looks like that, because it’s normally something Spencer can’t fix. He wants to go over and ask what’s wrong, to check he’s okay, but that’s not part of Ryan’s rules about this place, and Brenda is tugging at his hand, so he follows her. The bathroom is full, all cubicles occupied, and she frowns, disappointed, but he leads her out, and nods towards the ladies room. She looks hesitant, so Spencer doesn’t push it, just leads her outside.
Spencer’s not been out there since before this…whatever it was started with Brenda. He realises he’s forgotten the rush of being outside, the possibility of being caught, even though he never has. Of course, it’s inevitable that this time they do get caught. She has her hand inside his pants, and he’s close, so close, all it’s going to take is one more stroke and- that’s when Spencer sees him, watching them, and Spencer stares at him as he comes, as he shakes through it, his name spilling from his lips.
“Ryan,” he says, and Brenda looks up, frowning and then follows Spencer’s gaze.
“Um,” she says, and Ryan glances at her, briefly, then looks back at Spencer.
“I’m ready to go when you are,” Ryan says sharply, then turns on his heel.
“You should go,” Brenda says, stepping away from him.
“But I didn’t, I mean, I haven’t,” Spencer takes a breath. “You haven’t-“
“Next time,” she says, and even though Spencer suspects it’s a lie, he decides to take it as a promise, presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, and follows after Ryan.
Ryan doesn’t say anything until they’re home, and he’s sliding between the covers behind Spencer.
“She’s pretty,” he says, and Spencer hums in agreement, wary of the edge to Ryan’s voice.
“Spencer,” Ryan says, and slides his hand over Spencer’s hip, under his thin t-shirt, thumb catching at his belly button as it slides lower, low enough that Spencer gasps, despite himself, as Ryan’s fingertips slip under the waistband of his boxers.
Spencer holds his breath, sucking his tummy in a little, and Ryan’s hand dips a little lower until his fingertips rest against soft hair. Neither of them moves for a long moment, and Spencer is painfully aware that if he moves, if he twists just a little, that Ryan’s hand will be on his dick, something Spencer has always thought he wanted more than anything else. It’s tempting, so tempting, but all Spencer can think about is if Ryan’s hand will feel like Brenda’s, if his eyes will look as dark and smouldering as hers when he watches Spencer come.
“Spencer,” Ryan says after what feels like an eternity of neither of them moving and Spencer makes a decision without realising.
“Ryan,” he answers, and reaches down, taking Ryan by the wrist and wrapping his fingers around Ryan’s hand, lifting it up to his chest and resting it there, over his heart.
Ryan makes a sound that is somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and Spencer’s not sure if it’s disappointment or relief, and realises that maybe he doesn’t want to know.
~~~
Ryan disappears the moment they enter the club, and Spencer watches him go, wishing he knew what to say. Things had been awkward, slightly strained between them all week, like something had changed, some line had been crossed or altered. He mourns, a little, for the way things had been before.
“There you are,” Brenda says, stepping into view, and Spencer feels the smile spread across his face. He almost forgets about Ryan, as they talk, and it’s not long before Spencer remembers his promise, that this time he’d get her off, and leads her quietly outside.
Brenda gives him a wicked grin and reaches out, fingers brushing over the button on his jeans.
“No,” Spencer says, and she frowns, letting her hands drop.
He grasps her by the waist, pushing her back towards the wall, and lowers his head to kiss along her bare shoulder, one hand sliding down to rest lightly on her ass
“Please,” Spencer says. “Let me. I want to.”
Brenda sucks in a breath, and then exhales it slowly.
“Okay,” she says, sounding unsure and sad and a little resigned, and Spencer backs off immediately.
“Hey,” he says, holding up his hands. “If you don’t want to- I mean, I don’t want to force you to do anything and-“
“No,” Brenda reaches out and tugs at him until he leans back toward her. “It’s okay. I want to. I just…” she trails off, bites her lip and pulls Spencer closer for a kiss, opening up her mouth to him.
She’s never kissed him like this before, hard and desperate and demanding, exploring his mouth like she wants to remember it, her hands running over his arms, his back his hair, his cheeks in the same searching way. Spencer matches her passion, kisses her in a way that he hope shows his excitement at getting to touch her, to run his hands up her thighs and into her panties. He presses his knee between hers, making her spread her legs, and lets his hands trail down her sides, over her hips and ass, down to the hem of her short skirt. He lets his hands rest on her thighs for a moment, then slides his fingers under the skirt, letting his thumbs catch on the outside, making the fabric rise with his hands.
Brenda shivers, moaning into his mouth, and Spencer is instantly hard, from the touch, from the sound, from the knowledge of what he’s going to do to her. He wonders what noises she’ll make when he touches her, tastes her, fills her, and he’s suddenly desperate to know. He slides his hands higher, and then stops.
He goes suddenly very still, then withdraws his hands and breaks the kiss, stepping back.
Spencer stares. He doesn’t mean to, but he does.
Brenda wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, head tilted away from him, cheeks blushing red. After a moment she glances up and meets Spencer’s eyes. There’s something on her face that Spencer can’t read, maybe doesn’t want to.
His skin feels suddenly hot and tight, and he knows he’s blushing, right up to the tips of his ears.
“Uh,” he says. “You’re. You’re a dude.”
Brenda huffs out a laugh, and then nods. “I’m a dude,” she- he? Spencer’s suddenly not sure what to think, let alone say, and Brenda seems to be awaiting a response.
“Um,” Spencer says, and wishes he could sit down. It’s not that he’s disgusted or anything- he’s been half in love with his best friend for as long as he can remember, afterall- but the shock is a bit too much right now. Spencer’s never been one to roll with the punches, to reassess the situation on the spot and go with the flow. He needs to sit back, to regroup and make a new plan, see what goals and objectives have changed, what options are now available, and weigh them all up. Spencer needs to get out of there, but his feet don’t seem to be listening to him.
“Are you going to hit me?” Brenda asks, dragging Spencer out of his panic, and Spencer realises his hands are curling into fists. He relaxes them quickly.
“What? No! I’m not- no. It’s just. You should have. It’s something you need to. Tell people. Me. Tell me. Kinda a surprise. I need to. I mean. I’m going-“ Spencer thumbs over his shoulder, and his legs finally start working, making him stumble back towards the door.
“Yeah,” Brenda says, shoulders slumping. He doesn’t look at Spencer as he says, “see you around,” in a flat voice, and turns his back.
Spencer is filled with the overwhelming urge to grab him by the shoulders, turn him around and kiss him until he smiled like he’d been smiling earlier. But his brain is still telling him to get out, to get somewhere safe and familiar and think, so he turns and goes back into the club.
Spencer lets his eyes sweep the club, but Ryan is nowhere in sight, so he heads for the street, getting in the car and, for the first time, leaving Ryan behind.
He’s halfway home before he realises he’s still hard, and he presses his hand over his dick, palming it through his jeans and thinking of the kiss, of Brenda’s moans, of the way he’d looked sucking Spencer’s dick, of the way he’d laughed and his eyes had crinkled at the corners and how animated and interested he’d looked when they’d talked.
Spencer pulls into his driveway and sneaks inside. He takes a long hot shower and jerks off, thinking of the moment his hand had brushed against Brenda’s dick.
He climbs into bed and lies on his side, trying not to think about Brenda. He stays awake until he hears his window slide open and Ryan climb in. He feigns sleep as Ryan crawls into bed beside him and mutters “asshole” in his ear. He waits until Ryan’s breathing has slowed, and then rolls in towards him, only falling asleep when Ryan sleepily rests his hand on Spencer’s hip.
~~~
Spencer doesn’t go to the club with Ryan the following week. Or the week after that. Ryan asks why, but Spencer refuses to talk about it, spending his evenings hunched over his homework, sitting with his sisters watching nothing of importance on the TV. He spends the time carefully not thinking about Brenda, because if he did he knows he’d feel guilty about the way he reacted. Spencer tries really hard not to think of the look on Brenda’s face, the hurt that had been overshadowed with expectation, resignation, like he’d expected this to happen, like he’d pre-empted Spencer’s reaction and had let Spencer find out, had let Spencer touch him, assuming it would be for the last time.
Spencer’s not sure if it was for the last time. If he wants it to be. So he tries not to think about it, and ignores Ryan’s pleas to accompany him to the club and helps his mom do the dishes instead.
Spencer wakes up on a Saturday morning, two and a half weeks after his last trip to the club, to Ryan standing over him looking determined. The fact that Ryan is up this side of noon on a weekend is enough to startle Spencer awake enough to sit up and rub at his eyes.
“We’re going shopping,” Ryan announces as Spencer gets out of bed and pads towards the bathroom, hoping a shower will wake him up the rest of the way.
“Fine,” Spencer says, realising he’s not spent time with Ryan, not really, in weeks. The awkwardness between them had started to fade, the old comfort coming back. Ryan comes in, like he’s always done, and crawls into bed with Spencer on his nights out, but there’s been a distance between them that’s been there since that one night, and it’s only grown further since that night in the club.
Spencer drops his boxers in a puddle on the floor, and goes into the bathroom. It’s only when he’s in the shower, trying not to get shampoo in his eyes, that he remembers that it’s the first time he hadn’t checked to see if maybe Ryan was watching, was interested, liked what he saw.
~~~
By shopping, Ryan apparently means music, which surprises Spencer. He’d been gearing himself up for several hours of following Ryan around stores and looking at things Spencer’s grandfather wouldn’t be seen dead in. Not that Spencer hated shopping- he loved it, when he could shop on his own terms and not have to offer opinions between two equally hideous paisley cardigans. But music is good.
Ryan pulls up in front of a music store at the far end of town, somewhere Spencer’s never been, but he could do with getting some spare drumsticks, with the way he goes through them, the way he’s gone through them quicker than usual lately. He follows Ryan into the shop, half listening to Ryan’s talk about how he really wants to get some Fall Out Boy tabs while he’s here, and then stops short.
The moment Spencer sees him, he wonders why he hadn’t realised before. It’s so obvious when he looks at him, the angle of his jaw, the spread of his hands, the way he stands.
“Hey Brendon,” Ryan says, fake casually, and Spencer has enough time to think ‘Brendon, of course’ before narrowing his eyes at his former best friend, who gives him a broad grin before disappearing further into the shop to where a half asleep looking guy with a scruffy beard that makes Spencer a little envious, is sitting.
“Spencer,” Brendon says, and Spencer turns to the side, picking something up at random, squinting at it as if he’s engrossed, but not really seeing it at all. “I’m-“
"Why?" Spencer interrupts, turning to look at Brendon.
Brendon bites his lip for a moment, opens his mouth then closes again. He shrugs. "I don't know I can explain it properly. I just. Sometimes I guess I'd like to not be me for awhile. Well, to not be this me," he adds, waving his hands up and down his body. "It feels right and-"
"No," Spencer cuts him off, even though he's curious, wants to know, wants to understand. "I meant, why didn't you tell me?"
