bandombigbang Along the Way (Brendon/Spencer) NC 17 Part 2
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“Hey! Sorry, sorry!” Brendon calls out to Spencer as he runs down North Sheffield. Spencer has been standing in front of the Vic, aka The Brew & View, for almost twenty minutes, and he's checked his email about a dozen times and had pretty much convinced himself he's gotten the time and place wrong right until he'd seen Brendon's bright red hoodie bouncing through the crowd. Brendon comes to a stop in front of Spencer and the weight of his backpack slamming into his makes his hug a little more emphatic than Spencer thinks he means. “I'm sorry I'm late. My stupid cheap ass phone died and...”
Spencer cuts him off with a light kiss. “I was beginning to think you stood me up. But now you're here, so it's all good.”
Brendon's eyes widen in alarm behind his black plastic framed glasses. “Dude, never, ever would I do such a thing.” He nods solemnly. “It's just, Chelsea Jenkins, she finally got a key change right and she wanted to do it over again from the top so...” Brendon stops for breath, idly running the zipper on Spencer's hoodie up and down.
“Piano student?” Spencer raises an eyebrow and takes Brendon's hand, steering them towards the box office before it's too late.
Brendon nods, and fumbles with one of his backpack's straps. “Yeah, she's eight and amazing. She's only been taking lessons for a couple of weeks but she has this awesome sense of what she should be doing and she's so intuitive, you know? Sometimes I like to just sit and watch her.”
Helpfully holding on to the backpack so Brendon can unzip the small compartment on the front, Spencer says, “You like kids huh?”
Brendon grins and extracts a ziploc bag stuffed with small bills. “Love 'em. I have, like, a million nieces and nephews,” he pauses and something darkens his expression before he can shake it away and force a smile. “But, they're in Vegas and I'm here now, so...” he shrugs, smiles and stuffs a handful of ones and fives into the front pocket of his jeans. “One day I'm gonna have, like, a million kids of my own.”
“A million, huh?” Spencer takes out his wallet and steps up to the ticket booth as Brendon's putting away his money and zipping up his backpack.
“Hey!” Brendon scowls and hip checks Spencer out of the line. “I invited you on a date and I'm gonna pay 'cause I'm a motherfuckin' gentleman. Your money's no good here.”
“Okay, okay!” Spencer laughs at Brendon's fierce expression and doesn't make any further attempt to intervene when Brendon slaps down a wad of bills and says “Two please!”
Brendon hands Spencer his ticket and heads to the bar, where he orders and takes some bills out of his pocket, smoothing them out on the polished wood before handing them to the bartender. “So, yeah. Eventually I wanna adopt my very own Rainbow Tribe. Go all Josephine Baker.”
“Who?”
“Oh, dude. Josephine Baker-she was, like, one of the first African American movie stars. And when she got tired of Hollywood's racist bullshit she moved to France, became an international cabaret star, adopted a dozen kids from all over the world, and lived in a castle.” Brendon raises his can of MGD, pointing the way into the theater.
Spencer has no preference as far as seating choices, so he just follows Brendon, who heads up into the balcony. “Wow. How do you know all this stuff?”
Once seated, Brendon takes Spencer's beer and balances the pizza on his knees so Spencer can sit down. “Well, when I first started working at the Kit-Kat I had no idea what the fuck I was doing, right? Then Gee-you met her right? She works the door at Cobra. Anyway, she sort of took me under her shiny, sparkly wing and showed me the ropes. And then I did a little on line research, you know, on cabaret and the kind of performing I'd be doing. And well. Josephine Baker was the shit.”
“Fair enough,” Spencer tilts his beer towards Brendon in salute. “While I have no doubt you'll be an awesome dad, please don't move to France. I'd miss you.”
Brendon grins and takes a gulping swallow of his beer, “You really think I'd be a good dad?” And then takes a bite of pizza, greasy sauce and cheese sticking to his lips.
“Uh, yeah. Sure. Eventually, I mean. I'm not ready, to like, have your babies. Yet.” Feeling awkward, Spencer sips from his beer, “ So, what movie is this again? It seems really popular.” He looks around and sees that the theater is filling fast.
“Blazing Saddles,” Brendon says licking sauce from his fingers. Taking in Spencer's blank look, Brendon sets his beer on the floor by his seat and shoves the pizza at Spencer. “Seriously? Are you telling me you've never heard of Blazing Saddles? One of the funniest movies of all time?” Brendon's voice rises in incredulity.
Pulling a face, Spencer looks around the theater and says, 'Um...no?”
“Jesus, were you raised in a cardboard box or something? Mel Brooks made Blazing Saddles in 1974, and it's fucking hilarious. So hilarious it's number 6 on AFI's all time funniest movies list” Brendon sniffs with affronted finality and grabs the pizza back from Spencer, shoving the end of another slice into his mouth. “You do like comedy, right?”
Spencer squawks at Brendon's outburst and says, “1974! My dad was like, 5 in 1974.”
“Please tell me you know who Mel Brooks is.” Brendon leans over to retrieve his beer, and Spencer can't help but stare at the broad slice of Brendon's back that's revealed when his shirt is hiked up by the movement.
Feeling rather affronted Spencer huffs, “I'm not an idiot, you know. Of course I know who Mel Brooks is. Robin Hood: Men in Tights, right? And my mom and grandma totally went to see The Producers when it played at The Paris.”
“Oh man, with the Hoff?” Brendon is curled in on himself and giggling. ”And dude, this movie beats the shit out of Men in Tights, just saying. Jesus.”
“Are you sure you were born in the 1980s and not the 1880s? Do you actually like any movies made after, like 1975?” Spencer peevishly takes a slice of pizza and faces the stage where the movie screen has been lowered.
Patting Spencer's leg, Brendon says, “For your information I think Jackass 3D is genius. So is Once. And anything by Wes Anderson owns my soul. So there.”
Spencer is prevented from saying anything else by the lowering of the lights and the flickering of images on the screen. He has to admit, when he read Brendon's email and found out they'd be going to see a movie, his first though was all the groping he'd get in. As both the groper and, hopefully, the gropee.
The fact that Brendon would be sitting with his eyes glued to the screen, mouthing dialog along with the characters while braying loud donkey laughter didn't ever figure into his plan. He's trying not to be pissed off. He's eaten all the pizza and gone back to the bar for more beer, and sort of rubbed his palm over Brendon's denim clad thigh, and still Brendon is not picking up what Spencer's throwing down. He moves in closer and actually goes for the arm stretch into arm over shoulder thing.
But Brendon just snorts out a laugh, smiles at Spencer and leans his head on Spencer's shoulder. It's not even that the movie's bad--It's sort of actually pretty stupid and hilarious, and exactly the kind of thing Spencer finds funny-it's just the whole thing is very very frustrating. Eventually Spencer abandons his plans for movie theater make outs and watches the film, Brendon's hand held in his.
It's only when Spencer turns to lower his mouth to Brendon's ear to ask a question that he realizes that Brendon is fast asleep. Head lolling and mouth slightly open, his chest rises and falls in a slow even rhythm, and Spencer smiles, brushing Brendon's hair from his face and taking the beer out of his hand before it spills. Eventually, the end credits roll and the house lights come up, and as people try to step over them to get out of their row, Brendon wakes up.
He gives Spencer a drowsy smile and stretches his arms over his head. “Shit, how long was I out?”
“Not long,” Spencer lies, wiping at the tiny circular wet mark on his shirt where Brendon had drooled a little. He takes Brendon's hand and tugs him to his feet, gathering their coats and shuffling him out of the theater and on to the street. “So, awesome idea.”
Yawning and scrubbing his hands across his cheeks, Brendon laughs self-consciously. “So, maybe Slurpees in 7-11 parking lots is a pretty good first date after all.” He scrunches up his nose and makes an apologetic face.
“Nah, it was fine.” Spencer threads his fingers with Brendon's as they walk down Sheffield to Belmont. “It's just...it's kinda hard to talk at the movies you know?”
Brendon laughs and says, “So that makes it a perfect first date!”
“I like talking to you,” Spencer looks at Brendon, blue eyes full of sincerity. “I like listening to you, too.”
Brendon laughs so hard he has to stop walking, “Oh man! Are you serious?” He sees Spencer's confusion and laughs harder. “Oh my god! Spencer Smith, I can honestly say that no one has ever said that to me before. I think consensus is that I talk too fucking much, all the fucking time.”
Spencer frowns and draws Brendon in close, wrapping his arms around Brendon's waist. “I think consensus means everyone agrees. And in case you're confused, I'm not everyone, and I don't fucking agree.” He kisses Brendon, a firm press of his lips, to emphasize his point. “Also, if I'm gonna be hanging out in the dark pressed up against you, it would be cool if there was more, you know, groping and kissing and touching and shit.”
Making a low noise at the back of his throat, Brendon threads his fingers through Spencer's hair and pulls him closer, nipping at his bottom lip. “Shit. Wasted fucking opportunity. I'm a moron.”
“You're a moron with a boyfriend who lives close by, just saying.” Spencer smiles and swipes the pad of his thumb across Brendon's cheekbones.
Brendon goes from crestfallen to gleeful in the time it takes for Spencer to blink once, “Okay, boyfriend. I like how you think. And I'm super excited to see how the college half lives!” Brendon smacks Spencer on the ass and they both laugh as Spencer changes direction from the L and back down Belmont.
They fill the walk to Spencer's triplex with chatter about the movie, and the Vic, and some of the bands they've seen there. And when they walk up a flight to the middle floor and Spencer unlocks his door and flicks on the light, Brendon is rendered silent. “Holy Shit! Spencer are you secretly rich or something?” He takes in the wide living room, with actual grown up furniture, and has to lean against a small bookcase inside the front door, he's so shocked.
Spencer tries to see his apartment through Brendon's eyes. He thinks about the shitty one room bed-sit that takes so much of Brendon's money. “Um...I have a scholarship and my parents pay most of my bills. They want me to get good grades, and I tried the dorms in freshman year and it was a disaster; so much noise and distraction. So, I made my case for living on my own. Luckily I'm pretty responsible and I know it's my parents' money so it's not like I'm milking it. It's a nice neighborhood, but not a great one. Luckily the landlord and my dad were in the same frat or some shit, so the rent's not too bad.”
“Don't tell me you're a frat boy!” Brendon kicks off his sneakers and flops down onto the sofa, his hands roaming over the fabric.
“Shit, no!” Spencer spits out in disgust. “Much to dear old dad's disappointment, I have like, zero interest in any of that Greek pledging bullshit. I think I got off the hook for fulfilling family frat obligations when I came out to my parents and my mom figured out she could join PFLAG instead of Phi Beta Whatever boosters.”
In the midst of shrugging off his sweater, Brendon stops and stares up at Spencer, “Wait, you're parents know you're into dudes?” He takes Spencer's hand and tugs him down beside him.
“Well, yeah? I mean it took forever for me to figure it out. Once I did, I didn't see any point in hiding it.” Spencer just shrugs like it's no big deal.
Spencer can't read the expression in Brendon's eyes when he stares at their still joined hands and says, “That's so awesome. And your parents...they still love you and stuff?”
Gently, Spencer presses a kiss to Brendon's temple, “Yeah, Bee. They still love me. Not everyone's shitty.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Brendon stretches and yawns and, slapping his palms against his knees, stands. “So, do I get the tour of the Smith mansion?”
“Come on,” Spencer rolls his eyes and heads across the living room. “Breakfast nook,” he says in a bored voice, making air quotes. “Or the place where my practice kit lives. Too bad the neighbors are bitches and freak out whenever I play.” He watches as Brendon strokes an approving hand along the snare and cymbals, flicking his thumb and forefinger at it so it makes a metallic pinging noise.
“Fucking love drums.” Brendon murmurs.
“You play?” Spencer doesn't know how this had never come up.
“Oh yeah, drum core in high school. Jazz band, all that shit. But there' s no room for a kit at my place, and I can't afford one anyway so...” Brendon trails off and then turns a look of forced cheerfulness towards Spencer. “Drummers are hot.” He adds.
“Yup, we are!” Spencer smacks a kiss to Brendon's cheek and then slaps him on the ass, squeezing a little. “Any time you want to play, come on by. Fuck the neighbor's wrath!” He shakes a raised fist towards the ceiling and then continues with the tour. “Through there's the kitchen. Don't even bother looking in my fridge. I think there's some cold cuts of indeterminate age, some cheese slices, and maybe what used to be a tomato. Also some milk. You know, for the cereal.” Spencer points a finger to the top of the refrigerator where a row of boxes perches.
“I'm Brendon Urie, and I approve of the cereal diet!” Brendon laughs and follows Spencer out of the galley kitchen and down a small hall.
He twists the doorknob and holds his arm out like a game show spokesmodel. “You will be shocked to know that the room with the toilet is the bathroom.”
Spencer's not really prepared for Brendon to push past him and stand in the middle of the ugly green tiled room with his arms spread wide. “It's like you can see into my dreams,” he whispers, stroking the edge of the bathtub. “You have a tub. An honest to god bath fucking tub! Spencer, you have no idea how dedicated I was to Mr. Bubble. We used to get up close and personal, like, three times a week, no joke. He was the shit. Now all I have is a stupid broken shower stall, so we had to break up.” Brendon's pout is so over the top Spencer laughs and ruffles his hand through his hair.
“Dude, my tub is your tub.” Spencer only realizes what he's said once the words are out of his mouth. “I mean, any time you want to use it you totally can, like my drums, right? Um...I'm not much of a bath guy...” he finishes stupidly.
