part 4
They stay like that for a while, curled up outside the bar. Brendon tucks his head underneath Spencer’s chin and presses his face against Spencer’s neck, and Spencer can smell the shampoo that Ryan bought over at the new Lush in Bucktown, when he was trying to woo the girl at the bookstore.
“You smell like a hippie,” Spencer informs him hazily, pressing his nose into his hair.
“Your mom,” Brendon mutters back, tucking himself in closer at another blast of wind.
“Ugh,” comes a voice from nearer to the door. Spencer opens an eye, and gives Ryan a sheepish smile. “This is truly sad.”
“Your mom,” Brendon says again, doing his level best to hide from Ryan inside Spencer’s coat. “Fuck this fucking wind, seriously.”
“You guys have been gone twenty minutes,” Ryan snaps, coming to huddle a few feet away from them, glowering. “Where’d you put those smokes, B?”
Brendon grumbles, and squirms for a second, before he produces the pack of cigarettes from one of his pockets and holds it out for Ryan to grab. He does all of this without pulling away from Spencer at all. Spencer’s really impressed.
Ryan lights up and glares at them some more, exhaling plumes of smoke from both nostrils. Spencer can’t help the lazy smile that breaks over his face at that. “You look like the...thing. On ‘How To Train Your Dragon’.” Brendon makes a happy noise against his neck, and pulls away to look as well. “What was the dragon’s name?”
“Toothless?” Brendon offers, twisting to lean back against Spence, linking their hands on his stomach. “We should totally watch that when we go home.”
Ryan blinks at them, unamused, the cigarette dangling from his lips. Brendon pauses, and then cracks up. “Oh my god, he does look like it! Ryan!” He makes a grabby hands gesture at Ryan, who gazes disdainfully for a moment, before blowing smoke at him.
“Stop saying I look like various animals, jesus,” Ryan snaps, batting at Brendon’s hands when they get too close. “I didn’t say anything when you kept trying to befriend the Canadian geese at the pond - “
“Fucking geese,” Brendon mutters, folding his arms. Spencer squeezes him a little - one of the geese (the Ryan one) had chased Brendon around most of Humboldt Park one afternoon before getting bored and wandering off. It was pretty traumatic.
“ - or when we went to that pumpkin farm and you tried to feed the goats my latte, but seriously. Enough is enough.”
Spencer coughs, and hides his face in Brendon’s shoulder for a second. “Dragons aren’t real,” Brendon tells Ryan gently. “And I can’t help that you have a whole zoo of spirit animals.”
“I will kill you in your sleep,” Ryan informs him. Spencer looks up.
“Hey.” He frowns a little, because fuck, it’d be awful to wake up next to a corpse. Yikes.
Ryan rolls his eyes. “I won’t kill you,” he says to Spencer.
“Hey!” Brendon squawks. “If you kill me, I’ll haunt the fuck out of you.”
“Nobody’s killing anybody,” Spencer decides, pushing himself off of the wall. “And nobody is haunting anybody, and I can’t really feel my fingers or anything below my knees, so maybe we should go inside.”
“I’m finishing my cigarette,” Ryan huffs. “You can freeze for a couple more minutes.” Spencer rolls his eyes, and pulls away from Brendon so he can shove his hands in his coat pockets and try to warm them. Brendon gives a little sigh and rubs the back of his neck, making his hair stand up, and gives them both a sheepish little grin before he nods over to the door of the bar.
“What are the odds my drink is still there?”
“Slim to none,” Ryan says, his mouth twisting up wryly. “I saw Jon eyeing it when I left.”
“Damn it,” Brendon sighs, and he starts over towards the doors. “See you guys inside in a minute.”
Ryan mercifully waits until Brendon’s back inside the bar and the door’s completely closed before he rounds on Spencer and raises one very expressive eyebrow at him. He exhales, and ducks his head. “So.” Ryan lets the word hover there in the air between them.
“Yep,” Spencer tries, risking a glance up at him. Ryan’s smirking a little, which is never a good sign.
“So. Cuddling.” Ryan breathes out a plume of smoke, and flicks the mostly-dead butt into the slush beside the curb. Then he pulls out the pack and lights another one, handing it over to Spencer.
...Usually he’d say no, and give Ryan a little bit of hell for turning into a chainsmoker, but Ryan has a slightly terrifying interrogating look in his eyes, and Spencer figures using the cigarette as a bolster (or a tool for gesturing. or a weapon) is probably a good idea. He takes one too.
“Um,” he starts, suppressing an urge to cough on the first drag. “He was cold.”
Ryan gives him a flat look. “He’s been complaining he’s cold since September.” Spencer winces and looks back over to the bar door - it’s looking really inviting. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’ve actually got your shit together and - “
“It’s Brendon,” Spencer points out. “He’s probably in there sitting on Patrick’s lap singing Michael Jackson songs right now.”
Ryan stares at him, and then shrugs and takes another drag. He gets distracted by a gaggle of girls spilling out of the bar, which gives Spencer a brief, merciful respite. “Probably,” Ryan agrees, still watching them semi-interestedly. “But he married you.”
“For the insurance,” Spencer adds quickly. “It was just - “
“God,” Ryan exhales, giving him a supremely unimpressed look. “Why am I friends with you? Seriously, you’re so stupid. I could do so much better.”
“No, you couldn’t,” Spencer huffs, tilting his chin. “You’d try and then I’d tell whoever you found about how you used to eat paste and then it’d be all over.”
“I only did that one time,” Ryan squawks, reaching out to punch Spencer in the shoulder. “It was in second grade, let it fucking go already.”
“Paste-eater,” Spencer says calmly, fighting back a smile as Ryan shakes his fist threateningly. “I am totally the best you could do. Deal with it.”
“Ugh, that’s depressing,” Ryan huffs, unable to keep biting back a rueful smile. He tries to hide it by taking another drag off his cigarette, but it’s too late, Spencer’s totally caught him.
“Paaaaaaaste-eater,” Spencer drawls, quiet, smirking when he hears Ryan snort. “And then there was that one time in middle school you drew a moustache on your face with a Sharpie and it stayed for four days.”
Ryan chuckles, and sighs. “Yeah, that was pretty dumb. I thought your mom was going to pee her pants.” He looks down at his cigarette and makes a face at it, flicking it into the gutter. “Remember when she had to come and get you after two days of scout camp because you wouldn’t stop crying?”
“Fuck you, that shit was traumatic,” Spencer says swiftly, tossing his cigarette as well. “We had to dig holes to crap in. It was a fucking cholera epidemic waiting to happen.”
“Loser.” Ryan grins at him, and Spencer’s struck by how young it makes him look. “Whatever, you were just homesick.”
“Well, that too,” Spencer admits. “I was eleven, dude.”
“Harry Potter went to Hogwarts when he was eleven. He didn’t cry for two days.”
“Harry Potter’s not real,” Spencer reminds Ryan, for the umpteenth time. “Also he was living under the stairs before that.”
“True.” Ryan takes a breath in, and glances over at the door again. “Look,” he says, biting his lip for a second before gazing at Spence, “just...it’s Brendon. He’s not scary. You should really talk about all this shit.”
“Yeah, okay,” Spencer nods, making a face and taking a step over towards the door.
“No, I’m serious,” Ryan protests. “I can’t tell him to do it, he won’t listen to me, and you guys really need to - I don’t know, there need to be rules or something, before.” He breaks off, and huffs, and jams his hands back into his pockets, his shoulders hunching over. “Goddammit, you’re both such idiots. Have a fucking heart-to-heart with the kid and establish some, I don’t know, pick a fucking safe word before somebody gets knocked up or you split up and I’m a child of another divorce and I have to spend my weekends being shuttled around.”
Spencer blinks, and then can’t quite help the crooked smile that breaks over his face. He makes a ridiculous aww sound and tugs Ryan into a sideways hug, squashing him closer when Ryan huffs and tries to push away. “Ryan. Shut up.”
“Fuck off, I’m serious,” Ryan grouses, halfheartedly attempting to shove him off. “When this goes fucking balls-up don’t expect me to be Team Spencer just because you know I ate paste.”
“Of course you’ll be Team Spencer,” Spencer tells him, pressing his nose to Ryan’s cheek. “Because I know about the Sharpie moustache too.”
“I’m gonna be Team Whoever’s Not a Complete Dumbass,” Ryan grumbles, poking into his ribs. “So you’re probably out of luck.”
Spencer snorts, and kisses the top of his head (because he’s pretty sure it still pisses Ryan off that he’s taller than him now), and starts dragging him towards the door. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Like soon. Not when you’re retiring.”
“Okay, okay,” Spencer grumbles, holding the door open and pushing Ryan through. Brendon isn’t sitting in anybody’s lap, but he and Patrick are singing Michael Jackson songs. Spencer feels he should win some sort of award.
When they’re walking back home, Ryan and Jon stumble out in front of them and manage a good thirty-foot lead (mostly because they keep sprinting ahead to likely looking iced-over puddles so Jon can jump on them and see if they crack). Spencer keeps a close watch, just in case something ridiculous happens and Ryan or Jon break their ankles, but so far, they seem to be doing pretty good. Jon is tanked. But he’s a happy drunk, and he’s suggested to Ryan that they all go back to the apartment and play Scrabble, so he is officially Ryan’s favorite forever.
He offers his arm to Brendon, and Brendon gives him a surprised little smile as he takes it. “That was fun,” Spencer says, as an opener.
“Right? I can’t believe we got the band to play Billie Jean,” Brendon says, watching the ground for ice patches as they walk along. “That was awesome.” He slides for a second, and clutches Spencer’s arm hard, exhaling a laugh as they both continue along.
“Y’okay?” Spencer asks dutifully. “How’s your leg?”
“It’s fine,” Brendon says, rolling his eyes and smirking over at Spencer. “Seriously, you don’t need to ask that every time we go somewhere. It doesn’t hurt much anymore.”
Spencer’s eyebrows furrow a little at that, and he looks over at Brendon, checking him over. “You would tell me if it did, though, right?”
Brendon sighs, a little exasperated, and Spencer catches the flash of a smile. “Yes, Spencer,” Brendon says, his voice mockingly monotone.
“No, seriously,” Spencer says, trying not to frown. He keeps thinking about Ryan, and what he said about rules. “Brendon, if it hurts, you need to tell me. Okay?”
Brendon looks up at him, raising an eyebrow, and nods a few seconds later. “Okay, Spence,” he says, his voice gone back to normal.
“Promise me,” Spencer says, inwardly wincing at how fierce he sounds.
“I promise,” Brendon tells him. He gives Spencer’s arm a squeeze, and moves them over a little so he can avoid a puddle that Jon smashed in, in the middle. “...Are you okay?” He gives Spencer a squinty, concerned look.
