Adventures in Office Romance; or, His Rumpled Secretary (2/2)
Title: Adventures in Office Romance; or, His Rumpled Secretary (2/2)
It's a Harlequin romance novel, starring bandboys. Yes, that involves many of the clinchy, shmoopy clichés you’re thinking of. In which Brendon is Spencer's secretary, and somehow Spencer has never really noticed him before.
part one
Nothing is fixed at all.
Brendon is at work the next morning when Spencer arrives, holding coffee and beaming at him. Spencer’s heart stutters. Brendon is wearing black jeans so tight Spencer’s almost sure he can’t sit down in them, and when he leans over to get files Spencer can see the red waistband of his underwear peeking up under them.
There is no way for Spencer to point out the problem without admitting that he was looking at Brendon’s ass.
He has a meeting with Homes for Humanity about the designs for the low-income housing they want to build. Spencer hates being the lead on this project. He wants to build affordable housing, but there’s nothing challenging or sexy about the project except the challenge of keeping it under budget. Luckily Brendon loves it, and his energy is infectious. Spencer tries not to notice how Brendon’s enthusiasm makes Spencer enthusiastic, too. He works very hard at not thinking about why he likes seeing Brendon so happy.
Homes doesn’t have a set project manager, so a different person comes to every meeting. It makes Spencer crazy, explaining everything again, but when he walks out Brendon is already walking Greta through what they got done last time with Ray. She looks like a hippy, just like all the folks at the non-profit do.
“Let’s talk budget,” says Spencer grimly. Greta flutters helplessly a little bit and nods. Brendon appears a second later with coffee for both of them.
Brendon’s hand brushes Spencer’s as he takes the coffee. Spencer thinks about that all morning when he ought to be negotiating Greta out of the cost of recycled filler materials for insulation.
Two days later they work late at the office, and Brendon keeps himself awake by singing the entire score to Jesus Christ, Superstar. Seriously, he sings the Jesus part and the Judas part, all by himself. Spencer scowls and snaps at him to knock it off, but it’s not because of the headache he claims. It’s because Brendon’s voice, so cheerful and boisterous, does funny things to Spencer’s concentration. When Spencer comes out to get dinner Brendon is bent over the desk, trying to reach an outlet behind it, and Spencer has to turn around and go back into his office for a couple of minutes, until his pulse stops racing.
On Friday Spencer has to talk to Weird Gerard in advertising, to talk about the pamphlet that’s going out to advertise the Hong Kong city planning deal. Gerard never leaves his office - his cave, Brendon calls it, and giggles - and Spencer hates going in there.
“Your secretary was singing this morning,” says Gerard, hunched over his drawing table.
Spencer can’t tell if Gerard is mad or not. “Yeah, he does that,” he says. He’s surprised that he’s ready to fight with Gerard if he complains.
“It was loud. It was okay, though,” says Gerard, and Spencer decides not to hit him.
Gerard can never find anything in his office; he needs a Brendon, or at least someone to organize him. He’s even worse than Spencer, though; Gerard’s never kept an assistant for longer than an hour before they quit. Spencer waits uncomfortably in the doorway while Gerard roots through pile after pile of papers, looking for his sketch. It takes so long that Brendon comes looking for him.
“You’re missing a meeting, come on,” says Brendon.
Spencer frowns. “There’s no meeting this morning.”
Brendon rolls his eyes and checks Spencer lightly with his hip. Spencer feels off balance in more ways than one. “I emailed you the schedule change,” he says. “Hey, Gerard.” He plucks at Spencer’s sleeve and ducks out again.
Spencer thinks Gerard gives him a look, but it’s hard to tell.
It’s possible that Spencer just never noticed before, but he’s willing to swear Brendon’s shirts are getting tighter. Spencer tries not to look. Brendon’s ties are definitely getting sloppier. Spencer’s being driven mad by the crooked knot and the tail sticking out, and he can’t stop himself from grabbing Brendon’s arm as he zips by. Brendon freezes immediately, but Spencer can feel him humming with energy.
“Just let me,” says Spencer, determinedly not looking at Brendon’s face. He’s done this dozens of times. Brendon has always been a mess.
He hopes Brendon doesn’t notice that this time his hands are shaking a little bit every time they brush Brendon’s throat. He’s glad Brendon can’t feel the way his pulse jumps, and his mouth goes dry. Brendon’s so close. Spencer could keep the tie in one hand and just tug, and Brendon’s mouth would be-
But when he glances up, Brendon’s looking at the floor, eyes hidden behind his dark eyelashes, and his face open. Spencer can’t do this. Brendon is a friend and an employee.
“Thanks,” says Brendon a little hoarsely, looking up.
Spencer drops his hands. “Learn to dress yourself,” he says, and it doesn’t sound as mean as it should.
Brendon looks up and smiles sunnily at him. “But you do it better,” he says, with what might be a flirty tilt to his head. Spencer can’t be sure.
That night Spencer moans on the phone to Ryan, “Everything is wrong.”
“Everything what?” Ryan asks patiently.
“He keeps bumping into me. I keep having to touch him to get things. His tie is never on right - Why are you laughing?”
“No reason,” says Ryan. “I have to go. I hope you stop being so dumb soon.”
“What? Ryan?”
It gets worse every day, until the day that they’re passing each other around Spencer’s desk, where there’s no room. Brendon turns sideways to wiggle by, and just for a second he’s pressed right up against Spencer, his back against Spencer’s front, one hand braced on the wall. It takes every ounce of self-control Spencer’s ever possessed to keep his hands off Brendon’s hips, to keep his mouth off Brendon’s neck. He swears under his breath and grabs his coat. “I’m going home,” he snaps. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Brendon looks startled, but he shrugs. “Okay, I’ll finish these up. You know we might need them before midnight, Hong Kong time, right?”
Spencer grunts and storms out.
Halfway through the parking lot he realizes he can’t go home; he’ll lie around on the couch and think about almost-touching Brendon. But he can’t touch Brendon. No one’s ever understood the business so well. No one’s ever understood Spencer so well. If he gropes Brendon and Brendon quits, Spencer will… Well, there’s nothing he can do.
He turns the car around and goes to a bar. A shitty sports bar, where he and Brendon have never come, where they have never celebrated a contract with cheap beer on tap, and where Brendon has never gotten drunk and sat half in Spencer’s lap.
What he needs, Spencer realizes, isn’t just to get drunk. It’s to get drunk and distract himself. Ryan said he hadn’t been on a date in a year, not since Brendon showed up. It’s time to fix that.
Spencer gets a beer to brace himself, and then finds the tallest guy there. Someone who’s quiet, someone who doesn’t smile too much, someone whose jeans are loose. Spencer learns and then immediately forgets that his name is Kenneth, and he buys them both a round of shots, and then another. Spencer manages to go whole minutes at a time without thinking about Brendon, back at the office, looking through papers and organizing Spencer’s life. After the fourth round Kenneth asks politely if Spencer’s hand in his jeans means he’d like to get out of there, and Spencer says yes.
They get a cab back to Kenneth’s shitty apartment. Spencer can’t claim it isn’t fun; sex is always fun, even sloppy, drunk sex with someone who’s too tall and too quiet. They fumble enough to get their pants off, and there are sloppy hand jobs and a drunken attempt at a blowjob that doesn’t work, because Spencer’s drunk and he can’t stop drooling. Kenneth’s even drunker.
The floor is tilting back and forth. Kenneth has some beers in the fridge, and Spencer props himself up against the wall and opens one. He has to keep drinking, because otherwise he’ll think about… Something. Someone?
Kenneth is talking on a cell phone that looks oddly familiar. Spencer blinks, and the room dips and twirls. Kenneth says, “…Yeah, 401 Pike. Thanks. Shit, I don’t know where his car is.” And then he closes his phone and hands it to Spencer. Strange. He crouches in front of Spencer and smiles drunkenly. “Your phone rang. Some kind of work emergency?”
“Oh,” says Spencer. Brendon handles those. He needs Brendon. He hopes Brendon’s not drunk.
Kenneth shrugs and falls on the couch. In a second he snoring, shirtless, pants hanging off one leg. Spencer struggles to get his own dress slacks back on, but he can’t do it one-handed, and he’s too tipsy to put the beer down without spilling it. It won’t balance on the rug.
Someone knocks on the door. And then again. Spencer slaps at Kenneth’s leg, but he’s passed out. Luckily, the door opens.
“Spencer?” says Brendon, and then stops dead in the doorway.
