Into the Woods 9a

[manipulant]

Nine

The flash in his eyes dissipates slowly, more slowly than normal, and Spencer can feel intense regret settling in his stomach as he remembers the soft light of the morning they just left, and the way Brendon looked: content, peaceful in his arms. His stomach twists painfully, and Spencer blinks, squinting at the white til he realizes oh, he can hear waves, and oh, he's actually staring up at the bright noon sky.

He feels sort of stupid, and sits up, looking around him curiously at the long line of sandy beach stretching out on either side of him. Glances down quickly, and breathes a sigh of relief as he sees pants.

They're sopping wet, though, which is interesting. ...Actually, all of him is sopping wet, dripping rivulets of water onto the beach, and Spencer has to push his limp hair out of his forehead and spit sand away from his lips. His mouth tastes like ocean water, and he feels like he's just surfed for hours - all the muscles in his back and arms are screaming.

He blinks, and twists a little, stretching the muscles whether they like it or not, and on his second revolution he sees - well, something in the shallows of the water, a ripple in the outline of the sand, waves crashing over it, foaming up brightly.

Spencer frowns and holds a hand over his squinting eyes, concentrating hard on whatever it is, and then he lights up inside, scrambling to his feet, his hands almost starting to shake with relief and joy. "Bren," he shouts into the wind, laughing a little as Brendon turns and stares at him. "Hey!"

Brendon beams and waves and stands up too - and they both realize Bden's naked at about the same time, which just makes Spencer laugh harder, especially at the chagrin on Brendon's face. He trots over, feet sinking into the warm sand until it suddenly goes damp and kinda cold, and reaches to give Brendon a hand up. "Man, this is lucky, we don't even have to look for each other in this one," he says conversationally, brushing a piece of seaweed off Brendon's shoulder, shrugging off his wet singlet so that at least Brendon has something to wear. He helps Brendon pull it on over his head, and then squeezes his shoulder cheerfully. "Sorry it's wet."

Brendon gives him a small, private smile, ducking his head and looking up at him from underneath his eyelashes, eyes dark and pleased. That's what she said he mouths.

And then he blinks, and clears his throat. Spencer frowns. "You okay?"

Yeah, Brendon replies, silent again. This time, he looks up nervously, reaching up to grab onto Spencer's arm. Can you hear me?

"No," Spencer says, his smile falling off his face, quickly replaced by mounting worry. "I mean, I can tell because I can see your lips, but - shit, Brendon. Try something else."

Brendon's shoulders hunch up, and he goes through - something, his mouth moving too fast for Spencer to make out the words, but he suspects they're lyrics to one of their new songs. Spencer can't hear a thing, except for the sharp exhalation of Brendon's breath, the pop and slide of air uninterrupted by sound. Spencer's stomach plummets down somewhere near the sand as he watches Brendon get steadily more and more freaked out, with every word he's saying that he knows Spencer can't hear.

Finally Brendon looks up, terrified. I can't hear myself either, he mouths, gesturing to his face. Fuck.

Spencer nods, and - well, he can't think of anything to do, nothing that would actually help Brendon, so he just leans forward and tugs Brendon up into a tight hug, letting him shake and shudder for a while. "It's not permanent," he tells Brendon, first off. "It's only because of the story. As soon as we get through it, you'll have your voice back. Okay?" He waits for Brendon to nod, reaching a hand up to cup the back of his neck warmly. "You sure?" He pulls back to give Brendon a serious look. "Do you need a dinglehopper?"

Brendon rolls his eyes and punches Spencer's arm hard, knuckling in until Spencer winces as he laughs. "No, hey, come on!" Spencer snickers, holding him up tight against his struggles. "...Fucking fairy tales," he murmurs, close to Brendon's ear. "I can't believe we read these to kids, man, seriously."

He can tell by the different hitch to Brendon's shoulders that he's laughing a little, at least. Spencer sighs, and rubs his back, and stays with him for a few seconds more before pulling away and regarding him solemnly. "I should be happier," he says. "You not being able to talk is the sort of thing I used to pray for."

