Fic: Fear of Flying 3/4
It was blistering hot out when Brendon got home after work on Friday. The fans in his apartment weren’t cutting it, but there was no way he was going to turn on the air conditioning before June. So he changed into something cooler, grabbed his briefcase and Bogart’s leash, and went to the park.
He spread out a blanket and tossed a Frisbee for Bogart while going over his patient records. It was his favourite way to relax, outside of composing and playing piano, to figure out new ways to help a patient with a particular problem, like a puzzle coming together. He was making a few notes about something he wanted to discuss with Keltie, about working together with one patient, when his phone rang.
“Are you really not coming back?” Jon asked, by way of greeting.
“Hi, Jon,” Brendon said. Bogart came bounding over and gave a bit of a fight when Brendon tried to take the Frisbee back. “How are you?”
“Seriously, Brendon,” Jon said, and he sounded sad and defeated. Brendon wanted to tell Jon it wasn’t his responsibility to make Brendon a happier person. He sometimes couldn’t understand why Jon even cared to try.
“Dude, it’s no big deal,” Brendon said, and even he was convinced. “You know Jason was getting on my ass about being late all the time, and Angela was being a bitch about scheduling me so close to when I got out of cla-the centre. It wasn’t going to work out anyway.”
“If you said something to Pete, he’d fix things with Angela. You could cut back to few nights a week. Brendon, you’re talking to me. I know how you love this place, and now Pete wants you to play…”
“I cussed out one of the owners and threw myself at the other. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter if Pete would let me play,” Brendon said. And Jon could accuse Brendon of being too passive, but if being passive meant not going back to the restaurant to be fired in person, then Brendon was fine with being with it.
“I hope you don’t think that just because you’re quitting I’m going to leave you alone,” Jon said.
Brendon chuckled. “You’d be a pretty shitty stalker, if that was the case.”
“Damn straight,” Jon muttered. “I’m coming over there after I’m done closing up. Around midnight-thirty?”
“If you must,” Brendon said, but he was so, so grateful.
He had an early dinner at a vegan café where the owners let Bogart sit at the table outdoors with Brendon. At home he mixed up brownies to take to the barbeque the next day and cleaned his place up a little, putting his papers away in his desk. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jon not to mess with them, but still, he felt weird having different parts of his life intersect.
It was still hot after the sun went down, and Brendon jumped in the shower just before midnight. Afterwards, he threw on the smallest t-shirt he could find and his favourite pair of girl shorts-they were softer than guy shorts, and they had a skull and crossbones pattern, and maybe they came up pretty high, but it was Jon, and besides, he was burning up again already.
When Jon knocked, Brendon threw open the door, ready to start bitching about the heat, but his words abandoned him at the sight. Jon was there. With the entire fucking restaurant behind him, all of them wearing the ridiculous party hats Jon had bought at the store, and blowing on matching noise makers.
“This is your party,” Jon told him cheerfully. “I told you it was happening.” He tossed a handful of confetti in the air over Brendon’s head. “Surprise!”
They all began to pour in and Brendon, still struck speechless, didn’t do anything to stop them. Bill, Jon, and Travis were all carrying booze, and most everyone else had some sort of food or another. Gabe gave him a through once-over when he passed. “Surprise indeed,” he purred. “Where have you been hiding that fantastic little body, Brendon Urie?”
From the looks on Pete, Bill, and Cass’ faces, Gabe wasn’t the only one looking. Brendon felt himself go a slow, bright red. He crossed his arms around his stomach, then dropped them to his side, tugging at the hem of his shorts to make them longer. Only that started showing his stomach. He crossed his arms again and wished for, like, a parka and some really baggy sweatpants, and to be dead.
“Um, I’m gonna go change. In my room.” He pointed over his shoulder toward the door, to illustrate. “Where other people aren’t allowed to be.”
There were still people filing in, and oh god, his apartment wasn’t big enough for this. He ducked down the hall, closing his bedroom door firmly behind him and leaning against it for a second, something like panic threatening to rise up from his stomach. Someone found Brendon’s CD collection. Most likely Cass, if the Save Ferris pouring from the speakers was any indication.
Brendon made himself straighten up and take a calming breath. They were nice people. They wanted to get to know him. There was nothing wrong with that. He could do this. He went to his closet, yanking his shirt off as he went, and his bedroom door opened with a burst of sound.
“Hey,” Spencer said, closing the door behind him, “Pete said you were in he-”
“Jesus Christ,” Brendon shouted, grabbing the first thing out of the closet and holding it over his chest. “I said no one was allowed in here.”
“I’m…” Spencer was staring at him unblinkingly, mouth agape.
“Would you get out,” Brendon hissed, heart beating wildly in his chest.
“I wanted to apologise,” Spencer said. “What Ryan said, I-I…” he trailed off, shaking his head.
Brendon shifted, tucking the edges of the hoodie he’d grabbed under his arms. It still didn’t do much to cover him, and he was painfully aware of how short his shorts were. “It’s okay,” he mumbled, fighting against a full body blush.
Spencer shook his head again and looked sort of shiftily from side to side, rather than at Brendon. “You-it really isn’t,” Spencer said, in this weird, distant sort of voice. “I-you know when you kissed me?”
It was probably meant to be rhetorical, but Brendon couldn’t help but sputter, desperately, “Oh god. I’m so sorry about that. I just…it was really just completely unprofessional of me and…”
He trailed off, because Spencer was looking at him like he was completely crazy.
“That’s not what I-I’m not trying to give you a hard time,” Spencer said, stumbling over his own words, which was reassuring to Brendon. Usually he was the only one tongue-tied. “Jesus, Brendon, your legs.”
“Are very bare,” Brendon said, almost hysterically. “And if you get out, I can change.” Spencer nodded in agreement, but didn’t move. Brendon sighed, shifting his weight. “Look, you don’t have to apologise okay. I over reacted, and I know I must have made things awkward for you, anyway, by acting so inappropriately.”
“Fuck, you don’t even know,” Spencer said, and was across the room in a couple long strides, standing mere inches away. “I’m fucking crazy about you,” he said, and he was touching Brendon all over, hands big and warm on Brendon’s bare waist, up his back, in his hair, along his jaw tilting Brendon’s face up.