He sighs. He’d figured he’d overplayed his hand right there. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Spencer tells him airily, kicking a tallboy can out of the way before Brendon can somehow figure out a way to break his neck on it.
“You sure?” Brendon asks, tugging on his arm until Spencer caves and actually looks over at him. “You went a little...Sergeant Smith, with the orders, there.”
“I know, sorry,” Spencer groans. “Just.” He rubs his free hand over his face briefly, and quickly tucks it back into his pocket before it can freeze. “I don’t know. I don’t mean to be annoying about it. Oldest kid syndrome, or something.”
“It’s okay,” Brendon assures him. Spencer nods, and for the next couple of minutes, there’s an easy silence between them. Ahead of them, Ryan and Jon cheer as Jon manages to crack a particularly stubborn sheet of ice. Brendon laughs, and presses a little closer into Spencer’s side, and Spencer closes his eyes for a few brief seconds.
“Ryan wants us to talk about...rules, and shit,” he stammers, before he can talk himself out of it, “and I was thinking that - I mean. You know that you don’t have to, like. You’re not just.” He scowls, and blows a breath out, hard, and tries not to notice the way Brendon’s staring at him. “You’re not, like, a mail-order bride or anything.”
Brendon blinks at him, and tugs Spencer out of the way of a particularly low-hanging icicle. “Um. Correct.”
“Goddammit. Fucking Ryan,” Spencer mutters, under his breath. He raises his voice back to normal pitch and tries to put his train of thought back on its tracks. “I know that this isn’t what - that the whole marriage thing wasn’t your idea.” He pauses to swallow, and hurriedly continues, before Brendon can, like, laugh at him forever. “And I didn’t want you to think that you had to, y’know...this morning, in the hallway. Or when we were outside, at the bar. Like. I’m not expecting that.” There. He squares his shoulders, and stares unwaveringly ahead.
For a long, excruciating moment, Brendon is quiet. Then: “Okay.”
Spencer’s resolve cracks, and he glances over at Brendon, who’s concentrating very hard on the sidewalk. His jaw’s clenched. Spencer watches the muscles in his neck move, and then worriedly nudges his shoulder. “Okay?” he goads, waiting for something - anything - that’ll give him more to go on.
“Okay, we won’t - I won’t do that anymore,” Brendon mutters, his arm going stiff and light against Spencer’s, like he’s trying not to let too much weight settle, like it’s too much of a burden for Spencer to bear.
Spencer feels weirdly like his ribcage is going to implode and explode at the same time, and he tugs Brendon’s arm back down, reaching for his hand as well. “Bren,” he huffs, “that is really not what I meant. At all.”
“Well Jesus Christ, you called me a mail-order bride,” Brendon hisses, looking away from him, still super tense. “You could just say if you didn’t want me to - “
“I was trying to tell you the same thing,” Spencer interrupts, before Brendon can get even more weird at him. He stops, and grabs for Brendon’s other hand, gently steering him so that they’re facing each other. Brendon’s still looking at the ground. “Brendon, god. It’s not like making out with you is a hardship, come on. I like it. I was just trying to say that if you don’t want to, you don’t have to keep doing it.”
Brendon looks up at him, still suspicious. “Seriously? That’s all you meant?”
Spencer rolls his eyes. “Yes, okay? Kissing you is fun and educational.”
Brendon snorts, and mutters something that sounds very much like what your mom said last night. Then he actually looks up at Spencer, and gives him a sheepish smile. “Well okay.”
“Yeah?” Spencer can’t help it, he can’t fucking help the stupid smile that plasters itself all over his face. “Well. Good.” He rethreads Brendon’s arm through his and starts walking again, a little slower this time, meandering the half-block back home. Beside him, Brendon tries to stifle an attack of giggles, and mostly fails.
“Fucking called me a mail-order bride,” Brendon mutters, reaching to pinch his side. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“Yes, dear,” Spencer says dryly, trying to bat his hand away.
“And just so we’re clear, we have a rule in favor of making out, right?” Brendon asks, grinning up at him. Spencer beams back.
“Yeah. With an option on cuddling,” Spencer nods. Beside him, Brendon squirms with glee.
“The answer to that option is always yes. Just, for future record,” Brendon tells him, burrowing in closer to him. Spencer unthreads their arms just long enough to wrap his around Brendon’s shoulders, and tugs him in tight.
“Good to know.” He presses his mouth to the top of Brendon’s hair, and then makes sure his scarf is still arranged properly. “Ryan also said we had to come up with a safe word,” he remembers, grinning again when Brendon cracks up.
“What the fuck? What does he think we’re doing at night?” Brendon gasps, shaking against him. “The walls aren’t that thick!”
“I don’t even know, dude,” Spencer says, bemused. “I mean. It was out of left field, too. We were talking about how he used to eat paste, and then the next thing out of his mouth, boom. Safe words.”
“Classic segue,” Brendon says, still laughing. “Oh my god.”
Spencer waits for a moment or two, until Brendon’s managed to mostly compose himself. They’re almost home - Spencer can see where Ryan and Jon have beaten them, and have already turned on the lights in the front room. “So, what should our safe word be?”
“Um.” Brendon chuckles, but he bites his lip and appears to actually be thinking about it. “Progresso chicken noodle soup. Llamas. Mint oreos. Bea Arthur. Sue the Dinosaur.”
“I think it has to be something you can say pretty fast,” Spencer says, though privately, he really likes the idea of Bea Arthur. Dorothy Zbornak was the shit. “Though, I mean. It’s not like we’re actually going to be using it.”
“Macy’s. Kohls. Vegas.” Brendon pauses, and glances over. “Hey.”
“Vegas?” Spencer asks, thinking about it for a bit. “Yeah, I guess that’d work.”
“Fuck yeah it will! Safe word five!” Brendon says, holding his hand up. Spencer sighs, and reminds himself to figure out how to block How I Met Your Mother from Netflix. But he does give Brendon a high five.
A couple of minutes later, they’re tromping into the foyer, unwrapping themselves from their coats and scarves and pretending not to hear Ryan and Jon giving them shit about taking so long to get back. Spencer helps Brendon unwrap his scarf, and Brendon helps Spencer undo all the toggles on his coat. Spencer’s just getting ready to shrug out of it, when Brendon grabs both lapels and pushes him up against the wall, into the corner where Ryan and Jon can’t see them. Spencer’s eyes widen in shock.
“We have a rule,” Brendon reminds him, pressing in close and tilting his head up as Spencer’s arms automatically close around his waist. Spencer’s breath catches in his throat as he watches Brendon’s eyes flutter closed just as their mouths touch, and the kiss is just as good as they always are.
It’s short, though, because Ryan and Jon are only about 15 feet away, and they’re not even separated by an actual door. So a few seconds later, Brendon pulls away and unconsciously licks his lips, and Spencer bites back the whine he really wants to give at that, and just holds onto him for a little bit longer. “God,” Spencer breathes. “This whole marriage thing really has its perks.”
Brendon snorts, and gives him a crooked little smile, bumping Spencer’s chin with his cheek and playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “Guess so,” he says absently. “I would’ve kissed you before, though.”
Spencer sucks in a breath, and pulls back enough to look at him, kind of stunned. “Really?”
Brendon looks sort of rueful, and nods. Spencer stares at him for a few seconds. “Shit, but. ...Huh.” He gives a short laugh, and tugs Brendon up a little, hugging him tight. “Oh man, I would have too.”
Brendon stills in his arms, and after a few seconds he starts chuckling. “We’re such idiots,” he says, sounding fond as he extricates himself from Spencer’s grip. “Come on,” he says, giving Spencer an affectionate little grin and reaching out his hand for him. “Scrabble.”
Spencer knows he’s got a similar smile on his own face, but he can’t seem to do anything about it. So he settles for taking Brendon’s hand and following him into the living room. “Those triple word scores are mine.”
Jon dazzles them all by producing a twelve-pack of beer from the cavernous recesses of their kitchen cabinets (he brought it over months ago for a party, and then hid it when Sean broke the coffee table and needed to believe there was no more alcohol in the house), and makes them split it four ways. Then he beats the shit out of all of them at Scrabble by playing A-T-I-M off of Ryan’s “VERB,” picking up a triple-word score just to add insult to injury. Ryan gapes at the board for over a minute, before picking up his letter-holder and beating Jon on the arm with it, and Jon just laughs and takes it, shielding himself when Ryan starts to pelt him with letters.
“You’re going to have to pick them all up later,” Jon warns him.
“Worth it,” Ryan growls, flinging another handful at him. On the couch, Spencer murmurs and tucks his face tighter into Brendon’s neck, blocking out the light, and sighs a little. He’s so close to being asleep, if Ryan and Jon would just be a little quieter then he could -
“Hey. Hey, Spence,” he hears Brendon whisper in his ear, and Spencer grumbles and shifts. “Hey, c’mon, let’s get you to bed.”
“Fuck beds,” Spencer groans, flopping over onto the pillow when Brendon tries to pull him away a little. “Couch.”
“Nooooo,” Brendon wheedles, curling an arm around his middle and squeezing, trying to drag him back up into sitting. “Ryan and Jon are going to play again, and you don’t want to be around for that bloodbath.”
“You really fucking don’t,” Ryan says, pointing a threatening finger at Jon. Jon salutes back lazily.
“Thanks for all your help, guys,” Spencer can hear Brendon mutter, and he smiles a little as he lets Brendon tug him up off the couch. Brendon seems determined to shoulder most of Spencer’s weight, but Spencer is a grown-ass man, he can walk on his own. ...Though he does decide to let Brendon help out a little. So he can feel he contributed.
“I like Jon,” Spencer tells Brendon. “He’s a Scrabble ninja.”
“I like you too, Spencer,” Jon calls after him. Spencer grins, and lets Brendon shuffle them through the bedroom door. He sighs happily and crawls onto the bed, curling up on the cool bedcovers. Brendon turns on the desklamp, which Spencer doesn’t particularly appreciate, but it does mean he gets to watch Brendon change into pyjamas via its dim light, so that’s a plus.
“You have a nice back,” he tells Brendon sleepily, feeling very loose-limbed and cheerful from the combination of beer, bed, and the onset of sleep.
“Thank you,” Brendon tells him solemnly, coming over to unlace Spencer’s shoes. “You have a nice front.” Spencer scoffs and waves away the compliment, and tries to protest Brendon undoing his shoes, but he can’t seem to move. The bed is swallowing him whole.
“The bed’s eating me. I’m too young to die,” Spencer whines against the sheets, but Brendon is either ignoring him or can’t hear him, and then Brendon’s got one of his shoes off, so Spencer just gives himself up to his fate and lets Brendon pull off his shoes.