Brendon's expression is sort of hilarious - for the first couple of seconds, he looks absolutely outraged, but then his face sort of morphs into amusement, and then, when that's not enough, Brendon starts waggling his eyebrows at Spencer suggestively, holding his hands out in front of him like he's asking for them to be bound together.

Spencer snorts, and grins, relieved that he's still able to make things suck marginally less for Brendon. "Maybe later," he purrs, smirking a little at the pink forming on Brendon's cheeks, the leer Brendon shoots his way. "Come on," Spencer says, sliding an arm around him, turning in the direction of the city built into the rocky seascape. "Let's go figure out where we are." They set off on their way.

They make it a whole two steps before Brendon's knees buckle.

He manages to shoot an arm around Spencer's neck before he falls completely, but he wrenches both of them forward, almost sending them into the sand. Spencer's hair falls into his face and he splutters and flails a little, trying to get free and push it back, and when he finally does, Brendon is slumped back onto the sand right beside him, looking bewildered and hurt. Spencer gazes down at him, completely confused.

Ow, Brendon mouths, looking up at him wide-eyed and scared. He gestures to his legs, and then looks back up at Spencer, dark eyes locking onto his. They don't work.

Brendon's lack of bravado is, frankly, a little scary. Spencer stares down at him for a few more seconds, before he crouches down, knees hitting the sand, and rubs a hand gently over the long line of Brendon's calf. "Does this hurt?" Spencer asks him, watching him carefully. Brendon bites his lip, but shakes his head. "Does it hurt to stand?"

Brendon's mouth screws up, and he cocks his head to the side for a second, actually considering the question before he tilts his hand one way and the other. Sort of, Spencer reads, and his jaw clenches as he nods.

"Okay." He takes a breath, and exhales it, regrouping as he looks down the white, deserted beach, the edge of it curling into the water several miles away. And then he looks up at the city not far away, the pier and entrance to the boardwalk not fifty feet from where they are right now. "Well, I guess you'll have to put up with another piggyback ride," he sighs, immediately trying to quash the smile that threatens to escape as Brendon throws up victory arms and squirms delightedly.

The piggyback ride into town is, ah...momentous. Spencer really hadn't been prepared to be received with such enthusiasm, but he hadn't taken into account the possibility that in this tale, he's this kingdom's prince, lost to the sea six months prior and presumed dead. The physical fact of him walking around the High Street, all hey sup guys, here's your prince, back from the dead, almost causes a riot. He has to flee a mob of people and try to figure out just why they're accosting him, and all with a terrified Brendon clinging to his back.

Eventually, one of the guards recognizes him and quickly ushers him to the castle, where Spencer almost punches a guard who tries to get Brendon to let go, and he hears about how his dad, the King (he looks the same as his real dad, anyway), issued a decree just after Spencer's disappearance that anyone who managed to find him would have the prince's hand in matrimony. For themselves, or for their unwed offspring, howsoever the case may be.

Brendon snorts, and buries his face in Spencer's neck when the guards tell them that bit. Spencer rolls his eyes, and feels really weird about the whole thing. The prospect of family ties in the stories is making him skittish and paranoid, especially after Cinderella. He does better with dragons and wolves.

"Whatever, Dad always overreacted," he grumbles as the guards finally finish their debriefing. He groans, and waddles over to the nearest chair, sinking onto it despite Brendon's pinches and smacks, leaning heavily back against him. "The chairs are comfy," he tells Brendon sweetly, enjoying the murderous look Brendon is giving him from where he's pinned between the chair and Spence. Then there's a vicious poke between his ribs, and Spencer squawks and hops away, pressing his hand to the place Brendon just jabbed, glowering at him. "Uncool."

Brendon gives him a lazy smirk and flips him off, and sprawls on the chair. Spencer just watches him for a second - Brendon's eyes aren't as blank and scared anymore, and that's good. Also his legs are really long when he sits like that, Spencer never remembers until he sees it.