Spencer frowns. The whole night was about getting away from Brendon. “You shouldn’t be here,” he slurs.
“I… Yeah. Clearly,” says Brendon, in a weird, bitten-off voice Spencer’s never heard before. “Is your car here?”
“At the bar,” says Spencer, letting his eyes sink shut.
There’s a pause. A long pause. Spencer wonders if Brendon’s left. But when he forces his eyes open again, Brendon’s still standing there, lips pressed tightly together. His face is blank. “You need to be in a tele-conference meeting with Mr. Wu at eight,” says Brendon finally, in the same strained, choked voice “So you need to come back to the office and get those papers signed. Now. Can you stand up?”
Spencer braces one hand against the wall and tries, but he’s all tangled up in his trousers and his beer. Brendon swears - Spencer’s never really heard him swear like that before - and stomps over, grabs Spencer’s pants and hauls them up. He buttons them with his long, clever fingers and takes the beer, and then snaps, “Come on. I’ll drive you.” He doesn’t offer to help Spencer walk. He doesn’t let Spencer drape himself across his shoulders.
Spencer staggers through the door and out into Kenneth’s driveway, where Brendon’s weird little eco-friendly car is sitting. He feels bereft, but can’t think why. “You’re mad,” he says, sounding a little confused.
“No,” says Brendon tiredly. “I’m not mad. Get in.” He holds the car door open, and Spencer gets in. He puts his forehead against the cool glass. Brendon doesn’t look at him once on the drive back to work.
--
Spencer goes home to take a nap and sleep off the beer. Then he gets up and calls Ryan and moans about how awful his night was. Ryan is less than sympathetic. Spencer gets back to work a little after one. He plans to be at work until well after midnight that night, making up for it.
He expects Brendon to be there, to offer him a coffee and make fun of him for going out and getting drunk when he ought to be working.
Brendon comes in an hour after Spencer does. He looks tired and upset, and he doesn’t say anything to Spencer, just goes to his desk and pulls out a file of papers. Spencer leaves the office door open, because he knows when he hears humming from the outer office that means it’s safe to go talk to Brendon again.
Brendon does his work quietly until he’s all caught up from that morning, and then he grabs his jacket and goes home. He doesn’t say a word to Spencer.
Spencer knows he owes Brendon an apology. His behavior was unprofessional. And it hasn’t even helped; he’s still thinking mostly about Brendon, and what it would be like to go to a bar with Brendon when they weren’t there for work. When he could buy Brendon a drink and encourage him to sing along with the jukebox and drive him home and then go inside with him. It hasn’t helped at all.
He tries to apologize the next morning. He gets there early, makes coffee for Brendon even though he knows Brendon makes it better. Brendon looks awful, and the circles under his eyes are monumental.
“I was a jerk,” says Spencer quickly. “I shouldn’t have gotten drunk like that. I’m sorry.”
Brendon looks at his sneakers. “Spencer,” he says after a minute. “I… I can’t do this.”
“And you shouldn’t have to,” Spencer agrees. “Honestly, it’ll never happen again.”
“No. I mean. I…” Brendon shrugs his weird hemp messenger bag around his shoulder and takes out an envelope. He looks up, and his face is blank, except where he’s squinting a little, like he’s trying not to frown. “My two weeks’ notice,” he says.
Spencer’s world bottoms out.
“What?” Spencer says. “I won’t accept it.” Panic rises, choking him. He can’t breathe.
Brendon just shrugs. “I’ve sent a copy to the partners, too. I’m going to find someone to replace me before I go, don’t worry.”
That is the least of Spencer’s worries. “Brendon, I’m sorry,” he says again, grabbing Brendon’s arm unthinkingly.
Brendon takes a step back and shakes his head. He’s looking at the floor again. “Yeah,” he says. “Me, too. I have to go get those copies of the new blueprints for Homes.” He drops his bag and flees.
Spencer is a functioning grownup, so he makes it all the way back to his desk in his office before he lets his knees give out and his brain go blank.
Brendon’s leaving.
For a minute, Spencer thinks that he slipped and Brendon’s going because he can’t stand the way Spencer’s been looking at him lately. If Brendon knew about Spencer’s crush of course he’d run away.
Spencer does what he always does when he’s panicking. He calls Ryan.
Ryan’s at the antique store. “God, what?” he says. “Did Brendon show up to work naked or something?”
“He quit,” Spencer chokes.
Ryan’s quiet.
“He’s leaving, Ryan, I screwed everything up somehow.”
Ryan sighs. “I bet it’s not the way you think,” he says after a minute.
“I grabbed him, Ryan, he looked horrified. Holy shit, what am I going to do? I don’t even know where my day planner is, let alone-“
“Spence,” Ryan interrupts. “Let’s not pretend this is about you losing your secretary, okay?”
Spencer swallows hard. “I hated all the other ones,” he says.
“You don’t love Brendon because he keeps your files alphabetized with shiny stickers.”
“I… Love. I don’t…”
“You do. You’ve been a real jackass about it. You’re the one who told me he was flirting with you.”
It feels like someone is sitting on Spencer’s chest. He can’t breathe. “I never said that.”
“Tighter jeans, smaller shirts, always up in your space. Brendon’s not an idiot. He didn’t accidentally shrink all his clothes in the laundry.” Ryan waits. “You went to his house and told him you finally noticed him, and he… He wanted you to keep noticing. And then you went and slept with some random guy and he had to see it. Of course he’s upset.”
Spencer shakes his head, even though Ryan can’t see it.
“He’s had a crush on you for a while,” Ryan says. “That wasn’t nice.”
“I didn’t know,” Spencer argues, but thinks he probably did. He remembers how Brendon went still and quiet when Spencer touched him. He ought to have known.
“Tell him not to quit. Tell him you love him.”
“He’s my secretary,” Spencer chokes. “That’s harassment. I could get fired.”
“Or Brendon could leave,” says Ryan sharply.
“I… I can’t.”
Ryan sighs impatiently. “You’d better,” he says.
Spencer hangs up. He has two weeks before Brendon leaves. He can work up the nerve to talk to Brendon in two weeks. No problem.
--
It rains all the next day, and Brendon gets to work soaking wet. The grey skies outside make Spencer’s office look like it’s in a basement, instead of on the fourteenth floor. Brendon shakes out his wet hair and gets water all over Spencer’s desk.
Spencer doesn’t say anything.
Brendon spends the day trying to bring up hiring a replacement, but Spencer cuts him off or changes the subject every time. “I really think you need someone with a lot of energy,” Brendon starts, and Spencer replies, “I can’t find the papers Ray brought over.” Then he glares until Brendon gives up and goes to find the folder.
It’s raining again a week later, when Brendon comes in with someone else following him. “This is Frank,” says Brendon determinedly. “He’s an amazing office manager.”
Spencer doesn’t say anything, just goes into his office and closes the door.
It’s something he loves about Brendon, how Brendon is never discouraged by setbacks, he only thinks of new plans of attack. This time Spencer wishes he wouldn’t. Frank follows Spencer around, laughing the wrong way and looking the wrong way and generally being not Brendon all over the office. He eats the pencils and has a scorpion tattooed on his neck. Spencer will never be able to take him to a weekend conference in Hong Kong.
By the time Brendon’s last day rolls around Frank knows where everything in the office is, and he does a decent job of anticipating what Spencer wants before he asks. He’s also - weirdly - struck up a friendship with Weird Gerard in advertising. Even Brendon finds it odd.
Ryan has called Spencer every single day. Usually he just says, “Did you tell him yet?” Spencer hangs up, because he hasn’t. He doesn’t know how.
At six o’clock on Friday it’s finally sunny and clearing up a little outside. Brendon knocks hesitantly on Spencer’s door. “Hey,” he says. “I’m … going.”
Spencer feels like he’s going to throw up. Brendon won’t be back on Saturday. He won’t be back on Monday. They aren’t friends, really; Spencer can’t call him up and ask him out for a beer this weekend. He ought to be professional and erase Brendon’s name from his phone. Brendon’s his secretary. He won’t be in another five minutes.
“It’s been a pleasure,” says Spencer stiffly, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He can hear Ryan yelling at him, but everything gets caught up in his throat, and what comes out is, “Do you have a job lined up? If you need a recommendation-“
“No, I found something,” says Brendon, with a little half-smile. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” says Spencer. “Good. I’m glad.”