Brendon felt himself tremble uncontrollably, barely able to meet Spencer’s gaze. No one had ever looked at him this way before, none of his boyfriends or one night stands. They’d all looked right past him, always seeing what they wanted, not who Brendon was. But Spencer…
“God, you’re so-” Spencer pressed his mouth against Brendon’s in a hot, quick kiss, his lips so soft. Spencer pulled away and groaned in frustration. Brendon brought his arms up, clutching at Spencer’s shoulders; he couldn’t stop shaking. It was worse when Spencer bent his head, pressing his lips against Brendon’s throat, teeth scraping against the sensitive flesh there.
“I want to know what’s going on inside your head,” Spencer whispered, mouth trailing hotly up Brendon’s neck. “It makes me fucking crazy. I just want to be around you.” His hands were on Brendon’s hips, drawing him closer and Brendon let out a helpless cry when they bumped together, pressed flush, Spencer hard against Brendon’s stomach.
“But you,” Brendon started, and he couldn’t think with Spencer pressed so close to him, nuzzling the skin below Brendon’s ear. The touch sent almost painful sparks of heat through his nerves. “You pushed me away, you said-”
Spencer kissed him again, rough and insistent, teeth sinking into Brendon’s bottom lip. One hand smoothed up Brendon’s thigh, catching the fabric of his shorts and slipping beneath, stroking his hip and Brendon couldn’t help himself, opening his mouth to Spencer’s and burying his hands in Spencer’s hair, just as silky as Brendon had imagined.
“Fuck,” Spencer panted against Brendon’s mouth, spit-slick. “You make me-” He walked Brendon back into the wall and grabbed his ass, startling a sharp sound from Brendon. He jerked his hips up and Spencer slid a leg between Brendon’s giving him something to rock down against.
“Spence,” he breathed, high and desperate. His nails scraped along Spencer’s scalp and Spencer hissed and slanted his mouth over Brendon’s with enough force to make Brendon’s lip feel as though it had split. Spencer kept them moving, bending his knees a little to grind their hips together.
Spencer’s lips brushed over Brendon’s cheek, coming close to his ear and he was breathing heavily, so different from the normal composed picture he made. “I couldn’t-I had to get out of there before I just bent you over the prep station and fucked you right there, where anyone could come in. And you-Brendon, you just. I can’t figure you out.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Brendon whined, fingers curling and releasing over and over in Spencer’s hair. He couldn’t stop rubbing against Spencer’s thigh, and it was embarrassing how close he was already, but Spencer did things to him. “I thought you didn’t-”
Spencer pulled back enough to look Brendon in the eye. “I do,” he said, voice low and rough and he was really looking at Brendon again, seeing him, and Brendon had never been wanted like this. He didn’t know what to do with it, felt like he was going to burn up into nothing under Spencer’s gaze and lips and hands.
There was a crashing sound from just outside the room and then the bathroom door slammed closed and Brendon jerked away, remembering where he was and what was going on. “We have to stop.”
Spencer groaned in disapproval, stilling his hips in the middle of a slow grind. Brendon’s body wasn’t listening to sense, shifting to chase the sensation. “There are people-our friends, and the walls, you can hear…”
Spencer nodded and shifted his hips away from Brendon’s, but he rested his forehead against Brendon’s and took a deep breath. “Brendon, listen, you have to know. I think you’re amazing. I think what you do is amazing. I don’t care how much fucking money you make, or if you put Ryan Ross in his place, because god knows someone needs to do it.”
Brendon tried to focus on Spencer’s face, because it just didn’t make any sense. None of it made any sense. He was used to helpless crushes that never amounted to anything, because why would anyone want him back? Why would Spencer?
“There’s nothing amazing about me,” Brendon said softly. Spencer growled and kissed him again, quickly. “I’m not,” Brendon protested, blindly trying to kiss him back and talk at the same time. “I’m so fucked up, you don’t know.”
“I want to know,” Spencer insisted.
“You don’t,” Brendon said, trying to be firm, but his voice was shaking.
“Let me decide,” Spencer said insistently. “Come to my place on Sunday. Let me make you dinner. I’ve already bribed all the staff to cover for me.” He gave Brendon a cheeky grin. “Don’t make me look like an idiot.”
Brendon’s chest was tight with fear and hope, like he might actually die of wanting and not having. There was this voice that kept telling him this time wasn’t going to be any different than any time before. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and swallowed hard. “Dinner,” he said at last.
“Is that a yes?” Spencer asked.
“I-yes,” Brendon said, and could barely hear himself over the roar of blood in his head. He felt weak in the knees and so light, like Spencer’s touch was the only thing keeping him in place. “Yes,” he said again, more firmly. “I want to, Spencer, but I’m so bad at this.”
Spencer brushed his mouth over Brendon’s, light and fleeting. “I’m not that great at it, either,” he said.
Maybe, just maybe, if they both wanted it enough…
There was another loud sound from the party, then a catcall and Spencer pulled farther away with a rueful look. “I should. Let you change.”
Brendon nodded, trying to will his stupid, wild pulse back to a normal rate. Spencer stopped at the door. “Sunday?” he asked. “I can pick you up.”
“I have work until three,” Brendon said stupidly, because Spencer probably already knew that, and also, what did that fucking matter? Who had dinner at three in the afternoon, anyway.
But Spencer just smiled hesitantly. “I would like to see where you work,” he said.
Brendon wasn’t so sure about that, but his mouth was moving without his permission, saying, “I’ll give you the address, before you go. It isn’t anything exciting.”
Spencer’s smile widened, teeth bright, eyes sparkling, and god. Brendon had been waiting months to see it, and he wasn’t ready for it, how it just made Spencer that much more beautiful, taking Brendon completely by surprise. Spencer left, shutting the door behind him and Brendon slumped against the wall, stricken.
There was a knock on the door after a moment, then Jon stuck his head in, grinning. “I thought that would have taken longer,” he said.
“Oh my god, shut up,” Brendon snapped, shaking out of his stupor. He stood up straight, grabbing an oversized shirt from the closet and tugging it over his head. There were some lightweight sweatpants in his laundry pile that weren’t dirty or smelly. He shimmied out of his shorts and pulled on the sweats, drawing the string tight before tying.