He pulls his eyes back up, away from the sprawl of Brendon's legs, and feels his own cheeks heating up as he figures out Brendon's totally caught him looking. Busted, Brendon mouths, one corner of his lips curling up into a satisfied smirk as he tilts his head back and stretches. His eyes never leave Spencer, though, and Spencer can feel his heartbeat pick up a little, at the way Brendon arches in the chair, the smooth cords in his neck and arms suddenly put on display.

For him Spencer realizes, the idea falling on him like a cartoon anvil, unexpected and sort of baffling. On display for him.

He moves the three paces it takes to get back over to the chair, and looms over Brendon, his hands coming down to support him on the armrests. "Who are you showing off for?" he murmurs fondly, hunching down so that his forehead is almost touching Brendon's. His hair is falling around them, brushing over Brendon's cheeks, his own nose.

Brendon blows a piece of Spencer's hair away from his cheek, and just grins up at him, fidgeting happily. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and even though Spencer knows that's an actual nervous habit, that Brendon does it a lot, something still breaks inside him. He's leaning down and pressing their mouths together before he's really conscious of even moving.

It's weird and wonderful, Spencer thinks, kissing Brendon. He can't really fathom a day that he'll actually be used to it. Brendon's mouth, Brendon's lips are the closest to home he's felt in weeks.

Under him, Brendon shivers, and there's the soft-slick sound of their mouths moving together before Brendon sucks in a sharp breath and exhales it, reaching up with both hands to grab at Spencer's shoulders and tug him down. Spencer goes - Brendon's hands are warm on his skin, and he folds easily, sinking to his knees. He slides up to the edge of the chair, between Brendon's thighs, cradled by them as he cranes up, tilting his chin so that Brendon can swoop down and kiss him, cup his jaw and kiss him so hard that their teeth clack together.

He can feel Brendon's smile. Spencer's heart thumps sort of arrhythmically at that, and at the way he can tell Brendon's pressing words against his lips, licking them into the corners of his mouth. Brendon's hands are warm and insistent on his sides, and Brendon's legs are clamped tight around him, and -

There's a loud ahem behind them, and Spencer jolts, startled into pulling away and scowling over his shoulder at whoever wouldd commit such a heinous party foul as -

"Oh." Spencer can feel all the blood draining away from his face, and his stomach plummets to his knees. "Hi, Dad."

It's amazing, how fast Brendon can book it out of a room when he has incentive. Not even Spencer's best pleading face makes a difference, and Spencer watches helplessly as he wobbles out of the room, holding onto the wall.

Spencer's not really sure how it happens, but it's less than fifteen seconds before he finds himself sitting in the chair, being loomed over by his father, who has on a face that means, in every reality, We're Going To Have A Talk.

Spencer doesn't know how many times and in how many variations he can say "I don't remember," but he's pretty sure he goes through them all during the conversation that follows.

No, he doesn't remember what happened at sea. No, he doesn't remember what happened to the crew of the ship he was on. No, he doesn't remember what happened to the ship. He doesn't remember where he was, or who was with him (or, well, he does, but the truth would be supremely unhelpful in this situation, he's guessing).

All he remembers is waking up washed on a beach, soaking wet, with Brendon naked and soaking wet and washed up on the same beach, just thirty feet away.

"So we don't know if she saved you or kidnapped you," his father says slowly, dubiously. Spencer huffs and kicks the nearest end table.

"Yeah, Brendon looks really threatening," he drawls. "Totally capable of kidnapping me."

"I'm only saying," his dad says mildly, steepling his fingers in front of his face, gazing at them contemplatively, "that we don't know all the details. Nor are we likely to, given your inability to remember what actually happened."

"Look, I just...I know Brendon saved me," Spencer says helplessly, flailing his hands, wishing he were better at coming up with plausible-sounding lies; he knows that if he tried, he'd wind up just adapting the plot of Pirates of the Caribbean to suit him. Ryan, he needs Ryan here. "Maybe the memories will come back? I hear they do that sometimes."

His father shrugs, noncommittal, but looks interested at the idea. "They do?"