Brendon stands in the doorway and Spencer sits behind his desk and neither one of them moves. It’s the most awkward Spencer has ever felt in his entire life.
“Okay. Well. Thanks,” says Brendon.
Spencer tries to smile. “Sure,” he says. “Good luck with the new job.”
Brendon nods, and then he leaves.
--
Spencer comes in on Saturday and doesn’t get a damn thing done.
Frank is there. Frank is fine. Whenever he speaks Spencer says, “Yeah,” or “No,” and then goes back to staring at the wall. Frank eventually gives up and goes to hide in Weird Gerard’s office.
Spencer didn’t sleep last night.
He wishes he’d said goodbye to Brendon better.
He wishes he’d figured out how to say all the things Ryan wanted him to say.
He goes home Saturday feeling like a zombie. Someone has taken all his energy and replaced it with lead. Sunday he can’t even get out of bed to go into work and do nothing. He stares at the ceiling. Maybe Brendon was lying about the new job, and he’ll have to come back.
Spencer doesn’t really believe that’s true.
Monday morning Jon comes by. Spencer’s lying on the couch. He called and told Frank he was sick, although Spencer hasn’t been sick in years. It felt a little like this, actually. He’s numb all over and his stomach hurts.
“What the hell,” says Jon, not very sympathetically. “Have you eaten anything?”
Spencer shrugs. Brendon had his groceries delivered for him. He figures Frank will too, eventually.
“Up,” says Jon, grabbing his arm. “Ryan wants to talk to you. In person. So he can hit you.”
Spencer lets Jon drag him out to the car. He hasn’t showered in three days, and Jon makes a face, but he doesn’t say anything. Ryan wrinkles up his nose when Spencer walks in. Ryan can be kind of a fussy old lady.
“Sleep, shower, and then you are going talk to Brendon,” Ryan orders.
“He’s gone,” says Spencer blankly.
“You know where he lives.”
“He quit.”
“You can still talk to him.”
They glare at each other, and then Ryan walks over and smacks Spencer on the arm.
“Ow.”
“You are so fucking stupid!” Ryan rails. “I am embarrassed to know you. How could you let him leave and not say anything?”
“I didn’t know what to say,” Spencer says quietly.
Ryan still looks pissed, but there’s a lot of sympathy there, too. “All you had to do was tell him the truth,” he says. “Now go get some sleep and figure out what that is.”
Spencer goes to the guest room - it’s always his room when he’s staying with Ryan - and unloads his pockets and climbs in to bed. He hasn’t been able to sleep since Friday, and he doesn’t expect to now, either, but the familiarity and the quiet voices talking down the hallway lull him into a few hours of rest, at least. It’s raining again.
He crawls out of bed and takes a shower, and thinks about eating dinner, but Jon is looking at him with sympathetic eyes, and Ryan starts making noises about driving over to Brendon’s house now, in the middle of the evening. Spencer can’t do it. He goes back to bed and even sleeps for a little while.
Spencer gets up in the morning and Ryan’s already up, which is so unusual as to be suspicious. Ryan looks at him.
Spencer’s a total, abject, horrible failure as a human being. He knows this. “I don’t know how,” he says to Ryan.
Ryan asks quietly, “Did you even consider that Brendon might be feeling like this, too?”
Spencer grabs his car keys.
--
Spencer’s stomach feels like it’s filled with lava, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, except his car stops in front of Brendon’s house, and he turns the engine off. He puts the keys in his pocket and realizes his hands are shaking. Rain falls hard against the windshield, pooling and running down the glass in rivers.
The last three days have been the three worst days of his life.
Spencer walks up Brendon and Shane’s driveway. He didn’t bring an umbrella. He pulls his jacket up over his head, but he’s soaked almost immediately. He barely feels it. He thinks Brendon should be home. Unless his new job has started already.
He stands on the steps and shivers in the rain. He should have put on clean clothes. He probably looks like a crazy person. He wants to turn around and go home. He reaches out and rings the bell instead.
Part of him is hoping that Brendon’s not home. His heart is trying to leap out of his chest.
The door opens.
Brendon looks pretty awful, too.
There are bags under his eyes, and he’s wearing the glasses again. And pajama pants again, and a t-shirt that’s pretty fucking small, too, and Spencer… Spencer’s mouth goes dry and he doesn’t know what to say.
“I don’t know where the Saporta files are,” Spencer blurts. He wipes dripping hair out of his eyes.
Brendon looked confused when he opened the door, and now he looks annoyed. Disappointed? But Spencer might be imagining that. “You’re getting wet. Ask Frank,” Brendon says.
That won’t help, though. That won’t fix it. “He doesn’t know,” Spencer lies.
Brendon sighs and leans against the doorjamb. He’s barefoot. God, he’s sort of beautiful. “He can find them,” Brendon says, and his patience sounds a little strained.
“He won’t find them right!” Spencer says desperately. He’s usually such a good talker, but he just can’t do this. He thinks it’s lucky that it’s raining because maybe Brendon can’t see the desperation all over his face.
Brendon’s face goes dark. Spencer’s never seen him really, genuinely mad before. “Jesus Christ! I have a new job now, okay? Anyone can find your stupid files!” Brendon yells. He honestly yells, banging his hand against the door for emphasis.
“But they won’t… Frank won’t do it right,” Spencer stutters. “I need you to do it. It has to be you.”
Brendon’s face twists up in annoyance. Spencer’s stomach is trying to escape through his feet. He wants to make Brendon stop looking like this, upset and heartbroken and vulnerable, more than anything else in the whole world. “Why?” Brendon asks bitterly.
“Because I love you,” says Spencer. Rain pounds on the porch around him.
He hadn’t considered what he was going to say. He hadn’t expected to say that. And there it is, between them, waiting.
Brendon’s face goes blank. His eyes, behind the glasses, are huge. The longest minute of Spencer’s life ticks by, every painful second making his skin burn and his throat hurt.
Brendon drops his hand from the doorframe. “That’s a stupid reason for me to find your files,” he says. His voice is shaking, like he’s trying not to cry.
“Yeah,” Spencer agrees. “But it’s a great reason for you to be my boyfriend. If you… Don’t you think?” He smiles hopefully.
Brendon smiles back. It feels like the sun coming out, despite all the rain. Spencer hasn’t seen Brendon’s real smile in days, in weeks, maybe. “You’re so stupid,” says Brendon.
It sounds like I love you, too.
Spencer has been fighting to keep his hands off Brendon for weeks, and suddenly he doesn’t have to. He reaches out, hesitantly, because Brendon hasn’t actually said anything yet, he’s just standing there, smiling. Spencer puts his clammy hand on Brendon’s, and Brendon turns his so their fingers lock together. They both try to move forward at the same time and bump in to each other. Brendon laughs, stepping out into the rain, and his glasses are immediately useless. Spencer kisses him, using his free hand to tilt Brendon’s chin up. He tastes like rain and coffee. Brendon’s arm goes around Spencer, pulls him in closer, as they stumble and sway.
Spencer’s trying to keep the kiss sweet and closed, in case Brendon freaks out, but Brendon has other ideas. He opens his mouth and bites at Spencer’s lip until Spencer does the same, and then their teeth are clashing together, Brendon’s tongue boldly in Spencer’s mouth, and Spencer’s jaw starts to ache a little from trying to open up further. Brendon hasn’t shaved, and he’s rubbing Spencer’s chin and neck a little raw. His hand clenches in the back of Spencer’s shirt, and Spencer has never, ever felt like this before. Their wet shirts are sticking together. Brendon’s t-shirt is see-through, and he’s shivering. Spencer takes his glasses off, since they aren’t doing any good any way, and shoves them in his pocket. Then he kisses Brendon again, tasting Brendon underneath all the rain.
“Whoooooo!” says someone behind them.
Brendon pulls away, but not far; Spencer won’t let him. “Shut up, Shane,” says Brendon, and his face is red, but Spencer thinks it’s only half embarrassment. It’s half from kissing Spencer. Spencer made him glow like that. His fingers tighten around Brendon’s.
“I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to lunch,” says Shane cheerfully. “But I think I’m just gonna go. Hey, you know what? I’m gonna spend the night at my girlfriend’s place tonight.”
“Yes, please, go away,” says Brendon, but he’s grinning up at Spencer, rain dripping off his hair and down his face, and Spencer feels like he might burst with joy.
“Be good, kids,” says Shane, and Spencer hears a car door slam. He doesn’t know how he missed hearing a car pull up in the first place. It must have been muffled by the rain. He must have been distracted by a really good kiss.