He knows he sounds petulant, but he feels betrayed. Which is silly, because it's not like Brendon owes him anything, owes him an explanation, now or back then. Because whatever it was hadn't been a relationship, had just been a means for Spencer to get off. Meaningless, like all of Ryan's hook ups were.
Spencer believes himself for all of two seconds before he glances at Brendon and sees his face.
"I'm sorry," Brendon says in a small voice. "I don't. There's nothing I can say."
Spencer nods slowly, and turns back, staring blankly at the wall of sheet music. He's not sure what he'd expected to hear, what he'd hoped Brendon would say, but that wasn't it.
"I just," Brendon sighs. "You were so nice, and you seemed to like me, and I knew that it was only because you thought I was a girl. And I wanted to kiss you, so badly, that I thought 'I'll never see him again, it won't hurt not to tell' and when I left I thought that was it- that all I'd have would be the memory of you looking at me when you came, the feeling of my hands on you, the taste of you on my lips. And then it turned into something, and I didn't know how to bring it up. I mean, 'hey, by the way, I'm a dude' is hard to get into the conversation. Part of me hoped that you'd be like all the other guys, happy to just get off and then leave, but you seemed to want to touch me, like you wanted to return the favour."
Spencer wants to turn and look at him, but he's not sure he'd be able to do it without reaching out and kissing him, so he shoves his hands in his pockets, hunches his shoulders a little and listens as Brendon continues.
"I knew it'd only be a matter of time before you found out. And I tried to tell you, I really did. But the words didn't seem to want to come out. I'm so sorry for the way you found out. I can't. I don't. I wish that I could change things. And I hope it didn't freak you out too much. Ryan said...he said maybe it was more surprise than disappointment or anger."
Spencer looks up, glancing down towards where Ryan is laughing at something the guy with the scruffy beard is saying. Ryan, his best friend, the guy he'd been in love with for most of his life until Brendon had come along, and now his apparent matchmaker.
"Ryan is..." Spencer stops. "Ryan is sometimes not completely wrong," he concedes eventually, and Brendon chances a small smile.
"I really like you," he says, looking a little hopeful. "I know I've probably blown any chance of there being something between us, but. Maybe we could start again and be friends?"
Spencer hesitates. He wants to say that he doesn't want to be friends, that Brendon hasn't blown it, but he can't bring himself to say the words. He still can't separate the image of Brenda from the guy standing before him, still doesn’t understand any of it, why Brendon does it, or what his own feelings are. So he just nods.
Brendon grins, that wide, enticing smile that Spencer had almost let himself fall in love with, and holds out his hand.
"Hi," he says. "My name's Brendon."
"Spencer," Spencer says, and shakes Brendon's hand. It's warm, and the perfect size for Spencer to lace their fingers together, if he wanted. But he doesn't. And he doesn't think about how many times that hand had been in his hair, cupping his cheek, palming his hip, wrapped around his dick. Instead he says "Nice to meet you," and Brendon's answering laugh is a little contagious.
~~~
It should probably be weird, Spencer thinks, that he’s spending time hanging out with Brendon. He shouldn’t be able to separate Brendon (the dude who makes lame jokes that Spencer can’t help laughing to, who talks about music with such passion, who tells him everything about himself except the things that probably really matter, the things that make Brendon who he is) from the girl in the club with dark lashes and a pretty smile, but he does, compartmentalises his feelings as well as he can, for each of them, in an attempt to avoid confusion.
The thing is, Spencer finds himself liking Brendon almost as much as he’d liked Brenda, maybe even more. It’s easy between them, comfortable in a way Spencer’s never been with anyone but Ryan. They fall into an easy friendship, as if they’d never met in the club, as if Brendon didn’t spend his evenings in makeup and lingerie. Brendon is just a guy who Spencer likes spending time with, who answers politely when his Mom asks Brendon to stay for dinner, who brings his homework round sometimes and sits on the floor beside Spencer and studies, who kicks his ass at videogames on a frequent basis.
Weeks pass and Spencer sees Brendon almost more than he sees Ryan. Spencer doesn’t go to the club anymore, and he doesn’t ask either Brendon or Ryan if Brenda still goes. He’s not sure he wants to know, is maybe scared how he’d react to the answer, and it’s not like he has any right to know. So he focuses on his and Brendon’s growing friendship, ignores any other feelings for Brendon he might have, and tries not to be curious about everything Brendon doesn’t say.
Spencer looks over at Brendon and smiles. They’re sprawled in front of the TV, insulting the intelligence of the people on some dumb game show, not really doing anything. After a moment Brendon seems to sense Spencer is looking at him and looks over and grins back. And then doesn’t look away.
Spencer knows he should say something, do something, but he can’t seem to move. And then Brendon sways towards him a little, eyes on Spencer’s lips, and it makes Spencer think about those lips kissing him before, slick with cherry lip gloss, and he wonders if Brendon’s mouth tastes the same as Brenda’s, beneath the rum and coke, beneath the makeup, if they’re really the same person. He inhales sharply at the memory of all of their kisses, at the anticipation of this one, and Brendon stops mid lean, looking awkward. He’s very still, and there’s a crease between his brows as his frowns and sits back.
“Spencer,” he says, and then shakes his head, standing up and rubbing his hand through his hair a few times. “I can’t do this,” he says eventually, and Spencer feels his heart sink. He wants to say something, to get to his feet so he’s not gazing up at Brendon like this. But he stays where he is, keeps his mouth shut, as Brendon gives him a sad look.
“I thought being friends would be awesome,” Brendon tells him, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching in on himself. “I thought I could handle this. But this isn’t what you want. And I’m not who you want, so what’s the point of either of us kidding ourselves?”
Spencer’s mouth is suddenly dry. He opens it to say something- anything, to tell Brendon’s he’s wrong, but he can’t, because he’s not sure if that’s true or not.
“I-“ he says, and stops.
Brendon nods sadly. “I’m going to go,” he says, and Spencer lets him.
Spencer sits in his room, knees pulled up to his chin, for the rest of the afternoon, thinking about Brendon's face as he'd left, the look he'd given Spencer that was full of regret and apology.
When his mom calls him for dinner he goes downstairs and pushes his food around his plate, before shoving his chair away from the table and announcing he's going to stay at Ryan's. He ignores his mom's raised eyebrow as he grabs his keys and heads for the door
He lets himself in to Ryan's house, just like he's always done. Downstairs is empty- Spencer's not sure where Ryan's dad is, and he knows better than to ask, so he just climbs the stairs and stands in the open doorway of Ryan's room.
Ryan is at his desk, head bent over some books, and it takes him a moment to notice Spencer standing there, which gives Spencer time to watch him.
"Hey!" Ryan says, sounding surprised when he looks up.
Spencer steps inside, closing the door behind him. He focuses on Ryan's smile, how it's so rare and that he's maybe the only one who's seen it genuine more times than he can count.
He loves Ryan, always has, always will, and he can't help but remember that night, Ryan's hand on his stomach, something he wanted so badly he could taste it, and how he'd turned it down for Brenda. Brendon. Whoever.
Spencer licks his lips nervously. He hates this, this feeling of not being in control, of not understanding, of watching things happen and letting people get away from him.
"Spencer?" Ryan asks, frowning and getting up from his seat, and Spencer crosses the room before he can even think about what he's doing, grabbing the back of Ryan's neck.
Spencer leans in and Ryan gasps, lips parting, and Spencer takes advantage, fits his mouth over Ryan's and kisses him like he's always wanted to.
Ryan kisses him back, hard, pulling him in closer. It's something Spencer's wanted for so long- Ryan's hands on him like this, his tongue in Ryan's mouth. Something he’s dreamed of, daydreamed about, imagined over and over. He’d expected fireworks and for his knees to go weak. He'd expected it to feel perfect, to feel like coming home. But-
Spencer steps back with a sigh. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to look at Ryan but he forces himself too. Ryan is frowning a little, shaking his head, his expression a mirror of what Spencer thinks his own must be- confused, disappointed, unsure.
"It doesn't feel right, does it?" Ryan asks quietly, and he sounds sad.
Spencer shakes his head. "I really wanted it to," he whispers, and Ryan hooks an arm around Spencer's neck and hauls him in close enough that Spencer's nose is buried just below Ryan's ear, breathing in the scent of him. It's this that feels right, this sort of closeness between them, and Spencer wraps his arms around Ryan's waist and squeezes, pressing a regretful smile against Ryan's neck when Ryan huffs out a laugh and says "Me too."
~~~
Time passes. Spencer focuses on the things he’s supposed to focus on, like school and homework and looking after his sisters and making sure Ryan is doing okay. He doesn’t think about eyes lined with kohl and lips stained red, both crinkled at the corners when Brendon laughs. He doesn’t think about the smell of Brendon’s hair or the touch of his hands or the way he’d felt when their bodies were pressed together. And he certainly doesn’t think about his hand up Brendon’s skirt, brushing against his half-hard dick.
Ryan still sleeps over a few times a week, and it takes Spencer awhile to realise that Ryan’s not sneaking in from the club, that he’s not climbing through the window smelling like the boy or girl du jour and his hair on the pillow next to Spencer’s isn’t damp from a hasty shower to erase any evidence of interaction with another person. Ryan’s arm that holds him close is still the same it always was, and Spencer finds he can lean into the touch without the overhanging feeling of guilt he’d had for so many years. For that alone, if nothing else, he feels grateful to Brendon.
“Sorry,” Spencer says to Ryan one night when it’s warm and the covers are thrown back, Spencer’s hand resting against Ryan’s ribs.
“Hmm?” Ryan asks sleepily and Spencer sighs against the back of Ryan’s neck.
“The club,” Spencer explains. “I’m sorry I stopped going. I’m sorry it made you stop going. I know you like…that you need…that it’s something you have to do.”
Ryan doesn’t say anything, just rolls over and looks at him for a moment. “It’s okay,” he says. “I. Maybe I don’t need to do that anymore.” He smiles, and it makes Spencer smile too.
“Maybe,” Ryan says hesitantly, and then stops.
“What?” Spencer nudges Ryan’s leg with his knee and Ryan shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment.
“Ryan,” Spencer says, and Ryan sighs.
“Maybe we could go back one last time? Not to…not like before. Just to…get closure, I guess they call it.”
Spencer hesitates. The fact that Ryan wants to put that part of his life behind him for now is probably incredibly healthy for him, and Spencer wants Ryan to do whatever he needs and knows he’d be there beside him if that’s what Ryan needed. But the thought of seeing Brendon makes his insides twist, not entirely uncomfortably.