Spencer's shoulders sag with relief. "Yeah, sometimes. Yeah. ...Maybe if Brendon stayed here, h...she could help me remember."

His father gives him a beady look, but doesn't remark on Spencer's unsubtle ploy. "I'll have the doctors come and give the both of you a look. Has she always been mute?"

"No," Spencer says quickly, firmly. "I remember her voice. When we woke up on the beach, it was just gone."

"Hmm." His father gives him another speculative look, but only nods. For a minute, the two of them just stare at each other. Then his father comes over and gives him a light pat on the back. "I'm glad you're returned, son," he murmurs, and then he sweeps out of the room, leaving Spencer rattled and kind of cold.

...His dad would've at least given him a hug, what the fuck.

Spencer shivers and folds his arms tightly across his bare chest, and ducks his head forward, staring blankly at the wall ahead for half a minute before he snaps out of it and heads toward the door as well. Somewhere in the castle, Brendon's all by himself and unable to talk and probably hurting from having to walk so much, and Spencer needs to be there for him more than he needs anything else.

Spencer finds him only two rooms over, slumped exhaustedly on a sofa and dozing, pain written on every part of his face. He's sort of loath to wake Brendon up, but then a servant passes through the room and Spencer manages to convince her to show them to his old quarters, without sounding too much like a complete fucking idiot, and he's poking Brendon and hauling him up onto his back before Brendon's really woken up.

They hole up in Spencer's rooms for the rest of the day, ignoring the arrival of more and more notes of congratulations and joy from various court families. Finally, when the stream of them gets annoyingly steady, Spencer just tells the servants to leave all correspondence outside his door and locks them out, curling up with Brendon on the huge four-poster bed.

His rooms are closest to the ocean, and open to a huge balcony overlooking the water and the waves. They can hear the soft, rhythmic whooshes and crash of the waves breaking, and from the bed, they watch the sun slowly sink into the water, turning the horizon red and orange and pink.

"We'll get it figured out," Spencer murmurs into Brendon's shoulder, as the last slip of sun vanishes into the sea. Brendon sighs and leans back into him a little more, reaching down to grab his hand and squeeze it.

Both of them are still, and Brendon's still wearing the salt-scratchy long shirt Spencer washed ashore in, because they are fucking exhausted and also lazy as shit, even at the best of times. Spencer knows Brendon would rather just...put up with the uncomfortable original than face having to move to find new, clean clothes of his own.

That could also be informed by the fact that he can't fucking walk. Spencer winces, and slides away from him, scooting off the bed and making his way around the room, trying to figure out where his clothes would be hiding.

He does find a lit candle in one of the adjacent rooms, so he goes around lighting all the candles in the bedroom so they can at least see in the encroaching dark. He glances up in the middle of lighting a cluster near the window, to see Brendon gazing at him curiously, tracking his movements. "It's getting dark," he explains needlessly, gesturing towards the open balcony doors. "Plus, I need light to find clothes for us."

Brendon props up on his elbows and gives Spencer a wry, crooked grin, glancing down at the crusty shirt he's still wearing.

"Yeah, gross," Spencer agrees, making a face as he starts systematically opening and closing all the doors in the room - one of them is bound to open up to - aha.

"Clothes!" he shouts, shoving the door all the way open so Brendon can see, pumping his fist in victory. Brendon rolls his eyes and slow-claps from the bed, but whatever, fuck him, Spencer is totally a genius for finding his own closet. He dives in, taking the little candle-lighty stick inside so he can see, and prods through the rows of fabric until he grabs a couple of pairs of pants and two soft-looking shirts that seem like they'll fit both him and Brendon.

He resurfaces with the clothes and tosses them at the bed, blowing out the candle-lighting stick and setting it on the side table as he watches Brendon scramble to look at the clothes, pick over them until he settles on the darker of the two pairs of pants, and an ancient, paper-thin white shirt. Spencer grabs the other shirt and starts tugging it on over his head, tired of being half-dressed. He's halfway through tugging off his pants to put the other ones on when he realizes Brendon isn't getting dressed at all, he's just watching.