Spencer says, “You know, I can’t go around kissing my secretary.”
Brendon bounces a little. Spencer loves every fucking thing about him. “Luckily for us,” says Brendon, “I believe I quit.” And then he grabs Spencer’s tie and walks backwards into the apartment, grinning and dragging Spencer with him.
“What are you going to be doing?” Spencer asks. He’s torn between wanting to steal Brendon back and being grateful that he doesn’t have to worry about HR. He pulls the door shut behind him.
Brendon’s eyes light up. He stops walking backwards long enough to pull at Spencer’s wet shirt. “Guess,” he says. He’s wet and shivering and having trouble with the buttons on Spencer’s shirt. Spencer bats his hands away and does it himself. Brendon laughs and undoes his tie, instead.
“You’re going to be singing on Broadway,” Spencer says, and shrugs his shirt off. He feels clammy and sticky and wet, and he thinks it’s lucky Brendon’s not wearing his skintight jeans, because they’d never be able to pull those off, damp.
Brendon laughs, bright and delighted. “Mmm, no,” he says. Spencer kisses him again. He loves the way it feels kissing Brendon while he’s laughing. Then he pulls away and grabs the soaked hem of Brendon’s t-shirt, dragging it up and over his head.
It’s wet and tight and it tangles around Brendon’s arms. Spencer swears and pulls at it, which only succeeds in making it worse. Brendon’s laughing, trying to help, but he’s pressed up against Spencer, and he’s wiggling, and oh, hell.
Spencer can’t believe he’s got Brendon right there, half-naked and smiling up at him. He walks Brendon back a couple of feet until he’s pressed against the wall, and holds his t-shirt tangled hands up over his head so he can kiss him properly. Brendon’s shivering cold from all the rain. Spencer’s determined to warm him up.
Brendon groans, tilting his head back, and moves his legs so that one thigh is between Spencer’s, hips tilting up and rubbing against Spencer. It makes sparks dance behind Spencer’s eyes, and his breath come in short pants. “So?” Spencer asks, mouthing the words against Brendon’s cheek. Brendon shivers again, eyes fluttering closed. “What’s the job?”
Brendon laughs. “I’m - I’m working for - Fuck, Spencer,” he says, and his hips jerk up against Spencer’s, back aching. “Homes for Humanity.”
Spencer stops licking Brendon’s neck for a second. “What?” he says blankly. “Those hippies?”
“I like those hippies,” says Brendon. “I bet I can figure out how to use their funding to get them everything they want. Ray thinks I’m gonna be an amazing project manager.”
“They stole you!” Spencer says, and considers being really, really mad.
Brendon’s trying not to laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “Right out from under your nose.”
Spencer can’t figure out why he thinks it’s so funny, and then he realizes. “They needed someone to be a liason to our office,” he says. “You’re…”
“Yeah,” says Brendon brightly. “I’m gonna negotiate the shit out of you.” He tugs his hands free and lets the dripping t-shirt fall on the floor.
“We’re going to be working with them on this housing grant for at least a year,” Spencer says incredulously. “Were you just going to show up on Friday and not say anything?”
Brendon hesitates and looks at the floor for a second. “I was gonna ask Ray to do it until you weren’t mad anymore.”
Spencer was never mad. He’ll have to make sure Brendon knows that. “I shouldn’t have let you go,” says Spencer, a little regretfully.
Brendon looks up. “But then,” he says, dropping his voice, “We couldn’t do this.” He reaches for the button on Spencer’s pants, but he doesn’t look away from Spencer’s eyes. He’s biting his lower lip in concentration, and tilts his head back a little, chin up, and Spencer wants -
Spencer wants.
Everything.
Brendon’s pajama pants are wet and too big for him; it’s the easiest thing in the world to loosen the tie and shove them down. Brendon has Spencer’s pants undone, and suddenly there’s all this new skin to press together and enjoy. They’re still damp from the rain, but it’s not enough to get their skin slick where they’re pressed together, Brendon humming a little and pressing up on his toes, trying to get more friction and a better angle. His hands are cold and in the way, Spencer thinks, so he catches Brendon’s hands with one of his, and licks the palm of the other. It’s a little odd, the angle is awkward, but the friction’s amazing. Brendon shudders and tugs his hands free, coming up around Spencer’s neck, grabbing his hair, dragging him down into a kiss.
Spencer rolls his hips and braces himself against the wall with one hand, and moves the other faster while he bites Brendon’s lower lip, just like he’s wanted to for weeks now. Brendon’s gorgeous like this, skin flushed and mouth a little open, and he’s not shivering from cold anymore. Spencer feels like he’s on fire everywhere they’re pressed together. His toes are curling in the carpet and he can’t stop grunting - it’s not very sexy, he thinks, he’ll have to try again when he’s less desperate, but right now there’s nothing but touching and wanting.
Brendon gasps, arching up on his tiptoes, biting too hard against Spencer’s mouth, fingers yanking in Spencer’s hair. He comes all over Spencer’s hand, messy and sticky, and then he shudders and goes limp against the wall, head on Spencer’s shoulder. It takes Spencer another minute to catch up to him, but when he does it’s amazing; sparks up and down his spine, colors behind his eyes, hot and then cold rolling across his arms and pooling in his stomach. He’s probably drooling against Brendon’s mouth, but Brendon’s got both hands on Spencer’s hips, helping him stay up when his knees go weak.
“Oh,” says Spencer, when he can breathe again. “Wow.”
“I love you, but we’re kind of gross,” says Brendon, with a happy, teasing smile. “Shower?”
Spencer’s hand wanders down to Brendon’s ass, like it’s been wanting to for weeks. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, we haven’t even gotten to this yet,” and squeezes.
Brendon squeaks and laughs and wriggles against Spencer, and Spencer could stand there forever, but he’s getting cold again, and they’ve got wet pants around their ankles, dripping on the carpet. “And then,” Brendon adds thoughtfully, “I even have a bed around here somewhere.”
“You always were a good planner,” Spencer tells him. Brendon laughs, delighted, and shows him the way upstairs.
--
There’s a knock on the door. Spencer feels like it must be the middle of the night, but when he blinks at Brendon’s clock, it’s actually almost nine. Brendon’s fast asleep, one arm thrown over Spencer and hair in his face, and it tugs on Spencer’s heart in a funny way. He’s going to wake up to that every single morning from now on. Spencer bites his lip to stop from laughing.
Whoever is at the door is persistent. Spencer wonders if Shane’s lost his keys. He rolls out from under Brendon’s arm and kisses his forehead, because he can’t help himself, and then pulls on his pants and walks downstairs.
Ryan’s at the door. What the hell. At least it’s finally sunny out. Spencer shades his eyes.
“I thought you might be here,” says Ryan. He might look expressionless to someone else, but Spencer knows smug when he sees it. “How’s it going?”
“Go away, Ryan,” says Spencer firmly.
Ryan grins. “That good, huh? So I was… What’s the word? Right? Completely, totally, utterly right, just like I always am?”
“Ryan,” Spencer complains. It’s not entirely out of the range of possibility that Ryan came by just to be a jackass.
Ryan is still obviously trying not to laugh. “I came by because you left your wallet at my place. You were in kind of a rush.”
Spencer glares. He’d say something really cutting about how stupid Ryan was about Jon, but there are footsteps behind him. They both turn. Brendon’s standing on the stairs, blinking sleepily, balancing with one hand against the wall. He’s wearing Shane’s pajama pants again, and he looks tired and well-fucked and happy, just the way Spencer had suspected he would that night in the hotel. He smiles, the same smile that’s always made Spencer want to get up in the morning.
“Thanks, I have to go,” says Spencer shortly. He flashes a grin at Ryan and shuts the door. He throws the wallet on the floor, turns the lock, and almost runs back up the stairs.
“Was that Ryan?” Brendon yawns, looking puzzled and mostly asleep.
“Yeah,” says Spencer. “I made him go away.” He smiles and Brendon laughs. And then, just like he’s been wanting to do since Hong Kong, Spencer wraps an arm around Brendon’s waist and half-carries him back upstairs to bed. Brendon gasps, startled, and then laughs again, clinging to Spencer’s neck. He’s still sleepy-soft, with creases from the pillow on his cheek.
“Next vacation, this is where we’re going,” says Spencer.
Brendon lands on his back on the bed and bounces a little, until Spencer lands on top of him. “To my bed?” Brendon asks, trying not to laugh.