“Jeans off,” Brendon tells him, giving him a stern look before he pads off to brush his teeth, and Spencer wonders for a brief petulant moment why Brendon is still so awake, when he remembers that Brendon probably got to sleep til noon yesterday after he left. He whimpers, and struggles, but finally manages to shimmy out of his jeans, throwing them over near the clothes hamper before giving up on the idea of getting up to get pyjama pants and just burrowing under the covers instead. Fuck it, he’s wearing underwear. Good enough.
Eventually, Brendon comes back, and Spencer waves a hand before tucking it back under the blanket tiredly and curling towards the middle of the bed. He can hear the desk lamp being shut off. He keeps his eyes closed, but recognizes the feel of the mattress when Brendon slides onto it, and the way the sheets snap and drape once Brendon’s there beside him. “Night,” he says, having to break off to yawn.
“What time’s your first class?” Brendon asks him. Spencer opens up one eye long enough to see Brendon setting the alarm on his phone, and then he closes it again.
“Mmh, ten,” he sighs. “So early.”
“At least you didn’t go crazy and sign up for an eight o’clock class like Ryan last semester,” Brendon points out, his voice going quiet and private as he sets his phone down on the bedside table and shifts closer to the middle of the bed.
“Oh my god, that was the worst,” Spencer agrees, reaching for him and finally getting a handful of Brendon’s t-shirt. He squirms closer too, not stopping til he can feel Brendon’s breath on his face. An arm slowly makes its way across his middle, and Spencer shivers, makes a contented little noise in the back of his throat.
“That was cute,” Brendon teases him, half-whispering, and Spencer huffs and punches him lightly, in the chest, not letting go of his t-shirt.
He yawns, and sinks down into his pillow. “Hey,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry I called you a mail-order bride.”
“It’s okay. You’re dumb, but I know better than to hold it against you.”
Spencer frowns and hits him again, though he does pat it better after. “M’glad we talked, though. About the kissing and everything.”
Brendon snorts, and tugs him closer, his hand rubbing comfortably up and down Spencer’s back. “Me too. Especially about the kissing and everything.”
Spencer frowns a little, and feels kind of floaty, disconnected from the world with only Brendon to tether him down. “I’m glad you want to keep doing it,” he tells Brendon, his words going slurred and soft as he gets farther and farther out.
“...Me too,” he hears Brendon say, sounding kinda far away.
“Wanted to kiss you for so long,” he sighs, just before he floats out of range, into a deep sleep.
The next morning, Spencer’s jolted out of his semi-coma by Rick Astley buzzing next to his ear. He flails wildly, and finally sits up, before he realizes the source and shuts Brendon’s phone alarm off, groaning. He debates just saying fuck higher education and going back to sleep, but then Ryan starts singing in the shower, and Spencer’s stomach rumbles, and he figures between those two things together the sleep would be subpar at best, so he might as well go and learn something.
Brendon’s already gone, which is unusual but not unheard of - every now and then he gets to the store ridiculously early for inventory shit. Spencer’s a little thrown by the vast expanse of bed beside him, but then he notices the post-it note on Brendon’s pillow, and beams sleepily once he’s squinted his way through it:
Spencer Smith! Good luck on your first day of classes! Make an A and don’t let the big kids pick on you. I packed your lunch. Don’t let Ryan eat it.
PS - Will you go on a date with me? Check _____YES or _____NO
Spencer grabs it, and slides out of bed, and finds a Sharpie on the desk. He puts a big, ridiculous check mark next to YES and then tucks it into his bag along with Brendon’s phone, sandwiching them carefully between his ipod and his kindle in the front, so he won’t forget where they are. Then he heads off into the kitchen, to make coffee happen so he can start getting ready for his first day of classes.
His first class of the day is some fucking gen ed Shakespeare course that Ryan badgered him into, and it takes Spencer all of ten minutes to just get pissed at the entire thing and at Ryan as the indirect cause, because he’s one of like three guys in the class and apparently the professor is really into reading scenes aloud. He gets assigned to be Laertes, Cassius, and fucking Troilus before they’re even finished with the syllabus. Fuck.
hate shakespeare and you he surreptitiously texts to Ryan. have 2 b laertes in class
good luck with that Ryan sends back, not 30 seconds later. Spencer suddenly remembers that Ryan’s stuck in Geology, and he smirks and feels a little bit better about the world. at least its not romeo
true Spencer concedes. The girl sitting beside him shoots him a dirty look for having his phone out, but Spencer just gives her a cheerful smile and shifts a little lower in his seat. silver lining
tho you have a lot of experience w that kind of thing lately
fuck you Spencer shoots back, snorting softly. He waits, but it seems that Ryan doesn’t have any witty rejoinders to send back immediately, so Spencer sets his phone down on the edge of his tiny desk, and goes back to pretending to listen to what the professor has to say.
Two minutes later, his phone lights up again.
“Really?” the girl next to him sighs, raising both her eyebrows and giving Spencer an amused look. “Is this a commonplace occurrence?”
Spencer feels a little bit bad, and bites his lip as he thumbs across the screen to unlock it. It’s Brendon this time. He’s sent a couple of photos; one of Dallon’s newest windowpane illustrations at the store, and one of Julie, hunched over her bass, a frown of concentration on her face.
“Cute,” the girl says, glancing over. She gives Spencer a quick once-over, assessing. “Is it your sister?”
“No,” Spencer murmurs, his cheeks starting to heat through. “She’s...my, um. She’s taking lessons from my husband,” he mutters, all in a rush, keeping his eyes fixed on his phone. There’s a pause, and then the girl leans over to get a closer look, grinning approvingly at the screen.
“I have a friend who has the same bass, no joke,” she says finally, twisting her long hair out of the way, flicking it over her shoulder as she shifts closer to Spencer. “Show me one of your boy, then.”
Spencer can’t seem to keep his smile in check, and he leans closer as well, holding his phone down between them so the professor can’t see as he starts to thumb through his photos. There’s a couple of Van Vleet and Tomrad being idiots at the Cali Clipper, and one of Jon toasting the camera, and one of Ryan mid-snow-angel in the park, and then -
“There,” Spencer says, angling the phone towards her. “That’s him.” It’s actually a pretty good photo, he had Jon forward it to him off of his phone. Brendon’s beaming and chomping on a french fry, looking off at something happening to his right, huddled into the bench at Kuma’s.
“Aw,” she breathes, pleased. “Oh my god, you’re both such babies.”
“Hey,” Spencer protests halfheartedly, getting distracted by the photo a little. He almost misses the way she holds her hand out, between the desks.
“I’m Greta,” she whispers.
“Spencer,” he replies. Greta raises her eyebrows and looks down pointedly at his phone, and Spencer snorts and waves it a little. “Brendon.”
“Well, you’re both cute, even if you are child brides,” she jokes. “Now shut your phone off before I stick it somewhere Brendon will find inconvenient.”
Spencer blinks. Greta gives him a placid smile, and goes back to paying attention to what the professor is saying.
He shuts his phone off and sticks it in his backpack, because even though he’s pretty sure Greta wouldn’t make good on her threat, something tells him that she could.
After Shakespeare, he and Greta friend each other on facebook, and then he runs halfway across campus to get to his Statistics class, which he realizes two minutes in is going to kick his ass. It’s a huge-ass auditorium full of kids with a projector and a screen at the front, and a professor beamed in from another classroom, though, so Spencer feels free to tug his phone back out and abuse his freedom with impunity.
The first thing he does is text Brendon. made a friend!
Five minutes later, he gets a response: good job! color inside the lines and don’t push anyone down at recess!
no promises, he sends back, and then he does actually listen to the disembodied voice for a while until class ends.
He has a three-hour break, so he wanders over to his Starbucks with the intention of laughing at whoever’s behind the counter, having to work on the first day back. He barely makes it through the door before Nate gives him a hateful look and mouths your fault over the group of girls arguing over whether or not to get whipped cream on the drinks they’re splitting. He and Nate have discussed why it’s unfair to blame him for every drink that every other DePaul student buys, but Nate doesn’t seem to want to let logic be a factor in his reasoning. So Spencer gives him a beatific smile, and joins the queue.
“Hi,” he says when he gets up to the register, “I want to get me one of them there frozen coffee things? But I don’t want it to taste too much like coffee.”
“Go to hell,” Nate says swiftly, marking a line of cups and throwing them at the cold bar, flapping his hands apologetically at Gabe, who is giving him an outraged look. “Go to hell and die.”
“Hey, the customer is always right,” he needles, resting his elbows on the counter, leaning over to give Gerard on drive-thru a wave. “Surprise and delight me, coffee boy.”
Nate glares some more, hands on his hips, and Spencer beams at him. “Are you here to actually buy something, or to just be a dick?”
“I can’t do both?” Spencer beams some more, and then shrugs and starts digging through his bag for his wallet. “Yeah, actually, I just want a grande drip and a Brendon.”
Nate makes a face, but dutifully starts marking a cup, placing it on the espresso bar. He grabs Spencer’s coffee and shoves it at him, waving his wallet away with a swift your money’s no good here. Spencer sticks his tongue out at him and shoves a couple of dollar bills into the tip jar before moving on.
Gabe’s swearing underneath his breath in Spanish, too low for Spencer to actually make out the words as he floats between cold bar and the handoff plane, plunking down frappuccinos and calling them out for the girls in line before Spencer. “Hey,” Spencer remembers, craning his neck to see over the espresso machines. “Hey, Gabe, how was the old friend?”
Gabe looks up, and takes a couple of seconds to actually find him in the crowd, before his mouth quirks into a dirty, sweet little smile. “Flexible. Acrobatic. Amazing.”
Spencer snorts, and nods. “Awesome. Glad I asked.”
“Don’t be jealous, mijo,” Gabe calls over the roar of the blenders. “You’re still the sexiest little dishwasher I ever saw.”
Between them, Mikey pauses at the espresso bar, and turns just enough to raise an eyebrow at Gabe, who suddenly looks hilariously trapped. Spencer starts snickering, and after a moment Mikey goes back to steaming milk, a tiny smirk on his face, and after a bit Gabe huffs and starts banging open the blenders, muttering in Spanish again.
Mikey pauses at Brendon’s cup, taking in the ridiculous combination of syrups, and sighs.
“I know,” Spencer says preemptively. “I’ve tried to stop him.”
“It’s just gross, Spence,” Mikey murmurs, though he starts pumping from different bottles. When he’s done, he presses his lips together in a thin line and whips out his sharpie, holding the cup up to the light and drawing a line where the syrup ends. He crosshatches underneath and then draws an arrow above it, labeling it ALL SYRUP in big black judgey letters. He even puts a little frowny face next to it, before capping the sharpie and putting it back in his apron. Spencer hides his grin by taking a swig from his coffee, and waits patiently for Mikey to finish the drink off. Mikey caps it, and instead of sliding across the handoff, he turns to the drive-thru. “Hey, Gee,” he says, holding the cup up til Gerard actually looks up from the order screen. “Brendon.”