Cheeks burning hot, Spencer finishes tugging the pants on before he gives Brendon a level stare. Brendon waggles his eyebrows, breaking into a small smile for him, and then just tugs the old singlet off over his head, throwing it onto the floor beside the bed. He sinks back into the mattress, sprawling luxuriously.

Oh, Spencer thinks, and he knows he's going a bright red as he watches Brendon stretch out, miles of bare skin in white sheets. "Yeah, or that," he says, his voice only a little strangled.

Peeking up from his pillow, Brendon raises his eyebrows and reaches an arm out for Spencer, making tired grabby hands until Spence takes the hint and slides back onto the mattress, kneeing over til he's in the middle of the bed again.

Brendon's warm and pliant, a sweet sprawl of limbs as Spencer fidgets and kicks his way back under the sheets. He waits, patiently, til Spencer's settled before curling up into him again, and Spencer's sort of startled at how easily they've managed to figure out ways to slot together - Brendon's head on his chest, an arm thrown possessively around his waist, Spencer's hand curled up into Brendon's hair.

Brendon snuffles, and curls around him a little tighter, til Spencer frowns and reaches down to pull the sheets up higher, almost up to their shoulders. "Okay?" he murmurs, turning to press his cheek to Brendon's hair. Brendon nods, and sinks down against him comfortably. "You going to sleep?"

Brendon nods again, and Spencer rubs his back gently. "Tomorrow," he murmurs, "we're going to get up early, and find a shower or a bath or something, and wear clothes, and we're going to figure out how to fix this."

Brendon sighs, and pats Spencer's shoulder, but otherwise doesn't respond. Within five minutes he's asleep, breathing deep and even in a way that makes Spencer stupidly grateful.

He watches Brendon sleep, the slow rise and fall of his chest, warm in the glow of the flickering candles. And then Spencer gazes around the room, at the stubs of candles that are all in various stages of guttering out, at the pale light of the moon hitting the waves outside, and he closes his eyes and listens to the juxtaposition of Brendon's breathing to the crash of the waves, and thinks that when they get back home, that would make the backbone of a really great song.

And then he's asleep.

Brendon scowls fiercely for the first fifteen minutes after Spencer wakes him up the next morning, but whatever, Spencer's been up for like three hours, meeting with his dad's people and finding out what the rumors on the street are about him and his "mystery girl."

Plus, he has an awesome surprise. He bullies Brendon into getting out of bed and then waits for him to climb onto his back, and then Spencer takes off into the hallway, taking a right and then a left and then a right again, until he tugs open a door to reveal a huge bathroom, with a tub the size of a jacuzzi in the middle.

"I'm awesome," Spencer reminds Brendon, craning to catch his expression. Brendon's eyes look like they're about to pop out of his head, and he's already squirming, trying to get Spencer to let him down. "Okay, okay, jesus," Spencer laughs, closing the distance between the door and the tub, and - good, the servants got his message about filling up the water tank. Steam curls up off of the water inside the tub, and Spencer twists and leans down, so Brendon can sit on the ledge.

Brendon shucks off the old shirt he'd tugged on just in time before Spencer pulled him out of the bedroom, and sinks down into the water, rapture written on his face as he moves toward the center of the tub. He stretches, and ducks his head under, coming up a second later with a splash and wiping his face, eagerly blinking his eyes open at Spencer, who's - he can't help the way he's grinning, Brendon looks so fucking happy.

Brendon blinks, and grins back, and then he tilts his head and glances down at his body in the water, looking sort of curious. And then he looks back up, almost serious again. They don't hurt, he mouths, gesturing down to his legs.

Spencer's smile lessens too, as he looks down. "Did they earlier?"

Brendon bites his lip and nods.

"Huh." Spencer frowns, and then he reaches to push a piece of hair out of Brendon's eyes. "Well, I guess we should probably spend a lot of time at the beach," he muses, trying and failing not to smile a little at the way Brendon lights up at that.