“My favorite place,” Spencer agrees solemnly, and kisses him.
It's a Harlequin romance novel, starring bandboys. Yes, that involves many of the clinchy, shmoopy clichés you’re thinking of. In which Brendon is Spencer's secretary, and somehow Spencer has never really noticed him before.
part one
Nothing is fixed at all.
Brendon is at work the next morning when Spencer arrives, holding coffee and beaming at him. Spencer’s heart stutters. Brendon is wearing black jeans so tight Spencer’s almost sure he can’t sit down in them, and when he leans over to get files Spencer can see the red waistband of his underwear peeking up under them.
There is no way for Spencer to point out the problem without admitting that he was looking at Brendon’s ass.
He has a meeting with Homes for Humanity about the designs for the low-income housing they want to build. Spencer hates being the lead on this project. He wants to build affordable housing, but there’s nothing challenging or sexy about the project except the challenge of keeping it under budget. Luckily Brendon loves it, and his energy is infectious. Spencer tries not to notice how Brendon’s enthusiasm makes Spencer enthusiastic, too. He works very hard at not thinking about why he likes seeing Brendon so happy.
Homes doesn’t have a set project manager, so a different person comes to every meeting. It makes Spencer crazy, explaining everything again, but when he walks out Brendon is already walking Greta through what they got done last time with Ray. She looks like a hippy, just like all the folks at the non-profit do.
“Let’s talk budget,” says Spencer grimly. Greta flutters helplessly a little bit and nods. Brendon appears a second later with coffee for both of them.
Brendon’s hand brushes Spencer’s as he takes the coffee. Spencer thinks about that all morning when he ought to be negotiating Greta out of the cost of recycled filler materials for insulation.
Two days later they work late at the office, and Brendon keeps himself awake by singing the entire score to Jesus Christ, Superstar. Seriously, he sings the Jesus part and the Judas part, all by himself. Spencer scowls and snaps at him to knock it off, but it’s not because of the headache he claims. It’s because Brendon’s voice, so cheerful and boisterous, does funny things to Spencer’s concentration. When Spencer comes out to get dinner Brendon is bent over the desk, trying to reach an outlet behind it, and Spencer has to turn around and go back into his office for a couple of minutes, until his pulse stops racing.
On Friday Spencer has to talk to Weird Gerard in advertising, to talk about the pamphlet that’s going out to advertise the Hong Kong city planning deal. Gerard never leaves his office - his cave, Brendon calls it, and giggles - and Spencer hates going in there.
“Your secretary was singing this morning,” says Gerard, hunched over his drawing table.
Spencer can’t tell if Gerard is mad or not. “Yeah, he does that,” he says. He’s surprised that he’s ready to fight with Gerard if he complains.
“It was loud. It was okay, though,” says Gerard, and Spencer decides not to hit him.
Gerard can never find anything in his office; he needs a Brendon, or at least someone to organize him. He’s even worse than Spencer, though; Gerard’s never kept an assistant for longer than an hour before they quit. Spencer waits uncomfortably in the doorway while Gerard roots through pile after pile of papers, looking for his sketch. It takes so long that Brendon comes looking for him.
“You’re missing a meeting, come on,” says Brendon.
Spencer frowns. “There’s no meeting this morning.”
Brendon rolls his eyes and checks Spencer lightly with his hip. Spencer feels off balance in more ways than one. “I emailed you the schedule change,” he says. “Hey, Gerard.” He plucks at Spencer’s sleeve and ducks out again.
Spencer thinks Gerard gives him a look, but it’s hard to tell.
It’s possible that Spencer just never noticed before, but he’s willing to swear Brendon’s shirts are getting tighter. Spencer tries not to look. Brendon’s ties are definitely getting sloppier. Spencer’s being driven mad by the crooked knot and the tail sticking out, and he can’t stop himself from grabbing Brendon’s arm as he zips by. Brendon freezes immediately, but Spencer can feel him humming with energy.
“Just let me,” says Spencer, determinedly not looking at Brendon’s face. He’s done this dozens of times. Brendon has always been a mess.
He hopes Brendon doesn’t notice that this time his hands are shaking a little bit every time they brush Brendon’s throat. He’s glad Brendon can’t feel the way his pulse jumps, and his mouth goes dry. Brendon’s so close. Spencer could keep the tie in one hand and just tug, and Brendon’s mouth would be-
But when he glances up, Brendon’s looking at the floor, eyes hidden behind his dark eyelashes, and his face open. Spencer can’t do this. Brendon is a friend and an employee.
“Thanks,” says Brendon a little hoarsely, looking up.
Spencer drops his hands. “Learn to dress yourself,” he says, and it doesn’t sound as mean as it should.
Brendon looks up and smiles sunnily at him. “But you do it better,” he says, with what might be a flirty tilt to his head. Spencer can’t be sure.
That night Spencer moans on the phone to Ryan, “Everything is wrong.”
“Everything what?” Ryan asks patiently.
“He keeps bumping into me. I keep having to touch him to get things. His tie is never on right - Why are you laughing?”
“No reason,” says Ryan. “I have to go. I hope you stop being so dumb soon.”
“What? Ryan?”
It gets worse every day, until the day that they’re passing each other around Spencer’s desk, where there’s no room. Brendon turns sideways to wiggle by, and just for a second he’s pressed right up against Spencer, his back against Spencer’s front, one hand braced on the wall. It takes every ounce of self-control Spencer’s ever possessed to keep his hands off Brendon’s hips, to keep his mouth off Brendon’s neck. He swears under his breath and grabs his coat. “I’m going home,” he snaps. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Brendon looks startled, but he shrugs. “Okay, I’ll finish these up. You know we might need them before midnight, Hong Kong time, right?”
Spencer grunts and storms out.
Halfway through the parking lot he realizes he can’t go home; he’ll lie around on the couch and think about almost-touching Brendon. But he can’t touch Brendon. No one’s ever understood the business so well. No one’s ever understood Spencer so well. If he gropes Brendon and Brendon quits, Spencer will… Well, there’s nothing he can do.
He turns the car around and goes to a bar. A shitty sports bar, where he and Brendon have never come, where they have never celebrated a contract with cheap beer on tap, and where Brendon has never gotten drunk and sat half in Spencer’s lap.
What he needs, Spencer realizes, isn’t just to get drunk. It’s to get drunk and distract himself. Ryan said he hadn’t been on a date in a year, not since Brendon showed up. It’s time to fix that.
Spencer gets a beer to brace himself, and then finds the tallest guy there. Someone who’s quiet, someone who doesn’t smile too much, someone whose jeans are loose. Spencer learns and then immediately forgets that his name is Kenneth, and he buys them both a round of shots, and then another. Spencer manages to go whole minutes at a time without thinking about Brendon, back at the office, looking through papers and organizing Spencer’s life. After the fourth round Kenneth asks politely if Spencer’s hand in his jeans means he’d like to get out of there, and Spencer says yes.
They get a cab back to Kenneth’s shitty apartment. Spencer can’t claim it isn’t fun; sex is always fun, even sloppy, drunk sex with someone who’s too tall and too quiet. They fumble enough to get their pants off, and there are sloppy hand jobs and a drunken attempt at a blowjob that doesn’t work, because Spencer’s drunk and he can’t stop drooling. Kenneth’s even drunker.
The floor is tilting back and forth. Kenneth has some beers in the fridge, and Spencer props himself up against the wall and opens one. He has to keep drinking, because otherwise he’ll think about… Something. Someone?
Kenneth is talking on a cell phone that looks oddly familiar. Spencer blinks, and the room dips and twirls. Kenneth says, “…Yeah, 401 Pike. Thanks. Shit, I don’t know where his car is.” And then he closes his phone and hands it to Spencer. Strange. He crouches in front of Spencer and smiles drunkenly. “Your phone rang. Some kind of work emergency?”
“Oh,” says Spencer. Brendon handles those. He needs Brendon. He hopes Brendon’s not drunk.
Kenneth shrugs and falls on the couch. In a second he snoring, shirtless, pants hanging off one leg. Spencer struggles to get his own dress slacks back on, but he can’t do it one-handed, and he’s too tipsy to put the beer down without spilling it. It won’t balance on the rug.
Someone knocks on the door. And then again. Spencer slaps at Kenneth’s leg, but he’s passed out. Luckily, the door opens.
“Spencer?” says Brendon, and then stops dead in the doorway.