“You should be thanking me,” Jon said. “Apparently Spencer was labouring under the misapprehension that you didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Something about how he pissed you off when you went out shopping?”
“Seriously?” Brendon demanded. “I have asked you not to try to help me!”
“I’m sorry,” Jon said, though he didn’t look it. “But did you or did you not just have make-outs with Spencer Smith?”
“Shut up,” Brendon mumbled, throwing his shorts in Jon’s face.
“You’re welcome,” Jon said. He grabbed Brendon by the arm, dragging him back out in the hall. “Come back to your party.”
In the living room, Gabe handed Brendon a bottle of beer, which Brendon accepted gratefully. Cass and Adam were playing DDR, Pete and Bill were having a loud debate over Gore Vidal, and Patrick and Amanda were practically orgasmic over Brendon’s music wall. Maybe it would be okay
~*~
Sundays were an overall slower day than the rest of the week. Fewer people worked, but Brendon didn’t mind picking up the slack. It was just one of his little subtle ways of saying fuck you to his parents and their religion.
The barbeque on Saturday had been a lot of fun, but still emotionally draining, and thinking about going to Spencer’s house on an actual, for-real date wasn’t doing a lot for his nerves. With the slow pace of the day, there wasn’t much to distract him. He did rounds in the morning and tried to draw it out longer than usual. He only had three regular appointments on Sundays and beyond that, the centre was open for walk-ins.
During the colder months, they got a fair amount of traffic on the weekends because the local homeless wanted a place to get out of the cold, but Brendon didn’t mind them taking advantage of it. It wasn’t often, but he’d formed some connections with some of those visitors, and managed to talk them into returning.
Today, Ryland watched Brendon pace around the rec room for about a half hour before he dragged him down to sit at one of the chess tables. When he’d first started at studying about expressive therapy, Brendon had been dubious about chess therapy, but the analytical thinking and problem solving really worked wonders with many patients. Brendon liked to think he was good at chess, and Ryland liked to show him how wrong he was. Plus, he had all these ridiculous voices he used that made Brendon laugh until his stomach hurt.
After lunch, the patients had free time and Brendon spent the rest of his afternoon playing for and with those who expressed interest. Katie Kay joined in, singing along, and she and Luis and Fran, the two youngest patients, managed to bully Brendon into singing duets of all of Disney’s greatest hits.
They were just reaching the chorus of Beauty and the Beast when Brendon saw Spencer come through the door and trailed off mid-word, flushing bright red. He was dressed casually for a change in black skinny jeans and a tight Led Zeppelin tee. And Brendon had always known that beneath his kitchen whites Spencer had to have an amazing body. His tailored suits gave a hint of it, too. But Brendon had never dreamed of those hips, or the curve of Spencer’s waist, or his long, long legs.
Spencer’s gaze fell upon him and he gave Brendon a wave and a smile. Katie glanced over her shoulder and turned back to Brendon with a knowing smirk. “Who’s the hottie?” she whispered at him.
Brendon gave her a warning look and went over to greet Spencer, unable to help but bounce on his toes in excitement. “We can go,” he said, overeager.
“I thought you’d show me around?” Spencer said. Brendon glanced over his shoulder; Ryland and Katie were watching them with open interest.
“I-” Brendon sighed in resignation. “Okay.”
Spencer grabbed his hand before he could turn away, lacing their fingers together. “Brendon,” he said softly. “Show me around?”
Brendon smiled up at him from under his lashes and tugged on their hands, leading Spencer down the hall to his office. He loved his office, really. It was wide open and warmly lit from the full-length windows all along the south wall. There was his piano and a few of his guitars, his cello in its stand, his clarinet, and a drum set, which was a favourite among some of the patients and children with more aggressive tendencies.
Spencer walked among the instruments, a distant smile on his face that widened as he ran his fingertips around the rim of the cymbal, making a faint ringing sound. He flicked it with his nail. “Do you play all of these?” he asked.
Brendon shrugged one shoulder, chewing at his thumbnail. “I, uh, well, I’ve had lessons in them all. For my degree I only needed the guitar and piano, but I’ve taken cello and the drums since I was a kid, and, I don’t know. You know how they say, like, once you’ve learned a couple different languages, it’s easier to learn others?” Spencer nodded and Brendon shrugged again. “That’s all it is,” he said.
Spencer wrapped an arm around Brendon’s waist and kissed him, slow and slick, making Brendon feel dizzy with it. “I think it’s more that you’re fucking awesome,” Spencer said, when they parted, nuzzling at Brendon’s cheek.
Brendon flushed, twisting out of Spencer’s grasp. “It’s just what I love to do,” Brendon said. “So I can play a bunch of instruments? I couldn’t ever do the things you do in the kitchen. I probably could have all the same lessons and have all the same tutors, and it would come out looking and tasting like dog food.”
“You’re going to compare what we do?” Spencer asked, and chuckled. “Brendon, what you do is important. You help people.”
“You make people happy,” Brendon said. “I love just being at Panic!, I. I like watching you work. It’s calming.”
“I want you to come back,” Spencer said. “You can wait tables, though Pete is dying to have you play and sing, and Patrick’s hoping you’re amenable to it so he can finally go back to his regular gig.”
“You don’t think…that would be weird?” Brendon asked hesitantly, when what he really wanted to say was please, yes.
Spencer gave him a dubious look. “Any weirder than Sisky and Andrew? Or Bill and Gabe? Pete and Patrick? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I just want you to be around.”
“I want that too,” Brendon said, feeling inexplicably breathless.
“Good,” Spencer said decisively. “Let me take you home now.”
Brendon nodded, a spike of anticipation flaring up at the words. Dinner, he reminded himself, but it didn’t succeed in calming his heart.
~*~
Spencer had a three-storey townhouse with a view of the lake and the glittering city skyline. He had a fucking yard-well-manicured, with a fountain and lady-slippers and pansies lining the house.
Brendon looked around in stunned awe as Spencer led him inside through the front door. The entrance hall was black and white parquet with a grand, curving staircase and a crystal chandelier. Adjoining was a sitting room, with silver etched wallpaper and no doubt original paintings, fresh flowers in cut crystal vases, antique sofa and loveseat in a floral pattern. It all looked so stiff and uncomfortable, and made Brendon uneasy.