Spencer glances away, his gaze conveniently falling to the shelf of bottled soaps and shampoos, all in intricate little glass containers. He reaches for a couple and unstoppers them, handing them over to Brendon. "Hurry the fuck up, Urie," he says, only watching out of the corner of his eye as Brendon pours soap out into his hand and starts lathering up his hair. "We've got things to do."

Which is, of course, a total lie. Spencer's already secured one of the carriages to cart them around all day so that Brendon doesn't have to walk, but as far as actual plans go...he's lost. He thinks, at first, about exploring the village, until he takes into account how he'll have to give Brendon piggyback rides everywhere or get a couple of guards to carry him, and Spencer can just see Brendon being down for that. Unless he's being obviously pampered and spoiled like a Pekingese, Brendon really isn't cool with having people do other shit for him that he should be able to do for himself.

"What you need is a Segway," Spencer sighs, squawking when Brendon frog-punches him on the thigh. "What? I'm just saying! That would be a sort of helpful invention to have right now."

Brendon scowls, and Spencer subsides, slouching back onto the carriage seat, trying not to wince as it rattles around on the cobblestone streets of town. "Apparently there's some orchestra performing tomorrow night," Spencer tries again, a minute later. "Dad's, um...fuck, Dad's Cabinet were talking about it when I saw them this morning. Want to go?"

Spencer gets the impression that Brendon's looking interested despite himself, so he makes a mental note to ask for tickets. Underneath them, the road abruptly turns from cobblestones to wooden slats as they near the beach, and Brendon winces, turns to rub his face against the material of Spencer's shirt.

"Hurt?" Spencer murmurs softly, pressing his lips together when Brendon tenses and nods. He thinks for a minute, then decides fuck it and hauls Brendon's legs up into his lap, moving them as gently as possible, rubbing the outside of one shin lightly as they make their way down to the King's private dock. "Any better?"

Brendon nods again, and gives Spencer an absurdly grateful look, big-eyed and serious. He sighs as the carriage finally lurches to a halt, and Spencer carefully moves out from under him, hopping out of the carriage and then turning so that Brendon can hop onto his back. There's a few seconds of nothing happening, and Spencer turns to give Brendon a confused look. "What?"

Brendon's gone all thin-lipped and guilty-looking, not reaching Spencer's eyes with his own as he picks at his thumbnail in the doorway of the carriage.

"Bren?" Spence asks gently, suddenly worried. But Brendon just shakes his head, like he's trying to shake things out of it, and he gestures for Spencer to turn back around, and Spencer barely has time to before there's the familiar jarring of Brendon hopping onto his back. He hooks his arms under Brendon's legs securely, and makes sure Brendon's holding on, and then starts down the wooden dock, squinting into the late-morning sun until he reaches the very tip, jutting out deep into the sea.

They both gaze down at the water as they walk past it - it's shockingly clear, even as they get further out, away from the shallows. Clear, and a pale blue-green that's unique solely to this spot, Spencer thinks. He thinks he can see little schools of fish flitting around in the water, and a couple of times Brendon points out a shadowy blob that could be a jellyfish, but the rest of the time it's just clear, and deep, and blue.

They reach the end of the dock and Spencer carefully lowers Brendon down, angling them so that Brendon can sit and scoot just a couple of feet over to the edge of the dock, let his legs dangle over the side.

"You know what I learned this morning?" Spencer asks, conversational, as he comes to sit beside Brendon, dangling his legs over the side too. "The waters in the Cay here barely have tides at all. They barely move, because three generations ago, one of my ancestors signed a treaty with the Mermish King that said he would keep their waters calm, so long as the humans didn't over-fish the local waters, or try to discover where their kingdom was."

Brendon's eyebrows shoot up, and he nods a little, glancing over at Spencer, who's obviously waiting for more of a response than that. Come on. There's a pause, and then Brendon starts stroking his nonexistent beard, giving Spencer a conspiratorial look. Excellent, he mouths.