Brendon's shoulders shake with silent laughter at Spencer's awkwardness. “Okay, I'm ready for the big finish. Spencer, show me where you rest your pretty little head.”
Hustling to the next door, Spencer says, “Okay, bedroom. End of tour. Now we make out,” and herds Brendon into the room, tugging on his t-shirt and winding a hand into his hair. Brendon grunts out a laugh when Spencer frog marches them though piles of laundry and textbooks, over to the bed, hitting it with his knees and tipping down onto the mattress.
Giggling as Spencer trails kisses across his cheeks and chin and neck, Brendon fidgets until he's stretched out prone, arms and legs wide, and says, “Spencer Smith, you must be an angel, because your giant fucking bed is heaven!”
“C'mere, dork.” Spencer whispers, tugging Brendon close and kissing him slow.
Brendon strokes his palms over Spencer's chest and, watching the path of his fingertips across Spencer's collarbone, says, “I'm sorry the date was so lame, and that I don't have any money to do more actual fun stuff. Sorry it's just hanging out with me.”
“Nah, don't be dumb, man. It was fun, and hanging out with you is the best part, anyway.” He gives Brendon a squeezing hug of reassurance.
It seems to work, Brendon smiles and relaxes. He melts into Spencer as they continue the unhurried exploration of each others' mouths. “If you'd let me pay, we could do other fun stuff sometimes, though,” Spencer says as he traces his palms across the ladder of Brendon's ribs.
Stopping, Brendon simply says, “That wouldn't be fair. I don't want to owe anyone anything.” But, he doesn't pull away from Spencer's embrace, and he doesn't seem angry.
Hands drifting to Brendon's hips, Spencer says, “It wouldn't be taking advantage. It's fun stuff; stuff I want to do. And you there with me would make it even better.” He leans his forehead against Brendon's.
“I just can't, okay?”
Sighing melodramatically, Spencer says, “Okay, I guess I can just suck it up and spend all our time together...hanging out.” He waggles his eyebrows and makes Brendon giggle. “Bren? Can I ask...”
Brendon rolls his eyes and gives Spencer's shoulder a little shake. “If you're going to ask me if you can ask me something, the answer is yes, dude. Ask away.”
“Okay,” Spencer nods, slowly choosing his words. “I don't mean this in any judgey,mean way. I'm just curious. So, like, you have four or five jobs, right?” He pauses until Brendon makes an agreeing noise, his eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out where the conversation is going. “And, I mean, I've seen your apartment. So I guess...I guess I don't get why you don't have the money to do, uhn...stuff.” They're lying with their heads on Spencer's pillow, so close Spencer can see the nerve under Brendon's right eye twitch and feel his breath across his cheeks.
Licking his lips, Brendon takes a deep breath and launches into his explanation, “Well, job one-cabaret at Cobra Starship-isn't actually much of a job. I lucked into it when I was busing tables there and Gabe, the manager, heard me singing along to what the DJ was playing. It's a couple nights a week and it's suppose to get me exposure according to Gabe, whatever the fuck that means. I get paid in tips and a bar tab.” He holds up two fingers, “Job number two-the drag show at the Kit-Kat Club-is, you got it, pretty much for tips. They're pretty good in the summer when the patio's packed-not so much any time else. And we all split tips. And the economy sucks and it's near a student neighborhood, and most of the money I make there goes back into costumes and make up.” Brendon's smile lights up his face. “It sure is fun though.”
“And you're really good at it.” Spencer inches forward, his nose nuzzling Brendon's.
“Thanks!” Brendon's smile is genuine, and he pecks a kiss to the freckled tip of Spencer's nose. “So, that brings us to job number three: music lessons.” He yawns and takes off his glasses, bracing his hand on Spencer's hip to lean over and place them carefully on the night stand. “You may have noticed, I don't have an actual piano. Most moms want their kids to learn piano, and some aren't willing to make do with a keyboard. So, sometimes I go to the students. Although, my guitar students are fucking awesome, too. But, anyway, most of my students, for whatever reason, live on the South Side. And, okay, they can't always pay, in cash anyway. But their parents make me dinner. And just because they're poor doesn't mean they don't deserve to learn. Music is for everyone, despite what the fucking board of education has to say about that.” Spencer is charmed by the fierce conviction in Brendon's eyes. “So, that leaves part time, minimum wage at MAC to pay the bills. I suppose they could have made me a key holder or a shift supervisor by now, if I didn't call out all the time, and give too many make overs without selling enough product.”
Spencer tugs on Brendon's belt loops until they're lying half on top of each other, “Fuck, you have no idea how amazing you are.” Brendon's shirt is rucked up almost to his armpits and Spencer slides eager hands down the long line of his spine.
“I'm really not,” Brendon buries his face in Spencer's shoulder and mumbles, “Spencer I'm afraid to tell you how very not awesome I am. You'll hate me. And I don't know if I can take that.”
Spencer sits up and cuddles Brendon to his side. “I'm pretty fucking sure that there's not much anyone could do to make me hate them. Especially, you. Like, right here? Right now? You could totally tell me your new hobby is drowning puppies and I'd be all meh-everyone has issues.” He can tell his attempt at levity hasn't helped by the horrified expression on Brendon's face.
“Don't joke,” Brendon says sullenly, fidgeting away from Spencer and pulling at a loose thread in the hem of his t-shirt. “I stole okay? I stole money!” He flings out his arms and his voice is loud. “There I said it.”
Alarmed at the tears welling in Brendon's eyes, Spencer pulls him into his lap, stroking his face and kissing his cheek, “Hey, hey, I'm sure you had a reason. It's okay, Brendon.” He smiles.
A shaky sigh escapes from deep in Brendon's chest, “It's really not. I stole. I stole money from my fucking parents, okay? I needed to get the fuck out of Vegas. And I got accepted to cosmetology school in Arizona, so I filled out some forms and got my college money...”
“Wait,” Spencer interrupts in confusion, “So, you used your college fund, for...college? How is that stealing exactly?”
Brendon twists his fingers in the cotton of Spencer's shirt, “It was for BYU. They wanted me to go up to Idaho, like my sister Kyla. And I...didn't want that. But they wouldn't listen. So I figured out how to get the money. And...” he stops and gulps, swallowing down a sob. “And then I took all the money out of the bank account that they were putting towards my mission. Because I realized I didn't believe in God and didn't want to be Mormon and just had to get the fuck out of there. So..I took my parents' money and went to fucking beauty school, and ran away to be gay in Chicago.”
“Brendon...” Spencer rests his hand lightly on Brendon's neck, “That money was for you, for your education, to help you with getting started in life I don't understand...”
With an angry, narrow-eyed glance Brendon interrupts, “No, you don't understand. I was supposed to be this perfect Mormon son. I was supposed to do all the things my brothers did, just the way my parents wanted. But I didn't. And I took the money anyway. So, I'm paying them back. I send them a check every month. With interest.” He stares down at his fingers, twisted in the fabric of Spencer's shirt.
Brendon's on the verge of tears and Spencer feels something painful and bright puling beneath his ribs, so he just wraps his arms around Brendon in what he hopes is the biggest warmest hug he's ever had. “You are amazing, okay? Don't argue, I know. You're brave and it's okay, Bee, it really is.”
“Yeah, well, your parents still love you...”
“And yours love you,” Spencer ducks down to look in Brendon's eyes, “Maybe not the way you need them to, or want them to, right now, but they do. They're your parents. They won't stay assholes forever, I promise.”
Smile wobbling dangerously towards tears, Brendon says raggedly, “They're not assholes, they're really not. They're good people. And god, I let them down so many times, over so many things.” He gulps and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.
“You were just being you. I'm sorry that wasn't enough for them.” Spencer strokes slow patterns up and down Brendon's bare back. “No one can hate you Brendon, don't you see that?”
Brendon shrugs and snuggles in closer, trying and failing to stifle a jaw-crackingly wide yawn. “I'm really tired, Spence. Maybe I should just go home?”
Spencer runs a finger nail across the shiny cotton of his duvet cover. “Um, if you want you can stay here. Like, if you don't want to sleep um, with me, I mean in the same bed as me, Ryan calls my sofa the narcolepsy couch because it's so awesome to sleep on.”
“I like sleeping-just sleeping-with you.” Brendon yawns again and laughs. He tugs his shirt over his head. When they've both stripped down to their underwear, Spencer folds back the duvet and holds it out for Brendon to crawl into bed. “Oh my god, warmest, best sheets ever,” he mumbles, thumping the pillow and squirming around to get comfortable.
Spencer sighs, spooning against Brendon's back and holding him tight, “Sleep well,” he says quietly and brushes his lips across the nape of Brendon's neck.
* * *
Jon smacks two venti cups full of black coffee onto the tiny cafe table and then flips one of the cane backed chairs around to straddle it. “So, who is the sweet young thing who's stolen away all of our Spencer's time and attention?”
Ryan snorts, grabbing up one of the coffees and taking a gulp. “Holy shit! Hot!” He coughs and sputters and wipes at his mouth with the tails of the purple paisley scarf knotted around his neck.
Rolling his eyes at both his friends, Spencer takes a long pull at the straw in his iced mocha and says, “Brendon, his name is Brendon.”
“Tell me more about this Brendon,” Jon steeples his fingers on the chair back and stares indulgently at Spencer.
“What the fuck man, this isn't Loveline. His name's Brendon, he's awesome, we've been hanging out.”
Smacking Ryan's hands out of the way before he can take another scalding sip, Jon dumps a generous dollop from a carton of half and half into the cup. “I'm just interested, okay? Your happiness is totally important to me. Also, you missed band practice, like twice, so it must be twooo wuv.”
“Yeah, Spence, tell Jon how you met!” Ryan smirks and takes a tentative sip of his coffee, smiling to find it the perfect temperature.
Spencer scowls and sets his plastic cup down on the table, twisting the straw in the ice cubes. “Fuck you both, very much.”
“Okay okay, I can't take it! I'll tell you,” Ryan sits up, waving his large hands around in excitement. “Dude, Brendon? Is totally the dude from the Kit-Kat Club, you know the drag place Kelts took us to, and then Spencer fucked off without so much as a good night?”
Smirking from behind his cup, Jon says, “Oh really? The hottie sailor chick, um dude? Tell me more.”
Spencer is silent and glowering at his friends but Ryan will not be stopped, “The best part? Is that Brendon is totally the “girl” ol'Spence got his panties in a bunch about finding hot during his big hetero freak out last month.” Ryan crows.
“Wait. So, the hot girl, is a hot guy, and Spencer's dating the hot girl...guy...er person?” Jon gazes from Spencer to Ryan and back again, unsure whether he's followed along correctly.
“Yeah!” Ryan smacks Jon in the arm and takes an annoyingly loud slurp of his coffee. “And? Dude is from Vegas! Spencer actually applied to his high school for band but didn't get in. He believes it's all fate and shit and they're MFEO.”
“I repeat; fuck you both, very much. Sideways. With a two by four.” Spencer is hunched over the table, blinking into his cup.
Jon raises his hand, “Dude, high five!” Spencer raises an eyebrow and taps his hand to Jon's. “If you gotta blow off band practice, getting laid is a totally valid excuse.”
Spencer blushes so intensely pinky red streaks heat his neck and chest. “Oh shit,” Ryan brings his hand to his mouth, muffling his laughter. “You and Brendon still haven't fucked? It's been, like weeks. Is he deformed? Missing parts? Religious?” Ryan is staring at him agog and Spencer knows his best friend cannot fathom any kind of dating that does not involve fucking. “Spencer, when two boys love each other very much it's perfectly natural to get naked and..”
“Well...not that it's anyone's business,” Spencer quickly cuts Ryan off, “but we're taking it slow,okay? Figuring shit out.” Spencer harrumphs and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Wait. Wait. You and the sailor girl-dude haven't experienced the joy of er...manly love?”
Shoulders hunched, Spencer says, “I am going to assume you're not trying to be an asshole. I'm not sure why it's any of your fucking business, but no, we haven't had sex...yet. Brendon's never...been in a relationship before and we're just...just dating and having fun okay?”
“Aww, you're waiting 'til it means something. That's adorable.” Jon reaches across the table to muss up Spencer's hair. Spencer growls and smacks Jon away, carefully smoothing the flat ironed strands back across his forehead.
Spencer drains his cup and throws it towards the trash bin, where it lands jauntily perched on the very top of a heap of paper cups. “Can we please talk about something else? Or better yet can we just go practice now? I have to go soon.”
“Oh yeah, it's date night, isn't it? Or isn't every night date night in the Spencer and Brendon show?” Ryan sounds almost bitter as he works on his fingerless gloves and picks up his cup. Jon zips up his hoodie and holds the door open for everyone.
Climbing the stairs to the El station two at a time, Spencer looks behind him and says, “Brendon's performing tonight at the Kit-Kat, if you want to come.” He's really only being polite and hoping that his friends say no.
Jon and Ryan exchange glances, and what looks like to be abortive retching motions, and Jon finally says, “Uh, nah. We have to work out those loops Ryan made earlier today.”
“Yeah, you know, charting that shit takes forever.” Ryan jumps through the train doors and flings himself across two seats.
Kicking Ryan's tweed trouser clad legs out of the way, Jon flops down beside him and says, “Especially when the rock and roll boy genius can't read or write music.” and hooks a thumb towards Ryan, making Spencer snort a laugh out through his nose.
“Hey!” Ryan frowns, “Lots of musical geniuses can't read or write music, so there!” He glowers at Jon.