Then Spencer took him down the hall and it opened in a den painted a warm red, with comfy, overstuffed furniture and the entertainment centre of Brendon’s dreams.
“This place used to belong to my grandmother,” Spencer explained. “I like to keep the entrance how she had it. I don’t know, I guess it seemed disrespectful.” He laughed. “Are you going to psychoanalyse me?”
Brendon gave him what he felt was a horrified look. “I wouldn’t-I wouldn’t ever do that to anyone who didn’t want me to.”
“I was just teasing,” Spencer said quickly. “I’m sorry, bad joke. I don’t ever know what to say around you.”
“Or maybe I just tend to overreact?” Brendon offered. He forced his shoulders to relax. “I’m sorry, I’ll try not to.”
Spencer pulled him close and they kissed, unhurried, exploring. Spencer’s hands teased at the edge of Brendon’s t-shirt, fingers just brushing the bare skin at the small of his back, drawing circles. By the time Spencer drew away, the tension in Brendon’s muscles had gone completely.
“It’s too early for dinner,” Spencer said, releasing Brendon altogether and going to the bar in the corner. “You should pick something for us to watch.”
Brendon nodded, not entirely trusting himself to speak without a stutter right now. He wanted to say fuck the movie, fuck dinner, and drag Spencer off to bed, but he made himself be patient. Lots of sex hadn’t done any good for any of his previous relationships, at any rate.
So he went to the glass front cabinet that held Spencer’s movie collection and began to browse the titles. They were, no surprise, listed alphabetically and compulsively neat, but what was a surprise was the variety. He’d expected to see a lot of foreign and indie and intellectual films, which there were; but really, they were by far the rarest. Most of the collection was made of comedies and horror movies, and quite a few action and gangster films as well.
“You have an entire movie rental store here,” Brendon said. He didn’t know where to begin with the couple hundred titles, and eventually just grabbed one at random and loaded the disk into the Blue Ray player.
“Pick one?” Spencer asked, coming back with two tumblers of amber liquid.
Brendon held up the case for Dogma, and quirked a brow. “You have a problem with my taste in cinema?” Spencer asked.
“On the contrary,” Brendon said. “I love Kevin Smith.” He took the glass Spencer offered him and let Spencer draw him close on the sofa, tucked under his arm. He couldn’t quite keep his heart under control, and he knew Spencer must feel it, where they were pressed together, but he didn’t mind Spencer knowing. Especially since Spencer kept drawing his thumb over Brendon’s pulse, making it go faster.
They maybe paid attention through the first twenty minutes, long enough for Brendon to finish his bourbon. Then it was easier for him to ignore all the stupid thoughts that kept him trapped in his own brain. The anxiety ebbed, and he could just be with Spencer, talking without worrying what he might give away with his words.
“You know, I saw this movie for the first time when I was thirteen. I was at a friend’s house, my parents never would have let me-when they found out, I wasn’t allowed to go to his house again.”
Spencer toyed with a lock of hair that had fallen over Brendon’s brow, brushed it back, traced a hand down Brendon’s jaw. “Religious?” he asked.
Brendon rolled his eyes. “You could say that,” he murmured. “Mormon.”
“Wow,” Spencer said, “you really don’t…”
“I know, thank god. Or,” Brendon laughed, “not, as it were. I guess the movie was a way of acting out, but it certainly wasn’t my first, or my last. I didn’t even think it was so bad. Of course, by then I didn’t really believe in it all anymore, so…” He glanced at Spencer from the corner of his eye. “Do…do you believe it?”
Spencer shifted, pulling Brendon more fully into his lap. He looked pensive and so fucking beautiful, his hair falling down into his eyes, lip full from biting it. “We used to go to church sometimes, when we were kids. Episcopalian. I was the book bearer.”
Brendon bit back a smile. “Did you wear the robe?” he teased.
“Mmm,” Spencer agreed, his eyes sparking mischievously. “But my parents didn’t really make us go, and around the time the twins were twelve, we stopped going except, you know Easter, Christmas. I always thought it was pretty boring. Ryan’s always been an atheist, and we used to talk about it, but I guess I never really cared, one way or another.”
“I don’t get you and Ryan,” Brendon said.
Spencer laughed, a real laugh, that shook even Brendon and Brendon wanted to make Spencer laugh like that forever. “No one gets me and Ryan. I don’t get me and Ryan. You have to understand that all those things he said to you-he did it because he was fascinated by you, he wanted to get under your skin.”
“Fascinated? By me,” Brendon asked, unconvinced.
“I don’t-besides Ryan, I don’t have any really close friends, and I haven’t dated anyone in years, and he knew I was fascinated by you, so he was, too. He wanted to understand why.”
Brendon’s face was on fire, but he was also smiling so widely his cheeks ached. Normally he would have told Spencer he was wrong, or crazy, but he didn’t feel like arguing the point right now. He wanted to hold Spencer’s fascination. Instead of saying, I’m not, he leaned up to press a quick kiss to Spencer’s mouth and then settled against him.
They spent most of the movie fighting over who was hotter-Spencer thought Selma, Brendon thought Alan, and that led somehow to a debate over who was more badass, Professor Snape or the Metatron. And okay, so Spencer was hot and really good at his job, and that was all great, but Brendon was ridiculously relieved to learn that Spencer was just as much a dork as he was, willing to get into silly arguments about characters from Harry Potter.
After the movie ended, Spencer switched over to the television and they fought half-heartedly over the remote, settling quite amiably on the Law and Order marathon they stumbled across on TNT.
Spencer kept inching further and further back until he was practically lying down and Brendon was sprawled over him, and by half-way through the first episode they were making out, Brendon’s fingers hooked in the belt loops of Spencer’s jeans to keep from wandering. He couldn’t get enough of Spencer’s mouth-his lips were so soft and his teeth were small and even and perfect when they bit at Brendon’s mouth, sending sparks skittering down Brendon’s spine. Every time a kiss ended, Brendon needed another, until his mouth felt bruised, but in the best way.