Spencer rolls his eyes, nudges Brendon's shoulder with his own. "Dick," he grumbles. "Anyway, that's why the dock's still so shallow so far out," he says, gesturing to the way their legs are submerged in a foot of water as they hang off the docks, even though they're a good quarter-mile out into the sea.

Brendon gives him a thumbs-up, looking down at their legs, the sunlight dappling over the water cheerfully.

"So...y'know, if you find yourself in need of a snarfblatt or anything, let me know," Spencer adds a moment later, laughing and cringing away as Brendon punches him in the thigh again, three times in quick succession. He looks up, and at least Brendon is smiling a little now.

Brendon rolls his eyes, and flips Spencer off, still grinning as he shoves at Spencer's side and shoulder, poking him in his ribs, generally trying to be as annoying as possible. Spencer grins and makes a grab for his hands, trying to pin them down. "I'm just wondering where you're stowing Flounder and Sebastian," Spencer teases, slapping away Brendon's hand when it gets too close to his thigh, "and when we're going to have to fight an eight-armed drag queen."

Brendon's hands freeze, and after a few seconds they drop back to his lap, and Spencer looks up in surprise. Brendon's grin is slowly dissolving, right in front of him. Brendon starts to chew at the corner of his lip, his gaze darting back out to sea and staying there, turning worried. "Bren?" Spencer asks, because what the hell?

Brendon doesn't respond at all, just keeps looking out at the waters, obviously working something out in his head. Spencer waits, nervous and a little fidgety as he watches, until finally Brendon turns back and gives him a vaguely apologetic smile.

His eyes are still worried, though. Spencer smiles back a little, but isn't fooled. Nor is he fooled when, for the rest of their day on the dock, Brendon is a little more contained, a little less of a spaz than he normally is.

He doesn't know what Brendon's hiding, or why he's still worried, but if Brendon is then he probably should be too.

After they get back to the castle and Spencer dumps Brendon off of his back and onto the mattress of the bed, they both realize there's a dress laid out pointedly just a foot and a half from where Brendon landed. Spencer rolls his eyes, but when he turns to check Brendon's response, he's actually startled by the amount of naked misery on Bren's face. "Hey," Spencer says, reaching for him, laying a hand lightly on his forearm. "Fuck that shit," he says, determined. "As far as they know, you're from another country, where the women wear pants and do whatever they want. People can fucking deal."

Brendon exhales slowly and nods, giving Spencer a grateful smile as he slides up higher on the bed, crossing his legs with a wince and reaching down to rub at his own ankles. Spencer watches him for a moment, the press of Brendon's fingers into his own skin, and then Spence slides off the edge of the mattress and bustles around the room, closing the sheer curtain against the harsh afternoon sunlight and then heading to the closet, rummaging around for something for them both to wear the next morning. He throws a few things onto the end of the mattress and then comes over and snatches up the dress, balling it up and tossing it into a corner of the room.

Brendon just watches him, eyes wide and curious, eyebrows disappearing up into his hair. He bites his lip and then gives Spencer a small smile, shifting back onto his elbows, only halfway propped up as he watches Spence dick around, arranging their clothing just so.

Spencer knows he's being ridiculous, but sometimes he gets kind of shy of the way Brendon looks at him. Like now, he's feeling especially ridiculous now, with Brendon sprawled on the mattress and watching him be incredibly obsessive-compulsive about their clothes. Spencer sighs and, after a few seconds, manages to make himself pull away and turn around and - yeah, Brendon's still looking.

He smiles a little, almost to himself - it's not like Brendon's being particularly obvious about it or anything, but there's something warm and interested in his eyes now, every time he looks over, and it's kind of a lot to just be able to accept as normal.

Spencer's not quite there - he has to pull himself away from the clothes and crawl onto the bed, not even thinking about it as he slides forward on all fours until he's surrounding Brendon, hovering over him. "Hey," he says, pleased at the way Brendon blinks up at him, still sort of awed.

He feels fingertips venturing over his ribs lightly, and Spencer ducks down, pressing a soft, undemanding kiss to Brendon's mouth. Brendon seems content with that, so Spencer sinks down beside him, helping him to curl up against him, lose himself in the long, slow kisses that Brendon seems to like the most.