“We’ll go on Tuesday,” Ryan says, watching Spencer’s face. “He never goes there on Tuesdays. Jon told me it’s because he has to work first thing on Wednesday mornings.”
It’s the way Ryan’s lips try to pull into a smile when he says ‘Jon’, even though he’s trying to hide it, that makes Spencer nod.
“Sure,” he says, and yawns, punching his pillow a couple of times and then resting his head on it. “We’ll go on Tuesday.”
~~~
The moment Spencer steps into the club, he sees Jon by the bar, sipping on something scotch-looking. Ryan gives Spencer a grin that’s half excitement, half apology and hurries off towards Jon, which is when Spencer realises he’s been set up. He’s on the verge of turning around and getting out of there when he spots Brendon. Brenda. Whichever. He’s standing, leaning against the wall on one side of the club, talking to a tall boy who’s more the sort Ryan went for. Used to go for, Spencer mentally corrects, thinking about how different this Jon seems to Ryan’s usual type, and how maybe he’ll do Ryan good.
The sensible thing would be to leave, but there’s a rush of something inside him that Spencer is hesitant to call jealousy when he has no right to that emotion. His fingers twitch, wanting to curl into fists, and then he’s walking over before he’s even decided what he’s going to say.
Brendon sees him first. “Spencer!” he exclaims, and then his eyes narrow as they slide past Spencer, looking towards the bar. “Jon said you wouldn’t-” he stops, standing up a little straighter and smiling at the guy beside him.
“This is-” he starts to say, and Spencer interrupts.
“I don’t care,” he says. “I’d leave now, if I were you.”
Spencer knows he’s not very intimidating, if only because Ryan laughs and laughs at him whenever he tries to be. But there’s something in his voice, an edge he’s never heard there before, and when he combines it with a suitably bitchy look, the guy closes his mouth on whatever retort he’s about to make, mumbles a hasty “later,” and disappears.
Spencer raises an eyebrow at Brendon, who looks mad.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Brendon hisses.
The club is noisy and Spencer takes a step closer, ignoring the question to ask one of his own.
“How many?” he asks, low and demanding. “Since we stopped…How many have there been?”
“None of your business,” Brendon puts a hand on Spencer’s chest to shove him away, but Spencer holds his ground, puts his hand over Brendon’s and takes it.
“How many?” Spencer repeats and watches as Brendon bites his lip, worrying off his lipstick.
“You don’t have any right to ask me that,” Brendon insists, and Spencer feels a stab of annoyance at how Brendon is right, how he probably never had any right, never had any claim, and how any that might have existed have long gone. He does the only thing that makes sense, and crowds Brendon against the wall, kissing him.
Brendon resists at first, and Spencer can’t contain his growl of frustration. And then Brendon opens his mouth, letting Spencer in, and Spencer realises how much he’d missed the taste of Brendon, the coke and rum and cherry lipgloss and the Brendon that’s there underneath it all. He grinds his hips against Brendon’s and realises it’s the first time he’s done that, the first time he’s felt Brendon’s dick pressed between their bodies. He wonders what it was like for Brendon to be so careful about angling his body away each time they’d made out before, to have to hide something like that.
When they break apart, Brendon’s chest is heaving and he licks his lips.
“That was-“
“I don’t want to stop,” Spencer interrupts, and for a moment he thinks Brendon’s going to say no, is going to tell him that he doesn’t want this.
But Brendon nods. “Bathroom?” he asks, and Spencer shakes his head. He doesn’t want to do this here, not like before, not where there’d been secrets and stupid reactions.
“Do you. Is there anywhere we could go?”
“My apartment,” Brendon suggests immediately, and Spencer is suddenly impatient to get there, to be alone. He still has Brendon’s hand in his, and he tugs him towards the door. It’s habit that makes him look back and search the club for Ryan, who’s still over by the bar, talking to Jon. He looks happy, and it makes Spencer happy too. Ryan looks up and gives him a questioning look, but all Spencer can do is smile back, before leading Brendon out of the door.
They don’t talk much on the drive to Brendon’s apartment, just Brendon giving Spencer directions, telling him when to turn, where to stop.
Brendon’s apartment, once Brendon has fumbled in his purse for his key and ushered Spencer inside, is tiny and dingy and empty looking. Brendon gestures Spencer towards a patchy sofa. “Would you like a drink?” Brendon asks politely, and as Spencer nods he imagines Brendon as a kid, being taught to be the perfect host by his parents. It makes him realise that Brendon’s never spoken about his family, that he dodges questions about them the way Ryan does. It makes Spencer want to ask, to find out why a teenage boy is living on his own in a crappy one room apartment. But he doesn’t know how to ask in a way that won’t make Brendon want to kick him out.
Spencer surveys the room, noting the guitar in the corner and the stacks of CDs piled haphazardly on top of the full bookshelf.
“My parents kicked me out,” Brendon explains, and Spencer realises his questions are probably written all over his face. Brendon puts down two glasses of water on the old, stained coffee table and sits at the other end of the sofa, facing him.
“Why?” Spencer asks, and Brendon laughs to himself.
“Not for this, surprisingly,” he says, gesturing at his outfit. “They…it’s a long story. We have some fundamental differences of opinion about things that are important to me, a part of me.” His eyes flicker towards the guitar, then back to linger on Spencer.
Spencer nods slowly. “I. I’m sorry.”
Brendon shrugs and takes a gulp of his water. “It’s not the end of the world. I manage. I pay my rent, I make it to all my classes. And I like my job. Jon’s a good boss. He gave me tomorrow morning off, said I wasn’t needed. I guess I know why now.”
He looks over at Spencer.
“Are you sure?” Brendon asks. “I mean. You kinda freaked out before. I’m a guy. With a dick. And I’m sitting here in a skirt. Do you really want this?”
Spencer doesn’t answer, trying to find the right way to say yes, that he wants this so badly he can taste it. Brendon seems to take his silence for hesitation, and he grabs at his glass, downing the water in three quick gulps that draw Spencer’s attention to Brendon’s throat.
“I need more water,” Brendon says, jumping to his feet and heading towards the kitchenette again.
“Brendon,” Spencer says, stopping him. “I want this, I do.”
Brendon turns back around and looks at him for a long moment. He glances down at himself. “This…the clothes, the makeup, all of this…have you ever just done something, for no reason you can really understand, and it feels completely right, makes you feel more like yourself?”
Spencer doesn’t say anything. He thinks about the first time he’d picked up a pair of drumsticks, about the first time he’d shyly smiled at Ryan, about the first time he’d kissed Brendon.
“Yeah,” Spencer says, and really looks at Brendon this time. He looks at the guy who he’s seen in jeans and a faded band shirt, who’s currently wearing a short skirt and tight top with a bra strap peaking out of one sleeve, and he realises they’re the same person, that it was stupid to try and separate them in his mind, because they were both parts of Brendon, both parts that Spencer likes, wants to know more about.
He sees Brendon inhale sharply as Spencer stands and moves towards him. He takes the glass from Brendon’s hand carefully and places it down on the table.
“Yeah,” he says again, leaning in and sliding his hands up Brendon’s arms, across his shoulders, and up to rest against Brendon’s cheeks, fingers sliding into soft hair.
Brendon’s eyes are wide, lips parted, and Spencer leans in and kisses him softly, sweetly. He hopes the kiss tells Brendon everything, how he wants this more than anything, how he’s a little bit scared at the same time, but it’s in a good way, how he kind of wishes he could kiss Brendon forever.
Brendon smiles against his lips and nudges him towards the bed, breaking the kiss to reach out and tug Spencer’s shirt over his head.
He smiles as Brendon runs his hands over Spencer’s chest, and he reaches for the hem of Brendon’s shirt. Brendon twitches away, batting at his hands playfully before trying to undo Spencer’s jeans.
Spencer frowns and takes Brendon’s hands in his own. “Hey,” he says. “Stop that. This. This is different than before. It’s okay, please, let me touch you. Let me see you.”
Brendon goes very still. “Okay,” he says quietly, and raises his arms above his head when Spencer lifts Brendon’s shirt up and off.
“God,” Spencer says, resting his hands on Brendon’s shoulders, sliding his thumb under one of the bra straps. “You’re beautiful,” he says, and pushes Brendon down on the bed, straddling Brendon’s waist and kissing down his chest until he brushes against the soft padding of Brendon’s bra. The lace tickles Spencer’s lips and he smiles as he slides the straps off Brendon’s shoulders, pushing the cups down so he can slide his hands across Brendon’s chest. He drags his tongue over one nipple, and then the other, enjoying the way Brendon shivers and buries a hand in Spencer’s hair.
“Can I?” Spencer asks, and Brendon arches off the bed enough for Spencer to get a hand on the small of his back and pull him up, giving himself enough room to unclasp the bra and slip it off and onto the floor.
Brendon tries to catch Spencer’s lips with his own, but Spencer places a hand in the middle of Brendon’s chest and pushes him back down, flat on the bed, and slides down Brendon’s body until his hands are on Brendon’s thighs. He moves his hands, pushing the skirt up and up until it’s around Brendon’s waist, and he can see the outline of Brendon’s dick, hard and straining against the silky fabric of his panties.
Spencer leans in and mouths over Brendon’s dick, holding onto Brendon’s hips as he tries to buck up. Spencer leans back, the pale red fabric stained dark and wet by his mouth. “Patience,” he says as he hooks his fingers into the sides of Brendon’s panties and drags them down. Brendon helpfully lifts his hips as Spencer tugs them down around his thighs, smiling as Brendon’s dick springs free.
Spencer looks at Brendon’s dick for a moment. He’s never given a blowjob before, but the thought of having Brendon in his mouth, of tasting him, is making his mouth water a little. He thinks of how Brendon had blown him, what he’d done. Spencer figures that Brendon would have done what he liked best himself, so he licks his palm and wraps it around the base of Brendon’s dick, enjoying the sensation of soft flesh beneath his fingertips, and then leans in. He drags his tongue along Brendon’s dick, catching a drop of precome on the tip and closing his eyes as he tastes it. Spencer smiles up at Brendon, who’s propped himself up on his elbows and is watching with wide eyes, as Spencer wets his lips and takes Brendon into his mouth.
It’s a bit strange, having a dick in his mouth, but Spencer finds he likes it, finds he really enjoys the needy, pleading noises Brendon makes. He likes the way Brendon’s thighs flex and tremble, the fabric of the panties digging into his pale skin just a little as he tries to buck his hips up into Spencer’s mouth.
“Wait, wait, stop,” Brendon says, suddenly, sitting up and tugging at Spencer’s hair gently until he pulls off and looks up at him. Brendon’s expression changes a little when he looks at Spencer, eyes growing darker and he licks his lips.