Brendon could have kept it up all night, slowly learning what sort of kisses Spencer liked best, and where on Spencer’s neck was most sensitive, and the sighs that Spencer made when Brendon did something right. Only his body was a traitorous thing, and sometime during the second episode, his stomach growled, loud enough to make Spencer pull away and give him a rueful smile.
“I’m the worst host ever,” he said. “I invite you over for dinner and then I let you starve.”
“I’m okay with starving,” Brendon protested, tugging on Spencer’s belt loops. Spencer’s back arched, bringing their hips together, and Brendon let out a shaky moan. Spencer surged up, catching his mouth again and rolling them over, pinning Brendon to the sofa with a solid, comforting weight. His hips were sharp against Brendon’s stomach and he rolled down, rubbing his groin to Brendon’s.
Brendon slipped his fingers from Spencer’s belt loops to trace the line of his jeans. He plucked at Spencer’s t-shirt, searching for bare skin and finding Spencer’s stomach, smooth and quivering under his fingers. Spencer didn’t move to stop him, and Brendon lay his palm flat against his skin and stroked upward, counting ribs, thumb catching some ticklish spot that made Spencer huff in laughter.
Then Brendon’s stomach growled again, longer, and Spencer broke the kiss laughing. He sat back on Brendon’s thighs, looking down at him with a torn expression. “Dinner,” he said at last, and got to his feet, offering Brendon a hand.
And Brendon couldn’t be petulant about it, because Spencer’s cooking was nearly as good as his mouth, so it wasn’t like Brendon was losing here.
Spencer’s kitchen was like a chef’s wet dream, straight from the set of a cooking channel series. It was huge and wide open, painted a cheerful blue and yellow. There were counters around three walls, and an island bigger than Brendon’s entire kitchen.
The sinks were made of copper, and the counters around them were at an angle to drain off. The entire room smelled of herbs, and there were several bunches hung up alongside various cooking accoutrement including pots and pans that Brendon knew had to cost more than a month’s rent at Brendon’s apartment.
There was a breakfast nook tucked into a bay window, and an antique table of scrubbed wood, lined with use and age, though it looked well loved, but Spencer ushered Brendon over to the stools along the open end of the counter and sat him down.
“You’re just vegetarian, right? Not vegan?” Spencer asked, going to his refrigerator-some gigantic thing big enough to hold a couple bodies at least. “Are eggs okay?
Brendon’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know I was vegetarian? Did Jon say?”
Spencer gave him an amused look. “I’m a chef. I notice what you eat and what you don’t. Like how whenever there’s seafood or meat in something, you give it to Jon or Alicia.”
“I’m sorry,” Brendon said quickly. “It isn’t-I’m sure it’s really good, I just can’t…”
“Brendon,” Spencer said, peeking out of the fridge to pin him with a look. “It doesn’t bother me.” He grinned. “It just means more of a challenge.”
“Eggs are okay,” Brendon said, instead of apologising again.
“Good,” Spencer said, and came over with an armful of produce, slid a cutting board onto the counter in front of Brendon, and laid a garlic clove, chili pepper, and a fresh bunch of parsley alongside it. “Mince these.”
“I don’t-what, precisely, does mince mean?” Brendon asked, baffled. He understood the word in the general sense, but he had the feeling if he tried to actually do it, he’d end up with a pile of mush on the cutting board.
Spencer chuckled and grabbed a knife and the garlic and came to stand at Brendon’s side, their hips bumping. Brendon watched Spencer cut off the end and his slender fingers neatly discard the skin. “You cut it all horizontally first, then vertically, so it’s in long and thin pieces,” Spencer said, then he illustrated, so quickly Brendon almost couldn’t follow it.
“Then you rock the knife, like this,” he minced the pieces, pausing every few strokes to swipe the blade across the board, drawing the garlic into a neat pile. The whole thing took a couple seconds.
Usually Andrew did all the prep work with the vegetables (which had always confused Brendon, because everyone called Andrew the Butcher, except he never worked with meat…), and he was pretty impressive, but not like Spencer. Brendon felt himself blushing, wondering what else Spencer could do well with his hands.
“Think you can handle it?” Spencer teased and Brendon rolled his eyes, though he knew his work wasn’t going to look anything like that.
Spencer brought over his own ingredients to work alongside him. Brendon was curious of the myriad vegetables, nuts and herbs, and the occasional dish of savoury juices. They worked together in companionable silence, Spencer pausing now and then to give Brendon a new task, or showing him how to do something correctly. Brendon didn’t mind cooking, but he’d never been very good at anything that didn’t come out of a box. This was fun, though, and oddly satisfying.
The first dish Spencer presented he called aubergine caviar, served with a glass of petite syrah. Spencer laid out warm crostinis, fresh from the oven and laced little dollops of the mixture in the centre of each, sprinkling Brendon’s minced chili overtop.
It looked pretty good, though Brendon couldn’t figure out the name, since there wasn’t any caviar involved. Still, he parted his lips when Spencer held one out, making sure he caught the tip of Spencer’s finger in the process. Spencer’s eyes flashed, but otherwise he didn’t react, holding out the wine glass for Brendon to sip as soon as he’d swallowed.
Brendon didn’t know much about wine, other than he generally liked it, but the combination was fucking amazing. Usually red wine made his mouth feel dry, but this didn’t, and now he could taste all these flavours he hadn’t before-the thyme, and some sort of nut.
“The tannins in the syrah are moderated by the bitterness of the eggplant,” Spencer explained.
“You are a god,” Brendon moaned, and Spencer was silent long enough to make him worry and look, but Spencer was watching him like Brendon was dinner and got a private little smirk on his face when Brendon caught him.
“That’s just the appetizer,” was all he said, and he turned to tend to one of the simmering pots on the stovetop.
There was tofu crusted in coconut and deep fried, drizzled with raspberry sauce and green onions, served with some bubbly drink flavoured of orange and pomegranate. Brendon was a fan of tofu anyway, but he’d never known it could be so silky smooth, melting in his mouth.
This was followed by two separate entrées-a Thai curry made of some bumpy green fruits Brendon had never seen before and little cakes of rice and lentils served with chutney and dry pinot grigio to counter the spiciness of the dish. The fruit looked strange, but Spencer had never let Brendon down food-wise before, so he took a bite. “This is…fruit?” It tasted more like chicken, and had the texture of it, too.