“Oh yeah?” Spencer swings from the train's center bar, “Like who? And are you actually calling yourself a genius? Because dude, I've heard some of your 'hooks'.”
Still frowning and kicking the point of his wingtip into the side of Jon's sneaker, Ryan thinks for a second and says, “Lionel Ritchie.”
“What?” Spencer and Jon squawk at the same time.
Sitting up straight, Ryan tosses his head a little and says, “I saw it on VH1. Lionel Ritchie can't read or write music.”
Jon can't stop laughing. “That's your rock and roll musical genius? Dude, did you Dad ever listen to anything that wasn't on LITE FM when you were growing up?”
“What? The Commadores are really good!” Ryan defends passionately.
“Sure they are, Penny Lover. You and Jon have a good time working things out, All Night Long.” Spencer's shoulders shake with laughter and he can barely hang on to the pole as the train takes a corner, he's laughing so hard. Jon is laughing equally as hard and slaps Spencer's palm in a high five.
“What?” Ryan stares at them both in confusion.
* * *
Spencer gets to the Kit-Kat club early enough to get a table, but he's by himself so he settles for the bar. He briefly thought about going back stage to say hi to Brendon, but wasn't sure if that was okay. So, he just sits at the bar nursing his dirty martini and people watching. It's a small but interesting crowd tonight, everything from what appears to be a bachelorette party to a smattering of gay couples, to a few power suited guys in the big corner booth, and a non-plussed Cubs gear clad family who seem to have accidentally wandered around the corner from Wrigleyville. The bartender plunks a plate of calamari down in front of him, and Spencer realizes how hungry he is.
The first diva to perform is someone Spencer's sure he's heard Brendon refer to as Patrick. She works the room in a beehive and feather and rhinestone covered cocktail dress, shaking and shimmying and lip synching to a medley of R&B hits, and the crowd eats it up. Spencer's seat at the bar is in front of the sparkly silver curtain that the club uses to section off the hallway to the dressing rooms, so on her way by, Patrick gives Spencer a big grin and squeezes his arm. “I'll tell Brendon you're here,” she says softly as she flits behind the drapes.
When the house lights dim and the follow spot appears on the sliver curtain, Spencer feels his stomach swoop, and he's pretty sure it's not from the ¼ of the martini he's actually swallowed. Brendon had said he wanted to try out something new tonight, but refused to say exactly what. The DJ gets the crowd going, introducing the act and then shouts “Surrender Dorothy!” as the curtains part.
The crowd seems a little confused. The Kit-Kat is known for sexy disco divas and pop impersonations of Madonna and Pink! and Lady Gaga. The bachelorette party looks at one another in confusion as the opening strains of Somewhere Over the Rainbow blasts through the sound system and the tornado scene from The Wizard of Oz is projected on one long white wall. And then, Brendon appears. He's wearing a very short blue gingham dress, braided pig tails with matching blue bows, lace trimmed ankle socks, and the most amazing ruby slippers Spencer's ever seen--his sister Crystal was Dorothy for Hallowe'en one year, okay? He even has a little stuffed dog in a basket that he loops over his arm as he starts to work the room.
He lip syncs perfectly, over emoting and faux warbling along with Judy as he sashays between tables and flirts with patrons. Eventually, the crowd warms up, enthusiastically tucking bills into the dog basket or handing them to Brendon, who tucks them into the elastic cuff of the starched white pantaloons he wears beneath his dress. And by the time Brendon's curtsying and bowing by the curtain, they're hooting and hollering and whistling.
Before ducking out of sight, he leans over and husks, “Gimme a few minutes and come back to my dressing room, okay?” in Spencer's ear, planting a crimson kiss to his beard.
After calculatedly nursing his drink for ten minutes after Brendon disappears behind the curtain, Spencer takes the swizzle stick, pulls all three of the olives off with his teeth, and stands. While he finishes chewing, he fishes his wallet out of his back pocket and slaps a generous tip down on the bar. Squaring his shoulders he licks his lips and heads down the hallway to Brendon's dressing room.
The door is barely open before he has his arms full of Brendon. Spencer's back slams into the wall just beside the doorway and Brendon reaches out a hand long enough to flick the lock, then returning it to insistently grope Spencer's hips and ass. “Holy shit Spencer, you look so fucking good.” Brendon slicks his eager mouth across Spencer's. He's removed most of his make up but his eyes are still lined a smudged black, giving him a smoldering appearance. “Did you do this yourself, for me?” He traces the pad of his thumb across Spencer's brow bone. “Copper looks fucking fierce with your blue eyes.”
Ryan, it seems, is going through a thing. He's decided that make up on dudes makes things more interesting, and like everything else Ryan has set his mind to, he has decided to be the best at applying make up. When he heard that Spencer was meeting Brendon at the Kit-Kat, he had stopped band practice so he could 'do Spencer's eyes'. He'd lined the upper and lower lids, applied mascara and then dabbed bright copper shadow from a tiny pot onto Spencer's lids. He'd felt self-conscious and stupid, but now, seeing Brendon's reaction, he's glad he let Ryan talk him into it.
“Yeah,” he husks against the point of Brendon's chin. “Bren? What...” Brendon stops trying to inhale Spencer's face and tangles their fingers together. He leads Spencer over to a worn green velvet sofa and pushes until Spencer sits down, only to crawl into his lap.
Spencer's hands roam Brendon's bare back. He's taken off most of his costume with the exception of what Spencer guesses are called bloomers; frilly short underpants that are secured at the thigh with tiny blue ribbons. “I dunno man, I'm just all fuckin' keyed up. That went awesome, did you see? Audience ate that shit up. And I'm like, way over tired and you just look so fuckin' hot.” His fingers fumble with the tiny buttons on Spencer's dress shirt and he mumbles into Spencer's mouth. “Fuckin' adrenaline, man. I just...I want...I need...”
“Yeah, yeah,” Spencer tips his head back to rest against the wall as Brendon scrapes his teeth over his throat and sucks bruises on his collarbones. Spencer's long fingers slip beneath the waistband of Brendon's undergarment and he cups his ass in the palms of his hands. Brendon pants and bucks his hips, straddling Spencer's thigh and grinding back and forth. “Jesus, you're so...”
Brendon sucks on Spencer's bottom lip before scraping it between his teeth. Spencer whines and arches his hips up, frustrated by the feeling of his rigid cock, still trapped inside his jeans. “Can we...can you,” Spencer takes one of Brendon's hands away from petting through his hair and lowers it to his crotch, carefully watching Brendon, hoping it's okay.
“Shit yes,” Brendon brings their mouths back together in a messy clash of teeth and lip, and slides his fingers across Spencer's erection, popping the button on his dark jeans and then stroking the backs of his fingers low across Spencer's belly.
Squeezing Brendon's ass, Spencer's voice is a low rumble in his chest, “You gonna get serious?”
Brendon laughs and leans his weight more against Spencer's chest. They're still both sitting up, and he's grinding against Spencer's thigh. He reaches into Spencer's boxer briefs and gives his cock a tentative squeeze. “It feels just like mine,” he says, slightly awed.
“What the fuck did you think it would feel like?” Spencer looks at Brendon from where he's licking stripes up and down the tendons in his neck. “Puppies and sunshine? Skin's skin for fuck's sake.”
Brendon snorts and rests his forehead against Spencer's shoulder, “I dunno, I never really thought about it, I guess. The feeling, I mean. Because I totally dream, like ten times a night about jerking you off. Feels good. Better than good.” He closes his eyes and thinks back to Spencer jacking off beside him in his apartment. Tries to remember what Spencer did, how he liked it.
Brendon swallows and swirls his thumb over the head of Spencer's cock. Spencer gives an appreciative whine and thrusts up harder into Brendon's hand. Brendon licks his lips, and steadying himself with a hand on Spencer's shoulder, starts a slow, squeezing rhythm, his fingers clutching and sliding against Spencer's sensitive skin.
Spencer grunts and lowers his hands to Brendon's hips, steadying him as his twitching and grinding against Spencer's thigh amps up. He leans forward to lick at the sweat pooling between Brendon's collarbones and then is stunned by the speed with which Brendon jumps up. “Shit, I need to take these off.”
“Huh?” Spencer opens his eyes and watches Brendon comically hopping around trying to take off his pantaloons.
“I don't have the money to have them dry cleaned and...I'm gonna wreck 'em if I don't take them off. Now.” Having finally undone the ribbons, Brendon shimmies his narrow hips tugging on the rough cotton until they drift over his calves, pooling on the floor. “Okay, okay,” He's wearing y-front briefs and he adjusts himself in them before climbing back on to Spencer. “Sorry.”
“S'okay. But just...” Spencer pointedly looks down his body and to Brendon's hand. He catches on quickly, resuming the slow teasing rhythm of his fingers on Spencer's hard cock. The cant of his hips echoes the movement of his hand, and soon he's back where he was; hard and panting and bumping his forehead against Spencer's shoulder. “Bren, you close? I'm so fucking close.”
“Uhhn,” Brendon says as he slides his cock, still covered by the cotton of his underpants, along the crease where Spencer's hip bends. He shudders hard, makes a pinched whining noise that escapes slowly between his teeth, then slumps forward. Without realizing it, his fingers have slowed their stroking and are simply squeezing Spencer's cock in a tight fist.
Spencer makes a coughing, hacking noise and curls forward, his arm around Brendon's lower back the only thing keeping them both from sliding to the floor. Slippery ropes of comes slick between Brendon's fingers and fill his cupped palm. “Holy shit,” Spencer says weakly as he slumps back onto the couch.
“I came in my pants,” Brendon makes a face, leaning over the edge of the sofa to pluck tissues from a box set on a low table.
Spencer can barely keep his eyes open. “Then take 'em off,” he rolls his shoulders and curls his legs up onto the sofa when Brendon stands up. He's laying flat on is back, zipper still open and hands resting low on his belly. His breathing is starting to slow, and Brendon thinks he's just about asleep.
Brendon figures what the fuck, and drops his shorts in the middle of his dressing room floor. Scooping them up he uses them to clean himself up as best he can before firing them by the elastic waistband onto the pile of his street clothes. He takes a short dressing gown, a deep red and covered in embroidered Japanese fans, off of a peg by his make up table, wraps it around himself, then strides over to the sofa. He wriggles against Spencer until there is room for him to lie down.
Sighing happily, Brendon closes his eyes.
* * *
Wednesday nights aren't good for much. Spencer has an early econ lecture on Thursday mornings, and Brendon has to open at MAC, so they usually just hang out at Brendon's when he gets off from the Kit-Kat Club, eat toasted peanut butter sandwiches, make out, and watch movies. They haven't really progressed from the events in Brendon's dressing room the week before--was that second base? Spencer's not sure how that analogy is supposed to work-- so they spend a lot of time groping each other and kissing and cuddling. And Spencer is fine with it.
Really, he is.
So what if Jon keeps making jokes about Spencer's eyes not being the only blue part of his anatomy?
It'll happen when it happens. Which doesn't look like tonight, at any rate. Spencer is reviewing for a test, and Brendon is chattering away about a gorgeous bride who is bringing her entire bridal party into to MAC on the week end, and he gets to do their make up. He's also giving himself a speedy manicure and pedicure. His fingernails are painted a purple so dark it's almost black,and he's currently slicking the same color across his toenails. Spencer has been pretending to read the same page in his text book for the last five minutes, but he's really watching Brendon.
“You can try it, you know,” Brendon says without looking up from his task.
Spencer's stomach flips a little when he realizes he's busted. Is it weird to spend so much time staring at your boyfriend? He's not sure and he doesn't really have anyone to ask. “Hmm?” He sets his textbook down on the bed and smiles at Brendon.
“I can give you a mini-pedicure if you want. Like, with clear polish if the colored stuff freaks you out.” Brendon twists at the waist, reaching behind him to his cramped make up table and waving a bottle of transparent nail polish at Spencer.
Brendon leans forward and tugs at Spencer's sock covered big toe. “C'mon, I bet your toes are just as hot as the rest of you. And lots of guys get pedicures, trust me.” Something unreadable is glowing in the dark depths of Brendon's eyes.
Since he met Brendon, Spencer's gotten comfortable with wearing eye make up so, what the hell, why not? “Sure,” he sits up, tugging at his blue argyle socks and then dropping them onto the floor by Brendon's bed.
Happily wriggling his own toes against the quilt that covers the foot of his bed, Brendon extricates himself from his awkward crouch on his make up stool. “See?” He takes Spencer's heel in his hand, “I knew your feet would be beautiful.”
“Who has beautiful toes? That's weird, man.” Spencer is staring down at his own feet. To him they just look like, well, feet. They get him from point A to point B, and provide a damn good excuse to spend a lot of money on cool as fuck shoes.
Gathering up the tools he'd been using to fix up his own pedicure, Brendon sets them on the bed and runs his thumb along the inside arch of Spencer's right foot. “Are you telling me you've never heard of foot fetishes? There's this guy who comes by the Kit-Kat sometimes and he buys our old crappy shoes. I know he's not a drag queen, you get what I'm saying?” Brendon contorts his face into a cartoon leer.
“Eww. I did not need to know that. Um...do you have a foot fetish?” Spencer is more interested in Brendon's reply than his casual tone belies.
“Nah. But look, I know good feet. And your feet are great. No corns or bunions or hammer toes or like nail fungus,” Spencer throws Curious George at Brendon's head. He ducks it laughing. “And like you don't have weird monkey toes, or like hairy hobbit feet or anything. You could be a foot model. Which is totally a real thing, by the way,” Brendon finishes before Spencer can even ask. “You don't have a foot fetish, do you?”