Gee’s face lights up, and he immediately makes grabby hands for it, stealing Mikey’s sharpie out of his apron pocket.
“Seriously, guys?” Spencer sighs, leaning against the counter, scooting out of the way for a few other customers who’re waiting.
“Shut up, it won’t take two seconds,” Gerard orders, his eyebrows furrowing as he starts turning the Starbucks siren on the front of the cup into something resembling Cthulhu. Spencer groans, and watches the people in the car idling outside the drive-thru window gaze at Gerard in something akin to horror as he doodles a vampire sinking its fangs into a coffee bean on the other side. “Good?” he asks, finally handing the cup over to Spencer.
“Just beautiful,” Spencer says dryly.
Gerard beams at him, and then turns back to the drive-thru, flailing a little as he remembers oh, shit, CUSTOMERS.
“Tell Brendon hey,” Mikey says, slamming through the lineup of drinks around his bar like a machine. Spencer watches appreciatively for a few seconds before he picks both cups up.
“Will do,” he promises, cradling Brendon’s cup against his front as he heads out the door and back into the wind.
He gets the Red Line and then the 66 down to the record store, and pokes his head in the front door - Dallon’s behind the register, and waves when he sees Spencer. “Hey, he’s out back in the alley,” Dallon tells him, not even bothering with small talk.
“Thanks,” Spencer says, saluting him with the coffee cup as he ducks back out onto the street and trots down to the end, ducking down behind the stores. He can see Brendon sitting on the stoop just outside the back door of the store, sucking guiltily on a cigarette, his coat collar popped up against the cold. “Hey,” he calls, grinning a little when he sees Brendon startle.
“Shit, you scared me,” Brendon grumps, though his eyes light up when he sees the coffee cups Spencer has in both hands. “Ooh.”
“Yeah, your cup got Way brother all over it,” Spencer says, passing it down to him before nudging Brendon over a little, occupying the section of the stoop next to him.
“I see that,” Brendon says, scrutinizing the drawings. “Dude, those tentacles are awesome. Gerard is amazing. I should show Dallon.”
“See, Mikey even included a helpful diagram about your syrup,” Spencer points out, smirking when Brendon rolls his eyes and takes a long, obnoxious slurp of his drink.
“I beheld my creation and called it good,” Brendon says loftily. “You’re just jealous that you don’t have a drink called the Spencer.”
“They only call it the Brendon because otherwise it’d take five minutes to call,” Spencer informs him. “It’s not like having a sandwich named after you.”
“Mm. My day’s going great, honey, thanks for asking,” Brendon tells him, pasting on a fake smile for him. “Julie fucking nailed Play That Funky Music and I’m a badass teacher.”
“Awesome,” Spencer says dutifully, finishing the last of his coffee and setting the cup down beside him. “What else?”
“Well.” Brendon pauses, squinting at the wall on the other side of the alley for a moment or two. “Not much. I had the last bagel for breakfast. Got the inventory mostly done. Sold a couple of hardcore CDs to some kids with a lot of face metal. What about you?”
“Eh. Classes. Stats is gonna kill me,” Spencer groans, remembering. “Made a friend in Shakespeare but we have to read out loud. And I have to go back at three for Poli Sci, which is most likely going to suck, so. Y’know. Yay school.”
Brendon sucks his teeth, and rubs his hand across Spencer’s back comfortingly, leaning in when Spencer grumbles and sags against him. “This is totally why I married you. For your sunny disposition.”
“Fuck you, I’m cheerful,” Spencer grouses, into Brendon’s coat sleeve. “I brought you awful coffee.”
“I mostly married you for the coffee,” Brendon admits, cuddling him in a little. Spencer goes with it, burrowing in against Brendon shamelessly. Brendon smells like cigarette smoke and their laundry detergent and hippie shampoo, and Spencer closes his eyes for a few seconds, comforted despite his best efforts.
“You married me because I am the most awesome,” Spencer informs him, tucking his hands inside Brendon’s coat, heedless of the yelp it causes. “And because now we can go to the doctor on Thursday, and get your leg fixed on your day off.”
“Yeah?” Brendon says, sounding a little surprised. Spencer nods, and presses in closer, resting his cheek on Brendon’s shoulder.
“And I was thinking, you probably need new glasses, we could go see an eye doctor about that too,” Spencer says, glancing over at him, to gauge interest. Brendon’s giving him an incredulous little look, and then he breaks into a smile.
“Okay, Spence,” he says, tugging him up so that their legs are tangled together and they’re both mostly protected from the wind tunnel of the alley. Brendon reaches for his coffee, and makes a face when he realizes it’s already gone completely cold, but he presses on regardless, gulping it down.
“Gross,” Spencer mutters, making a face at him. “You don’t have to finish it, B, seriously.”
“Hey, Gerard and Mikey went to a lot of trouble to make this,” Brendon points out.
“Yeah, they did have to ignore a lot of paying customers,” Spencer agrees, nodding his head.
“See? So,” Brendon says, just before he tilts his head back and chugs the rest of it, wincing and setting the cup down beside him. It immediately tips over, and skitters off down the alley. Spencer snickers, especially at the way Brendon seems to take the loss and the littering personally. “I was going to keep that to show Dallon.”
“Gerard will totally draw you another one,” Spencer tells him, patting his arm. “Give him half a reason to draw on a cup and he will.”
“Awesome,” Brendon sighs, settling down next to him. They stay like that for a long moment, breaths condensing in the cold, before Brendon shifts, just a little. “I left you a note, this morning.”
“Oh yeah,” Spencer remembers, brightening. “I brought it with me, it’s in my bag.”
“Yeah?” Brendon turns his head a little, enough that Spencer can see him raise his eyebrows expectantly.
“I checked ‘yes’.” Spencer smiles when Brendon does, helpless to stop.
“Well,” Brendon says after a beat, still sort of beaming stupidly at him, “duh.”
Spencer rolls his eyes and thumps him on the chest lightly. “Dick,” he mutters, just before Brendon slides his ice-cold fingertips up to Spencer’s chin, tilting it up a little as he leans in for a kiss. Something in Spencer’s chest stills and settles at that, and for a weightless second Spencer realizes he’s been waiting for this, since he saw Brendon in the alley. Somehow his body is already trained to expect Brendon to kiss him. Weird.
Brendon’s breath is warm on his cheeks, which is nice, and his mouth tastes like coffee and hazelnut and still a little like cigarettes. It’s strange to think that he’s getting used to the way Brendon kisses, but Spencer finds that this time he can comfortably sink into the pattern of their mouths sliding together and apart. He knows that when he tugs Brendon’s bottom lip a little, Brendon’s breath hitches, and he knows how the quick dart of Brendon’s tongue into the corner of his lips sends a shiver up his spine.
He breathes a contented little noise into Brendon’s mouth and squirms closer, til his arms fit comfortably around Brendon’s middle, grinning a bit at the way Bren falters and whines.
“Stop laughing at me,” Brendon huffs, mouth still against Spencer’s.
“M’not,” Spencer promises, patting his back, though he can’t help grin again at the way their teeth clack when Brendon pulls him in. Brendon exhales again, and Spencer tugs him closer, pulling at the sides of his coat until Brendon’s pretty much on his lap. “Good?”
“Mm,” Brendon hums, untangling his arms til Spencer feels them settling on his shoulders. “Yup. You?” he says, pressing the cold tip of his nose against Spencer’s cheek.
“Well, my ass is kind of cold,” Spencer says conversationally, “but I figure, y’know. Chicago. January. Sitting on cement.”
“It is kind of a given,” Brendon agrees, flashing a quick smile before sealing his mouth over Spencer’s again, before he can respond. This time he’s not fucking around at all; his tongue slicks interestedly over the back of Spencer’s teeth only a few seconds later, and Spence finds his fingers digging into Brendon’s back, having to hold on against a sudden onslaught of kissing. Brendon shivers in his arms, clutching at him a little, twisting fingers in his hair.
“Jesus, Bren, y - mmf,” Spencer grunts, interrupted by Brendon nipping at his upper lip and tugging him back in. He kisses back gamely, but after half a minute breathing becomes kind of an issue, and he has to pull away, duck his head, and gasp. “God.”
The thing is - and he is never going to tell Brendon, or anyone, ever - Brendon is only the third person Spencer’s ever kissed. And even then, he feels like it’s cheating to include Jennifer Hitchens because they were only in fifth grade and it was at a stupid Halloween party. He was dressed like a fucking scarecrow and she was dressed like a cowgirl. It wasn’t the bright, shining moment the movies said it should be.
His second kissing experience was a little better, but Emma only ever wanted to when they were the last ones left in the band room, and once or twice when he’d drive her home after jazz practice. But then she’d gotten back together with her on-again-off-again boyfriend (he played the fucking tuba) and Spencer suddenly had Ryan and Brendon to worry about all the fucking time, so they’d just sort of petered out.
That said, Brendon’s urgency is weird and completely foreign to him, and it’s kind of unnerving. He’s really unused to being the focus of this much attention.
He takes a breath, and closes his eyes for a second, resting his forehead against Brendon’s cheek briefly before he pulls back and gives Brendon a tentative smile. Brendon smiles back, looking him over carefully. “Hey.”
Spencer’s mouth twists a little, wry. “Hey,” he murmurs back, sliding one of his hands against Brendon’s middle, feeling it expand and contract with his breath before he reaches up, cautious and sort of embarrassed, and cups Brendon’s chin. (Just because he hasn’t had much experience with this whole kissing thing doesn’t mean he hasn’t devoted hours to developing theories on how to go about it. He’s hoping this translates into a few levels of skill. He’s also hoping this concept works with blowjobs.)
Brendon makes a soft, inquisitive noise, and starts to lean in again, but Spencer shakes his head, sharp, and he stops. “Let me - hang on,” Spencer mutters, his eyebrows knitting together, his cheeks going even redder as he curls close to Brendon, ducking in and barely pressing their lips together, their mouths just brushing. Brendon’s lips part automatically, but Spencer keeps the touch light, barring Brendon from pressing forward. He slides his lips down, tracing the warm line of Brendon’s, ending at the corner of his mouth and staying there for a second or two.
“Spence,” Brendon whines, trying to tug him down into another sloppy kiss. Spencer rolls his eyes a little and resists, laughing a little as Brendon squawks and starts tugging on his coat collar. “Come onnnn.”
“Cut it out,” Spencer huffs, poking his fingers into Brendon’s ribs, even as he tucks him in a little closer. He moves his thumb up, dragging it over Brendon’s lower lip, back and then forth, watching interestedly at the way the skin tugs a little before it slides away. Brendon goes still, his eyes dark and wide behind his glasses, and Spencer’s breathing goes a little unsteady as a pink flicker of tongue presses to the pad of his thumb. He swallows and leans in a little, pausing to make sure Brendon isn’t planning on mauling him once he gets there, and finally fits his mouth over Brendon’s, moving his thumb out of the way.