“How can you be a vegetarian and not know what jackfruit is?” Spencer demanded in a scandalised tone of voice. “What do you eat?”
“Shut up,” Brendon said without any force behind it because holy fuck, he had to marry Spencer, and only eat his cooking for the rest of forever.
After Brendon had sampled that to his content, Spencer brought out the last savoury dish from the fridge, a bowl full of yellow liquid and what looked like a potato. A seriously tiny, deformed, disgusting potato. Spencer caught him staring and waved it under his nose. “It’s a truffle,” he said. Brendon mostly smelled earth, but he didn’t want to be rude. There had to be a reason they were so expensive.
“I thought you said truffles were out of season,” Brendon said.
“Whatever Ryan Ross wants, Ryan Ross gets,” Spencer said. “And I set some aside for tonight.” He produced a tiny instrument like a potato peeler, but more complicated and began to shave slivers from the truffle.
“You wait to shave the truffle until just before cooking,” Spencer explained. “That way you can fully appreciate the scents.”
“Uh huh,” Brendon said, arching a brow.
Spencer ignored his expression. “Do you know the reason the female pig is used to sniff out truffles?” Brendon shook his head. Now that Spencer had begun to shave away the skin, a heady, musky scent was filling the air. “There is a compound in the truffle which is quite similar to the pheromone given off by the boar.”
“Sexy,” Brendon leered, breathing in more deeply.
Spencer darted him a quick look. “It is,” he said. “The Romans were the first to use truffles as an aphrodisiac. But even today, it is difficult for even the best trained chef to find a word to describe their taste that does not pertain to sex.”
“Oh?” Brendon asked.
Spencer paused in the process of mixing the shavings in with the yellow liquid. He poured Brendon a glass of the last, untouched bottle of dark red wine and nodded at it. “It has the flavour of the truffle. Take a sip.”
Brendon did so, holding a bit on his tongue like Spencer had taught, inhaling the alcohol to leave behind just the flavour. It was smooth going down, with a thick, musky flavour that lingered in his mouth-a flavour he could only liken to one other thing he’d ever tasted.
Spencer tucked a finger under Brendon’s chin, tilting his face up and opening his mouth with a slow kiss, his tongue rolling against Brendon’s in search of a taste. He pulled back with a sinful moan that went straight to Brendon’s cock. He’d been turned on for the past several hours, a low-grade thrum running through his veins. Now he was so hard he was hurting for it.
“They say it smells like certain…ah…scents produced during sex,” Spencer explained. Brendon nodded shakily. He took another sip and hooked his arm around Spencer’s neck, pulling him back down and sealing their mouths together even as he swallowed. Spencer’s hand shifted to cup his jaw and the scent of the truffle lingered, making the taste stronger.
“Fuck,” Brendon breathed. “I want-will it keep?”
Spencer nodded blindly, kissing and biting along Brendon’s jaw. “It’ll keep,” he panted. He pushed Brendon back against the counter, bending him toward the surface, sucking bruises onto the sensitive skin of his throat. Brendon whined, twining his fingers in Spencer’s hair and tugging him up. He just wanted to taste Spencer, run his tongue all over, learn his flavour.
He straightened up, pushing back against Spencer’s restraining hold and Spencer went with minimal struggle, let Brendon turn them around. Brendon’s hands fumbled between them, practically tearing the button from Spencer’s jeans. He could feel Spencer hard against his palm and it wasn’t enough, with layers of denim and cotton between them. Brendon yanked the zipper down and let his fingers brush the elastic of Spencer’s underwear.
“Can I?” he asked.
Spencer looked at him, pupils wide, gaze unfocussed and he said, “Are you serious?” which was all the encouragement Brendon needed to drop down to his knees and tug Spencer’s jeans around his thighs.
“Euros?” Brendon asked playfully, easing the elastic band of Spencer’s underwear down.
“Shut up,” Spencer huffed, arching his back and tilting his hips forward. “I got them when I was in Europe.”
“Uh huh,” Brendon teased.
Spencer’s cock was hard, curving up toward his stomach. The head was already leaking with precome and Brendon flicked his tongue out to taste. Spencer’s thighs tensed and he let out a shaky sigh. Brendon gave another broad, teasing swirl of his tongue and Spencer grabbed his shoulder, fingers tight enough to bruise. He groaned, and Brendon gave in, fisting his hand around the base and swallowing what he could, then sucked gently.
Brendon loved sucking cock. Past boyfriends had called him a cockslut and other not very nice things, but Brendon didn’t get what was wrong with liking cock. Wasn’t that the whole point of being gay?
Spencer wasn’t loud, but he kept hissing curses and Brendon’s name under his breath, and fingers brushed against his cheek almost gently, thumb tugging at Brendon’s bottom lip. Brendon decided he really liked sucking Spencer’s cock. It was thick and heavy on his tongue, and he was pretty sure with a little practice he could probably deep-throat it. He normally wasn’t into giving that much control away, but the thought of Spencer grabbing his hair and just fucking his mouth turned him on a lot.
When his jaw started to ache, Brendon sat back on his heels, jerking Spencer off with a loose fist, nuzzling at the smooth, pale skin at the inside of Spencer’s thighs. He moved upward, pausing to suck at the hollow of Spencer’s hipbone, long enough that the skin turned dull purple with pinpricks of pink.
Spencer slipped a hand through Brendon’s hair, cupping his skull and urging him upward. “Come here,” he murmured, and Brendon got to shaky feet, leaning his full weight against Spencer, hands falling on the counter for balance as they kissed. Spencer’s fingers splayed out over his back under his shirt, and then he was tugging it off and Brendon raised his arms to help before pulling at Spencer’s, too.
The air in the kitchen was warm against his skin from all the cooking, but Brendon shivered anyway at the feel of Spencer’s bare skin pressed to his when they fell into another kiss. Spencer’s fingers were quick and sure unbuckling Brendon’s belt. Brendon helped by undoing and shimmying out of his jeans and boxer briefs and kicking them aside.