Spencer wrinkles up his nose and smiles, “No. I just...I like how yours look, with the polish on and stuff. Your hands too.” Why the hell did he just admit that out loud?
“Yay! Because I like how it looks, too. Now, let's see if we can make your pretty feet beautiful.”
He might not have a foot fetish, but Spencer wonders if it's possible to have a watching Brendon work fetish. He'd noticed it when they'd first met and Brendon had applied his eye make up. Brendon, who is always full tilt mile a minute, slows down and is careful and precise and still when he's working.
Spencer never knew he could find something like that hot.
But now, watching Brendon set out lotions and creams and nail files and emery boards and cotton batting, Spencer cannot deny that he has a Brendon Doing His Thing thing. He closes his eyes, and schools his breathing, and prays that his cock will co-operate and not embarrass the shit out of him while Brendon is massaging some kind of sweet, slippery cream into his feet.“Your skin's a little dry, so this shea butter should help,” Brendon say, kneading his knuckles along the bottom of Spencer's foot.
Spencer has his eyes clenched tightly closed and is focused on breathing in and out and in and out. He sneaks glimpses of Brendon through narrowed eyelids and he can't get over how weirdly hot it is to watch Brendon work, carefully explaining everything he's doing, and feeling how fucking good a pedicure feels.
He had no idea.
“We should go to a salon and get actual pedicures, because they are way more awesome than anything I can do here,” Brendon pushes his glasses up with his index finger and smiles widely.
“I kind of doubt that right now,” Spencer can't help the low, dirty groan the feeling of Brendon's fingers kneading at the fleshy ball of his foot causes to spill out into the room.
Brendon just chuckles low and continues on with his work. Spencer closes his eyes once more and gives in to the floating sensation spreading through him, and only jerks his feet a little when Brendon scrapes and files and trims. He opens his eyes and looks down his prone body to watch Brendon apply the clear nail polish with a steady, professional hand. He shifts, his erection pressing uncomfortably into the seam of his jeans. “You almost done?” Spencer asks, trying to mentally calculate how much longer he can hold off without coming in his pants. Or else he'll have to go jerk off in the bathroom. Or maybe he can think of every disgusting thing he's ever seen heard or smelled and talk himself down from the edge.
Except that is the exact moment he feels the strangest sensation which, upon opening his eyes he sees is Brendon fucking Urie fucking blowing on his toes. Before he can stop himself he makes a short, loud huh noise and jerks, his foot flailing out. “Whoa mule!” Brendon catches Spencer by the heel before he gets clipped in the face. “Sorry. Ticklish, huh?” He kisses the bump of Spencer's ankle and sets his foot back on the bed. “All done anyway. Just don't move so they can dry.” Brendon pats Spencer's knee and sets about tidying up.
“Uh Bren?” Spencer's voice sounds rough and foreign to his ears.
“Yeah?”
“Could you...could you come here?” Spencer's skin feels like a thousand heated blades are being dragged up his arms and legs.
Brendon throws the emery board and cotton pads into the garbage and gives Spencer a strange, questioning look. “Sure?”
Spencer's arm snakes out, and he wraps his fingers around Brendon's wrist, pulling him down on to the bed beside him. “Hi,” Brendon laughs. He's still laughing when Spencer kisses him, rough and wet. “Okay, so maybe not a foot fetish, but a pedicure fetish? Everyone has a thing Spencer Smith, I'm totally not judging you.” Brendon laughs against Spencer's mouth.
Just as Spencer goes to roll them over on the bed, trapping Brendon underneath him and against the wall, Brendon sees a small swath of pink plastic peeking out of the top of Spencer's messenger bag. “Hey, what's that? And watch your toes, they're not dry yet. You ruin my work, no more pedicures-which is not a euphemism for anything.” Brendon wags a finger at Spencer before rolling off the bed and snagging the shopping bag.
When Spencer's brain catches up to what Brendon is saying, and when his dick gets over the fact that Brendon is no longer pressed up against him, Spencer says, “Oh yeah. I uh...I bought you something. But then I wasn't sure you would like it, so I wasn't sure about giving it to you so...” Spencer trails off self-consciously.
“A present? For me!” Brendon does a modified Tigger hop, favoring his still tender ankle and bounces back onto the bed, bag in hand. “It doesn't matter what it is, all presents are awesome.” He pecks a kiss to the place on Spencer's cheek where beard gives way to smooth pale skin. “Oh!” Brendon spills the contents of the bag into his hands, then holds it up, studying it. “Oh Spencer, it's gorgeous.” The dim lighting from the bare overhead bulb makes the deep red fabric of the tunic shine .
Spencer hooks his chin on Brendon's shoulder. “Do you really like it?” He asks softly. “Because I saw it in a store window and I thought it was pretty, and that the color would look good on you. But then, I didn't know if it's something you'd like, or want to wear or whatever.”
“It's perfect! Thank you,” Brendon turns to awkwardly brush a kiss to Spencer's mouth.
“If you want to put it on, maybe we can go out and do something fun? Shake up Wednesday night?” Spencer returns the kiss and smiles, secretly pleased with Brendon's enthusiastic reaction.
Brendon stands up, holding the top against him and twisting to and fro, watching the fabric billow and shift with his movement. “Okay! We can go dancing. I mean, if you like dancing.”
“I do,” Spencer smiles. It's true, he does. Ryan says that one of the first things that should have tipped Haley off to the fact that Spencer might not be entirely on Team Hetero was how good a dancer he is and how much Spencer likes to go out to clubs and just dance.
Brendon grabs the top and his make up kit and heads for the bathroom, “Okay so you just lie there and let your little piggies dry,” he flaps a hand towards Spencer's feet, “and I'll just go slip into this and put on my face. Won't take me ten minutes.”
“You don't have to,” Spencer says quietly.
“Huh?”
“Put on your face, I mean. I mean, you're pretty just the way you are...” he trails off and feels embarrassment heat his face and neck. Brendon gives him an inscrutable look, blows him a kiss, and heads to the bathroom.
True to his word, nine minutes later Brendon emerges from the bathroom, new dress on, and just a little make up-eye liner, lip gloss and some strange shimmery power strategically placed. Spencer's not really sure why Brendon didn't do his make up at the table at the foot of the bed like he always does. But, Spencer's kind of glad, given his brand new realization that he has a thing for Brendon Doing His Thing and how incredibly close he came to embarrassing himself and coming in his pants during the whole pedicure thing. He's not sure how well watching Brendon putting on make up would have gone. “You look beautiful,” Spencer crosses the tiny room to kiss him.
“You have good taste, Spencer Smith!” Brendon twirls, plucking at the perfectly draped fabric. “And clearly you are a shopping genius and you pay attention to shit, because this thing fits perfectly.” Brendon reaches into a small chest of drawers and finds a pair of leggings, shimmying into them. “Now if I can find my flats...” poking under his bed with his toes he eventually extracts a plain black pair of ballet flats. “All right! Just need to grab a sweater and we're ready. You ready to go?”
“Sure,” Spencer shrugs and picks up his coat.
“Do you mind walking? I know it's getting kind of cold, but I love fall and it's a nice night.”
“If you're sure your ankle is okay, then sure, let's walk.” Spencer holds his arm out to Brendon, who giggles and slips his hand to Spencer's elbow.
They head up Belmont, taking in the crowd, because even if it's early October, and even if it's Wednesday, Boys Town is always hopping and there's always something to do. Spencer is checking out the window in a now closed store when Brendon tackle hugs him so hard the both almost topple into the street. “Whoa, what?” Spencer looks down to where Brendon's face is buried in Spencer's wool coat.
“Just, thanks!” Brendon tilts his face up to kiss Spencer's chin. “Most people, they wouldn't have bought me something like this. They'd buy me like, a garter belt or some shit like that. Something for them. And it feels like maybe you meant this to be something for me.”
Spencer takes Brendon's hand and continues their leisurely stroll. “I'm not most people, remember?” He laughs at Brendon's giggle, “And I gotta say, I'm kinda relieved you like it. I mean I thought I remembered you saying that you wore dresses and stuff, that you liked to feel pretty, and it isn't always a work thing. But then I thought maybe I got that part wrong...”
“Nope, you got that part exactly right.”
When they reach Cobra Starship there's a small but not insubstantial line up stretching a few storefronts away from the building. Zack, Brendon's friend and neighbor is bouncing and when he sees Brendon he just nods and waves them on, winking at Spencer. Once they're through the front doors, Spencer holds his hand out for Brendon's sweater. “I'm going to do coat check. Do you want to head upstairs or wait for me?”
“Oh, I'll wait.” The knowing smirk that's been on Brendon's face since they came within sight of the club grows wider.
The coat check line isn't very long as most Midwesterners cling stubbornly to non-weather appropriate outerwear well into November. Spencer's back in a flash and he and Brendon head up the stairs. “You want a drink?” Spencer tilts an elbow towards the bar and raises a questioning eyebrow. Brendon shakes his head and points to the dance floor.
The find a spot that provides at least a little room for two people to dance in the midst of the throng, and as they move to the pulse of a house mix, Spencer sees the moment of delight on Brendon's face when he realizes that Spencer isn't just another tragic white boy faking his way through a shuffle step, but can actually keep the beat and isn't afraid to move. He pulls Brendon close and they both laugh, faces raised to the ceiling.
Spencer's never seen such a mix of people. His entire gay social scene thus far has involved the GSA and the LGBT students groups at the university, and the few times that he and Brendon have been to dinner or drinks in Boys Town. There's button down straight laced guys and guys in leather and guys in drag and people and bodies writhing and moving to the ever present beat. He feels a weird sense of unironic pride that Brendon's impressed by Spencer's lack of freak out. And really, with the music pumping and Brendon here with him, Spencer feels like he belongs.
He hugs Brendon and laughs and laughs.
After a solid hour of dancing, Spencer needs a break, and he gets Brendon's attention and motions towards the bar. “Hey Pete!” Brendon yells and then holds up two fingers. Before Spencer's even settled, elbows braced on the bar rail, Brendon is dangling a bottle of water in front of his face. He takes it, kissing Brendon on the cheek.
Spencer watches the beads of sweat rolling from Brendon's hairline, down his throat, and disappearing into the neckline of his tunic. He's suddenly aware that he very much wants to lick the trail of those drops. So, he leans over and does. Brendon jerks in surprise at the feeling of Spencer's tongue on his skin, but then smiles and kisses him. They lean against the bar people watching and holding hands until Spencer says, “I gotta go to the restroom,” and takes off towards the men's room.
“Wait! Spencer! You should use the staff restrooms!” Brendon tries to snag Spencer's elbow, but he just waves off any concern and continues on his way. Not thirty seconds later he comes back towards the bar in something that is a little more than a quick walk, but not quite a trot. “Holy shit!” He yells when he's back within Brendon's earshot. “There are dudes in there full out fucking!” Spencer's blue eyes are the size of dinner plates.
Brendon laughs and says, “I tried to tell you to use the staff restrooms.”
“I'm totally listening to you next time. Damn.” Spencer hugs Brendon from behind and sways in time with the music. “I mean I'm down with going with what feels good. But those guys were like, bare ass naked in the middle of a public bathroom.” He shudders and makes a face. “That can not be sanitary.”
Still laughing, Brendon turns in his embrace, “Had enough big gay adventure for one night?”
“Maybe? Are you mad?” Spencer takes Brendon's empty water bottle and hands it to the bartender.
“Nah,” Brendon chuckles and pats Spencer's arm. “We both have to be up early tomorrow. And we need make out time before you lapse into a coma from your trauma.”
Spencer nods enthusiastically “Hell yes! Please, help me erase the memory,” He murmurs against Brendon's ear and walks them towards the stairs.
By unspoken agreement, they get a cab back to Spencer's apartment and Brendon is leaning heavily on Spencer as they head up to his flat. “Seriously, why the fuck do sprains take so long to heal?” He grouses.
“Maybe they're just bitter that they don't get all the attention of broken bones so they're taking their anger out?” Spencer keys the door open and they head towards his bedroom. He's already got his sneakers and jeans off and is pulling his sweater over his head before Brendon's even got one shoe off.
He holds his arms out and Brendon comes over to Spencer's side of the bed and steps easily into the embrace. And maybe he's secretly a little thrilled they have their own sides. “Thanks for tonight,” he sways a little, brushing absent, ill aimed kisses across Brendon's forehead. “It was really fun.”
“It was. And you totally held your own with the Cobra freaks and geeks. Except for that nasty bathroom incident. But at least you got that out of the way?” Brendon laughs and pulls the tunic over his head, folding it carefully and setting it on Spencer's desk chair, then stripping off his tights and doing the same.
Spencer turns off the bedside lamp and they find each other in the dark. They kiss and touch and whisper until Brendon says in a careful, almost frightened voice, “Spence? I've been thinking...”
“Nother date?” Spencer laughs into Brendon's hair, his hands roaming low across Brendon's back.
Brendon's breathing is loud in the dark, and after several deep in and out breaths, he says, “I've been thinking...I want to blow you. I want to know what it's like to suck your cock.”
Whatever Spencer thought Brendon was going to say, that isn't it, “Oh yeah?” His voice has gone up at least an octave and he's suddenly aware of how hard he is, and how close Brendon is.
“Would that be okay?”
Brendon sounds so young and unsure, Spencer pulls him close and kisses across the places on Brendon's face that, even in the dark, he knows are dusted with freckles. “Bren, I just want you to know, if you say you want to blow me, my answer will always be an enthusiastic yes.” He manages to keep his voice neutral, with a slightly teasing tone.