Brendon tenses for a second, and then sinks into him with a ridiculous little sigh. pressing close enough that Spencer can feel the rise and fall of his chest against his own. It makes his hands shake a little, but he covers it by kissing Brendon’s top lip, staying there close-mouthed for a moment before dragging his lips along Brendon’s jaw.
“Who taught you how to do this?” Brendon murmurs, sounding almost drugged, tilting his head helpfully as Spencer reaches back near his ear. He figures that that’s a rhetorical question, though, so he doesn’t answer. The thin skin near Brendon’s ear smells like shaving gel and faded cologne, familiar and comfortable, and Spencer noses and licks and sucks at Brendon’s neck there until he’s kind of a shivering wreck, tugging on Spencer’s coat and pleading kiss me kiss me kiss me under his breath.
“Damn it, Spence,” Brendon whimpers, squirming just enough to be able to curl his leg around Spencer’s back, squeezing him a little with his knobbly knees as he lets his head fall back on his shoulders. “Holy fuck, you need to - “
And yeah, that’s about Spencer’s breaking point - he can feel Brendon twined around him, twined and shaking, and he pulls away from Brendon’s neck and tugs his head back up, kissing him thoroughly.
Brendon shudders, and kisses back just as hard, and Spencer groans a little as Brendon’s tongue flicks against his lip, testing but not immediately diving in. It can be taught, he thinks to himself, just before Brendon hums contentedly around Spencer’s lower lip and it kind of fucking blows his mind.
Somehow Brendon’s maneuvered so that he’s basically straddling Spencer like a backwards chair, alternately squeezing Spencer between his thighs and trying to get closer, like they can’t already feel each other’s rocketing heartbeats in like half a dozen places at once. They’ve basically progressed to trying to eat each other’s faces. Spencer regrets nothing.
And then there’s a moment where Brendon gives up trying to tug Spencer closer by his coat and goes for his hair instead. ...Spencer didn’t really know, he doesn’t have any prior experience in that area, but apparently that’s a thing for him. So he yelps and clutches at Brendon and goes very very still as he tries not to come in his jeans.
Brendon freezes as well, and gives him a nervous little grin, loosening the hand in his hair and petting it gently as he pulls far enough away to actually see him. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” Spencer manages, his voice only a tiny bit strained. “Just, y’know. Hanging out for a second. Enjoying the ambience. The atmosphere.”
“The hand on my ass,” Brendon adds, smirking a tiny, tiny bit. Spencer raises his eyebrows, and yep, look at that - he does seem to be groping Brendon pretty firmly. He squeezes his hand, pleased at the way Brendon jolts at that. “Hey,” he frowns, fidgeting a little as Spencer doesn’t exactly remove his hand immediately. Spencer’s fingers twitch, and almost squeeze a little harder. “Spence, what’re you,” he starts, squirming a little and biting his lip.
“Shit, Bren, you’ve really got to hold still,” Spencer gasps, reaching down to grab not another handful of Brendon’s ass, but underneath, hooking just under where his thighs end and pretty much lifting Brendon bodily a few crucial inches off his lap and, more importantly, away from his dick.
“No, Spence, you - nnnh, fuck,” Brendon gasps, his arms tightening around Spencer’s shoulders for a second before he shudders and press his face into Spencer’s neck.
“What?” Spencer asks, worried. Brendon groans and shakes his head, and then his thigh muscles twitch a little against Spencer’s sides and Spencer suddenly realizes shit, holy shit - Brendon’s dick is totally hard and poking him in the stomach.
He swallows and glances up at Brendon, whose cheeks are bright red. His mouth, though - Spencer gets distracted by the state of Brendon’s lips, flushed and swollen and bitten red, and he feels this weird hot stab of possessive pride in that. He made that happen. Brendon is twitching and antsy and fucking hard as a rock for him.
Spencer exhales, sharp, and dives back in to kiss him, pulling Brendon up against his chest, squeezing his fingers into the backs of his thighs. Brendon squeaks and kisses back, letting out a small, shaky little moan as he tightens his arms around Spencer’s shoulders and rocks against him, an aborted little twist of his hips before he’s too embarrassed to keep going.
Spencer shivers and kisses him, kneading his fingers a little before his arms start to go a little wobbly and he has to settle Brendon back down onto his lap. It takes Brendon all of three seconds to realize Spencer’s in exactly the same boat he is, and he accidentally bites Spencer’s lip when he notices, making an apologetic noise. Spencer’s eyes threaten to roll back into his head and he wonders, wildly, holy shit, am I about to lose my virginity in a side street off Chicago Ave? Bad. ASS.
“Fuck, Spence,” Brendon hisses, his hips moving jerkily in Spencer’s lap as they both fight a fraught battle between nerves and the biological imperative to come in their pants. Spencer licks at the raw place on his lip where Brendon bit him and shakes at the bolt of pleasurepain that shocks through him. He squeezes his hands on Brendon’s hips and basically grinds him down, using his added leverage to set up a rhythm for them to -
“B, your one o’clock’s - oh holy crap,” Dallon squawks, quickly letting go of the door handle to slap both hands over his eyes. “Oh crap. Ohhhh geez. Sorry guys, whoa.”
Spencer just blinks up at him for the first moment or two, completely dazed, unable to process what’s happened and why there’s suddenly a Dallon outside with them. Luckily, on top of him, Brendon is having no such trouble. He’s squirming embarrassedly, trying to fix his and Spencer’s hair, smacking Spencer’s hands off his hips until finally Spencer lets go.
He frowns when Brendon slides off his lap, and winces as he has to casually rearrange the folds of his coat. The fog is really slow in lifting off of his brain, though. “Hey, Dallon,” he finally offers, giving him a wave.
Dallon is still kind of averting his eyes, but he doesn’t look so traumatized now that Brendon’s standing. “Hey, Spence,” he says gamely, shooting a smile in his general vicinity. “Um. Sorry about that.”
“No, we’re sorry,” Brendon interrupts, giving Spencer a worried look. Spencer raises an unamused eyebrow back. “That wasn’t - I mean, we weren’t actually doing - “
“I really don’t need any details,” Dallon says. He and Brendon seem to be competing to see who can blush the hardest.
“Well.” Brendon rubs the back of his head bashfully. “Sorry.”
“I’m not sorry,” Spencer mutters mutinously, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. He doesn’t miss the interested little look Brendon shoots him, at that, so he doesn’t feel very bad about smirking.
“Dallon, I’ll be right behind you,” Brendon says, holding the back door open with his hip, giving him his very best responsible worker smile. “Tell Jason to give me two minutes, okay?”
Dallon shoots them both a suspicious little look, and sighs. “Okay. Two minutes. And if you’re not in here, Brendon, I’m coming back outside with a blindfold on and a flippin’ bucket of ice water, I swear.”
Spencer can’t stop himself: “Kinky,” he drawls, having to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the horrified look Dallon gives him. Dallon points a threatening finger at both of them, waggling it a little like a schoolmarm, before the back door closes again and Brendon sags against it, looking rumpled and kind of stressed.
“Jesus Christ,” Brendon mutters. He starts going through his pockets, finding a lighter first, but Spencer hops up onto his feet and intercepts him, dragging his hands out of his pockets and twisting their fingers together. Brendon glares at him. “You are so fucking stressful, holy shit.”
Spencer snorts, but doesn’t bother responding; just crowds Brendon up against the door for a little bit, until he loses some of the tension in his shoulders and slumps against him. “That’s really not how I imagined that happening,” Spencer admits after a moment. “Not that I was complaining, or anything.”
“Yeah, no,” Brendon agrees, laughing softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll, um. I’ll see you at home.”
“Okay,” Spencer says, giving his hand one last squeeze before letting go of it. He ducks to give Brendon a very chaste kiss on the cheek, in case Dallon comes busting outside again. “I’ll get something for dinner.”
“Not Mexican,” Brendon requests, leaning into the kiss a little, straightening Spencer’s coat front. He opens the door, and gives Spencer a rueful smile. “...I have to go and teach guitar now. You’re such a dick.”
Spencer grins, heartened, and tries not to look too pleased. “I...have to pretend to be interested in political science in an hour and a half?” he offers.
“Weak, Spencer Smith,” Brendon tells him. “See you tonight.”
“Go teach some shit,” Spencer orders him, buttoning up his coat again, giving Brendon a quick grin.
“Go learn some shit,” Brendon shoots back, smirking at how Spencer flips him off, responding by blowing kisses. He finally ducks into the back room, but not before Spencer can hear him and Dallon arguing as the door shuts.
Spencer turns and shoulders his bag, and starts heading back towards the main street, popping his collar up against the blasts of wind. He’s halfway to the bus stop when his phone goes off: thanks for the unexpected coffee and boner, this kid prob thinks im a perv
He grins, and quickly thumbs in i’m going with “the electoral college really does it for me” if anybody asks, pressing send.
unhhh baby tell me the difference between republics and democracies again
Spencer rolls his eyes and laughs, and puts his phone in his pocket. He can see the bus heading his way, so he starts digging his cta pass out of his wallet.
Part Five
“You smell like a hippie,” Spencer informs him hazily, pressing his nose into his hair.
“Your mom,” Brendon mutters back, tucking himself in closer at another blast of wind.
“Ugh,” comes a voice from nearer to the door. Spencer opens an eye, and gives Ryan a sheepish smile. “This is truly sad.”
“Your mom,” Brendon says again, doing his level best to hide from Ryan inside Spencer’s coat. “Fuck this fucking wind, seriously.”
“You guys have been gone twenty minutes,” Ryan snaps, coming to huddle a few feet away from them, glowering. “Where’d you put those smokes, B?”
Brendon grumbles, and squirms for a second, before he produces the pack of cigarettes from one of his pockets and holds it out for Ryan to grab. He does all of this without pulling away from Spencer at all. Spencer’s really impressed.
Ryan lights up and glares at them some more, exhaling plumes of smoke from both nostrils. Spencer can’t help the lazy smile that breaks over his face at that. “You look like the...thing. On ‘How To Train Your Dragon’.” Brendon makes a happy noise against his neck, and pulls away to look as well. “What was the dragon’s name?”
“Toothless?” Brendon offers, twisting to lean back against Spence, linking their hands on his stomach. “We should totally watch that when we go home.”
Ryan blinks at them, unamused, the cigarette dangling from his lips. Brendon pauses, and then cracks up. “Oh my god, he does look like it! Ryan!” He makes a grabby hands gesture at Ryan, who gazes disdainfully for a moment, before blowing smoke at him.
“Stop saying I look like various animals, jesus,” Ryan snaps, batting at Brendon’s hands when they get too close. “I didn’t say anything when you kept trying to befriend the Canadian geese at the pond - “
“Fucking geese,” Brendon mutters, folding his arms. Spencer squeezes him a little - one of the geese (the Ryan one) had chased Brendon around most of Humboldt Park one afternoon before getting bored and wandering off. It was pretty traumatic.