“Wait,” Brendon says again and he kicks off the panties and wriggles out of the skirt until he’s completely naked. “Take these off,” he says, hooking a finger into a belt loop on Spencer’s jeans, and then undoing them himself when Spencer doesn’t follow orders quickly enough.
Spencer laughs as he kicks his jeans and boxers off, then stops laughing abruptly when Brendon pushes him back down on the bed and kisses him hungrily.
“Wait, look, if we just,” Brendon says, and wriggles around until he has their bodies lined up, until Spencer’s dick is pressing, hard and aching, against Brendon’s, still slick from Spencer’s mouth. There’s not enough of a height difference to stop them kissing as Brendon grinds his hips down, making Spencer gasp.
“This is,” Spencer starts to says, and moans as Brendon grinds down again. “Wow,” he breathes against Brendon’s neck and Brendon laughs as he does it again and again, Spencer lifting his hips to meet him.
“Fuck, Spencer,” Brendon says, and comes. He breathes heavily for a moment.
“Shit, sorry, let me,” he says, twisting as if he’s going to reach down between them, but Spencer grasps Brendon’s hips and grinds up. Brendon gasps a little, and Spencer looks into his dark lined eyes as he comes in hot spurts between them.
“Oh,” he sighs and smiles at Brendon who moves as if he’s going to get off him.
“Nah,” Spencer says quietly. “Stay awhile.”
Brendon buries his nose in Spencer’s neck, sliding to the side after a few minutes, but staying close.
~~~
Spencer wakes up sometime around dawn and watches Brendon sleep for a few moments, studies his smooth, relaxed face. There’s just a trace of lipstick around the edges of his mouth now, smudged eyeliner and smeared eyeshadow across his closed eyes and on the edge of his pillow. Spencer gently places his hand on Brendon’s gently rising and falling chest and smiles to himself when Brendon makes a happy noise and snuggles closer, his warmth sending Spencer back to sleep.
When he wakes up again, Brendon is gone, and Spencer slides out a hand across the wrinkled sheets, finding them still warm. He lies in bed, and hears water running and someone singing in the shower. He smiles at the familiar sound of Freebird and stretches out, waiting for Brendon to come back.
A few minutes pass before Brendon appears, wearing nothing but an old pair of sweatpants hanging off his hips, and towelling dry his damp hair.
“Hey,” he says, almost sounding surprised, and Spencer gives him a lazy smile.
“Come back to bed,” he says, patting the vast empty space beside him.
Brendon makes a tempted face, but then shakes his head. “Don’t you have class this morning?”
“No,” Spencer lies, tugging at his hand. “And you have the morning off.”
Brendon looks hesitant and it takes Spencer a moment to realise what’s wrong.
He sits up, ruffling his hand through his hair and giving Brendon a level look. “You think I’ve changed my mind? That I’m going to freak out? Or that I only want you when I can almost pretend you’re a girl?”
“Yes,” Brendon says, and Spencer cocks his head to one side and studies him.
“Fair enough,” he replies after a moment. “But you’re wrong. I’m not going to say that this feels completely normal right now, or that it’s not going to take me time to adjust- because this isn’t just about you, Brendon, this is about me and you being the first guy I ever…” he trails off and Brendon looks at him in surprise.
“But I thought you and Ryan…“
“No,” Spencer says honestly. “It’s…we’re not like that. I used to think that maybe I was in love with him,” he says, and notes Brendon’s face, the way it closes off suddenly, “but you made me realise that there’s different kinds of love, and that I love Ryan in a best friend way. You…you I love a little differently.”
Brendon stares at him. “You. You…” he trails off, and Spencer feels himself blush.
“Yeah. I mean. Maybe. The start of it anyway,” he says hesitantly and feels the bed dip as Brendon crawls towards him.
“Really?” he says. “I mean, really?”
Spencer looks at Brendon’s face, free of makeup. He thinks about how Brendon had looked last night, stretched out in front of him, how he’d looked earlier at the club, and thinks ‘this is Brendon, all of this is Brendon, all of this is what I want’ and answers Brendon with a kiss.
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer, Ryan/Spencer, Ryan/Jon
Rating: NC17?
Disclaimer: Completely made up
Warning: Cross dressing
Summary: In which Spencer meets a girl at a club, who turns out to not be a girl after all
Word count: ~10k
A/N: Betaed by the wonderful mintyfiend and makesomelove. Written because...I like the idea of Brendon in makeup and a skirt? Title belongs to the Kinks
The club is loud and dark, just the way Ryan likes them. Spencer hangs back by the bar, his usual haunt on their nights out, trying not to roll his eyes as Ryan goes on what can only be described as a prowl, searching out tonight’s conquests. Spencer watches as Ryan eyes people up, checking them out- girls and boys, always a certain type, always very scene.
Usually Spencer’s only here as company, making sure Ryan doesn’t do anything too stupid, and that he gets home safe and sound. On occasion he’ll hook up too, so he keeps his eyes open, looks around, checks out the girls on the dance floor, the ones sitting around one of the tables, sipping drinks with their fake ids stashed away in purses or in pockets, like Spencer’s is.
He turns towards the bar, contemplating another beer, and spots a girl.
She’s pretty- fairly tall and slim, with dark hair cut short enough that it curls against the pale skin of her neck. She has long fingers that are wrapped around a beer bottle, and they remind Spencer of Ryan’s hands, big and strong and soothing.
“Hi,” he says, and the girl looks up, full lips stretching into a smile as she looks Spencer up and down. There’s a smear of lipstick on the lip of the bottle she lowers from her mouth.
“Hi,” she says back, leaning in to speak into Spencer’s ear. Her voice is low, melodic, as she asks “What’s your name?”
“Spencer,” Spencer says, knowing Ryan would be shaking his head. Ryan has strict rules about this sort of thing- give a fake name, don’t accept drinks, don’t make any more conversation than necessary, don’t show too much interest. Spencer isn’t Ryan though, so he lets his eyes rake over her body, taking in her short skirt, black band shirt tight enough that he can just make out the lines of her bra underneath, and coming to rest on her face, noting the shiny lipstick, black lined eyes, sparkly eyeshadow. She’s hot, and Spencer lets this thought show on his face as he meets her eyes.
The girl’s smile broadens, and she leans in to introduce herself. The music is loud, and Spencer’s not sure he heard her right.
“Brenda?” he repeats, and the girl’s lips quirk, but she nods.
Someone jostles Spencer and he takes advantage of it, stepping closer into her space. She’s pretty much the perfect height, just short enough that Spencer knows their bodies would fit together perfectly, that he could kiss her and wrap her leg around his waist and fuck her against the wall without having to hold her up or get a crick in his neck. These are the things Spencer wants, from these nightclub rendezvous.
He doesn’t think about how quick they’ll be, if he’ll be able to get off again and again and again before the night is out, or whether they’re wearing the right clothes, drinking the right drinks, dancing to the right music, like Ryan does. Spencer just wants it to be easy, two people who fit and can get each other off and go their separate ways. It’s about killing the time while Ryan does whatever he needs to do and lets Spencer take him home, to sleep in Spencer’s room in the twin bed that’s too small for them to share, and yet they share it anyways.
Spencer always insists they shower before bed, even though Ryan sighs and complains. Spencer likes it when he can’t smell some random stranger on Ryan’s skin when Spencer’s nose is pressed against Ryan’s shoulder as they sleep. He thinks sometimes that to Ryan, that’s the whole point of these nights out, the smell, the taste, of some nameless stranger covering him.
“Do you come here often?” Brenda asks, and Spencer laughs.
“Isn’t that supposed to be my lame line?” he asks, and watches as she blushes, ducking her head.
“Hey,” he says, reaching out, brushing his hand against her arm. “This song- it’s kinda awesome. Do you want to dance?”
She hesitates for a second, the nods, letting him take her by the hand and lead her towards the dance floor. Her hand is hot in his, and they pass by Ryan, who turns his attention away from the boy who’s got his tongue down Ryan’s throat to look her up and down and give Spencer an approving look.
The music is fast and there’s a distance between them as they dance that Spencer tries to bridge, but she keeps twisting away, moving in time with the music so that Spencer’s not sure if it’s a rejection or part of her dance.
They dance until Spencer is breathless, until he leans in close, grabbing her around the waist and holding her there as he says “do you want to go somewhere more…private?” into her ear. He leans back in time to see a moment of surprise and doubt cross her features, and then she grins. It makes Spencer’s stomach flip-flop, and that’s something new, something he’s never felt before, not even that first, drunk and fumbling time with some girl that Ryan had introduced him to.
She takes Spencer by the hand and leads him off the dance floor, bypassing the door that leads to the alley outside, which is Spencer’s preferred location for this sort of thing (he’s not sure if it’s being away from the music and smoky air and scent of beer, or the likelihood of them getting caught -maybe by Ryan- that he likes so much about it) into the men’s bathroom. She leads him into the end cubicle and closes the door behind them, pushing Spencer against the wall, letting him pull her in closer so she can kiss him.
She kisses like she’s running out of time, like she expects Spencer to push her away, but Spencer just settles his hands on her waist, tries to bring their bodies together. She laughs and pushes away a little, then drops to her knees.
Spencer lets his head tip back, resting against the cold tile as her fingers brush over him. He’s hard, and the feel of her hand cupping him through the fabric of his jeans makes him gasp a little. She makes a small, satisfied noise as she unzips his pants and wraps her hand around him.
“Nice,” she says, and Spencer wants to laugh, because there’s something in her voice that reminds him of the jokes guys make in the locker rooms, the way it’s impossible not to look, not to tease or compliment in that ‘I’m being totally hetero about this, dude’ way.
“Thanks,” Spencer says, and feels like an idiot, but she doesn’t look up, just leans in and licks at him, runs her hand along his length, and then fits her mouth over the head of his dick. Spencer watches, watches those full lips stretched around him, watches her cheeks hollow, how dark her eyelashes look against her pale cheeks. He groans as she takes him in deeper, as she moves her head, and he has to touch, even though it’s not always part of the rules in these sort of situations, so he just reaches out and buries his hands in her thick dark hair, holding her head lightly and forcing himself not to thrust into her mouth.
It’s over embarrassingly quickly, and he pushes her away, grasping his dick as he comes, watching her face watch his. There’s a drop of come on her lip, and she flicks out her tongue to lick it away, before turning and gathering a handful of toilet paper, offering it to Spencer.
He takes it, wipes his hand off, and flushes it away, and when he turns back, she’s on her feet.
“That was…” Spencer trails off, zipping himself back up, and leaning in to kiss her, recognising the taste of himself in her mouth.
“You’re welcome,” she says when he breaks the kiss, and it’s strangely formal, and there’s something in her face, pride maybe, or satisfaction, that makes Spencer want to gather her up in his arms and kiss her for a very long time. But that’s not how he’s supposed to be feeling, not how he’s supposed to act in these situations, so he presses her against the door and runs his non-sticky hand up her thigh, letting his fingers slide just under the hem of her skirt.