NEXT
* * *
“Hey! Sorry, sorry!” Brendon calls out to Spencer as he runs down North Sheffield. Spencer has been standing in front of the Vic, aka The Brew & View, for almost twenty minutes, and he's checked his email about a dozen times and had pretty much convinced himself he's gotten the time and place wrong right until he'd seen Brendon's bright red hoodie bouncing through the crowd. Brendon comes to a stop in front of Spencer and the weight of his backpack slamming into his makes his hug a little more emphatic than Spencer thinks he means. “I'm sorry I'm late. My stupid cheap ass phone died and...”
Spencer cuts him off with a light kiss. “I was beginning to think you stood me up. But now you're here, so it's all good.”
Brendon's eyes widen in alarm behind his black plastic framed glasses. “Dude, never, ever would I do such a thing.” He nods solemnly. “It's just, Chelsea Jenkins, she finally got a key change right and she wanted to do it over again from the top so...” Brendon stops for breath, idly running the zipper on Spencer's hoodie up and down.
“Piano student?” Spencer raises an eyebrow and takes Brendon's hand, steering them towards the box office before it's too late.
Brendon nods, and fumbles with one of his backpack's straps. “Yeah, she's eight and amazing. She's only been taking lessons for a couple of weeks but she has this awesome sense of what she should be doing and she's so intuitive, you know? Sometimes I like to just sit and watch her.”
Helpfully holding on to the backpack so Brendon can unzip the small compartment on the front, Spencer says, “You like kids huh?”
Brendon grins and extracts a ziploc bag stuffed with small bills. “Love 'em. I have, like, a million nieces and nephews,” he pauses and something darkens his expression before he can shake it away and force a smile. “But, they're in Vegas and I'm here now, so...” he shrugs, smiles and stuffs a handful of ones and fives into the front pocket of his jeans. “One day I'm gonna have, like, a million kids of my own.”
“A million, huh?” Spencer takes out his wallet and steps up to the ticket booth as Brendon's putting away his money and zipping up his backpack.
“Hey!” Brendon scowls and hip checks Spencer out of the line. “I invited you on a date and I'm gonna pay 'cause I'm a motherfuckin' gentleman. Your money's no good here.”
“Okay, okay!” Spencer laughs at Brendon's fierce expression and doesn't make any further attempt to intervene when Brendon slaps down a wad of bills and says “Two please!”
Brendon hands Spencer his ticket and heads to the bar, where he orders and takes some bills out of his pocket, smoothing them out on the polished wood before handing them to the bartender. “So, yeah. Eventually I wanna adopt my very own Rainbow Tribe. Go all Josephine Baker.”
“Who?”
“Oh, dude. Josephine Baker-she was, like, one of the first African American movie stars. And when she got tired of Hollywood's racist bullshit she moved to France, became an international cabaret star, adopted a dozen kids from all over the world, and lived in a castle.” Brendon raises his can of MGD, pointing the way into the theater.
Spencer has no preference as far as seating choices, so he just follows Brendon, who heads up into the balcony. “Wow. How do you know all this stuff?”
Once seated, Brendon takes Spencer's beer and balances the pizza on his knees so Spencer can sit down. “Well, when I first started working at the Kit-Kat I had no idea what the fuck I was doing, right? Then Gee-you met her right? She works the door at Cobra. Anyway, she sort of took me under her shiny, sparkly wing and showed me the ropes. And then I did a little on line research, you know, on cabaret and the kind of performing I'd be doing. And well. Josephine Baker was the shit.”
“Fair enough,” Spencer tilts his beer towards Brendon in salute. “While I have no doubt you'll be an awesome dad, please don't move to France. I'd miss you.”
Brendon grins and takes a gulping swallow of his beer, “You really think I'd be a good dad?” And then takes a bite of pizza, greasy sauce and cheese sticking to his lips.
“Uh, yeah. Sure. Eventually, I mean. I'm not ready, to like, have your babies. Yet.” Feeling awkward, Spencer sips from his beer, “ So, what movie is this again? It seems really popular.” He looks around and sees that the theater is filling fast.
“Blazing Saddles,” Brendon says licking sauce from his fingers. Taking in Spencer's blank look, Brendon sets his beer on the floor by his seat and shoves the pizza at Spencer. “Seriously? Are you telling me you've never heard of Blazing Saddles? One of the funniest movies of all time?” Brendon's voice rises in incredulity.
Pulling a face, Spencer looks around the theater and says, 'Um...no?”
“Jesus, were you raised in a cardboard box or something? Mel Brooks made Blazing Saddles in 1974, and it's fucking hilarious. So hilarious it's number 6 on AFI's all time funniest movies list” Brendon sniffs with affronted finality and grabs the pizza back from Spencer, shoving the end of another slice into his mouth. “You do like comedy, right?”
Spencer squawks at Brendon's outburst and says, “1974! My dad was like, 5 in 1974.”
“Please tell me you know who Mel Brooks is.” Brendon leans over to retrieve his beer, and Spencer can't help but stare at the broad slice of Brendon's back that's revealed when his shirt is hiked up by the movement.
Feeling rather affronted Spencer huffs, “I'm not an idiot, you know. Of course I know who Mel Brooks is. Robin Hood: Men in Tights, right? And my mom and grandma totally went to see The Producers when it played at The Paris.”
“Oh man, with the Hoff?” Brendon is curled in on himself and giggling. ”And dude, this movie beats the shit out of Men in Tights, just saying. Jesus.”
“Are you sure you were born in the 1980s and not the 1880s? Do you actually like any movies made after, like 1975?” Spencer peevishly takes a slice of pizza and faces the stage where the movie screen has been lowered.
Patting Spencer's leg, Brendon says, “For your information I think Jackass 3D is genius. So is Once. And anything by Wes Anderson owns my soul. So there.”
Spencer is prevented from saying anything else by the lowering of the lights and the flickering of images on the screen. He has to admit, when he read Brendon's email and found out they'd be going to see a movie, his first though was all the groping he'd get in. As both the groper and, hopefully, the gropee.
The fact that Brendon would be sitting with his eyes glued to the screen, mouthing dialog along with the characters while braying loud donkey laughter didn't ever figure into his plan. He's trying not to be pissed off. He's eaten all the pizza and gone back to the bar for more beer, and sort of rubbed his palm over Brendon's denim clad thigh, and still Brendon is not picking up what Spencer's throwing down. He moves in closer and actually goes for the arm stretch into arm over shoulder thing.
But Brendon just snorts out a laugh, smiles at Spencer and leans his head on Spencer's shoulder. It's not even that the movie's bad--It's sort of actually pretty stupid and hilarious, and exactly the kind of thing Spencer finds funny-it's just the whole thing is very very frustrating. Eventually Spencer abandons his plans for movie theater make outs and watches the film, Brendon's hand held in his.
It's only when Spencer turns to lower his mouth to Brendon's ear to ask a question that he realizes that Brendon is fast asleep. Head lolling and mouth slightly open, his chest rises and falls in a slow even rhythm, and Spencer smiles, brushing Brendon's hair from his face and taking the beer out of his hand before it spills. Eventually, the end credits roll and the house lights come up, and as people try to step over them to get out of their row, Brendon wakes up.
He gives Spencer a drowsy smile and stretches his arms over his head. “Shit, how long was I out?”
“Not long,” Spencer lies, wiping at the tiny circular wet mark on his shirt where Brendon had drooled a little. He takes Brendon's hand and tugs him to his feet, gathering their coats and shuffling him out of the theater and on to the street. “So, awesome idea.”
Yawning and scrubbing his hands across his cheeks, Brendon laughs self-consciously. “So, maybe Slurpees in 7-11 parking lots is a pretty good first date after all.” He scrunches up his nose and makes an apologetic face.
“Nah, it was fine.” Spencer threads his fingers with Brendon's as they walk down Sheffield to Belmont. “It's just...it's kinda hard to talk at the movies you know?”
Brendon laughs and says, “So that makes it a perfect first date!”
“I like talking to you,” Spencer looks at Brendon, blue eyes full of sincerity. “I like listening to you, too.”
Brendon laughs so hard he has to stop walking, “Oh man! Are you serious?” He sees Spencer's confusion and laughs harder. “Oh my god! Spencer Smith, I can honestly say that no one has ever said that to me before. I think consensus is that I talk too fucking much, all the fucking time.”
Spencer frowns and draws Brendon in close, wrapping his arms around Brendon's waist. “I think consensus means everyone agrees. And in case you're confused, I'm not everyone, and I don't fucking agree.” He kisses Brendon, a firm press of his lips, to emphasize his point. “Also, if I'm gonna be hanging out in the dark pressed up against you, it would be cool if there was more, you know, groping and kissing and touching and shit.”
Making a low noise at the back of his throat, Brendon threads his fingers through Spencer's hair and pulls him closer, nipping at his bottom lip. “Shit. Wasted fucking opportunity. I'm a moron.”
“You're a moron with a boyfriend who lives close by, just saying.” Spencer smiles and swipes the pad of his thumb across Brendon's cheekbones.
Brendon goes from crestfallen to gleeful in the time it takes for Spencer to blink once, “Okay, boyfriend. I like how you think. And I'm super excited to see how the college half lives!” Brendon smacks Spencer on the ass and they both laugh as Spencer changes direction from the L and back down Belmont.
They fill the walk to Spencer's triplex with chatter about the movie, and the Vic, and some of the bands they've seen there. And when they walk up a flight to the middle floor and Spencer unlocks his door and flicks on the light, Brendon is rendered silent. “Holy Shit! Spencer are you secretly rich or something?” He takes in the wide living room, with actual grown up furniture, and has to lean against a small bookcase inside the front door, he's so shocked.
Spencer tries to see his apartment through Brendon's eyes. He thinks about the shitty one room bed-sit that takes so much of Brendon's money. “Um...I have a scholarship and my parents pay most of my bills. They want me to get good grades, and I tried the dorms in freshman year and it was a disaster; so much noise and distraction. So, I made my case for living on my own. Luckily I'm pretty responsible and I know it's my parents' money so it's not like I'm milking it. It's a nice neighborhood, but not a great one. Luckily the landlord and my dad were in the same frat or some shit, so the rent's not too bad.”
“Don't tell me you're a frat boy!” Brendon kicks off his sneakers and flops down onto the sofa, his hands roaming over the fabric.
“Shit, no!” Spencer spits out in disgust. “Much to dear old dad's disappointment, I have like, zero interest in any of that Greek pledging bullshit. I think I got off the hook for fulfilling family frat obligations when I came out to my parents and my mom figured out she could join PFLAG instead of Phi Beta Whatever boosters.”
In the midst of shrugging off his sweater, Brendon stops and stares up at Spencer, “Wait, you're parents know you're into dudes?” He takes Spencer's hand and tugs him down beside him.
“Well, yeah? I mean it took forever for me to figure it out. Once I did, I didn't see any point in hiding it.” Spencer just shrugs like it's no big deal.
Spencer can't read the expression in Brendon's eyes when he stares at their still joined hands and says, “That's so awesome. And your parents...they still love you and stuff?”
Gently, Spencer presses a kiss to Brendon's temple, “Yeah, Bee. They still love me. Not everyone's shitty.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Brendon stretches and yawns and, slapping his palms against his knees, stands. “So, do I get the tour of the Smith mansion?”
“Come on,” Spencer rolls his eyes and heads across the living room. “Breakfast nook,” he says in a bored voice, making air quotes. “Or the place where my practice kit lives. Too bad the neighbors are bitches and freak out whenever I play.” He watches as Brendon strokes an approving hand along the snare and cymbals, flicking his thumb and forefinger at it so it makes a metallic pinging noise.
“Fucking love drums.” Brendon murmurs.
“You play?” Spencer doesn't know how this had never come up.
“Oh yeah, drum core in high school. Jazz band, all that shit. But there' s no room for a kit at my place, and I can't afford one anyway so...” Brendon trails off and then turns a look of forced cheerfulness towards Spencer. “Drummers are hot.” He adds.
“Yup, we are!” Spencer smacks a kiss to Brendon's cheek and then slaps him on the ass, squeezing a little. “Any time you want to play, come on by. Fuck the neighbor's wrath!” He shakes a raised fist towards the ceiling and then continues with the tour. “Through there's the kitchen. Don't even bother looking in my fridge. I think there's some cold cuts of indeterminate age, some cheese slices, and maybe what used to be a tomato. Also some milk. You know, for the cereal.” Spencer points a finger to the top of the refrigerator where a row of boxes perches.
“I'm Brendon Urie, and I approve of the cereal diet!” Brendon laughs and follows Spencer out of the galley kitchen and down a small hall.
He twists the doorknob and holds his arm out like a game show spokesmodel. “You will be shocked to know that the room with the toilet is the bathroom.”
Spencer's not really prepared for Brendon to push past him and stand in the middle of the ugly green tiled room with his arms spread wide. “It's like you can see into my dreams,” he whispers, stroking the edge of the bathtub. “You have a tub. An honest to god bath fucking tub! Spencer, you have no idea how dedicated I was to Mr. Bubble. We used to get up close and personal, like, three times a week, no joke. He was the shit. Now all I have is a stupid broken shower stall, so we had to break up.” Brendon's pout is so over the top Spencer laughs and ruffles his hand through his hair.
“Dude, my tub is your tub.” Spencer only realizes what he's said once the words are out of his mouth. “I mean, any time you want to use it you totally can, like my drums, right? Um...I'm not much of a bath guy...” he finishes stupidly.