Spencer grabbed him by the waist and dragged Brendon to him. Brendon was growing accustomed to the way Spencer’s hands fit there, liked that Spencer was so much taller and broader. Brendon was used to dating guys his own size; he’d never liked the feeling of being dwarfed by his lovers. He wasn’t comfortable with trusting someone stronger than him not to hurt him. And it wasn’t even that Spencer was particularly gentle, but something about his touch, and the way he had to bend his neck to kiss Brendon, made Brendon feel safe.
“We could go to bed,” Spencer offered between kisses. “Or the couch.”
Brendon nodded distractedly, fingers tracing the lines of the muscles in Spencer’s back. “Beds are good,” he murmured. He’d discovered this spot on Spencer’s neck that he couldn’t stop biting and licking, and Spencer made a low sound in his throat and shoved Brendon back into the counter with his hips, pulling him up by his hair for a kiss.
“I want to fuck you,” Spencer breathed against Brendon’s mouth.
Brendon nodded, stealing another quick kiss, then two. “Me too,” he stuttered, “I mean, I want that, too.”
Spencer smiled that breath-taking smile of his that made Brendon’s breath catch in his throat. He dropped a kiss to Brendon’s shoulder and pushed at Brendon’s waist, urging him to turn. Brendon went easily, eagerly, trembling with anticipation.
Spencer’s fingers spread him open and Brendon waited nervously. It still caught him by surprise when Spencer touched him, not with his fingers but with his tongue, wet and so hot, licking against his hole. Brendon hadn’t even realised Spencer had gotten to his knees and he let out an undignified noise, chest falling flat against the countertop. He wrapped his hands around the far edge, hanging on for dear life, unable to keep his hips from shifting back, pushing into the touch. Spencer chuckled against Brendon’s skin, and it was the oddest sensation he’d ever felt, and he never wanted it to stop.
“Holy fuck,” he gasped, and Spencer traced his tongue around the outside before pushing in, and Brendon’s brain just checked out. He knew later he’d be mortified by how he was reacting, shoving his ass against Spencer’s face, babbling pleas and promises if Spencer just kept going.
He was close, so fucking close, when Spencer slid a finger in alongside his tongue. Brendon didn’t even know what he was feeling, or how to begin to describe it, the different sensations almost too much to take, and he was going to come too soon. Then Spencer pulled back, trailing kisses up Brendon’s back as he stood. He added a second finger and they were both almost too dry, but then he curled them and Brendon twisted his hips down, trying to take more. Spencer’s breath was hot on Brendon’s neck, and his dick was poking against Brendon’s back.
Brendon let his head fall back against Spencer’s chest. He reached behind himself to wrap his hand around Spencer’s cock, lining him up. “Spence, I’m so close, I want you inside, come on.” Brendon barely recognised his own voice, thick with arousal and so desperate and unrestrained.
Spencer grabbed his wrist and stepped back. “Turn around,” he said and Brendon practically tripped over his own feet to obey. Spencer’s hands were back on Brendon’s waist actually lifting him up and sitting him on the countertop.
Brendon’s eyes tracked the movement as Spencer picked up a glass bottle and spilled the oil inside onto his palm. He slicked his hands together and reached between Brendon’s legs again. Brendon spread his legs and braced his feet on the stools, using them as leverage to push back when Spencer opened him up with three fingers this time, the slight sting only adding to Brendon’s excitement. He bit his lip against a moan and said, “I’m ready, Spencer, please, come on.”
“Impatient?” Spencer paused in sliding out of his jeans and underwear to give Brendon an amused look.
“Yes,” Brendon snapped. He tucked his foot behind Spencer’s knee and forced him a step closer.
Spencer fished around in his pocket and pulled out a foil wrapper and Brendon was glad to know that he wasn’t the only one who’d planned on the evening leading to this. Spencer tore the condom open and rolled it on, spreading the oil on with a few quick strokes. Then he stepped between Brendon’s open thighs and guided his cock to Brendon’s opening.
It had been months since Brendon had slept with anyone and Spencer was longer and thicker than Brendon had ever had, and there was a moment where he worried it was going to hurt too much. Spencer went slowly and stroked a hand up Brendon’s chest and rubbed at the back of his neck and Brendon kept his eyes closed and arched up for a kiss. Then the initial pressure gave and Spencer slid the rest of the way in in one smooth thrust.
Spencer hid his face in Brendon’s throat, catching his breath. “Jesus, Brendon,” he said, “you’re so fucking tight.” He sounded as though he was in pain and Brendon was going to apologise except Spencer shifted, drawing back just a couple inches and rocking in again, and Brendon’s voice died in a faint whine at the sensation.
“Put your legs around me,” Spencer said, and when Brendon couldn’t quite get his limbs to agree, Spencer helped, guiding Brendon’s legs up and over his hips. The angle let Spencer slide in deeper. Brendon had never felt so stretched open, so possessed by someone else, and rather than struggle against it as was his normal instinct, he clung to Spencer’s shoulders and kissed him desperately, licking into Spencer’s mouth.
Spencer moved in slow, hard thrusts. He would pull all but the tip out and he angled himself just right that every time he pushed back inside he rubbed against Brendon’s prostate. Brendon was pretty sure that he could come just like this, without anyone touching his dick, but he’d been waiting for hours and he didn’t want to wait any longer. He reached down to touch himself and Spencer leaned back to watch.
Brendon teased his fingers around the head, spreading the moisture, and gave a few loose strokes before tightening his fist. When he picked up the pace, Spencer did too, fucking him faster, his thrusts turning shallow.
“Fuck, Spence,” he managed, breath coming short and frantic, “don’t stop, please, just like that.” He always babbled when he was about to come. Spencer knocked Brendon’s hand aside and wrapped his own tightly around Brendon’s cock. He pressed his thumb just under the head and then flattened it over the tip and Brendon groaned as he came in hot strips over his chest and Spencer’s fist.
Spencer moaned and fucked him through it, losing his rhythm. Brendon locked his ankles behind Spencer’s back and squeezed, drawing him in deeper. A boneless lethargy spread over him, but he wanted Spencer there with him. He let his hands shift over Spencer’s shoulders, dragging his nails roughly down Spencer’s back. Spencer shivered at the sensation and jerked and bit down on Brendon’s collarbone as he came.