She pushes at his chest, and he backs off, looking surprised.
“I have to go,” she says, looking disappointed, sad, and a little scared. Spencer feels like a complete asshole suddenly, like he’d forced her into the cubicle, like she didn’t want this, wasn’t looking for this at all. But she smiles at him, presses a kiss to his lips.
“See you around,” she says, and it’s a half question that Spencer’s sure he’s not imagining the hope in. He watches her go, and then goes back out into the club, to find Ryan waiting for him impatiently.
“Let’s go,” Ryan says, arms folded across his chest, eyes narrowed as he glares across the room at someone Spencer can’t see, but who has apparently made an enemy of Ryan, which is never a smart move. So he takes Ryan home, and they sneak into his room and when Ryan’s hand rests on Spencer’s hip as they settle down to sleep, Spencer thinks about the girl, and how she’d touched him, like it meant something.
~~~
A week passes and they’re back in the same club. Normally Ryan likes to change up the days a little, go on a Thursday, if it was a Saturday they went out last time, but Spencer had bullshitted about prior commitments, about babysitting for his sisters, about having homework, until Ryan had shrugged and sighed and they’d turned up at the club 7 days later. Spencer’s not really ready to admit even to himself why it’s important they go on that exact day, so he ignores Ryan’s demands for an explanation and settles himself in the same place by the bar.
He’s only there for 15 minutes when she appears, sidling up beside him to breathe in his ear, “Fancy seeing you here.”
Spencer can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as he turns to her. There’s a moment’s hesitation from both of them, as if they’re not sure how they’re supposed to act, and then Spencer’s hand is on the small of her back and she’s leaning against him, practically sitting in his lap as they talk. She’s cagey about personal information, but Spencer’s not surprised, especially if she’s here for what Ryan’s here for. That thought makes him clench his jaw, a wave of jealousy washing over him that he quickly dampens, because he knows better to get emotionally involved in these fleeting moments of whatever it’s supposed to be.
They talk for awhile, about music mainly, but other things too, and it’s pleasant and comfortable and easy, in a way that Spencer hasn’t had with anyone besides Ryan in as long as he can remember. It’s a nice feeling, nice enough that when she leans in closer and whispers “do you wanna-“ he feels a stab of disappointment, that in a few minutes the connection is going to be broken, again.
He tries to take control once they’re locked in the cubicle, pushes her up against the wall and kisses her hard, wet and dirty, and then kisses down her neck, across her collarbones. He lets one hand slide up from her waist, up to her chest, and rubs his thumb over the seam of her bra, feeling the soft give of padding and flesh as he moves his hand. His other hand slips under the hem of her shirt, and he gently presses his knee between hers, wanting to get their bodies closer, to feel the friction. But she just pushes him away again, mutters “please, let me,” and gets her hands on his dick, jacking him off slowly.
She hums in time, and it’s a song Spencer almost recognises, but not quite. He’s too busy trying not to think about her hands, how her nails are trimmed short just like the way Ryan keeps his so they don’t get in the way when he’s picking out tricky chords. Spencer can’t help but wonder if this is what Ryan’s hands look like when he’s jerking someone off, and the thought makes him feel uncomfortable, like he’s cheating on Brenda by thinking of someone else, if only for a split second, even though cheating shouldn’t be something that’s possible when the relationship is nothing more than a hand or a mouth on his dick while someone takes a piss three feet away.
When he looks up she’s looking at him, lips parted, eyes focused on Spencer’s mouth, and so he kisses her hard enough to make his lips tingle afterwards. She moans, says something against his mouth and it sounds hot and dirty and right and Spencer can’t help himself when her hand tightens around him at the same time. He comes, spurting over her hand and skirt, apologising profusely when he’s able to coherently string sentences of “oh shit, I’m sorry” together.
She shrugs and smiles, and it’s a little wicked as she lifts her hand and licks at her palm.
“I’m just going to go and wash this off,” she says, indicating her skirt and slipping from the cubicle.
Spencer rests his head against the partition and breathes deeply, straightening his clothes once he’s regained his composure. He waits, and waits, and after a minute or two, he pokes his head out the door, but the bathroom is empty. Frowning, he wanders back into the club, scanning the crowd, but she’s not there, and all he’s faced with is a smug looking Ryan who slides his hand into Spencer’s back pocket as they walk to the car, who wraps himself around Spencer when they’re in bed, twining their legs together, in that way he only does when he’s happy and satisfied and sated.
~~~
It’s a Wednesday, the next time they’re in the club. Ryan insists and Spencer can’t think up an excuse quick enough, so he’s surprised to see her there. She looks surprised to see him, too, and the pleased smile that spreads across her face makes Spencer’s hands tremble and his dick twitch. Things go the same way- a couple of hours chatting then back to the bathroom where she blows Spencer again, won’t let him push her off when he’s close and swallows as he comes, then makes up an excuse before he can get his hand down her pants to return the favour.
It leaves Spencer confused, unsure, and a little desperate to get her off. He can’t help but wonder if that’s the whole point, if she’s trying to drive him slowly insane until he picks her up and fucks her hard against the wall. He promises himself that next time he’ll do just that, if she’ll let him, but the following week (a Friday) she blows him again, taking him in deeper than before and then claims she’s late for something. And the next time (a Tuesday) she’s not there, so Spencer insists on going back on the Saturday night, which results in a hurried handjob and a missed phone call that she “has to return, right now”.
It’s getting frustrating, and when he mentions it to Ryan, he doesn’t seem to understand what the problem is, not if Spencer is getting off every time. Spencer doesn’t quite know how to explain, so he just punches his pillow a few times and settles down to sleep. He’s on the edge of drifting off when Ryan props himself up on his elbow and frowns down at him.
“This is the same girl?” Ryan asks, something in his voice that Spencer can’t quite place. “Every time? And it’s been going on for weeks?”
Spencer nods, closing his eyes again. “Yeah,” he says.
“Oh,” Ryan says, “so that’s how it is,” and rolls away a little when he lies down, until their bodies aren’t touching anymore, until the familiar cool press of Ryan’s skin is gone completely. The bed’s not big enough for that to happen naturally, and Spencer doesn’t understand why Ryan is keeping himself away, and wishes he wasn’t.
Ryan acts strange and distant for half a week, before he shows up and drags Spencer back to the club, making a beeline for a tall scene kid the moment they enter the place. Spencer heads to his usual spot, and finds Brenda there already, waiting for him.
“Hi,” she says, and hands him a beer that he takes carefully, letting their fingers brush. He takes a swig, and swallows, and she leans in to kiss him, lightly and sweetly. It makes Spencer smile, and they settle into their usual routine, talking about nothing and yet everything, and lets his eyes roam the room, checking for Ryan just like he always does. He finds him in the corner, talking to some chick, but he’s looking over at Spencer, looking pissed off.
Spencer hates it when Ryan looks like that, because it’s normally something Spencer can’t fix. He wants to go over and ask what’s wrong, to check he’s okay, but that’s not part of Ryan’s rules about this place, and Brenda is tugging at his hand, so he follows her. The bathroom is full, all cubicles occupied, and she frowns, disappointed, but he leads her out, and nods towards the ladies room. She looks hesitant, so Spencer doesn’t push it, just leads her outside.
Spencer’s not been out there since before this…whatever it was started with Brenda. He realises he’s forgotten the rush of being outside, the possibility of being caught, even though he never has. Of course, it’s inevitable that this time they do get caught. She has her hand inside his pants, and he’s close, so close, all it’s going to take is one more stroke and- that’s when Spencer sees him, watching them, and Spencer stares at him as he comes, as he shakes through it, his name spilling from his lips.
“Ryan,” he says, and Brenda looks up, frowning and then follows Spencer’s gaze.
“Um,” she says, and Ryan glances at her, briefly, then looks back at Spencer.
“I’m ready to go when you are,” Ryan says sharply, then turns on his heel.
“You should go,” Brenda says, stepping away from him.
“But I didn’t, I mean, I haven’t,” Spencer takes a breath. “You haven’t-“
“Next time,” she says, and even though Spencer suspects it’s a lie, he decides to take it as a promise, presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, and follows after Ryan.
Ryan doesn’t say anything until they’re home, and he’s sliding between the covers behind Spencer.
“She’s pretty,” he says, and Spencer hums in agreement, wary of the edge to Ryan’s voice.
“Spencer,” Ryan says, and slides his hand over Spencer’s hip, under his thin t-shirt, thumb catching at his belly button as it slides lower, low enough that Spencer gasps, despite himself, as Ryan’s fingertips slip under the waistband of his boxers.
Spencer holds his breath, sucking his tummy in a little, and Ryan’s hand dips a little lower until his fingertips rest against soft hair. Neither of them moves for a long moment, and Spencer is painfully aware that if he moves, if he twists just a little, that Ryan’s hand will be on his dick, something Spencer has always thought he wanted more than anything else. It’s tempting, so tempting, but all Spencer can think about is if Ryan’s hand will feel like Brenda’s, if his eyes will look as dark and smouldering as hers when he watches Spencer come.
“Spencer,” Ryan says after what feels like an eternity of neither of them moving and Spencer makes a decision without realising.
“Ryan,” he answers, and reaches down, taking Ryan by the wrist and wrapping his fingers around Ryan’s hand, lifting it up to his chest and resting it there, over his heart.
Ryan makes a sound that is somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and Spencer’s not sure if it’s disappointment or relief, and realises that maybe he doesn’t want to know.
~~~
Ryan disappears the moment they enter the club, and Spencer watches him go, wishing he knew what to say. Things had been awkward, slightly strained between them all week, like something had changed, some line had been crossed or altered. He mourns, a little, for the way things had been before.
“There you are,” Brenda says, stepping into view, and Spencer feels the smile spread across his face. He almost forgets about Ryan, as they talk, and it’s not long before Spencer remembers his promise, that this time he’d get her off, and leads her quietly outside.
Brenda gives him a wicked grin and reaches out, fingers brushing over the button on his jeans.
“No,” Spencer says, and she frowns, letting her hands drop.
He grasps her by the waist, pushing her back towards the wall, and lowers his head to kiss along her bare shoulder, one hand sliding down to rest lightly on her ass
“Please,” Spencer says. “Let me. I want to.”
Brenda sucks in a breath, and then exhales it slowly.
“Okay,” she says, sounding unsure and sad and a little resigned, and Spencer backs off immediately.
“Hey,” he says, holding up his hands. “If you don’t want to- I mean, I don’t want to force you to do anything and-“
“No,” Brenda reaches out and tugs at him until he leans back toward her. “It’s okay. I want to. I just…” she trails off, bites her lip and pulls Spencer closer for a kiss, opening up her mouth to him.