Brendon's shoulders shake with silent laughter at Spencer's awkwardness. “Okay, I'm ready for the big finish. Spencer, show me where you rest your pretty little head.”
Hustling to the next door, Spencer says, “Okay, bedroom. End of tour. Now we make out,” and herds Brendon into the room, tugging on his t-shirt and winding a hand into his hair. Brendon grunts out a laugh when Spencer frog marches them though piles of laundry and textbooks, over to the bed, hitting it with his knees and tipping down onto the mattress.
Giggling as Spencer trails kisses across his cheeks and chin and neck, Brendon fidgets until he's stretched out prone, arms and legs wide, and says, “Spencer Smith, you must be an angel, because your giant fucking bed is heaven!”
“C'mere, dork.” Spencer whispers, tugging Brendon close and kissing him slow.
Brendon strokes his palms over Spencer's chest and, watching the path of his fingertips across Spencer's collarbone, says, “I'm sorry the date was so lame, and that I don't have any money to do more actual fun stuff. Sorry it's just hanging out with me.”
“Nah, don't be dumb, man. It was fun, and hanging out with you is the best part, anyway.” He gives Brendon a squeezing hug of reassurance.
It seems to work, Brendon smiles and relaxes. He melts into Spencer as they continue the unhurried exploration of each others' mouths. “If you'd let me pay, we could do other fun stuff sometimes, though,” Spencer says as he traces his palms across the ladder of Brendon's ribs.
Stopping, Brendon simply says, “That wouldn't be fair. I don't want to owe anyone anything.” But, he doesn't pull away from Spencer's embrace, and he doesn't seem angry.
Hands drifting to Brendon's hips, Spencer says, “It wouldn't be taking advantage. It's fun stuff; stuff I want to do. And you there with me would make it even better.” He leans his forehead against Brendon's.
“I just can't, okay?”
Sighing melodramatically, Spencer says, “Okay, I guess I can just suck it up and spend all our time together...hanging out.” He waggles his eyebrows and makes Brendon giggle. “Bren? Can I ask...”
Brendon rolls his eyes and gives Spencer's shoulder a little shake. “If you're going to ask me if you can ask me something, the answer is yes, dude. Ask away.”
“Okay,” Spencer nods, slowly choosing his words. “I don't mean this in any judgey,mean way. I'm just curious. So, like, you have four or five jobs, right?” He pauses until Brendon makes an agreeing noise, his eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out where the conversation is going. “And, I mean, I've seen your apartment. So I guess...I guess I don't get why you don't have the money to do, uhn...stuff.” They're lying with their heads on Spencer's pillow, so close Spencer can see the nerve under Brendon's right eye twitch and feel his breath across his cheeks.
Licking his lips, Brendon takes a deep breath and launches into his explanation, “Well, job one-cabaret at Cobra Starship-isn't actually much of a job. I lucked into it when I was busing tables there and Gabe, the manager, heard me singing along to what the DJ was playing. It's a couple nights a week and it's suppose to get me exposure according to Gabe, whatever the fuck that means. I get paid in tips and a bar tab.” He holds up two fingers, “Job number two-the drag show at the Kit-Kat Club-is, you got it, pretty much for tips. They're pretty good in the summer when the patio's packed-not so much any time else. And we all split tips. And the economy sucks and it's near a student neighborhood, and most of the money I make there goes back into costumes and make up.” Brendon's smile lights up his face. “It sure is fun though.”
“And you're really good at it.” Spencer inches forward, his nose nuzzling Brendon's.
“Thanks!” Brendon's smile is genuine, and he pecks a kiss to the freckled tip of Spencer's nose. “So, that brings us to job number three: music lessons.” He yawns and takes off his glasses, bracing his hand on Spencer's hip to lean over and place them carefully on the night stand. “You may have noticed, I don't have an actual piano. Most moms want their kids to learn piano, and some aren't willing to make do with a keyboard. So, sometimes I go to the students. Although, my guitar students are fucking awesome, too. But, anyway, most of my students, for whatever reason, live on the South Side. And, okay, they can't always pay, in cash anyway. But their parents make me dinner. And just because they're poor doesn't mean they don't deserve to learn. Music is for everyone, despite what the fucking board of education has to say about that.” Spencer is charmed by the fierce conviction in Brendon's eyes. “So, that leaves part time, minimum wage at MAC to pay the bills. I suppose they could have made me a key holder or a shift supervisor by now, if I didn't call out all the time, and give too many make overs without selling enough product.”
Spencer tugs on Brendon's belt loops until they're lying half on top of each other, “Fuck, you have no idea how amazing you are.” Brendon's shirt is rucked up almost to his armpits and Spencer slides eager hands down the long line of his spine.
“I'm really not,” Brendon buries his face in Spencer's shoulder and mumbles, “Spencer I'm afraid to tell you how very not awesome I am. You'll hate me. And I don't know if I can take that.”
Spencer sits up and cuddles Brendon to his side. “I'm pretty fucking sure that there's not much anyone could do to make me hate them. Especially, you. Like, right here? Right now? You could totally tell me your new hobby is drowning puppies and I'd be all meh-everyone has issues.” He can tell his attempt at levity hasn't helped by the horrified expression on Brendon's face.
“Don't joke,” Brendon says sullenly, fidgeting away from Spencer and pulling at a loose thread in the hem of his t-shirt. “I stole okay? I stole money!” He flings out his arms and his voice is loud. “There I said it.”
Alarmed at the tears welling in Brendon's eyes, Spencer pulls him into his lap, stroking his face and kissing his cheek, “Hey, hey, I'm sure you had a reason. It's okay, Brendon.” He smiles.
A shaky sigh escapes from deep in Brendon's chest, “It's really not. I stole. I stole money from my fucking parents, okay? I needed to get the fuck out of Vegas. And I got accepted to cosmetology school in Arizona, so I filled out some forms and got my college money...”
“Wait,” Spencer interrupts in confusion, “So, you used your college fund, for...college? How is that stealing exactly?”
Brendon twists his fingers in the cotton of Spencer's shirt, “It was for BYU. They wanted me to go up to Idaho, like my sister Kyla. And I...didn't want that. But they wouldn't listen. So I figured out how to get the money. And...” he stops and gulps, swallowing down a sob. “And then I took all the money out of the bank account that they were putting towards my mission. Because I realized I didn't believe in God and didn't want to be Mormon and just had to get the fuck out of there. So..I took my parents' money and went to fucking beauty school, and ran away to be gay in Chicago.”
“Brendon...” Spencer rests his hand lightly on Brendon's neck, “That money was for you, for your education, to help you with getting started in life I don't understand...”
With an angry, narrow-eyed glance Brendon interrupts, “No, you don't understand. I was supposed to be this perfect Mormon son. I was supposed to do all the things my brothers did, just the way my parents wanted. But I didn't. And I took the money anyway. So, I'm paying them back. I send them a check every month. With interest.” He stares down at his fingers, twisted in the fabric of Spencer's shirt.
Brendon's on the verge of tears and Spencer feels something painful and bright puling beneath his ribs, so he just wraps his arms around Brendon in what he hopes is the biggest warmest hug he's ever had. “You are amazing, okay? Don't argue, I know. You're brave and it's okay, Bee, it really is.”
“Yeah, well, your parents still love you...”
“And yours love you,” Spencer ducks down to look in Brendon's eyes, “Maybe not the way you need them to, or want them to, right now, but they do. They're your parents. They won't stay assholes forever, I promise.”
Smile wobbling dangerously towards tears, Brendon says raggedly, “They're not assholes, they're really not. They're good people. And god, I let them down so many times, over so many things.” He gulps and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.
“You were just being you. I'm sorry that wasn't enough for them.” Spencer strokes slow patterns up and down Brendon's bare back. “No one can hate you Brendon, don't you see that?”
Brendon shrugs and snuggles in closer, trying and failing to stifle a jaw-crackingly wide yawn. “I'm really tired, Spence. Maybe I should just go home?”
Spencer runs a finger nail across the shiny cotton of his duvet cover. “Um, if you want you can stay here. Like, if you don't want to sleep um, with me, I mean in the same bed as me, Ryan calls my sofa the narcolepsy couch because it's so awesome to sleep on.”
“I like sleeping-just sleeping-with you.” Brendon yawns again and laughs. He tugs his shirt over his head. When they've both stripped down to their underwear, Spencer folds back the duvet and holds it out for Brendon to crawl into bed. “Oh my god, warmest, best sheets ever,” he mumbles, thumping the pillow and squirming around to get comfortable.
Spencer sighs, spooning against Brendon's back and holding him tight, “Sleep well,” he says quietly and brushes his lips across the nape of Brendon's neck.
* * *
Jon smacks two venti cups full of black coffee onto the tiny cafe table and then flips one of the cane backed chairs around to straddle it. “So, who is the sweet young thing who's stolen away all of our Spencer's time and attention?”
Ryan snorts, grabbing up one of the coffees and taking a gulp. “Holy shit! Hot!” He coughs and sputters and wipes at his mouth with the tails of the purple paisley scarf knotted around his neck.
Rolling his eyes at both his friends, Spencer takes a long pull at the straw in his iced mocha and says, “Brendon, his name is Brendon.”
“Tell me more about this Brendon,” Jon steeples his fingers on the chair back and stares indulgently at Spencer.
“What the fuck man, this isn't Loveline. His name's Brendon, he's awesome, we've been hanging out.”
Smacking Ryan's hands out of the way before he can take another scalding sip, Jon dumps a generous dollop from a carton of half and half into the cup. “I'm just interested, okay? Your happiness is totally important to me. Also, you missed band practice, like twice, so it must be twooo wuv.”
“Yeah, Spence, tell Jon how you met!” Ryan smirks and takes a tentative sip of his coffee, smiling to find it the perfect temperature.
Spencer scowls and sets his plastic cup down on the table, twisting the straw in the ice cubes. “Fuck you both, very much.”
“Okay okay, I can't take it! I'll tell you,” Ryan sits up, waving his large hands around in excitement. “Dude, Brendon? Is totally the dude from the Kit-Kat Club, you know the drag place Kelts took us to, and then Spencer fucked off without so much as a good night?”
Smirking from behind his cup, Jon says, “Oh really? The hottie sailor chick, um dude? Tell me more.”
Spencer is silent and glowering at his friends but Ryan will not be stopped, “The best part? Is that Brendon is totally the “girl” ol'Spence got his panties in a bunch about finding hot during his big hetero freak out last month.” Ryan crows.
“Wait. So, the hot girl, is a hot guy, and Spencer's dating the hot girl...guy...er person?” Jon gazes from Spencer to Ryan and back again, unsure whether he's followed along correctly.
“Yeah!” Ryan smacks Jon in the arm and takes an annoyingly loud slurp of his coffee. “And? Dude is from Vegas! Spencer actually applied to his high school for band but didn't get in. He believes it's all fate and shit and they're MFEO.”
“I repeat; fuck you both, very much. Sideways. With a two by four.” Spencer is hunched over the table, blinking into his cup.
Jon raises his hand, “Dude, high five!” Spencer raises an eyebrow and taps his hand to Jon's. “If you gotta blow off band practice, getting laid is a totally valid excuse.”
Spencer blushes so intensely pinky red streaks heat his neck and chest. “Oh shit,” Ryan brings his hand to his mouth, muffling his laughter. “You and Brendon still haven't fucked? It's been, like weeks. Is he deformed? Missing parts? Religious?” Ryan is staring at him agog and Spencer knows his best friend cannot fathom any kind of dating that does not involve fucking. “Spencer, when two boys love each other very much it's perfectly natural to get naked and..”
“Well...not that it's anyone's business,” Spencer quickly cuts Ryan off, “but we're taking it slow,okay? Figuring shit out.” Spencer harrumphs and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Wait. Wait. You and the sailor girl-dude haven't experienced the joy of er...manly love?”
Shoulders hunched, Spencer says, “I am going to assume you're not trying to be an asshole. I'm not sure why it's any of your fucking business, but no, we haven't had sex...yet. Brendon's never...been in a relationship before and we're just...just dating and having fun okay?”
“Aww, you're waiting 'til it means something. That's adorable.” Jon reaches across the table to muss up Spencer's hair. Spencer growls and smacks Jon away, carefully smoothing the flat ironed strands back across his forehead.
Spencer drains his cup and throws it towards the trash bin, where it lands jauntily perched on the very top of a heap of paper cups. “Can we please talk about something else? Or better yet can we just go practice now? I have to go soon.”
“Oh yeah, it's date night, isn't it? Or isn't every night date night in the Spencer and Brendon show?” Ryan sounds almost bitter as he works on his fingerless gloves and picks up his cup. Jon zips up his hoodie and holds the door open for everyone.
Climbing the stairs to the El station two at a time, Spencer looks behind him and says, “Brendon's performing tonight at the Kit-Kat, if you want to come.” He's really only being polite and hoping that his friends say no.
Jon and Ryan exchange glances, and what looks like to be abortive retching motions, and Jon finally says, “Uh, nah. We have to work out those loops Ryan made earlier today.”
“Yeah, you know, charting that shit takes forever.” Ryan jumps through the train doors and flings himself across two seats.
Kicking Ryan's tweed trouser clad legs out of the way, Jon flops down beside him and says, “Especially when the rock and roll boy genius can't read or write music.” and hooks a thumb towards Ryan, making Spencer snort a laugh out through his nose.
“Hey!” Ryan frowns, “Lots of musical geniuses can't read or write music, so there!” He glowers at Jon.
“Oh yeah?” Spencer swings from the train's center bar, “Like who? And are you actually calling yourself a genius? Because dude, I've heard some of your 'hooks'.”