After a while, Spencer feels Brendon's head getting heavier and heavier on his arm, and it's hard to keep from snickering or anything when Brendon starts to get...really sloppy, with the making out. In any other circumstance, Spencer would be teasing him mercilessly, but when he opens his eyes, Brendon just looks fucking blissed out, and more than halfway asleep.

So instead, Spencer just feels really smug, and presses lazy kisses to Brendon's jaw until he shivers and falls asleep.

They stay in bed until noon the next day, and then they go back to the dock. Spencer watches Brendon watching his own feet in the water, swishing them back and forth a little, making tiny waves, for nearly half an hour before he feels compelled to lean over and kiss his cheek.

The delighted smile Brendon gives him makes something in Spencer's chest ease, go a little bit looser, and he sits back, resting his weight on his hands. Eventually, Brendon leans over and rests his head against Spencer's shoulder, and Spencer closes his eyes, letting his cheek rest against Brendon's hair. Please, please please, he thinks - projecting the message out to Anyone who might be listening.

He doesn't really know if he means please fix him or please let us have this or please let us go home, or all of the above.

They arrive at the theater in style.

Spencer hates it, and he knows Brendon hates it too - the carriage jounces them through the main thoroughfare, despite Spencer's instructions to the driver to just take the most direct route. Brendon's curled up on him, and ghost-white, and sweating a little, and Spencer has the irrational urge to punch everything.

But no - instead, he has to smile sickly for the court families milling around their carriage as it arrives. He's - fuck, he's grateful for the three guys who hop off the carriage and start herding the royalty groupies away, but there are still a distressing number of guys who filter through, whose names are apparently known enough that even Brendon's wary looks and Spencer's outright glares aren't enough to keep them away.

"Spencer! Absolutely shocking about your disappearance, truly terrible, can't believe your father stood for it," one of them is saying to Spencer, voice nasal and grating and unceasing. "They say you can't remember - ? Oh, well, nevermind. Probably best not to. Quite boring, I imagine. Conversations with codfish, et cetera. However, you'd think with our treaty with - oh, hello." And - yeah, Spencer whips his head around, he knows that tone of voice.

Sure enough, the rabbity-looking asshole who'd been holding the one-sided conversation has turned his attention to Brendon, and is leering cheerfully. Acting on instinct, Spencer takes a step in front of Bren, but not quickly enough - the man sticks a hand out, apparently for Brendon to shake. "I thought the rumors were exaggerations, and here I find they don't do your young lady any sort of justice."

Spencer turns to boggle at Brendon, who's too busy trying (and failing) to hide his smirk as he sticks his hand out to shake the guy's. He's obviously not expecting the man to bring his hand up for a kiss (gross, Spencer thinks irritably, who still does that? Who EVER did that?), but is more charitable than Spencer would be, giving the guy a hilariously coy smile and tugging his hand away when it looks like he might not get it back.

"Is she wearing trousers?" one of the other courtiers asks, astonished. "Well, that's...exotic."

"Legs," another one murmurs reverently, distressingly close to Spencer's ear. "Look at her legs."

"Right, so, yeah," Spencer cuts in hastily, grabbing for Brendon's hand and tugging him close in behind before someone else can make a grab for some other part of his body. "Guess we'll just be going inside now."

He has the distinct impression Brendon's laughing at him as he pulls Brendon towards the private side entrance, bundling him inside the doors and giving the guards a hunted look. One of the guards catches on, and bars the rest of the men from following them, barking out orders for them to use the main entrance with the rest of the concertgoers. Spencer smirks at their disappointed cries, and breathes a little bit easier when they're in their seats, hidden behind curtains.

Brendon's still snickering softly, which makes Spencer scowl even more because seriously? Seriously? In his kingdom? He's outraged on behalf of his citizens.

"There's bound to be a dungeon I can put them in," Spencer mutters, making Brendon's shoulders shake with fresh laughter. "Well, god!"

Nine B