She’s never kissed him like this before, hard and desperate and demanding, exploring his mouth like she wants to remember it, her hands running over his arms, his back his hair, his cheeks in the same searching way. Spencer matches her passion, kisses her in a way that he hope shows his excitement at getting to touch her, to run his hands up her thighs and into her panties. He presses his knee between hers, making her spread her legs, and lets his hands trail down her sides, over her hips and ass, down to the hem of her short skirt. He lets his hands rest on her thighs for a moment, then slides his fingers under the skirt, letting his thumbs catch on the outside, making the fabric rise with his hands.
Brenda shivers, moaning into his mouth, and Spencer is instantly hard, from the touch, from the sound, from the knowledge of what he’s going to do to her. He wonders what noises she’ll make when he touches her, tastes her, fills her, and he’s suddenly desperate to know. He slides his hands higher, and then stops.
He goes suddenly very still, then withdraws his hands and breaks the kiss, stepping back.
Spencer stares. He doesn’t mean to, but he does.
Brenda wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, head tilted away from him, cheeks blushing red. After a moment she glances up and meets Spencer’s eyes. There’s something on her face that Spencer can’t read, maybe doesn’t want to.
His skin feels suddenly hot and tight, and he knows he’s blushing, right up to the tips of his ears.
“Uh,” he says. “You’re. You’re a dude.”
Brenda huffs out a laugh, and then nods. “I’m a dude,” she- he? Spencer’s suddenly not sure what to think, let alone say, and Brenda seems to be awaiting a response.
“Um,” Spencer says, and wishes he could sit down. It’s not that he’s disgusted or anything- he’s been half in love with his best friend for as long as he can remember, afterall- but the shock is a bit too much right now. Spencer’s never been one to roll with the punches, to reassess the situation on the spot and go with the flow. He needs to sit back, to regroup and make a new plan, see what goals and objectives have changed, what options are now available, and weigh them all up. Spencer needs to get out of there, but his feet don’t seem to be listening to him.
“Are you going to hit me?” Brenda asks, dragging Spencer out of his panic, and Spencer realises his hands are curling into fists. He relaxes them quickly.
“What? No! I’m not- no. It’s just. You should have. It’s something you need to. Tell people. Me. Tell me. Kinda a surprise. I need to. I mean. I’m going-“ Spencer thumbs over his shoulder, and his legs finally start working, making him stumble back towards the door.
“Yeah,” Brenda says, shoulders slumping. He doesn’t look at Spencer as he says, “see you around,” in a flat voice, and turns his back.
Spencer is filled with the overwhelming urge to grab him by the shoulders, turn him around and kiss him until he smiled like he’d been smiling earlier. But his brain is still telling him to get out, to get somewhere safe and familiar and think, so he turns and goes back into the club.
Spencer lets his eyes sweep the club, but Ryan is nowhere in sight, so he heads for the street, getting in the car and, for the first time, leaving Ryan behind.
He’s halfway home before he realises he’s still hard, and he presses his hand over his dick, palming it through his jeans and thinking of the kiss, of Brenda’s moans, of the way he’d looked sucking Spencer’s dick, of the way he’d laughed and his eyes had crinkled at the corners and how animated and interested he’d looked when they’d talked.
Spencer pulls into his driveway and sneaks inside. He takes a long hot shower and jerks off, thinking of the moment his hand had brushed against Brenda’s dick.
He climbs into bed and lies on his side, trying not to think about Brenda. He stays awake until he hears his window slide open and Ryan climb in. He feigns sleep as Ryan crawls into bed beside him and mutters “asshole” in his ear. He waits until Ryan’s breathing has slowed, and then rolls in towards him, only falling asleep when Ryan sleepily rests his hand on Spencer’s hip.
~~~
Spencer doesn’t go to the club with Ryan the following week. Or the week after that. Ryan asks why, but Spencer refuses to talk about it, spending his evenings hunched over his homework, sitting with his sisters watching nothing of importance on the TV. He spends the time carefully not thinking about Brenda, because if he did he knows he’d feel guilty about the way he reacted. Spencer tries really hard not to think of the look on Brenda’s face, the hurt that had been overshadowed with expectation, resignation, like he’d expected this to happen, like he’d pre-empted Spencer’s reaction and had let Spencer find out, had let Spencer touch him, assuming it would be for the last time.
Spencer’s not sure if it was for the last time. If he wants it to be. So he tries not to think about it, and ignores Ryan’s pleas to accompany him to the club and helps his mom do the dishes instead.
Spencer wakes up on a Saturday morning, two and a half weeks after his last trip to the club, to Ryan standing over him looking determined. The fact that Ryan is up this side of noon on a weekend is enough to startle Spencer awake enough to sit up and rub at his eyes.
“We’re going shopping,” Ryan announces as Spencer gets out of bed and pads towards the bathroom, hoping a shower will wake him up the rest of the way.
“Fine,” Spencer says, realising he’s not spent time with Ryan, not really, in weeks. The awkwardness between them had started to fade, the old comfort coming back. Ryan comes in, like he’s always done, and crawls into bed with Spencer on his nights out, but there’s been a distance between them that’s been there since that one night, and it’s only grown further since that night in the club.
Spencer drops his boxers in a puddle on the floor, and goes into the bathroom. It’s only when he’s in the shower, trying not to get shampoo in his eyes, that he remembers that it’s the first time he hadn’t checked to see if maybe Ryan was watching, was interested, liked what he saw.
~~~
By shopping, Ryan apparently means music, which surprises Spencer. He’d been gearing himself up for several hours of following Ryan around stores and looking at things Spencer’s grandfather wouldn’t be seen dead in. Not that Spencer hated shopping- he loved it, when he could shop on his own terms and not have to offer opinions between two equally hideous paisley cardigans. But music is good.
Ryan pulls up in front of a music store at the far end of town, somewhere Spencer’s never been, but he could do with getting some spare drumsticks, with the way he goes through them, the way he’s gone through them quicker than usual lately. He follows Ryan into the shop, half listening to Ryan’s talk about how he really wants to get some Fall Out Boy tabs while he’s here, and then stops short.
The moment Spencer sees him, he wonders why he hadn’t realised before. It’s so obvious when he looks at him, the angle of his jaw, the spread of his hands, the way he stands.
“Hey Brendon,” Ryan says, fake casually, and Spencer has enough time to think ‘Brendon, of course’ before narrowing his eyes at his former best friend, who gives him a broad grin before disappearing further into the shop to where a half asleep looking guy with a scruffy beard that makes Spencer a little envious, is sitting.
“Spencer,” Brendon says, and Spencer turns to the side, picking something up at random, squinting at it as if he’s engrossed, but not really seeing it at all. “I’m-“
"Why?" Spencer interrupts, turning to look at Brendon.
Brendon bites his lip for a moment, opens his mouth then closes again. He shrugs. "I don't know I can explain it properly. I just. Sometimes I guess I'd like to not be me for awhile. Well, to not be this me," he adds, waving his hands up and down his body. "It feels right and-"
"No," Spencer cuts him off, even though he's curious, wants to know, wants to understand. "I meant, why didn't you tell me?"
He knows he sounds petulant, but he feels betrayed. Which is silly, because it's not like Brendon owes him anything, owes him an explanation, now or back then. Because whatever it was hadn't been a relationship, had just been a means for Spencer to get off. Meaningless, like all of Ryan's hook ups were.
Spencer believes himself for all of two seconds before he glances at Brendon and sees his face.
"I'm sorry," Brendon says in a small voice. "I don't. There's nothing I can say."
Spencer nods slowly, and turns back, staring blankly at the wall of sheet music. He's not sure what he'd expected to hear, what he'd hoped Brendon would say, but that wasn't it.
"I just," Brendon sighs. "You were so nice, and you seemed to like me, and I knew that it was only because you thought I was a girl. And I wanted to kiss you, so badly, that I thought 'I'll never see him again, it won't hurt not to tell' and when I left I thought that was it- that all I'd have would be the memory of you looking at me when you came, the feeling of my hands on you, the taste of you on my lips. And then it turned into something, and I didn't know how to bring it up. I mean, 'hey, by the way, I'm a dude' is hard to get into the conversation. Part of me hoped that you'd be like all the other guys, happy to just get off and then leave, but you seemed to want to touch me, like you wanted to return the favour."
Spencer wants to turn and look at him, but he's not sure he'd be able to do it without reaching out and kissing him, so he shoves his hands in his pockets, hunches his shoulders a little and listens as Brendon continues.
"I knew it'd only be a matter of time before you found out. And I tried to tell you, I really did. But the words didn't seem to want to come out. I'm so sorry for the way you found out. I can't. I don't. I wish that I could change things. And I hope it didn't freak you out too much. Ryan said...he said maybe it was more surprise than disappointment or anger."
Spencer looks up, glancing down towards where Ryan is laughing at something the guy with the scruffy beard is saying. Ryan, his best friend, the guy he'd been in love with for most of his life until Brendon had come along, and now his apparent matchmaker.
"Ryan is..." Spencer stops. "Ryan is sometimes not completely wrong," he concedes eventually, and Brendon chances a small smile.
"I really like you," he says, looking a little hopeful. "I know I've probably blown any chance of there being something between us, but. Maybe we could start again and be friends?"
Spencer hesitates. He wants to say that he doesn't want to be friends, that Brendon hasn't blown it, but he can't bring himself to say the words. He still can't separate the image of Brenda from the guy standing before him, still doesn’t understand any of it, why Brendon does it, or what his own feelings are. So he just nods.
Brendon grins, that wide, enticing smile that Spencer had almost let himself fall in love with, and holds out his hand.
"Hi," he says. "My name's Brendon."
"Spencer," Spencer says, and shakes Brendon's hand. It's warm, and the perfect size for Spencer to lace their fingers together, if he wanted. But he doesn't. And he doesn't think about how many times that hand had been in his hair, cupping his cheek, palming his hip, wrapped around his dick. Instead he says "Nice to meet you," and Brendon's answering laugh is a little contagious.
~~~
It should probably be weird, Spencer thinks, that he’s spending time hanging out with Brendon. He shouldn’t be able to separate Brendon (the dude who makes lame jokes that Spencer can’t help laughing to, who talks about music with such passion, who tells him everything about himself except the things that probably really matter, the things that make Brendon who he is) from the girl in the club with dark lashes and a pretty smile, but he does, compartmentalises his feelings as well as he can, for each of them, in an attempt to avoid confusion.
The thing is, Spencer finds himself liking Brendon almost as much as he’d liked Brenda, maybe even more. It’s easy between them, comfortable in a way Spencer’s never been with anyone but Ryan. They fall into an easy friendship, as if they’d never met in the club, as if Brendon didn’t spend his evenings in makeup and lingerie. Brendon is just a guy who Spencer likes spending time with, who answers politely when his Mom asks Brendon to stay for dinner, who brings his homework round sometimes and sits on the floor beside Spencer and studies, who kicks his ass at videogames on a frequent basis.