Still frowning and kicking the point of his wingtip into the side of Jon's sneaker, Ryan thinks for a second and says, “Lionel Ritchie.”
“What?” Spencer and Jon squawk at the same time.
Sitting up straight, Ryan tosses his head a little and says, “I saw it on VH1. Lionel Ritchie can't read or write music.”
Jon can't stop laughing. “That's your rock and roll musical genius? Dude, did you Dad ever listen to anything that wasn't on LITE FM when you were growing up?”
“What? The Commadores are really good!” Ryan defends passionately.
“Sure they are, Penny Lover. You and Jon have a good time working things out, All Night Long.” Spencer's shoulders shake with laughter and he can barely hang on to the pole as the train takes a corner, he's laughing so hard. Jon is laughing equally as hard and slaps Spencer's palm in a high five.
“What?” Ryan stares at them both in confusion.
* * *
Spencer gets to the Kit-Kat club early enough to get a table, but he's by himself so he settles for the bar. He briefly thought about going back stage to say hi to Brendon, but wasn't sure if that was okay. So, he just sits at the bar nursing his dirty martini and people watching. It's a small but interesting crowd tonight, everything from what appears to be a bachelorette party to a smattering of gay couples, to a few power suited guys in the big corner booth, and a non-plussed Cubs gear clad family who seem to have accidentally wandered around the corner from Wrigleyville. The bartender plunks a plate of calamari down in front of him, and Spencer realizes how hungry he is.
The first diva to perform is someone Spencer's sure he's heard Brendon refer to as Patrick. She works the room in a beehive and feather and rhinestone covered cocktail dress, shaking and shimmying and lip synching to a medley of R&B hits, and the crowd eats it up. Spencer's seat at the bar is in front of the sparkly silver curtain that the club uses to section off the hallway to the dressing rooms, so on her way by, Patrick gives Spencer a big grin and squeezes his arm. “I'll tell Brendon you're here,” she says softly as she flits behind the drapes.
When the house lights dim and the follow spot appears on the sliver curtain, Spencer feels his stomach swoop, and he's pretty sure it's not from the ¼ of the martini he's actually swallowed. Brendon had said he wanted to try out something new tonight, but refused to say exactly what. The DJ gets the crowd going, introducing the act and then shouts “Surrender Dorothy!” as the curtains part.
The crowd seems a little confused. The Kit-Kat is known for sexy disco divas and pop impersonations of Madonna and Pink! and Lady Gaga. The bachelorette party looks at one another in confusion as the opening strains of Somewhere Over the Rainbow blasts through the sound system and the tornado scene from The Wizard of Oz is projected on one long white wall. And then, Brendon appears. He's wearing a very short blue gingham dress, braided pig tails with matching blue bows, lace trimmed ankle socks, and the most amazing ruby slippers Spencer's ever seen--his sister Crystal was Dorothy for Hallowe'en one year, okay? He even has a little stuffed dog in a basket that he loops over his arm as he starts to work the room.
He lip syncs perfectly, over emoting and faux warbling along with Judy as he sashays between tables and flirts with patrons. Eventually, the crowd warms up, enthusiastically tucking bills into the dog basket or handing them to Brendon, who tucks them into the elastic cuff of the starched white pantaloons he wears beneath his dress. And by the time Brendon's curtsying and bowing by the curtain, they're hooting and hollering and whistling.
Before ducking out of sight, he leans over and husks, “Gimme a few minutes and come back to my dressing room, okay?” in Spencer's ear, planting a crimson kiss to his beard.
After calculatedly nursing his drink for ten minutes after Brendon disappears behind the curtain, Spencer takes the swizzle stick, pulls all three of the olives off with his teeth, and stands. While he finishes chewing, he fishes his wallet out of his back pocket and slaps a generous tip down on the bar. Squaring his shoulders he licks his lips and heads down the hallway to Brendon's dressing room.
The door is barely open before he has his arms full of Brendon. Spencer's back slams into the wall just beside the doorway and Brendon reaches out a hand long enough to flick the lock, then returning it to insistently grope Spencer's hips and ass. “Holy shit Spencer, you look so fucking good.” Brendon slicks his eager mouth across Spencer's. He's removed most of his make up but his eyes are still lined a smudged black, giving him a smoldering appearance. “Did you do this yourself, for me?” He traces the pad of his thumb across Spencer's brow bone. “Copper looks fucking fierce with your blue eyes.”
Ryan, it seems, is going through a thing. He's decided that make up on dudes makes things more interesting, and like everything else Ryan has set his mind to, he has decided to be the best at applying make up. When he heard that Spencer was meeting Brendon at the Kit-Kat, he had stopped band practice so he could 'do Spencer's eyes'. He'd lined the upper and lower lids, applied mascara and then dabbed bright copper shadow from a tiny pot onto Spencer's lids. He'd felt self-conscious and stupid, but now, seeing Brendon's reaction, he's glad he let Ryan talk him into it.
“Yeah,” he husks against the point of Brendon's chin. “Bren? What...” Brendon stops trying to inhale Spencer's face and tangles their fingers together. He leads Spencer over to a worn green velvet sofa and pushes until Spencer sits down, only to crawl into his lap.
Spencer's hands roam Brendon's bare back. He's taken off most of his costume with the exception of what Spencer guesses are called bloomers; frilly short underpants that are secured at the thigh with tiny blue ribbons. “I dunno man, I'm just all fuckin' keyed up. That went awesome, did you see? Audience ate that shit up. And I'm like, way over tired and you just look so fuckin' hot.” His fingers fumble with the tiny buttons on Spencer's dress shirt and he mumbles into Spencer's mouth. “Fuckin' adrenaline, man. I just...I want...I need...”
“Yeah, yeah,” Spencer tips his head back to rest against the wall as Brendon scrapes his teeth over his throat and sucks bruises on his collarbones. Spencer's long fingers slip beneath the waistband of Brendon's undergarment and he cups his ass in the palms of his hands. Brendon pants and bucks his hips, straddling Spencer's thigh and grinding back and forth. “Jesus, you're so...”
Brendon sucks on Spencer's bottom lip before scraping it between his teeth. Spencer whines and arches his hips up, frustrated by the feeling of his rigid cock, still trapped inside his jeans. “Can we...can you,” Spencer takes one of Brendon's hands away from petting through his hair and lowers it to his crotch, carefully watching Brendon, hoping it's okay.
“Shit yes,” Brendon brings their mouths back together in a messy clash of teeth and lip, and slides his fingers across Spencer's erection, popping the button on his dark jeans and then stroking the backs of his fingers low across Spencer's belly.
Squeezing Brendon's ass, Spencer's voice is a low rumble in his chest, “You gonna get serious?”
Brendon laughs and leans his weight more against Spencer's chest. They're still both sitting up, and he's grinding against Spencer's thigh. He reaches into Spencer's boxer briefs and gives his cock a tentative squeeze. “It feels just like mine,” he says, slightly awed.
“What the fuck did you think it would feel like?” Spencer looks at Brendon from where he's licking stripes up and down the tendons in his neck. “Puppies and sunshine? Skin's skin for fuck's sake.”
Brendon snorts and rests his forehead against Spencer's shoulder, “I dunno, I never really thought about it, I guess. The feeling, I mean. Because I totally dream, like ten times a night about jerking you off. Feels good. Better than good.” He closes his eyes and thinks back to Spencer jacking off beside him in his apartment. Tries to remember what Spencer did, how he liked it.
Brendon swallows and swirls his thumb over the head of Spencer's cock. Spencer gives an appreciative whine and thrusts up harder into Brendon's hand. Brendon licks his lips, and steadying himself with a hand on Spencer's shoulder, starts a slow, squeezing rhythm, his fingers clutching and sliding against Spencer's sensitive skin.
Spencer grunts and lowers his hands to Brendon's hips, steadying him as his twitching and grinding against Spencer's thigh amps up. He leans forward to lick at the sweat pooling between Brendon's collarbones and then is stunned by the speed with which Brendon jumps up. “Shit, I need to take these off.”
“Huh?” Spencer opens his eyes and watches Brendon comically hopping around trying to take off his pantaloons.
“I don't have the money to have them dry cleaned and...I'm gonna wreck 'em if I don't take them off. Now.” Having finally undone the ribbons, Brendon shimmies his narrow hips tugging on the rough cotton until they drift over his calves, pooling on the floor. “Okay, okay,” He's wearing y-front briefs and he adjusts himself in them before climbing back on to Spencer. “Sorry.”
“S'okay. But just...” Spencer pointedly looks down his body and to Brendon's hand. He catches on quickly, resuming the slow teasing rhythm of his fingers on Spencer's hard cock. The cant of his hips echoes the movement of his hand, and soon he's back where he was; hard and panting and bumping his forehead against Spencer's shoulder. “Bren, you close? I'm so fucking close.”
“Uhhn,” Brendon says as he slides his cock, still covered by the cotton of his underpants, along the crease where Spencer's hip bends. He shudders hard, makes a pinched whining noise that escapes slowly between his teeth, then slumps forward. Without realizing it, his fingers have slowed their stroking and are simply squeezing Spencer's cock in a tight fist.
Spencer makes a coughing, hacking noise and curls forward, his arm around Brendon's lower back the only thing keeping them both from sliding to the floor. Slippery ropes of comes slick between Brendon's fingers and fill his cupped palm. “Holy shit,” Spencer says weakly as he slumps back onto the couch.
“I came in my pants,” Brendon makes a face, leaning over the edge of the sofa to pluck tissues from a box set on a low table.
Spencer can barely keep his eyes open. “Then take 'em off,” he rolls his shoulders and curls his legs up onto the sofa when Brendon stands up. He's laying flat on is back, zipper still open and hands resting low on his belly. His breathing is starting to slow, and Brendon thinks he's just about asleep.
Brendon figures what the fuck, and drops his shorts in the middle of his dressing room floor. Scooping them up he uses them to clean himself up as best he can before firing them by the elastic waistband onto the pile of his street clothes. He takes a short dressing gown, a deep red and covered in embroidered Japanese fans, off of a peg by his make up table, wraps it around himself, then strides over to the sofa. He wriggles against Spencer until there is room for him to lie down.
Sighing happily, Brendon closes his eyes.
* * *
Wednesday nights aren't good for much. Spencer has an early econ lecture on Thursday mornings, and Brendon has to open at MAC, so they usually just hang out at Brendon's when he gets off from the Kit-Kat Club, eat toasted peanut butter sandwiches, make out, and watch movies. They haven't really progressed from the events in Brendon's dressing room the week before--was that second base? Spencer's not sure how that analogy is supposed to work-- so they spend a lot of time groping each other and kissing and cuddling. And Spencer is fine with it.
Really, he is.
So what if Jon keeps making jokes about Spencer's eyes not being the only blue part of his anatomy?
It'll happen when it happens. Which doesn't look like tonight, at any rate. Spencer is reviewing for a test, and Brendon is chattering away about a gorgeous bride who is bringing her entire bridal party into to MAC on the week end, and he gets to do their make up. He's also giving himself a speedy manicure and pedicure. His fingernails are painted a purple so dark it's almost black,and he's currently slicking the same color across his toenails. Spencer has been pretending to read the same page in his text book for the last five minutes, but he's really watching Brendon.
“You can try it, you know,” Brendon says without looking up from his task.
Spencer's stomach flips a little when he realizes he's busted. Is it weird to spend so much time staring at your boyfriend? He's not sure and he doesn't really have anyone to ask. “Hmm?” He sets his textbook down on the bed and smiles at Brendon.
“I can give you a mini-pedicure if you want. Like, with clear polish if the colored stuff freaks you out.” Brendon twists at the waist, reaching behind him to his cramped make up table and waving a bottle of transparent nail polish at Spencer.
Brendon leans forward and tugs at Spencer's sock covered big toe. “C'mon, I bet your toes are just as hot as the rest of you. And lots of guys get pedicures, trust me.” Something unreadable is glowing in the dark depths of Brendon's eyes.
Since he met Brendon, Spencer's gotten comfortable with wearing eye make up so, what the hell, why not? “Sure,” he sits up, tugging at his blue argyle socks and then dropping them onto the floor by Brendon's bed.
Happily wriggling his own toes against the quilt that covers the foot of his bed, Brendon extricates himself from his awkward crouch on his make up stool. “See?” He takes Spencer's heel in his hand, “I knew your feet would be beautiful.”
“Who has beautiful toes? That's weird, man.” Spencer is staring down at his own feet. To him they just look like, well, feet. They get him from point A to point B, and provide a damn good excuse to spend a lot of money on cool as fuck shoes.
Gathering up the tools he'd been using to fix up his own pedicure, Brendon sets them on the bed and runs his thumb along the inside arch of Spencer's right foot. “Are you telling me you've never heard of foot fetishes? There's this guy who comes by the Kit-Kat sometimes and he buys our old crappy shoes. I know he's not a drag queen, you get what I'm saying?” Brendon contorts his face into a cartoon leer.
“Eww. I did not need to know that. Um...do you have a foot fetish?” Spencer is more interested in Brendon's reply than his casual tone belies.
“Nah. But look, I know good feet. And your feet are great. No corns or bunions or hammer toes or like nail fungus,” Spencer throws Curious George at Brendon's head. He ducks it laughing. “And like you don't have weird monkey toes, or like hairy hobbit feet or anything. You could be a foot model. Which is totally a real thing, by the way,” Brendon finishes before Spencer can even ask. “You don't have a foot fetish, do you?”