Brendon tried to keep holding on, but the muscles in his legs wouldn’t listen to him. He slumped back on his elbows and his legs slipped down to dangle uselessly off the counter. Spencer lifted his head and sought out Brendon’s mouth for a slow, sleepy kiss, pulling back before Brendon was ready for it to end.
“So, about that bed of mine,” Spencer murmured, and Brendon laughed, ending on a gasp when Spencer pulled free from his body.
“Does it come attached to a room with bath?” Brendon asked.
“It does, in fact,” Spencer said, disposing of the condom. “A room which, given its name, seems to have been created for the very purpose of containing a bath.”
Brendon smacked him lightly on the chest and Spencer grabbed his wrist, hauling him down from the countertop. Brendon stumbled up against Spencer’s chest and looked up at him shyly. Spencer ran his hand through the hair that had fallen in Brendon’s face and said, “Stay the night?”
And Brendon didn’t want to rush it or expect too much because he wanted so desperately for this to work out. But he also really wanted to stay the night. “Yeah,” he said. “I-yeah.”
Spencer’s mouth curled up in a purely happy smile and he led Brendon upstairs.
~*~
They showered together in Spencer’s fucking ridiculous Roman shower made of warm golden and ivory coloured marble and a third wall of glass. Brendon had some serious fucking plans for this shower, and all the things he could do to Spencer in it, particularly with the built-in bench along one of the walls.
Spencer had these robes, soft and thick like something from those exorbitantly overpriced five-star hotels, and he gave one to Brendon. It smelled spicy and exotic, like Spencer’s shampoo, and Brendon wondered if there was a way he could sneak the robe home without Spencer knowing, and just sleep in it forever.
Though there were bedrooms on the second floor as well, Spencer kept his on the third floor at the back of the house, where French doors opened onto a terrace with a view of the lake. The room, like most of the rest of the house, looked like something out of a movie or magazine.
There were all these gorgeous, interesting dressers and shelves filled with mementos from around the world, and lots of small lamps so the light in the room was warm and unassuming. The bed was a cherry sleigh-style with crisp-looking sheets and more pillows than could ever be necessary. The little boy in Brendon wanted to just dive into them.
Spencer opened the terrace doors to let in a cool breeze and they curled up under the covers and watched some stupid reality dating game. It wasn’t Brendon’s normal choice, but it was surprisingly enjoyable, making fun of the contestants and feeling Spencer’s chest rumble with laughter under his cheek.
Around ten, Spencer went back downstairs, and Brendon took the chance to call Emily and make sure it was all right to leave Bogart there for the evening. Then Spencer came back with champagne and a dessert that smelled heavenly. There were poached pears in a warm vanilla sauce over cinnamon ice cream, and more of it ended up on their bodies and the sheets than in their mouths, but Brendon had a fun time licking the melting trickles that found their way down Spencer’s chest.
This time, when he went down on Spencer, when Spencer was close and straining into Brendon’s touch, thrusting his hips off the sheet, Brendon sucked his fingers in his mouth and twisted them into Spencer’s ass, and Spencer came in his mouth. The flavour was bitter in contrast with the sweet of dessert, but Brendon found he liked it, and sat back licking his lips.
Spencer lay there catching his breath, staring at Brendon in something like wonder, and when he pounced, rolling Brendon beneath him to return the favour, Brendon felt like he was being paid devotion. Spencer took his time, bringing Brendon to the edge and then easing back over and over until Brendon’s thighs were trembling and his fingers were weak in Spencer’s hair, and he was begging shamelessly for release.
“We should have held off on the shower thing,” Spencer murmured later, face smooshed in Brendon’s neck.
“Mmm,” Brendon agreed, drawing patterns against the skin of Spencer’s back with his nails. “We could shower again?” Except for how he really didn’t think he could move, let alone stay on his feet for any extended period of time.
“Right,” Spencer said, voice wry. He got up and stumbled into the bathroom, returning with a washcloth, and made Brendon get up long enough to strip down the top sheet.
They tumbled back into bed just after midnight, and Brendon was asleep within minutes, Spencer’s body warm and solid against his back.
~*~
Brendon woke when Spencer got up from the bed, moving around in the early morning light from the bathroom to his closet. Mostly he wanted to burrow back under the covers and get another hour or so of sleep. A glance at the bedside clock told him it was a quarter past six, and if he wanted to get home, shower, change, and get to work on time, he was going to have to leave ten minutes ago.
He was sitting up in bed when Spencer came out of his closet doing up a plain black button down. “Oh,” Spencer said, “If you wanna borrow some clothes, I can drop you off by the centre on my way to meet Greta.”
Brendon didn’t want things to be awkward, but he wasn’t sure he knew how. “It-it isn’t a problem?”
Spencer flashed him a smile. “Well, you are sort of tiny, but I think we can make it work.”
“Shut up,” Brendon muttered, getting up from the bed and only blushing a little at his own nudity. It was fairly dark in the room; maybe Spencer didn’t even notice.
“I laid out a few things that might work in the bathroom. Hurry your ass up and you can have breakfast, too.” Spencer caught Brendon on the way to the bathroom with an arm around his waist and kissed him even though Brendon had morning breath.
“I’m supposed to be hurrying,” Brendon murmured against Spencer’s mouth, and Spencer let him go with a pinch on the ass.
Brendon showered in ten minutes and dressed in a pair of Spencer’s jeans rolled up a few times, and a colourful t-shirt that looked like something Brendon would have bought for himself. For breakfast, Spencer had made the truffles and yellow mixture, which turned out to be fluffy, delicious eggs. Spencer rolled them up in some savoury pastry shells so they could take them in the car, and Brendon felt a little bad doing so, because the eggs were heavenly, and they deserved more time and attention.
They made it to the centre with a couple minutes to spare and Brendon was startled when Spencer pulled him across the gearshift for a kiss, but relaxed into the touch after a moment. He parted from Spencer reluctantly, grabbing his bag from the back seat and turning to climb from the car.
“You’re coming tonight, right?” Spencer asked, before Brendon could close the door. “You can talk to Pete and Patrick about what’s going on. You don’t have to decide-”
“I’ll be there,” Brendon told him, and smiled just so he could see Spencer’s answering grin. He ducked back into the car for another fast kiss and went into the centre with a bounce in his step and didn’t care how much everyone teased him for it.
Part 4