Weeks pass and Spencer sees Brendon almost more than he sees Ryan. Spencer doesn’t go to the club anymore, and he doesn’t ask either Brendon or Ryan if Brenda still goes. He’s not sure he wants to know, is maybe scared how he’d react to the answer, and it’s not like he has any right to know. So he focuses on his and Brendon’s growing friendship, ignores any other feelings for Brendon he might have, and tries not to be curious about everything Brendon doesn’t say.
Spencer looks over at Brendon and smiles. They’re sprawled in front of the TV, insulting the intelligence of the people on some dumb game show, not really doing anything. After a moment Brendon seems to sense Spencer is looking at him and looks over and grins back. And then doesn’t look away.
Spencer knows he should say something, do something, but he can’t seem to move. And then Brendon sways towards him a little, eyes on Spencer’s lips, and it makes Spencer think about those lips kissing him before, slick with cherry lip gloss, and he wonders if Brendon’s mouth tastes the same as Brenda’s, beneath the rum and coke, beneath the makeup, if they’re really the same person. He inhales sharply at the memory of all of their kisses, at the anticipation of this one, and Brendon stops mid lean, looking awkward. He’s very still, and there’s a crease between his brows as his frowns and sits back.
“Spencer,” he says, and then shakes his head, standing up and rubbing his hand through his hair a few times. “I can’t do this,” he says eventually, and Spencer feels his heart sink. He wants to say something, to get to his feet so he’s not gazing up at Brendon like this. But he stays where he is, keeps his mouth shut, as Brendon gives him a sad look.
“I thought being friends would be awesome,” Brendon tells him, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching in on himself. “I thought I could handle this. But this isn’t what you want. And I’m not who you want, so what’s the point of either of us kidding ourselves?”
Spencer’s mouth is suddenly dry. He opens it to say something- anything, to tell Brendon’s he’s wrong, but he can’t, because he’s not sure if that’s true or not.
“I-“ he says, and stops.
Brendon nods sadly. “I’m going to go,” he says, and Spencer lets him.
Spencer sits in his room, knees pulled up to his chin, for the rest of the afternoon, thinking about Brendon's face as he'd left, the look he'd given Spencer that was full of regret and apology.
When his mom calls him for dinner he goes downstairs and pushes his food around his plate, before shoving his chair away from the table and announcing he's going to stay at Ryan's. He ignores his mom's raised eyebrow as he grabs his keys and heads for the door
He lets himself in to Ryan's house, just like he's always done. Downstairs is empty- Spencer's not sure where Ryan's dad is, and he knows better than to ask, so he just climbs the stairs and stands in the open doorway of Ryan's room.
Ryan is at his desk, head bent over some books, and it takes him a moment to notice Spencer standing there, which gives Spencer time to watch him.
"Hey!" Ryan says, sounding surprised when he looks up.
Spencer steps inside, closing the door behind him. He focuses on Ryan's smile, how it's so rare and that he's maybe the only one who's seen it genuine more times than he can count.
He loves Ryan, always has, always will, and he can't help but remember that night, Ryan's hand on his stomach, something he wanted so badly he could taste it, and how he'd turned it down for Brenda. Brendon. Whoever.
Spencer licks his lips nervously. He hates this, this feeling of not being in control, of not understanding, of watching things happen and letting people get away from him.
"Spencer?" Ryan asks, frowning and getting up from his seat, and Spencer crosses the room before he can even think about what he's doing, grabbing the back of Ryan's neck.
Spencer leans in and Ryan gasps, lips parting, and Spencer takes advantage, fits his mouth over Ryan's and kisses him like he's always wanted to.
Ryan kisses him back, hard, pulling him in closer. It's something Spencer's wanted for so long- Ryan's hands on him like this, his tongue in Ryan's mouth. Something he’s dreamed of, daydreamed about, imagined over and over. He’d expected fireworks and for his knees to go weak. He'd expected it to feel perfect, to feel like coming home. But-
Spencer steps back with a sigh. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to look at Ryan but he forces himself too. Ryan is frowning a little, shaking his head, his expression a mirror of what Spencer thinks his own must be- confused, disappointed, unsure.
"It doesn't feel right, does it?" Ryan asks quietly, and he sounds sad.
Spencer shakes his head. "I really wanted it to," he whispers, and Ryan hooks an arm around Spencer's neck and hauls him in close enough that Spencer's nose is buried just below Ryan's ear, breathing in the scent of him. It's this that feels right, this sort of closeness between them, and Spencer wraps his arms around Ryan's waist and squeezes, pressing a regretful smile against Ryan's neck when Ryan huffs out a laugh and says "Me too."
~~~
Time passes. Spencer focuses on the things he’s supposed to focus on, like school and homework and looking after his sisters and making sure Ryan is doing okay. He doesn’t think about eyes lined with kohl and lips stained red, both crinkled at the corners when Brendon laughs. He doesn’t think about the smell of Brendon’s hair or the touch of his hands or the way he’d felt when their bodies were pressed together. And he certainly doesn’t think about his hand up Brendon’s skirt, brushing against his half-hard dick.
Ryan still sleeps over a few times a week, and it takes Spencer awhile to realise that Ryan’s not sneaking in from the club, that he’s not climbing through the window smelling like the boy or girl du jour and his hair on the pillow next to Spencer’s isn’t damp from a hasty shower to erase any evidence of interaction with another person. Ryan’s arm that holds him close is still the same it always was, and Spencer finds he can lean into the touch without the overhanging feeling of guilt he’d had for so many years. For that alone, if nothing else, he feels grateful to Brendon.
“Sorry,” Spencer says to Ryan one night when it’s warm and the covers are thrown back, Spencer’s hand resting against Ryan’s ribs.
“Hmm?” Ryan asks sleepily and Spencer sighs against the back of Ryan’s neck.
“The club,” Spencer explains. “I’m sorry I stopped going. I’m sorry it made you stop going. I know you like…that you need…that it’s something you have to do.”
Ryan doesn’t say anything, just rolls over and looks at him for a moment. “It’s okay,” he says. “I. Maybe I don’t need to do that anymore.” He smiles, and it makes Spencer smile too.
“Maybe,” Ryan says hesitantly, and then stops.
“What?” Spencer nudges Ryan’s leg with his knee and Ryan shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment.
“Ryan,” Spencer says, and Ryan sighs.
“Maybe we could go back one last time? Not to…not like before. Just to…get closure, I guess they call it.”
Spencer hesitates. The fact that Ryan wants to put that part of his life behind him for now is probably incredibly healthy for him, and Spencer wants Ryan to do whatever he needs and knows he’d be there beside him if that’s what Ryan needed. But the thought of seeing Brendon makes his insides twist, not entirely uncomfortably.
“We’ll go on Tuesday,” Ryan says, watching Spencer’s face. “He never goes there on Tuesdays. Jon told me it’s because he has to work first thing on Wednesday mornings.”
It’s the way Ryan’s lips try to pull into a smile when he says ‘Jon’, even though he’s trying to hide it, that makes Spencer nod.
“Sure,” he says, and yawns, punching his pillow a couple of times and then resting his head on it. “We’ll go on Tuesday.”
~~~
The moment Spencer steps into the club, he sees Jon by the bar, sipping on something scotch-looking. Ryan gives Spencer a grin that’s half excitement, half apology and hurries off towards Jon, which is when Spencer realises he’s been set up. He’s on the verge of turning around and getting out of there when he spots Brendon. Brenda. Whichever. He’s standing, leaning against the wall on one side of the club, talking to a tall boy who’s more the sort Ryan went for. Used to go for, Spencer mentally corrects, thinking about how different this Jon seems to Ryan’s usual type, and how maybe he’ll do Ryan good.
The sensible thing would be to leave, but there’s a rush of something inside him that Spencer is hesitant to call jealousy when he has no right to that emotion. His fingers twitch, wanting to curl into fists, and then he’s walking over before he’s even decided what he’s going to say.
Brendon sees him first. “Spencer!” he exclaims, and then his eyes narrow as they slide past Spencer, looking towards the bar. “Jon said you wouldn’t-” he stops, standing up a little straighter and smiling at the guy beside him.
“This is-” he starts to say, and Spencer interrupts.
“I don’t care,” he says. “I’d leave now, if I were you.”
Spencer knows he’s not very intimidating, if only because Ryan laughs and laughs at him whenever he tries to be. But there’s something in his voice, an edge he’s never heard there before, and when he combines it with a suitably bitchy look, the guy closes his mouth on whatever retort he’s about to make, mumbles a hasty “later,” and disappears.
Spencer raises an eyebrow at Brendon, who looks mad.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Brendon hisses.
The club is noisy and Spencer takes a step closer, ignoring the question to ask one of his own.
“How many?” he asks, low and demanding. “Since we stopped…How many have there been?”
“None of your business,” Brendon puts a hand on Spencer’s chest to shove him away, but Spencer holds his ground, puts his hand over Brendon’s and takes it.
“How many?” Spencer repeats and watches as Brendon bites his lip, worrying off his lipstick.
“You don’t have any right to ask me that,” Brendon insists, and Spencer feels a stab of annoyance at how Brendon is right, how he probably never had any right, never had any claim, and how any that might have existed have long gone. He does the only thing that makes sense, and crowds Brendon against the wall, kissing him.
Brendon resists at first, and Spencer can’t contain his growl of frustration. And then Brendon opens his mouth, letting Spencer in, and Spencer realises how much he’d missed the taste of Brendon, the coke and rum and cherry lipgloss and the Brendon that’s there underneath it all. He grinds his hips against Brendon’s and realises it’s the first time he’s done that, the first time he’s felt Brendon’s dick pressed between their bodies. He wonders what it was like for Brendon to be so careful about angling his body away each time they’d made out before, to have to hide something like that.
When they break apart, Brendon’s chest is heaving and he licks his lips.
“That was-“
“I don’t want to stop,” Spencer interrupts, and for a moment he thinks Brendon’s going to say no, is going to tell him that he doesn’t want this.
But Brendon nods. “Bathroom?” he asks, and Spencer shakes his head. He doesn’t want to do this here, not like before, not where there’d been secrets and stupid reactions.
“Do you. Is there anywhere we could go?”
“My apartment,” Brendon suggests immediately, and Spencer is suddenly impatient to get there, to be alone. He still has Brendon’s hand in his, and he tugs him towards the door. It’s habit that makes him look back and search the club for Ryan, who’s still over by the bar, talking to Jon. He looks happy, and it makes Spencer happy too. Ryan looks up and gives him a questioning look, but all Spencer can do is smile back, before leading Brendon out of the door.