Spencer wrinkles up his nose and smiles, “No. I just...I like how yours look, with the polish on and stuff. Your hands too.” Why the hell did he just admit that out loud?
“Yay! Because I like how it looks, too. Now, let's see if we can make your pretty feet beautiful.”
He might not have a foot fetish, but Spencer wonders if it's possible to have a watching Brendon work fetish. He'd noticed it when they'd first met and Brendon had applied his eye make up. Brendon, who is always full tilt mile a minute, slows down and is careful and precise and still when he's working.
Spencer never knew he could find something like that hot.
But now, watching Brendon set out lotions and creams and nail files and emery boards and cotton batting, Spencer cannot deny that he has a Brendon Doing His Thing thing. He closes his eyes, and schools his breathing, and prays that his cock will co-operate and not embarrass the shit out of him while Brendon is massaging some kind of sweet, slippery cream into his feet.“Your skin's a little dry, so this shea butter should help,” Brendon say, kneading his knuckles along the bottom of Spencer's foot.
Spencer has his eyes clenched tightly closed and is focused on breathing in and out and in and out. He sneaks glimpses of Brendon through narrowed eyelids and he can't get over how weirdly hot it is to watch Brendon work, carefully explaining everything he's doing, and feeling how fucking good a pedicure feels.
He had no idea.
“We should go to a salon and get actual pedicures, because they are way more awesome than anything I can do here,” Brendon pushes his glasses up with his index finger and smiles widely.
“I kind of doubt that right now,” Spencer can't help the low, dirty groan the feeling of Brendon's fingers kneading at the fleshy ball of his foot causes to spill out into the room.
Brendon just chuckles low and continues on with his work. Spencer closes his eyes once more and gives in to the floating sensation spreading through him, and only jerks his feet a little when Brendon scrapes and files and trims. He opens his eyes and looks down his prone body to watch Brendon apply the clear nail polish with a steady, professional hand. He shifts, his erection pressing uncomfortably into the seam of his jeans. “You almost done?” Spencer asks, trying to mentally calculate how much longer he can hold off without coming in his pants. Or else he'll have to go jerk off in the bathroom. Or maybe he can think of every disgusting thing he's ever seen heard or smelled and talk himself down from the edge.
Except that is the exact moment he feels the strangest sensation which, upon opening his eyes he sees is Brendon fucking Urie fucking blowing on his toes. Before he can stop himself he makes a short, loud huh noise and jerks, his foot flailing out. “Whoa mule!” Brendon catches Spencer by the heel before he gets clipped in the face. “Sorry. Ticklish, huh?” He kisses the bump of Spencer's ankle and sets his foot back on the bed. “All done anyway. Just don't move so they can dry.” Brendon pats Spencer's knee and sets about tidying up.
“Uh Bren?” Spencer's voice sounds rough and foreign to his ears.
“Yeah?”
“Could you...could you come here?” Spencer's skin feels like a thousand heated blades are being dragged up his arms and legs.
Brendon throws the emery board and cotton pads into the garbage and gives Spencer a strange, questioning look. “Sure?”
Spencer's arm snakes out, and he wraps his fingers around Brendon's wrist, pulling him down on to the bed beside him. “Hi,” Brendon laughs. He's still laughing when Spencer kisses him, rough and wet. “Okay, so maybe not a foot fetish, but a pedicure fetish? Everyone has a thing Spencer Smith, I'm totally not judging you.” Brendon laughs against Spencer's mouth.
Just as Spencer goes to roll them over on the bed, trapping Brendon underneath him and against the wall, Brendon sees a small swath of pink plastic peeking out of the top of Spencer's messenger bag. “Hey, what's that? And watch your toes, they're not dry yet. You ruin my work, no more pedicures-which is not a euphemism for anything.” Brendon wags a finger at Spencer before rolling off the bed and snagging the shopping bag.
When Spencer's brain catches up to what Brendon is saying, and when his dick gets over the fact that Brendon is no longer pressed up against him, Spencer says, “Oh yeah. I uh...I bought you something. But then I wasn't sure you would like it, so I wasn't sure about giving it to you so...” Spencer trails off self-consciously.
“A present? For me!” Brendon does a modified Tigger hop, favoring his still tender ankle and bounces back onto the bed, bag in hand. “It doesn't matter what it is, all presents are awesome.” He pecks a kiss to the place on Spencer's cheek where beard gives way to smooth pale skin. “Oh!” Brendon spills the contents of the bag into his hands, then holds it up, studying it. “Oh Spencer, it's gorgeous.” The dim lighting from the bare overhead bulb makes the deep red fabric of the tunic shine .
Spencer hooks his chin on Brendon's shoulder. “Do you really like it?” He asks softly. “Because I saw it in a store window and I thought it was pretty, and that the color would look good on you. But then, I didn't know if it's something you'd like, or want to wear or whatever.”
“It's perfect! Thank you,” Brendon turns to awkwardly brush a kiss to Spencer's mouth.
“If you want to put it on, maybe we can go out and do something fun? Shake up Wednesday night?” Spencer returns the kiss and smiles, secretly pleased with Brendon's enthusiastic reaction.
Brendon stands up, holding the top against him and twisting to and fro, watching the fabric billow and shift with his movement. “Okay! We can go dancing. I mean, if you like dancing.”
“I do,” Spencer smiles. It's true, he does. Ryan says that one of the first things that should have tipped Haley off to the fact that Spencer might not be entirely on Team Hetero was how good a dancer he is and how much Spencer likes to go out to clubs and just dance.
Brendon grabs the top and his make up kit and heads for the bathroom, “Okay so you just lie there and let your little piggies dry,” he flaps a hand towards Spencer's feet, “and I'll just go slip into this and put on my face. Won't take me ten minutes.”
“You don't have to,” Spencer says quietly.
“Huh?”
“Put on your face, I mean. I mean, you're pretty just the way you are...” he trails off and feels embarrassment heat his face and neck. Brendon gives him an inscrutable look, blows him a kiss, and heads to the bathroom.
True to his word, nine minutes later Brendon emerges from the bathroom, new dress on, and just a little make up-eye liner, lip gloss and some strange shimmery power strategically placed. Spencer's not really sure why Brendon didn't do his make up at the table at the foot of the bed like he always does. But, Spencer's kind of glad, given his brand new realization that he has a thing for Brendon Doing His Thing and how incredibly close he came to embarrassing himself and coming in his pants during the whole pedicure thing. He's not sure how well watching Brendon putting on make up would have gone. “You look beautiful,” Spencer crosses the tiny room to kiss him.
“You have good taste, Spencer Smith!” Brendon twirls, plucking at the perfectly draped fabric. “And clearly you are a shopping genius and you pay attention to shit, because this thing fits perfectly.” Brendon reaches into a small chest of drawers and finds a pair of leggings, shimmying into them. “Now if I can find my flats...” poking under his bed with his toes he eventually extracts a plain black pair of ballet flats. “All right! Just need to grab a sweater and we're ready. You ready to go?”
“Sure,” Spencer shrugs and picks up his coat.
“Do you mind walking? I know it's getting kind of cold, but I love fall and it's a nice night.”
“If you're sure your ankle is okay, then sure, let's walk.” Spencer holds his arm out to Brendon, who giggles and slips his hand to Spencer's elbow.
They head up Belmont, taking in the crowd, because even if it's early October, and even if it's Wednesday, Boys Town is always hopping and there's always something to do. Spencer is checking out the window in a now closed store when Brendon tackle hugs him so hard the both almost topple into the street. “Whoa, what?” Spencer looks down to where Brendon's face is buried in Spencer's wool coat.
“Just, thanks!” Brendon tilts his face up to kiss Spencer's chin. “Most people, they wouldn't have bought me something like this. They'd buy me like, a garter belt or some shit like that. Something for them. And it feels like maybe you meant this to be something for me.”
Spencer takes Brendon's hand and continues their leisurely stroll. “I'm not most people, remember?” He laughs at Brendon's giggle, “And I gotta say, I'm kinda relieved you like it. I mean I thought I remembered you saying that you wore dresses and stuff, that you liked to feel pretty, and it isn't always a work thing. But then I thought maybe I got that part wrong...”
“Nope, you got that part exactly right.”
When they reach Cobra Starship there's a small but not insubstantial line up stretching a few storefronts away from the building. Zack, Brendon's friend and neighbor is bouncing and when he sees Brendon he just nods and waves them on, winking at Spencer. Once they're through the front doors, Spencer holds his hand out for Brendon's sweater. “I'm going to do coat check. Do you want to head upstairs or wait for me?”
“Oh, I'll wait.” The knowing smirk that's been on Brendon's face since they came within sight of the club grows wider.
The coat check line isn't very long as most Midwesterners cling stubbornly to non-weather appropriate outerwear well into November. Spencer's back in a flash and he and Brendon head up the stairs. “You want a drink?” Spencer tilts an elbow towards the bar and raises a questioning eyebrow. Brendon shakes his head and points to the dance floor.
The find a spot that provides at least a little room for two people to dance in the midst of the throng, and as they move to the pulse of a house mix, Spencer sees the moment of delight on Brendon's face when he realizes that Spencer isn't just another tragic white boy faking his way through a shuffle step, but can actually keep the beat and isn't afraid to move. He pulls Brendon close and they both laugh, faces raised to the ceiling.
Spencer's never seen such a mix of people. His entire gay social scene thus far has involved the GSA and the LGBT students groups at the university, and the few times that he and Brendon have been to dinner or drinks in Boys Town. There's button down straight laced guys and guys in leather and guys in drag and people and bodies writhing and moving to the ever present beat. He feels a weird sense of unironic pride that Brendon's impressed by Spencer's lack of freak out. And really, with the music pumping and Brendon here with him, Spencer feels like he belongs.
He hugs Brendon and laughs and laughs.
After a solid hour of dancing, Spencer needs a break, and he gets Brendon's attention and motions towards the bar. “Hey Pete!” Brendon yells and then holds up two fingers. Before Spencer's even settled, elbows braced on the bar rail, Brendon is dangling a bottle of water in front of his face. He takes it, kissing Brendon on the cheek.
Spencer watches the beads of sweat rolling from Brendon's hairline, down his throat, and disappearing into the neckline of his tunic. He's suddenly aware that he very much wants to lick the trail of those drops. So, he leans over and does. Brendon jerks in surprise at the feeling of Spencer's tongue on his skin, but then smiles and kisses him. They lean against the bar people watching and holding hands until Spencer says, “I gotta go to the restroom,” and takes off towards the men's room.
“Wait! Spencer! You should use the staff restrooms!” Brendon tries to snag Spencer's elbow, but he just waves off any concern and continues on his way. Not thirty seconds later he comes back towards the bar in something that is a little more than a quick walk, but not quite a trot. “Holy shit!” He yells when he's back within Brendon's earshot. “There are dudes in there full out fucking!” Spencer's blue eyes are the size of dinner plates.
Brendon laughs and says, “I tried to tell you to use the staff restrooms.”
“I'm totally listening to you next time. Damn.” Spencer hugs Brendon from behind and sways in time with the music. “I mean I'm down with going with what feels good. But those guys were like, bare ass naked in the middle of a public bathroom.” He shudders and makes a face. “That can not be sanitary.”
Still laughing, Brendon turns in his embrace, “Had enough big gay adventure for one night?”
“Maybe? Are you mad?” Spencer takes Brendon's empty water bottle and hands it to the bartender.
“Nah,” Brendon chuckles and pats Spencer's arm. “We both have to be up early tomorrow. And we need make out time before you lapse into a coma from your trauma.”
Spencer nods enthusiastically “Hell yes! Please, help me erase the memory,” He murmurs against Brendon's ear and walks them towards the stairs.
By unspoken agreement, they get a cab back to Spencer's apartment and Brendon is leaning heavily on Spencer as they head up to his flat. “Seriously, why the fuck do sprains take so long to heal?” He grouses.
“Maybe they're just bitter that they don't get all the attention of broken bones so they're taking their anger out?” Spencer keys the door open and they head towards his bedroom. He's already got his sneakers and jeans off and is pulling his sweater over his head before Brendon's even got one shoe off.
He holds his arms out and Brendon comes over to Spencer's side of the bed and steps easily into the embrace. And maybe he's secretly a little thrilled they have their own sides. “Thanks for tonight,” he sways a little, brushing absent, ill aimed kisses across Brendon's forehead. “It was really fun.”
“It was. And you totally held your own with the Cobra freaks and geeks. Except for that nasty bathroom incident. But at least you got that out of the way?” Brendon laughs and pulls the tunic over his head, folding it carefully and setting it on Spencer's desk chair, then stripping off his tights and doing the same.
Spencer turns off the bedside lamp and they find each other in the dark. They kiss and touch and whisper until Brendon says in a careful, almost frightened voice, “Spence? I've been thinking...”
“Nother date?” Spencer laughs into Brendon's hair, his hands roaming low across Brendon's back.
Brendon's breathing is loud in the dark, and after several deep in and out breaths, he says, “I've been thinking...I want to blow you. I want to know what it's like to suck your cock.”
Whatever Spencer thought Brendon was going to say, that isn't it, “Oh yeah?” His voice has gone up at least an octave and he's suddenly aware of how hard he is, and how close Brendon is.
“Would that be okay?”
Brendon sounds so young and unsure, Spencer pulls him close and kisses across the places on Brendon's face that, even in the dark, he knows are dusted with freckles. “Bren, I just want you to know, if you say you want to blow me, my answer will always be an enthusiastic yes.” He manages to keep his voice neutral, with a slightly teasing tone.
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