“ - or when we went to that pumpkin farm and you tried to feed the goats my latte, but seriously. Enough is enough.”
Spencer coughs, and hides his face in Brendon’s shoulder for a second. “Dragons aren’t real,” Brendon tells Ryan gently. “And I can’t help that you have a whole zoo of spirit animals.”
“I will kill you in your sleep,” Ryan informs him. Spencer looks up.
“Hey.” He frowns a little, because fuck, it’d be awful to wake up next to a corpse. Yikes.
Ryan rolls his eyes. “I won’t kill you,” he says to Spencer.
“Hey!” Brendon squawks. “If you kill me, I’ll haunt the fuck out of you.”
“Nobody’s killing anybody,” Spencer decides, pushing himself off of the wall. “And nobody is haunting anybody, and I can’t really feel my fingers or anything below my knees, so maybe we should go inside.”
“I’m finishing my cigarette,” Ryan huffs. “You can freeze for a couple more minutes.” Spencer rolls his eyes, and pulls away from Brendon so he can shove his hands in his coat pockets and try to warm them. Brendon gives a little sigh and rubs the back of his neck, making his hair stand up, and gives them both a sheepish little grin before he nods over to the door of the bar.
“What are the odds my drink is still there?”
“Slim to none,” Ryan says, his mouth twisting up wryly. “I saw Jon eyeing it when I left.”
“Damn it,” Brendon sighs, and he starts over towards the doors. “See you guys inside in a minute.”
Ryan mercifully waits until Brendon’s back inside the bar and the door’s completely closed before he rounds on Spencer and raises one very expressive eyebrow at him. He exhales, and ducks his head. “So.” Ryan lets the word hover there in the air between them.
“Yep,” Spencer tries, risking a glance up at him. Ryan’s smirking a little, which is never a good sign.
“So. Cuddling.” Ryan breathes out a plume of smoke, and flicks the mostly-dead butt into the slush beside the curb. Then he pulls out the pack and lights another one, handing it over to Spencer.
...Usually he’d say no, and give Ryan a little bit of hell for turning into a chainsmoker, but Ryan has a slightly terrifying interrogating look in his eyes, and Spencer figures using the cigarette as a bolster (or a tool for gesturing. or a weapon) is probably a good idea. He takes one too.
“Um,” he starts, suppressing an urge to cough on the first drag. “He was cold.”
Ryan gives him a flat look. “He’s been complaining he’s cold since September.” Spencer winces and looks back over to the bar door - it’s looking really inviting. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’ve actually got your shit together and - “
“It’s Brendon,” Spencer points out. “He’s probably in there sitting on Patrick’s lap singing Michael Jackson songs right now.”
Ryan stares at him, and then shrugs and takes another drag. He gets distracted by a gaggle of girls spilling out of the bar, which gives Spencer a brief, merciful respite. “Probably,” Ryan agrees, still watching them semi-interestedly. “But he married you.”
“For the insurance,” Spencer adds quickly. “It was just - “
“God,” Ryan exhales, giving him a supremely unimpressed look. “Why am I friends with you? Seriously, you’re so stupid. I could do so much better.”
“No, you couldn’t,” Spencer huffs, tilting his chin. “You’d try and then I’d tell whoever you found about how you used to eat paste and then it’d be all over.”
“I only did that one time,” Ryan squawks, reaching out to punch Spencer in the shoulder. “It was in second grade, let it fucking go already.”
“Paste-eater,” Spencer says calmly, fighting back a smile as Ryan shakes his fist threateningly. “I am totally the best you could do. Deal with it.”
“Ugh, that’s depressing,” Ryan huffs, unable to keep biting back a rueful smile. He tries to hide it by taking another drag off his cigarette, but it’s too late, Spencer’s totally caught him.
“Paaaaaaaste-eater,” Spencer drawls, quiet, smirking when he hears Ryan snort. “And then there was that one time in middle school you drew a moustache on your face with a Sharpie and it stayed for four days.”
Ryan chuckles, and sighs. “Yeah, that was pretty dumb. I thought your mom was going to pee her pants.” He looks down at his cigarette and makes a face at it, flicking it into the gutter. “Remember when she had to come and get you after two days of scout camp because you wouldn’t stop crying?”
“Fuck you, that shit was traumatic,” Spencer says swiftly, tossing his cigarette as well. “We had to dig holes to crap in. It was a fucking cholera epidemic waiting to happen.”
“Loser.” Ryan grins at him, and Spencer’s struck by how young it makes him look. “Whatever, you were just homesick.”
“Well, that too,” Spencer admits. “I was eleven, dude.”
“Harry Potter went to Hogwarts when he was eleven. He didn’t cry for two days.”
“Harry Potter’s not real,” Spencer reminds Ryan, for the umpteenth time. “Also he was living under the stairs before that.”
“True.” Ryan takes a breath in, and glances over at the door again. “Look,” he says, biting his lip for a second before gazing at Spence, “just...it’s Brendon. He’s not scary. You should really talk about all this shit.”
“Yeah, okay,” Spencer nods, making a face and taking a step over towards the door.
“No, I’m serious,” Ryan protests. “I can’t tell him to do it, he won’t listen to me, and you guys really need to - I don’t know, there need to be rules or something, before.” He breaks off, and huffs, and jams his hands back into his pockets, his shoulders hunching over. “Goddammit, you’re both such idiots. Have a fucking heart-to-heart with the kid and establish some, I don’t know, pick a fucking safe word before somebody gets knocked up or you split up and I’m a child of another divorce and I have to spend my weekends being shuttled around.”
Spencer blinks, and then can’t quite help the crooked smile that breaks over his face. He makes a ridiculous aww sound and tugs Ryan into a sideways hug, squashing him closer when Ryan huffs and tries to push away. “Ryan. Shut up.”
“Fuck off, I’m serious,” Ryan grouses, halfheartedly attempting to shove him off. “When this goes fucking balls-up don’t expect me to be Team Spencer just because you know I ate paste.”
“Of course you’ll be Team Spencer,” Spencer tells him, pressing his nose to Ryan’s cheek. “Because I know about the Sharpie moustache too.”
“I’m gonna be Team Whoever’s Not a Complete Dumbass,” Ryan grumbles, poking into his ribs. “So you’re probably out of luck.”
Spencer snorts, and kisses the top of his head (because he’s pretty sure it still pisses Ryan off that he’s taller than him now), and starts dragging him towards the door. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Like soon. Not when you’re retiring.”
“Okay, okay,” Spencer grumbles, holding the door open and pushing Ryan through. Brendon isn’t sitting in anybody’s lap, but he and Patrick are singing Michael Jackson songs. Spencer feels he should win some sort of award.
When they’re walking back home, Ryan and Jon stumble out in front of them and manage a good thirty-foot lead (mostly because they keep sprinting ahead to likely looking iced-over puddles so Jon can jump on them and see if they crack). Spencer keeps a close watch, just in case something ridiculous happens and Ryan or Jon break their ankles, but so far, they seem to be doing pretty good. Jon is tanked. But he’s a happy drunk, and he’s suggested to Ryan that they all go back to the apartment and play Scrabble, so he is officially Ryan’s favorite forever.
He offers his arm to Brendon, and Brendon gives him a surprised little smile as he takes it. “That was fun,” Spencer says, as an opener.
“Right? I can’t believe we got the band to play Billie Jean,” Brendon says, watching the ground for ice patches as they walk along. “That was awesome.” He slides for a second, and clutches Spencer’s arm hard, exhaling a laugh as they both continue along.
“Y’okay?” Spencer asks dutifully. “How’s your leg?”
“It’s fine,” Brendon says, rolling his eyes and smirking over at Spencer. “Seriously, you don’t need to ask that every time we go somewhere. It doesn’t hurt much anymore.”
Spencer’s eyebrows furrow a little at that, and he looks over at Brendon, checking him over. “You would tell me if it did, though, right?”
Brendon sighs, a little exasperated, and Spencer catches the flash of a smile. “Yes, Spencer,” Brendon says, his voice mockingly monotone.
“No, seriously,” Spencer says, trying not to frown. He keeps thinking about Ryan, and what he said about rules. “Brendon, if it hurts, you need to tell me. Okay?”
Brendon looks up at him, raising an eyebrow, and nods a few seconds later. “Okay, Spence,” he says, his voice gone back to normal.
“Promise me,” Spencer says, inwardly wincing at how fierce he sounds.
“I promise,” Brendon tells him. He gives Spencer’s arm a squeeze, and moves them over a little so he can avoid a puddle that Jon smashed in, in the middle. “...Are you okay?” He gives Spencer a squinty, concerned look.
He sighs. He’d figured he’d overplayed his hand right there. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Spencer tells him airily, kicking a tallboy can out of the way before Brendon can somehow figure out a way to break his neck on it.
“You sure?” Brendon asks, tugging on his arm until Spencer caves and actually looks over at him. “You went a little...Sergeant Smith, with the orders, there.”
“I know, sorry,” Spencer groans. “Just.” He rubs his free hand over his face briefly, and quickly tucks it back into his pocket before it can freeze. “I don’t know. I don’t mean to be annoying about it. Oldest kid syndrome, or something.”
“It’s okay,” Brendon assures him. Spencer nods, and for the next couple of minutes, there’s an easy silence between them. Ahead of them, Ryan and Jon cheer as Jon manages to crack a particularly stubborn sheet of ice. Brendon laughs, and presses a little closer into Spencer’s side, and Spencer closes his eyes for a few brief seconds.
“Ryan wants us to talk about...rules, and shit,” he stammers, before he can talk himself out of it, “and I was thinking that - I mean. You know that you don’t have to, like. You’re not just.” He scowls, and blows a breath out, hard, and tries not to notice the way Brendon’s staring at him. “You’re not, like, a mail-order bride or anything.”
Brendon blinks at him, and tugs Spencer out of the way of a particularly low-hanging icicle. “Um. Correct.”
“Goddammit. Fucking Ryan,” Spencer mutters, under his breath. He raises his voice back to normal pitch and tries to put his train of thought back on its tracks. “I know that this isn’t what - that the whole marriage thing wasn’t your idea.” He pauses to swallow, and hurriedly continues, before Brendon can, like, laugh at him forever. “And I didn’t want you to think that you had to, y’know...this morning, in the hallway. Or when we were outside, at the bar. Like. I’m not expecting that.” There. He squares his shoulders, and stares unwaveringly ahead.
For a long, excruciating moment, Brendon is quiet. Then: “Okay.”
Spencer’s resolve cracks, and he glances over at Brendon, who’s concentrating very hard on the sidewalk. His jaw’s clenched. Spencer watches the muscles in his neck move, and then worriedly nudges his shoulder. “Okay?” he goads, waiting for something - anything - that’ll give him more to go on.