Spencer frowns. The whole night was about getting away from Brendon. “You shouldn’t be here,” he slurs.
“I… Yeah. Clearly,” says Brendon, in a weird, bitten-off voice Spencer’s never heard before. “Is your car here?”
“At the bar,” says Spencer, letting his eyes sink shut.
There’s a pause. A long pause. Spencer wonders if Brendon’s left. But when he forces his eyes open again, Brendon’s still standing there, lips pressed tightly together. His face is blank. “You need to be in a tele-conference meeting with Mr. Wu at eight,” says Brendon finally, in the same strained, choked voice “So you need to come back to the office and get those papers signed. Now. Can you stand up?”
Spencer braces one hand against the wall and tries, but he’s all tangled up in his trousers and his beer. Brendon swears - Spencer’s never really heard him swear like that before - and stomps over, grabs Spencer’s pants and hauls them up. He buttons them with his long, clever fingers and takes the beer, and then snaps, “Come on. I’ll drive you.” He doesn’t offer to help Spencer walk. He doesn’t let Spencer drape himself across his shoulders.
Spencer staggers through the door and out into Kenneth’s driveway, where Brendon’s weird little eco-friendly car is sitting. He feels bereft, but can’t think why. “You’re mad,” he says, sounding a little confused.
“No,” says Brendon tiredly. “I’m not mad. Get in.” He holds the car door open, and Spencer gets in. He puts his forehead against the cool glass. Brendon doesn’t look at him once on the drive back to work.
--
Spencer goes home to take a nap and sleep off the beer. Then he gets up and calls Ryan and moans about how awful his night was. Ryan is less than sympathetic. Spencer gets back to work a little after one. He plans to be at work until well after midnight that night, making up for it.
He expects Brendon to be there, to offer him a coffee and make fun of him for going out and getting drunk when he ought to be working.
Brendon comes in an hour after Spencer does. He looks tired and upset, and he doesn’t say anything to Spencer, just goes to his desk and pulls out a file of papers. Spencer leaves the office door open, because he knows when he hears humming from the outer office that means it’s safe to go talk to Brendon again.
Brendon does his work quietly until he’s all caught up from that morning, and then he grabs his jacket and goes home. He doesn’t say a word to Spencer.
Spencer knows he owes Brendon an apology. His behavior was unprofessional. And it hasn’t even helped; he’s still thinking mostly about Brendon, and what it would be like to go to a bar with Brendon when they weren’t there for work. When he could buy Brendon a drink and encourage him to sing along with the jukebox and drive him home and then go inside with him. It hasn’t helped at all.
He tries to apologize the next morning. He gets there early, makes coffee for Brendon even though he knows Brendon makes it better. Brendon looks awful, and the circles under his eyes are monumental.
“I was a jerk,” says Spencer quickly. “I shouldn’t have gotten drunk like that. I’m sorry.”
Brendon looks at his sneakers. “Spencer,” he says after a minute. “I… I can’t do this.”
“And you shouldn’t have to,” Spencer agrees. “Honestly, it’ll never happen again.”
“No. I mean. I…” Brendon shrugs his weird hemp messenger bag around his shoulder and takes out an envelope. He looks up, and his face is blank, except where he’s squinting a little, like he’s trying not to frown. “My two weeks’ notice,” he says.
Spencer’s world bottoms out.
“What?” Spencer says. “I won’t accept it.” Panic rises, choking him. He can’t breathe.
Brendon just shrugs. “I’ve sent a copy to the partners, too. I’m going to find someone to replace me before I go, don’t worry.”
That is the least of Spencer’s worries. “Brendon, I’m sorry,” he says again, grabbing Brendon’s arm unthinkingly.
Brendon takes a step back and shakes his head. He’s looking at the floor again. “Yeah,” he says. “Me, too. I have to go get those copies of the new blueprints for Homes.” He drops his bag and flees.
Spencer is a functioning grownup, so he makes it all the way back to his desk in his office before he lets his knees give out and his brain go blank.
Brendon’s leaving.
For a minute, Spencer thinks that he slipped and Brendon’s going because he can’t stand the way Spencer’s been looking at him lately. If Brendon knew about Spencer’s crush of course he’d run away.
Spencer does what he always does when he’s panicking. He calls Ryan.
Ryan’s at the antique store. “God, what?” he says. “Did Brendon show up to work naked or something?”
“He quit,” Spencer chokes.
Ryan’s quiet.
“He’s leaving, Ryan, I screwed everything up somehow.”
Ryan sighs. “I bet it’s not the way you think,” he says after a minute.
“I grabbed him, Ryan, he looked horrified. Holy shit, what am I going to do? I don’t even know where my day planner is, let alone-“
“Spence,” Ryan interrupts. “Let’s not pretend this is about you losing your secretary, okay?”
Spencer swallows hard. “I hated all the other ones,” he says.
“You don’t love Brendon because he keeps your files alphabetized with shiny stickers.”
“I… Love. I don’t…”
“You do. You’ve been a real jackass about it. You’re the one who told me he was flirting with you.”
It feels like someone is sitting on Spencer’s chest. He can’t breathe. “I never said that.”
“Tighter jeans, smaller shirts, always up in your space. Brendon’s not an idiot. He didn’t accidentally shrink all his clothes in the laundry.” Ryan waits. “You went to his house and told him you finally noticed him, and he… He wanted you to keep noticing. And then you went and slept with some random guy and he had to see it. Of course he’s upset.”
Spencer shakes his head, even though Ryan can’t see it.
“He’s had a crush on you for a while,” Ryan says. “That wasn’t nice.”
“I didn’t know,” Spencer argues, but thinks he probably did. He remembers how Brendon went still and quiet when Spencer touched him. He ought to have known.
“Tell him not to quit. Tell him you love him.”
“He’s my secretary,” Spencer chokes. “That’s harassment. I could get fired.”
“Or Brendon could leave,” says Ryan sharply.
“I… I can’t.”
Ryan sighs impatiently. “You’d better,” he says.
Spencer hangs up. He has two weeks before Brendon leaves. He can work up the nerve to talk to Brendon in two weeks. No problem.
--
It rains all the next day, and Brendon gets to work soaking wet. The grey skies outside make Spencer’s office look like it’s in a basement, instead of on the fourteenth floor. Brendon shakes out his wet hair and gets water all over Spencer’s desk.
Spencer doesn’t say anything.
Brendon spends the day trying to bring up hiring a replacement, but Spencer cuts him off or changes the subject every time. “I really think you need someone with a lot of energy,” Brendon starts, and Spencer replies, “I can’t find the papers Ray brought over.” Then he glares until Brendon gives up and goes to find the folder.
It’s raining again a week later, when Brendon comes in with someone else following him. “This is Frank,” says Brendon determinedly. “He’s an amazing office manager.”
Spencer doesn’t say anything, just goes into his office and closes the door.
It’s something he loves about Brendon, how Brendon is never discouraged by setbacks, he only thinks of new plans of attack. This time Spencer wishes he wouldn’t. Frank follows Spencer around, laughing the wrong way and looking the wrong way and generally being not Brendon all over the office. He eats the pencils and has a scorpion tattooed on his neck. Spencer will never be able to take him to a weekend conference in Hong Kong.
By the time Brendon’s last day rolls around Frank knows where everything in the office is, and he does a decent job of anticipating what Spencer wants before he asks. He’s also - weirdly - struck up a friendship with Weird Gerard in advertising. Even Brendon finds it odd.
Ryan has called Spencer every single day. Usually he just says, “Did you tell him yet?” Spencer hangs up, because he hasn’t. He doesn’t know how.
At six o’clock on Friday it’s finally sunny and clearing up a little outside. Brendon knocks hesitantly on Spencer’s door. “Hey,” he says. “I’m … going.”
Spencer feels like he’s going to throw up. Brendon won’t be back on Saturday. He won’t be back on Monday. They aren’t friends, really; Spencer can’t call him up and ask him out for a beer this weekend. He ought to be professional and erase Brendon’s name from his phone. Brendon’s his secretary. He won’t be in another five minutes.
“It’s been a pleasure,” says Spencer stiffly, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He can hear Ryan yelling at him, but everything gets caught up in his throat, and what comes out is, “Do you have a job lined up? If you need a recommendation-“
“No, I found something,” says Brendon, with a little half-smile. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” says Spencer. “Good. I’m glad.”
Brendon stands in the doorway and Spencer sits behind his desk and neither one of them moves. It’s the most awkward Spencer has ever felt in his entire life.