They don’t talk much on the drive to Brendon’s apartment, just Brendon giving Spencer directions, telling him when to turn, where to stop.
Brendon’s apartment, once Brendon has fumbled in his purse for his key and ushered Spencer inside, is tiny and dingy and empty looking. Brendon gestures Spencer towards a patchy sofa. “Would you like a drink?” Brendon asks politely, and as Spencer nods he imagines Brendon as a kid, being taught to be the perfect host by his parents. It makes him realise that Brendon’s never spoken about his family, that he dodges questions about them the way Ryan does. It makes Spencer want to ask, to find out why a teenage boy is living on his own in a crappy one room apartment. But he doesn’t know how to ask in a way that won’t make Brendon want to kick him out.
Spencer surveys the room, noting the guitar in the corner and the stacks of CDs piled haphazardly on top of the full bookshelf.
“My parents kicked me out,” Brendon explains, and Spencer realises his questions are probably written all over his face. Brendon puts down two glasses of water on the old, stained coffee table and sits at the other end of the sofa, facing him.
“Why?” Spencer asks, and Brendon laughs to himself.
“Not for this, surprisingly,” he says, gesturing at his outfit. “They…it’s a long story. We have some fundamental differences of opinion about things that are important to me, a part of me.” His eyes flicker towards the guitar, then back to linger on Spencer.
Spencer nods slowly. “I. I’m sorry.”
Brendon shrugs and takes a gulp of his water. “It’s not the end of the world. I manage. I pay my rent, I make it to all my classes. And I like my job. Jon’s a good boss. He gave me tomorrow morning off, said I wasn’t needed. I guess I know why now.”
He looks over at Spencer.
“Are you sure?” Brendon asks. “I mean. You kinda freaked out before. I’m a guy. With a dick. And I’m sitting here in a skirt. Do you really want this?”
Spencer doesn’t answer, trying to find the right way to say yes, that he wants this so badly he can taste it. Brendon seems to take his silence for hesitation, and he grabs at his glass, downing the water in three quick gulps that draw Spencer’s attention to Brendon’s throat.
“I need more water,” Brendon says, jumping to his feet and heading towards the kitchenette again.
“Brendon,” Spencer says, stopping him. “I want this, I do.”
Brendon turns back around and looks at him for a long moment. He glances down at himself. “This…the clothes, the makeup, all of this…have you ever just done something, for no reason you can really understand, and it feels completely right, makes you feel more like yourself?”
Spencer doesn’t say anything. He thinks about the first time he’d picked up a pair of drumsticks, about the first time he’d shyly smiled at Ryan, about the first time he’d kissed Brendon.
“Yeah,” Spencer says, and really looks at Brendon this time. He looks at the guy who he’s seen in jeans and a faded band shirt, who’s currently wearing a short skirt and tight top with a bra strap peaking out of one sleeve, and he realises they’re the same person, that it was stupid to try and separate them in his mind, because they were both parts of Brendon, both parts that Spencer likes, wants to know more about.
He sees Brendon inhale sharply as Spencer stands and moves towards him. He takes the glass from Brendon’s hand carefully and places it down on the table.
“Yeah,” he says again, leaning in and sliding his hands up Brendon’s arms, across his shoulders, and up to rest against Brendon’s cheeks, fingers sliding into soft hair.
Brendon’s eyes are wide, lips parted, and Spencer leans in and kisses him softly, sweetly. He hopes the kiss tells Brendon everything, how he wants this more than anything, how he’s a little bit scared at the same time, but it’s in a good way, how he kind of wishes he could kiss Brendon forever.
Brendon smiles against his lips and nudges him towards the bed, breaking the kiss to reach out and tug Spencer’s shirt over his head.
He smiles as Brendon runs his hands over Spencer’s chest, and he reaches for the hem of Brendon’s shirt. Brendon twitches away, batting at his hands playfully before trying to undo Spencer’s jeans.
Spencer frowns and takes Brendon’s hands in his own. “Hey,” he says. “Stop that. This. This is different than before. It’s okay, please, let me touch you. Let me see you.”
Brendon goes very still. “Okay,” he says quietly, and raises his arms above his head when Spencer lifts Brendon’s shirt up and off.
“God,” Spencer says, resting his hands on Brendon’s shoulders, sliding his thumb under one of the bra straps. “You’re beautiful,” he says, and pushes Brendon down on the bed, straddling Brendon’s waist and kissing down his chest until he brushes against the soft padding of Brendon’s bra. The lace tickles Spencer’s lips and he smiles as he slides the straps off Brendon’s shoulders, pushing the cups down so he can slide his hands across Brendon’s chest. He drags his tongue over one nipple, and then the other, enjoying the way Brendon shivers and buries a hand in Spencer’s hair.
“Can I?” Spencer asks, and Brendon arches off the bed enough for Spencer to get a hand on the small of his back and pull him up, giving himself enough room to unclasp the bra and slip it off and onto the floor.
Brendon tries to catch Spencer’s lips with his own, but Spencer places a hand in the middle of Brendon’s chest and pushes him back down, flat on the bed, and slides down Brendon’s body until his hands are on Brendon’s thighs. He moves his hands, pushing the skirt up and up until it’s around Brendon’s waist, and he can see the outline of Brendon’s dick, hard and straining against the silky fabric of his panties.
Spencer leans in and mouths over Brendon’s dick, holding onto Brendon’s hips as he tries to buck up. Spencer leans back, the pale red fabric stained dark and wet by his mouth. “Patience,” he says as he hooks his fingers into the sides of Brendon’s panties and drags them down. Brendon helpfully lifts his hips as Spencer tugs them down around his thighs, smiling as Brendon’s dick springs free.
Spencer looks at Brendon’s dick for a moment. He’s never given a blowjob before, but the thought of having Brendon in his mouth, of tasting him, is making his mouth water a little. He thinks of how Brendon had blown him, what he’d done. Spencer figures that Brendon would have done what he liked best himself, so he licks his palm and wraps it around the base of Brendon’s dick, enjoying the sensation of soft flesh beneath his fingertips, and then leans in. He drags his tongue along Brendon’s dick, catching a drop of precome on the tip and closing his eyes as he tastes it. Spencer smiles up at Brendon, who’s propped himself up on his elbows and is watching with wide eyes, as Spencer wets his lips and takes Brendon into his mouth.
It’s a bit strange, having a dick in his mouth, but Spencer finds he likes it, finds he really enjoys the needy, pleading noises Brendon makes. He likes the way Brendon’s thighs flex and tremble, the fabric of the panties digging into his pale skin just a little as he tries to buck his hips up into Spencer’s mouth.
“Wait, wait, stop,” Brendon says, suddenly, sitting up and tugging at Spencer’s hair gently until he pulls off and looks up at him. Brendon’s expression changes a little when he looks at Spencer, eyes growing darker and he licks his lips.
“Wait,” Brendon says again and he kicks off the panties and wriggles out of the skirt until he’s completely naked. “Take these off,” he says, hooking a finger into a belt loop on Spencer’s jeans, and then undoing them himself when Spencer doesn’t follow orders quickly enough.
Spencer laughs as he kicks his jeans and boxers off, then stops laughing abruptly when Brendon pushes him back down on the bed and kisses him hungrily.
“Wait, look, if we just,” Brendon says, and wriggles around until he has their bodies lined up, until Spencer’s dick is pressing, hard and aching, against Brendon’s, still slick from Spencer’s mouth. There’s not enough of a height difference to stop them kissing as Brendon grinds his hips down, making Spencer gasp.
“This is,” Spencer starts to says, and moans as Brendon grinds down again. “Wow,” he breathes against Brendon’s neck and Brendon laughs as he does it again and again, Spencer lifting his hips to meet him.
“Fuck, Spencer,” Brendon says, and comes. He breathes heavily for a moment.
“Shit, sorry, let me,” he says, twisting as if he’s going to reach down between them, but Spencer grasps Brendon’s hips and grinds up. Brendon gasps a little, and Spencer looks into his dark lined eyes as he comes in hot spurts between them.
“Oh,” he sighs and smiles at Brendon who moves as if he’s going to get off him.
“Nah,” Spencer says quietly. “Stay awhile.”
Brendon buries his nose in Spencer’s neck, sliding to the side after a few minutes, but staying close.
~~~
Spencer wakes up sometime around dawn and watches Brendon sleep for a few moments, studies his smooth, relaxed face. There’s just a trace of lipstick around the edges of his mouth now, smudged eyeliner and smeared eyeshadow across his closed eyes and on the edge of his pillow. Spencer gently places his hand on Brendon’s gently rising and falling chest and smiles to himself when Brendon makes a happy noise and snuggles closer, his warmth sending Spencer back to sleep.
When he wakes up again, Brendon is gone, and Spencer slides out a hand across the wrinkled sheets, finding them still warm. He lies in bed, and hears water running and someone singing in the shower. He smiles at the familiar sound of Freebird and stretches out, waiting for Brendon to come back.
A few minutes pass before Brendon appears, wearing nothing but an old pair of sweatpants hanging off his hips, and towelling dry his damp hair.
“Hey,” he says, almost sounding surprised, and Spencer gives him a lazy smile.
“Come back to bed,” he says, patting the vast empty space beside him.
Brendon makes a tempted face, but then shakes his head. “Don’t you have class this morning?”
“No,” Spencer lies, tugging at his hand. “And you have the morning off.”
Brendon looks hesitant and it takes Spencer a moment to realise what’s wrong.
He sits up, ruffling his hand through his hair and giving Brendon a level look. “You think I’ve changed my mind? That I’m going to freak out? Or that I only want you when I can almost pretend you’re a girl?”
“Yes,” Brendon says, and Spencer cocks his head to one side and studies him.
“Fair enough,” he replies after a moment. “But you’re wrong. I’m not going to say that this feels completely normal right now, or that it’s not going to take me time to adjust- because this isn’t just about you, Brendon, this is about me and you being the first guy I ever…” he trails off and Brendon looks at him in surprise.
“But I thought you and Ryan…“
“No,” Spencer says honestly. “It’s…we’re not like that. I used to think that maybe I was in love with him,” he says, and notes Brendon’s face, the way it closes off suddenly, “but you made me realise that there’s different kinds of love, and that I love Ryan in a best friend way. You…you I love a little differently.”
Brendon stares at him. “You. You…” he trails off, and Spencer feels himself blush.
“Yeah. I mean. Maybe. The start of it anyway,” he says hesitantly and feels the bed dip as Brendon crawls towards him.
“Really?” he says. “I mean, really?”
Spencer looks at Brendon’s face, free of makeup. He thinks about how Brendon had looked last night, stretched out in front of him, how he’d looked earlier at the club, and thinks ‘this is Brendon, all of this is Brendon, all of this is what I want’ and answers Brendon with a kiss.