“Okay, we won’t - I won’t do that anymore,” Brendon mutters, his arm going stiff and light against Spencer’s, like he’s trying not to let too much weight settle, like it’s too much of a burden for Spencer to bear.
Spencer feels weirdly like his ribcage is going to implode and explode at the same time, and he tugs Brendon’s arm back down, reaching for his hand as well. “Bren,” he huffs, “that is really not what I meant. At all.”
“Well Jesus Christ, you called me a mail-order bride,” Brendon hisses, looking away from him, still super tense. “You could just say if you didn’t want me to - “
“I was trying to tell you the same thing,” Spencer interrupts, before Brendon can get even more weird at him. He stops, and grabs for Brendon’s other hand, gently steering him so that they’re facing each other. Brendon’s still looking at the ground. “Brendon, god. It’s not like making out with you is a hardship, come on. I like it. I was just trying to say that if you don’t want to, you don’t have to keep doing it.”
Brendon looks up at him, still suspicious. “Seriously? That’s all you meant?”
Spencer rolls his eyes. “Yes, okay? Kissing you is fun and educational.”
Brendon snorts, and mutters something that sounds very much like what your mom said last night. Then he actually looks up at Spencer, and gives him a sheepish smile. “Well okay.”
“Yeah?” Spencer can’t help it, he can’t fucking help the stupid smile that plasters itself all over his face. “Well. Good.” He rethreads Brendon’s arm through his and starts walking again, a little slower this time, meandering the half-block back home. Beside him, Brendon tries to stifle an attack of giggles, and mostly fails.
“Fucking called me a mail-order bride,” Brendon mutters, reaching to pinch his side. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“Yes, dear,” Spencer says dryly, trying to bat his hand away.
“And just so we’re clear, we have a rule in favor of making out, right?” Brendon asks, grinning up at him. Spencer beams back.
“Yeah. With an option on cuddling,” Spencer nods. Beside him, Brendon squirms with glee.
“The answer to that option is always yes. Just, for future record,” Brendon tells him, burrowing in closer to him. Spencer unthreads their arms just long enough to wrap his around Brendon’s shoulders, and tugs him in tight.
“Good to know.” He presses his mouth to the top of Brendon’s hair, and then makes sure his scarf is still arranged properly. “Ryan also said we had to come up with a safe word,” he remembers, grinning again when Brendon cracks up.
“What the fuck? What does he think we’re doing at night?” Brendon gasps, shaking against him. “The walls aren’t that thick!”
“I don’t even know, dude,” Spencer says, bemused. “I mean. It was out of left field, too. We were talking about how he used to eat paste, and then the next thing out of his mouth, boom. Safe words.”
“Classic segue,” Brendon says, still laughing. “Oh my god.”
Spencer waits for a moment or two, until Brendon’s managed to mostly compose himself. They’re almost home - Spencer can see where Ryan and Jon have beaten them, and have already turned on the lights in the front room. “So, what should our safe word be?”
“Um.” Brendon chuckles, but he bites his lip and appears to actually be thinking about it. “Progresso chicken noodle soup. Llamas. Mint oreos. Bea Arthur. Sue the Dinosaur.”
“I think it has to be something you can say pretty fast,” Spencer says, though privately, he really likes the idea of Bea Arthur. Dorothy Zbornak was the shit. “Though, I mean. It’s not like we’re actually going to be using it.”
“Macy’s. Kohls. Vegas.” Brendon pauses, and glances over. “Hey.”
“Vegas?” Spencer asks, thinking about it for a bit. “Yeah, I guess that’d work.”
“Fuck yeah it will! Safe word five!” Brendon says, holding his hand up. Spencer sighs, and reminds himself to figure out how to block How I Met Your Mother from Netflix. But he does give Brendon a high five.
A couple of minutes later, they’re tromping into the foyer, unwrapping themselves from their coats and scarves and pretending not to hear Ryan and Jon giving them shit about taking so long to get back. Spencer helps Brendon unwrap his scarf, and Brendon helps Spencer undo all the toggles on his coat. Spencer’s just getting ready to shrug out of it, when Brendon grabs both lapels and pushes him up against the wall, into the corner where Ryan and Jon can’t see them. Spencer’s eyes widen in shock.
“We have a rule,” Brendon reminds him, pressing in close and tilting his head up as Spencer’s arms automatically close around his waist. Spencer’s breath catches in his throat as he watches Brendon’s eyes flutter closed just as their mouths touch, and the kiss is just as good as they always are.
It’s short, though, because Ryan and Jon are only about 15 feet away, and they’re not even separated by an actual door. So a few seconds later, Brendon pulls away and unconsciously licks his lips, and Spencer bites back the whine he really wants to give at that, and just holds onto him for a little bit longer. “God,” Spencer breathes. “This whole marriage thing really has its perks.”
Brendon snorts, and gives him a crooked little smile, bumping Spencer’s chin with his cheek and playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “Guess so,” he says absently. “I would’ve kissed you before, though.”
Spencer sucks in a breath, and pulls back enough to look at him, kind of stunned. “Really?”
Brendon looks sort of rueful, and nods. Spencer stares at him for a few seconds. “Shit, but. ...Huh.” He gives a short laugh, and tugs Brendon up a little, hugging him tight. “Oh man, I would have too.”
Brendon stills in his arms, and after a few seconds he starts chuckling. “We’re such idiots,” he says, sounding fond as he extricates himself from Spencer’s grip. “Come on,” he says, giving Spencer an affectionate little grin and reaching out his hand for him. “Scrabble.”
Spencer knows he’s got a similar smile on his own face, but he can’t seem to do anything about it. So he settles for taking Brendon’s hand and following him into the living room. “Those triple word scores are mine.”
Jon dazzles them all by producing a twelve-pack of beer from the cavernous recesses of their kitchen cabinets (he brought it over months ago for a party, and then hid it when Sean broke the coffee table and needed to believe there was no more alcohol in the house), and makes them split it four ways. Then he beats the shit out of all of them at Scrabble by playing A-T-I-M off of Ryan’s “VERB,” picking up a triple-word score just to add insult to injury. Ryan gapes at the board for over a minute, before picking up his letter-holder and beating Jon on the arm with it, and Jon just laughs and takes it, shielding himself when Ryan starts to pelt him with letters.
“You’re going to have to pick them all up later,” Jon warns him.
“Worth it,” Ryan growls, flinging another handful at him. On the couch, Spencer murmurs and tucks his face tighter into Brendon’s neck, blocking out the light, and sighs a little. He’s so close to being asleep, if Ryan and Jon would just be a little quieter then he could -
“Hey. Hey, Spence,” he hears Brendon whisper in his ear, and Spencer grumbles and shifts. “Hey, c’mon, let’s get you to bed.”
“Fuck beds,” Spencer groans, flopping over onto the pillow when Brendon tries to pull him away a little. “Couch.”
“Nooooo,” Brendon wheedles, curling an arm around his middle and squeezing, trying to drag him back up into sitting. “Ryan and Jon are going to play again, and you don’t want to be around for that bloodbath.”
“You really fucking don’t,” Ryan says, pointing a threatening finger at Jon. Jon salutes back lazily.
“Thanks for all your help, guys,” Spencer can hear Brendon mutter, and he smiles a little as he lets Brendon tug him up off the couch. Brendon seems determined to shoulder most of Spencer’s weight, but Spencer is a grown-ass man, he can walk on his own. ...Though he does decide to let Brendon help out a little. So he can feel he contributed.
“I like Jon,” Spencer tells Brendon. “He’s a Scrabble ninja.”
“I like you too, Spencer,” Jon calls after him. Spencer grins, and lets Brendon shuffle them through the bedroom door. He sighs happily and crawls onto the bed, curling up on the cool bedcovers. Brendon turns on the desklamp, which Spencer doesn’t particularly appreciate, but it does mean he gets to watch Brendon change into pyjamas via its dim light, so that’s a plus.
“You have a nice back,” he tells Brendon sleepily, feeling very loose-limbed and cheerful from the combination of beer, bed, and the onset of sleep.
“Thank you,” Brendon tells him solemnly, coming over to unlace Spencer’s shoes. “You have a nice front.” Spencer scoffs and waves away the compliment, and tries to protest Brendon undoing his shoes, but he can’t seem to move. The bed is swallowing him whole.
“The bed’s eating me. I’m too young to die,” Spencer whines against the sheets, but Brendon is either ignoring him or can’t hear him, and then Brendon’s got one of his shoes off, so Spencer just gives himself up to his fate and lets Brendon pull off his shoes.
“Jeans off,” Brendon tells him, giving him a stern look before he pads off to brush his teeth, and Spencer wonders for a brief petulant moment why Brendon is still so awake, when he remembers that Brendon probably got to sleep til noon yesterday after he left. He whimpers, and struggles, but finally manages to shimmy out of his jeans, throwing them over near the clothes hamper before giving up on the idea of getting up to get pyjama pants and just burrowing under the covers instead. Fuck it, he’s wearing underwear. Good enough.
Eventually, Brendon comes back, and Spencer waves a hand before tucking it back under the blanket tiredly and curling towards the middle of the bed. He can hear the desk lamp being shut off. He keeps his eyes closed, but recognizes the feel of the mattress when Brendon slides onto it, and the way the sheets snap and drape once Brendon’s there beside him. “Night,” he says, having to break off to yawn.
“What time’s your first class?” Brendon asks him. Spencer opens up one eye long enough to see Brendon setting the alarm on his phone, and then he closes it again.
“Mmh, ten,” he sighs. “So early.”
“At least you didn’t go crazy and sign up for an eight o’clock class like Ryan last semester,” Brendon points out, his voice going quiet and private as he sets his phone down on the bedside table and shifts closer to the middle of the bed.
“Oh my god, that was the worst,” Spencer agrees, reaching for him and finally getting a handful of Brendon’s t-shirt. He squirms closer too, not stopping til he can feel Brendon’s breath on his face. An arm slowly makes its way across his middle, and Spencer shivers, makes a contented little noise in the back of his throat.
“That was cute,” Brendon teases him, half-whispering, and Spencer huffs and punches him lightly, in the chest, not letting go of his t-shirt.
He yawns, and sinks down into his pillow. “Hey,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry I called you a mail-order bride.”
“It’s okay. You’re dumb, but I know better than to hold it against you.”
Spencer frowns and hits him again, though he does pat it better after. “M’glad we talked, though. About the kissing and everything.”
Brendon snorts, and tugs him closer, his hand rubbing comfortably up and down Spencer’s back. “Me too. Especially about the kissing and everything.”
Spencer frowns a little, and feels kind of floaty, disconnected from the world with only Brendon to tether him down. “I’m glad you want to keep doing it,” he tells Brendon, his words going slurred and soft as he gets farther and farther out.