“Okay. Well. Thanks,” says Brendon.
Spencer tries to smile. “Sure,” he says. “Good luck with the new job.”
Brendon nods, and then he leaves.
--
Spencer comes in on Saturday and doesn’t get a damn thing done.
Frank is there. Frank is fine. Whenever he speaks Spencer says, “Yeah,” or “No,” and then goes back to staring at the wall. Frank eventually gives up and goes to hide in Weird Gerard’s office.
Spencer didn’t sleep last night.
He wishes he’d said goodbye to Brendon better.
He wishes he’d figured out how to say all the things Ryan wanted him to say.
He goes home Saturday feeling like a zombie. Someone has taken all his energy and replaced it with lead. Sunday he can’t even get out of bed to go into work and do nothing. He stares at the ceiling. Maybe Brendon was lying about the new job, and he’ll have to come back.
Spencer doesn’t really believe that’s true.
Monday morning Jon comes by. Spencer’s lying on the couch. He called and told Frank he was sick, although Spencer hasn’t been sick in years. It felt a little like this, actually. He’s numb all over and his stomach hurts.
“What the hell,” says Jon, not very sympathetically. “Have you eaten anything?”
Spencer shrugs. Brendon had his groceries delivered for him. He figures Frank will too, eventually.
“Up,” says Jon, grabbing his arm. “Ryan wants to talk to you. In person. So he can hit you.”
Spencer lets Jon drag him out to the car. He hasn’t showered in three days, and Jon makes a face, but he doesn’t say anything. Ryan wrinkles up his nose when Spencer walks in. Ryan can be kind of a fussy old lady.
“Sleep, shower, and then you are going talk to Brendon,” Ryan orders.
“He’s gone,” says Spencer blankly.
“You know where he lives.”
“He quit.”
“You can still talk to him.”
They glare at each other, and then Ryan walks over and smacks Spencer on the arm.
“Ow.”
“You are so fucking stupid!” Ryan rails. “I am embarrassed to know you. How could you let him leave and not say anything?”
“I didn’t know what to say,” Spencer says quietly.
Ryan still looks pissed, but there’s a lot of sympathy there, too. “All you had to do was tell him the truth,” he says. “Now go get some sleep and figure out what that is.”
Spencer goes to the guest room - it’s always his room when he’s staying with Ryan - and unloads his pockets and climbs in to bed. He hasn’t been able to sleep since Friday, and he doesn’t expect to now, either, but the familiarity and the quiet voices talking down the hallway lull him into a few hours of rest, at least. It’s raining again.
He crawls out of bed and takes a shower, and thinks about eating dinner, but Jon is looking at him with sympathetic eyes, and Ryan starts making noises about driving over to Brendon’s house now, in the middle of the evening. Spencer can’t do it. He goes back to bed and even sleeps for a little while.
Spencer gets up in the morning and Ryan’s already up, which is so unusual as to be suspicious. Ryan looks at him.
Spencer’s a total, abject, horrible failure as a human being. He knows this. “I don’t know how,” he says to Ryan.
Ryan asks quietly, “Did you even consider that Brendon might be feeling like this, too?”
Spencer grabs his car keys.
--
Spencer’s stomach feels like it’s filled with lava, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, except his car stops in front of Brendon’s house, and he turns the engine off. He puts the keys in his pocket and realizes his hands are shaking. Rain falls hard against the windshield, pooling and running down the glass in rivers.
The last three days have been the three worst days of his life.
Spencer walks up Brendon and Shane’s driveway. He didn’t bring an umbrella. He pulls his jacket up over his head, but he’s soaked almost immediately. He barely feels it. He thinks Brendon should be home. Unless his new job has started already.
He stands on the steps and shivers in the rain. He should have put on clean clothes. He probably looks like a crazy person. He wants to turn around and go home. He reaches out and rings the bell instead.
Part of him is hoping that Brendon’s not home. His heart is trying to leap out of his chest.
The door opens.
Brendon looks pretty awful, too.
There are bags under his eyes, and he’s wearing the glasses again. And pajama pants again, and a t-shirt that’s pretty fucking small, too, and Spencer… Spencer’s mouth goes dry and he doesn’t know what to say.
“I don’t know where the Saporta files are,” Spencer blurts. He wipes dripping hair out of his eyes.
Brendon looked confused when he opened the door, and now he looks annoyed. Disappointed? But Spencer might be imagining that. “You’re getting wet. Ask Frank,” Brendon says.
That won’t help, though. That won’t fix it. “He doesn’t know,” Spencer lies.
Brendon sighs and leans against the doorjamb. He’s barefoot. God, he’s sort of beautiful. “He can find them,” Brendon says, and his patience sounds a little strained.
“He won’t find them right!” Spencer says desperately. He’s usually such a good talker, but he just can’t do this. He thinks it’s lucky that it’s raining because maybe Brendon can’t see the desperation all over his face.
Brendon’s face goes dark. Spencer’s never seen him really, genuinely mad before. “Jesus Christ! I have a new job now, okay? Anyone can find your stupid files!” Brendon yells. He honestly yells, banging his hand against the door for emphasis.
“But they won’t… Frank won’t do it right,” Spencer stutters. “I need you to do it. It has to be you.”
Brendon’s face twists up in annoyance. Spencer’s stomach is trying to escape through his feet. He wants to make Brendon stop looking like this, upset and heartbroken and vulnerable, more than anything else in the whole world. “Why?” Brendon asks bitterly.
“Because I love you,” says Spencer. Rain pounds on the porch around him.
He hadn’t considered what he was going to say. He hadn’t expected to say that. And there it is, between them, waiting.
Brendon’s face goes blank. His eyes, behind the glasses, are huge. The longest minute of Spencer’s life ticks by, every painful second making his skin burn and his throat hurt.
Brendon drops his hand from the doorframe. “That’s a stupid reason for me to find your files,” he says. His voice is shaking, like he’s trying not to cry.
“Yeah,” Spencer agrees. “But it’s a great reason for you to be my boyfriend. If you… Don’t you think?” He smiles hopefully.
Brendon smiles back. It feels like the sun coming out, despite all the rain. Spencer hasn’t seen Brendon’s real smile in days, in weeks, maybe. “You’re so stupid,” says Brendon.
It sounds like I love you, too.
Spencer has been fighting to keep his hands off Brendon for weeks, and suddenly he doesn’t have to. He reaches out, hesitantly, because Brendon hasn’t actually said anything yet, he’s just standing there, smiling. Spencer puts his clammy hand on Brendon’s, and Brendon turns his so their fingers lock together. They both try to move forward at the same time and bump in to each other. Brendon laughs, stepping out into the rain, and his glasses are immediately useless. Spencer kisses him, using his free hand to tilt Brendon’s chin up. He tastes like rain and coffee. Brendon’s arm goes around Spencer, pulls him in closer, as they stumble and sway.
Spencer’s trying to keep the kiss sweet and closed, in case Brendon freaks out, but Brendon has other ideas. He opens his mouth and bites at Spencer’s lip until Spencer does the same, and then their teeth are clashing together, Brendon’s tongue boldly in Spencer’s mouth, and Spencer’s jaw starts to ache a little from trying to open up further. Brendon hasn’t shaved, and he’s rubbing Spencer’s chin and neck a little raw. His hand clenches in the back of Spencer’s shirt, and Spencer has never, ever felt like this before. Their wet shirts are sticking together. Brendon’s t-shirt is see-through, and he’s shivering. Spencer takes his glasses off, since they aren’t doing any good any way, and shoves them in his pocket. Then he kisses Brendon again, tasting Brendon underneath all the rain.
“Whoooooo!” says someone behind them.
Brendon pulls away, but not far; Spencer won’t let him. “Shut up, Shane,” says Brendon, and his face is red, but Spencer thinks it’s only half embarrassment. It’s half from kissing Spencer. Spencer made him glow like that. His fingers tighten around Brendon’s.
“I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to lunch,” says Shane cheerfully. “But I think I’m just gonna go. Hey, you know what? I’m gonna spend the night at my girlfriend’s place tonight.”
“Yes, please, go away,” says Brendon, but he’s grinning up at Spencer, rain dripping off his hair and down his face, and Spencer feels like he might burst with joy.
“Be good, kids,” says Shane, and Spencer hears a car door slam. He doesn’t know how he missed hearing a car pull up in the first place. It must have been muffled by the rain. He must have been distracted by a really good kiss.
Spencer says, “You know, I can’t go around kissing my secretary.”
Brendon bounces a little. Spencer loves every fucking thing about him. “Luckily for us,” says Brendon, “I believe I quit.” And then he grabs Spencer’s tie and walks backwards into the apartment, grinning and dragging Spencer with him.
“What are you going to be doing?” Spencer asks. He’s torn between wanting to steal Brendon back and being grateful that he doesn’t have to worry about HR. He pulls the door shut behind him.
Brendon’s eyes light up. He stops walking backwards long enough to pull at Spencer’s wet shirt. “Guess,” he says. He’s wet and shivering and having trouble with the buttons on Spencer’s shirt. Spencer bats his hands away and does it himself. Brendon laughs and undoes his tie, instead.
“You’re going to be singing on Broadway,” Spencer says, and shrugs his shirt off. He feels clammy and sticky and wet, and he thinks it’s lucky Brendon’s not wearing his skintight jeans, because they’d never be able to pull those off, damp.
Brendon laughs, bright and delighted. “Mmm, no,” he says. Spencer kisses him again. He loves the way it feels kissing Brendon while he’s laughing. Then he pulls away and grabs the soaked hem of Brendon’s t-shirt, dragging it up and over his head.
It’s wet and tight and it tangles around Brendon’s arms. Spencer swears and pulls at it, which only succeeds in making it worse. Brendon’s laughing, trying to help, but he’s pressed up against Spencer, and he’s wiggling, and oh, hell.
Spencer can’t believe he’s got Brendon right there, half-naked and smiling up at him. He walks Brendon back a couple of feet until he’s pressed against the wall, and holds his t-shirt tangled hands up over his head so he can kiss him properly. Brendon’s shivering cold from all the rain. Spencer’s determined to warm him up.
Brendon groans, tilting his head back, and moves his legs so that one thigh is between Spencer’s, hips tilting up and rubbing against Spencer. It makes sparks dance behind Spencer’s eyes, and his breath come in short pants. “So?” Spencer asks, mouthing the words against Brendon’s cheek. Brendon shivers again, eyes fluttering closed. “What’s the job?”
Brendon laughs. “I’m - I’m working for - Fuck, Spencer,” he says, and his hips jerk up against Spencer’s, back aching. “Homes for Humanity.”
Spencer stops licking Brendon’s neck for a second. “What?” he says blankly. “Those hippies?”
“I like those hippies,” says Brendon. “I bet I can figure out how to use their funding to get them everything they want. Ray thinks I’m gonna be an amazing project manager.”
“They stole you!” Spencer says, and considers being really, really mad.
Brendon’s trying not to laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “Right out from under your nose.”
Spencer can’t figure out why he thinks it’s so funny, and then he realizes. “They needed someone to be a liason to our office,” he says. “You’re…”
“Yeah,” says Brendon brightly. “I’m gonna negotiate the shit out of you.” He tugs his hands free and lets the dripping t-shirt fall on the floor.
“We’re going to be working with them on this housing grant for at least a year,” Spencer says incredulously. “Were you just going to show up on Friday and not say anything?”
Brendon hesitates and looks at the floor for a second. “I was gonna ask Ray to do it until you weren’t mad anymore.”
Spencer was never mad. He’ll have to make sure Brendon knows that. “I shouldn’t have let you go,” says Spencer, a little regretfully.
Brendon looks up. “But then,” he says, dropping his voice, “We couldn’t do this.” He reaches for the button on Spencer’s pants, but he doesn’t look away from Spencer’s eyes. He’s biting his lower lip in concentration, and tilts his head back a little, chin up, and Spencer wants -
Spencer wants.
Everything.
Brendon’s pajama pants are wet and too big for him; it’s the easiest thing in the world to loosen the tie and shove them down. Brendon has Spencer’s pants undone, and suddenly there’s all this new skin to press together and enjoy. They’re still damp from the rain, but it’s not enough to get their skin slick where they’re pressed together, Brendon humming a little and pressing up on his toes, trying to get more friction and a better angle. His hands are cold and in the way, Spencer thinks, so he catches Brendon’s hands with one of his, and licks the palm of the other. It’s a little odd, the angle is awkward, but the friction’s amazing. Brendon shudders and tugs his hands free, coming up around Spencer’s neck, grabbing his hair, dragging him down into a kiss.
Spencer rolls his hips and braces himself against the wall with one hand, and moves the other faster while he bites Brendon’s lower lip, just like he’s wanted to for weeks now. Brendon’s gorgeous like this, skin flushed and mouth a little open, and he’s not shivering from cold anymore. Spencer feels like he’s on fire everywhere they’re pressed together. His toes are curling in the carpet and he can’t stop grunting - it’s not very sexy, he thinks, he’ll have to try again when he’s less desperate, but right now there’s nothing but touching and wanting.
Brendon gasps, arching up on his tiptoes, biting too hard against Spencer’s mouth, fingers yanking in Spencer’s hair. He comes all over Spencer’s hand, messy and sticky, and then he shudders and goes limp against the wall, head on Spencer’s shoulder. It takes Spencer another minute to catch up to him, but when he does it’s amazing; sparks up and down his spine, colors behind his eyes, hot and then cold rolling across his arms and pooling in his stomach. He’s probably drooling against Brendon’s mouth, but Brendon’s got both hands on Spencer’s hips, helping him stay up when his knees go weak.
“Oh,” says Spencer, when he can breathe again. “Wow.”
“I love you, but we’re kind of gross,” says Brendon, with a happy, teasing smile. “Shower?”
Spencer’s hand wanders down to Brendon’s ass, like it’s been wanting to for weeks. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, we haven’t even gotten to this yet,” and squeezes.
Brendon squeaks and laughs and wriggles against Spencer, and Spencer could stand there forever, but he’s getting cold again, and they’ve got wet pants around their ankles, dripping on the carpet. “And then,” Brendon adds thoughtfully, “I even have a bed around here somewhere.”
“You always were a good planner,” Spencer tells him. Brendon laughs, delighted, and shows him the way upstairs.
--
There’s a knock on the door. Spencer feels like it must be the middle of the night, but when he blinks at Brendon’s clock, it’s actually almost nine. Brendon’s fast asleep, one arm thrown over Spencer and hair in his face, and it tugs on Spencer’s heart in a funny way. He’s going to wake up to that every single morning from now on. Spencer bites his lip to stop from laughing.
Whoever is at the door is persistent. Spencer wonders if Shane’s lost his keys. He rolls out from under Brendon’s arm and kisses his forehead, because he can’t help himself, and then pulls on his pants and walks downstairs.
Ryan’s at the door. What the hell. At least it’s finally sunny out. Spencer shades his eyes.
“I thought you might be here,” says Ryan. He might look expressionless to someone else, but Spencer knows smug when he sees it. “How’s it going?”
“Go away, Ryan,” says Spencer firmly.
Ryan grins. “That good, huh? So I was… What’s the word? Right? Completely, totally, utterly right, just like I always am?”
“Ryan,” Spencer complains. It’s not entirely out of the range of possibility that Ryan came by just to be a jackass.
Ryan is still obviously trying not to laugh. “I came by because you left your wallet at my place. You were in kind of a rush.”
Spencer glares. He’d say something really cutting about how stupid Ryan was about Jon, but there are footsteps behind him. They both turn. Brendon’s standing on the stairs, blinking sleepily, balancing with one hand against the wall. He’s wearing Shane’s pajama pants again, and he looks tired and well-fucked and happy, just the way Spencer had suspected he would that night in the hotel. He smiles, the same smile that’s always made Spencer want to get up in the morning.
“Thanks, I have to go,” says Spencer shortly. He flashes a grin at Ryan and shuts the door. He throws the wallet on the floor, turns the lock, and almost runs back up the stairs.
“Was that Ryan?” Brendon yawns, looking puzzled and mostly asleep.
“Yeah,” says Spencer. “I made him go away.” He smiles and Brendon laughs. And then, just like he’s been wanting to do since Hong Kong, Spencer wraps an arm around Brendon’s waist and half-carries him back upstairs to bed. Brendon gasps, startled, and then laughs again, clinging to Spencer’s neck. He’s still sleepy-soft, with creases from the pillow on his cheek.
“Next vacation, this is where we’re going,” says Spencer.
Brendon lands on his back on the bed and bounces a little, until Spencer lands on top of him. “To my bed?” Brendon asks, trying not to laugh.
“My favorite place,” Spencer agrees solemnly, and kisses him.