“...Me too,” he hears Brendon say, sounding kinda far away.
“Wanted to kiss you for so long,” he sighs, just before he floats out of range, into a deep sleep.
The next morning, Spencer’s jolted out of his semi-coma by Rick Astley buzzing next to his ear. He flails wildly, and finally sits up, before he realizes the source and shuts Brendon’s phone alarm off, groaning. He debates just saying fuck higher education and going back to sleep, but then Ryan starts singing in the shower, and Spencer’s stomach rumbles, and he figures between those two things together the sleep would be subpar at best, so he might as well go and learn something.
Brendon’s already gone, which is unusual but not unheard of - every now and then he gets to the store ridiculously early for inventory shit. Spencer’s a little thrown by the vast expanse of bed beside him, but then he notices the post-it note on Brendon’s pillow, and beams sleepily once he’s squinted his way through it:
Spencer Smith! Good luck on your first day of classes! Make an A and don’t let the big kids pick on you. I packed your lunch. Don’t let Ryan eat it.
PS - Will you go on a date with me? Check _____YES or _____NO
Spencer grabs it, and slides out of bed, and finds a Sharpie on the desk. He puts a big, ridiculous check mark next to YES and then tucks it into his bag along with Brendon’s phone, sandwiching them carefully between his ipod and his kindle in the front, so he won’t forget where they are. Then he heads off into the kitchen, to make coffee happen so he can start getting ready for his first day of classes.
His first class of the day is some fucking gen ed Shakespeare course that Ryan badgered him into, and it takes Spencer all of ten minutes to just get pissed at the entire thing and at Ryan as the indirect cause, because he’s one of like three guys in the class and apparently the professor is really into reading scenes aloud. He gets assigned to be Laertes, Cassius, and fucking Troilus before they’re even finished with the syllabus. Fuck.
hate shakespeare and you he surreptitiously texts to Ryan. have 2 b laertes in class
good luck with that Ryan sends back, not 30 seconds later. Spencer suddenly remembers that Ryan’s stuck in Geology, and he smirks and feels a little bit better about the world. at least its not romeo
true Spencer concedes. The girl sitting beside him shoots him a dirty look for having his phone out, but Spencer just gives her a cheerful smile and shifts a little lower in his seat. silver lining
tho you have a lot of experience w that kind of thing lately
fuck you Spencer shoots back, snorting softly. He waits, but it seems that Ryan doesn’t have any witty rejoinders to send back immediately, so Spencer sets his phone down on the edge of his tiny desk, and goes back to pretending to listen to what the professor has to say.
Two minutes later, his phone lights up again.
“Really?” the girl next to him sighs, raising both her eyebrows and giving Spencer an amused look. “Is this a commonplace occurrence?”
Spencer feels a little bit bad, and bites his lip as he thumbs across the screen to unlock it. It’s Brendon this time. He’s sent a couple of photos; one of Dallon’s newest windowpane illustrations at the store, and one of Julie, hunched over her bass, a frown of concentration on her face.
“Cute,” the girl says, glancing over. She gives Spencer a quick once-over, assessing. “Is it your sister?”
“No,” Spencer murmurs, his cheeks starting to heat through. “She’s...my, um. She’s taking lessons from my husband,” he mutters, all in a rush, keeping his eyes fixed on his phone. There’s a pause, and then the girl leans over to get a closer look, grinning approvingly at the screen.
“I have a friend who has the same bass, no joke,” she says finally, twisting her long hair out of the way, flicking it over her shoulder as she shifts closer to Spencer. “Show me one of your boy, then.”
Spencer can’t seem to keep his smile in check, and he leans closer as well, holding his phone down between them so the professor can’t see as he starts to thumb through his photos. There’s a couple of Van Vleet and Tomrad being idiots at the Cali Clipper, and one of Jon toasting the camera, and one of Ryan mid-snow-angel in the park, and then -
“There,” Spencer says, angling the phone towards her. “That’s him.” It’s actually a pretty good photo, he had Jon forward it to him off of his phone. Brendon’s beaming and chomping on a french fry, looking off at something happening to his right, huddled into the bench at Kuma’s.
“Aw,” she breathes, pleased. “Oh my god, you’re both such babies.”
“Hey,” Spencer protests halfheartedly, getting distracted by the photo a little. He almost misses the way she holds her hand out, between the desks.
“I’m Greta,” she whispers.
“Spencer,” he replies. Greta raises her eyebrows and looks down pointedly at his phone, and Spencer snorts and waves it a little. “Brendon.”
“Well, you’re both cute, even if you are child brides,” she jokes. “Now shut your phone off before I stick it somewhere Brendon will find inconvenient.”
Spencer blinks. Greta gives him a placid smile, and goes back to paying attention to what the professor is saying.
He shuts his phone off and sticks it in his backpack, because even though he’s pretty sure Greta wouldn’t make good on her threat, something tells him that she could.
After Shakespeare, he and Greta friend each other on facebook, and then he runs halfway across campus to get to his Statistics class, which he realizes two minutes in is going to kick his ass. It’s a huge-ass auditorium full of kids with a projector and a screen at the front, and a professor beamed in from another classroom, though, so Spencer feels free to tug his phone back out and abuse his freedom with impunity.
The first thing he does is text Brendon. made a friend!
Five minutes later, he gets a response: good job! color inside the lines and don’t push anyone down at recess!
no promises, he sends back, and then he does actually listen to the disembodied voice for a while until class ends.
He has a three-hour break, so he wanders over to his Starbucks with the intention of laughing at whoever’s behind the counter, having to work on the first day back. He barely makes it through the door before Nate gives him a hateful look and mouths your fault over the group of girls arguing over whether or not to get whipped cream on the drinks they’re splitting. He and Nate have discussed why it’s unfair to blame him for every drink that every other DePaul student buys, but Nate doesn’t seem to want to let logic be a factor in his reasoning. So Spencer gives him a beatific smile, and joins the queue.
“Hi,” he says when he gets up to the register, “I want to get me one of them there frozen coffee things? But I don’t want it to taste too much like coffee.”
“Go to hell,” Nate says swiftly, marking a line of cups and throwing them at the cold bar, flapping his hands apologetically at Gabe, who is giving him an outraged look. “Go to hell and die.”
“Hey, the customer is always right,” he needles, resting his elbows on the counter, leaning over to give Gerard on drive-thru a wave. “Surprise and delight me, coffee boy.”
Nate glares some more, hands on his hips, and Spencer beams at him. “Are you here to actually buy something, or to just be a dick?”
“I can’t do both?” Spencer beams some more, and then shrugs and starts digging through his bag for his wallet. “Yeah, actually, I just want a grande drip and a Brendon.”
Nate makes a face, but dutifully starts marking a cup, placing it on the espresso bar. He grabs Spencer’s coffee and shoves it at him, waving his wallet away with a swift your money’s no good here. Spencer sticks his tongue out at him and shoves a couple of dollar bills into the tip jar before moving on.
Gabe’s swearing underneath his breath in Spanish, too low for Spencer to actually make out the words as he floats between cold bar and the handoff plane, plunking down frappuccinos and calling them out for the girls in line before Spencer. “Hey,” Spencer remembers, craning his neck to see over the espresso machines. “Hey, Gabe, how was the old friend?”
Gabe looks up, and takes a couple of seconds to actually find him in the crowd, before his mouth quirks into a dirty, sweet little smile. “Flexible. Acrobatic. Amazing.”
Spencer snorts, and nods. “Awesome. Glad I asked.”
“Don’t be jealous, mijo,” Gabe calls over the roar of the blenders. “You’re still the sexiest little dishwasher I ever saw.”
Between them, Mikey pauses at the espresso bar, and turns just enough to raise an eyebrow at Gabe, who suddenly looks hilariously trapped. Spencer starts snickering, and after a moment Mikey goes back to steaming milk, a tiny smirk on his face, and after a bit Gabe huffs and starts banging open the blenders, muttering in Spanish again.
Mikey pauses at Brendon’s cup, taking in the ridiculous combination of syrups, and sighs.
“I know,” Spencer says preemptively. “I’ve tried to stop him.”
“It’s just gross, Spence,” Mikey murmurs, though he starts pumping from different bottles. When he’s done, he presses his lips together in a thin line and whips out his sharpie, holding the cup up to the light and drawing a line where the syrup ends. He crosshatches underneath and then draws an arrow above it, labeling it ALL SYRUP in big black judgey letters. He even puts a little frowny face next to it, before capping the sharpie and putting it back in his apron. Spencer hides his grin by taking a swig from his coffee, and waits patiently for Mikey to finish the drink off. Mikey caps it, and instead of sliding across the handoff, he turns to the drive-thru. “Hey, Gee,” he says, holding the cup up til Gerard actually looks up from the order screen. “Brendon.”
Gee’s face lights up, and he immediately makes grabby hands for it, stealing Mikey’s sharpie out of his apron pocket.
“Seriously, guys?” Spencer sighs, leaning against the counter, scooting out of the way for a few other customers who’re waiting.
“Shut up, it won’t take two seconds,” Gerard orders, his eyebrows furrowing as he starts turning the Starbucks siren on the front of the cup into something resembling Cthulhu. Spencer groans, and watches the people in the car idling outside the drive-thru window gaze at Gerard in something akin to horror as he doodles a vampire sinking its fangs into a coffee bean on the other side. “Good?” he asks, finally handing the cup over to Spencer.
“Just beautiful,” Spencer says dryly.
Gerard beams at him, and then turns back to the drive-thru, flailing a little as he remembers oh, shit, CUSTOMERS.
“Tell Brendon hey,” Mikey says, slamming through the lineup of drinks around his bar like a machine. Spencer watches appreciatively for a few seconds before he picks both cups up.
“Will do,” he promises, cradling Brendon’s cup against his front as he heads out the door and back into the wind.
He gets the Red Line and then the 66 down to the record store, and pokes his head in the front door - Dallon’s behind the register, and waves when he sees Spencer. “Hey, he’s out back in the alley,” Dallon tells him, not even bothering with small talk.
“Thanks,” Spencer says, saluting him with the coffee cup as he ducks back out onto the street and trots down to the end, ducking down behind the stores. He can see Brendon sitting on the stoop just outside the back door of the store, sucking guiltily on a cigarette, his coat collar popped up against the cold. “Hey,” he calls, grinning a little when he sees Brendon startle.
“Shit, you scared me,” Brendon grumps, though his eyes light up when he sees the coffee cups Spencer has in both hands. “Ooh.”
“Yeah, your cup got Way brother all over it,” Spencer says, passing it down to him before nudging Brendon over a little, occupying the section of the stoop next to him.
“I see that,” Brendon says, scrutinizing the drawings. “Dude, those tentacles are awesome. Gerard is amazing. I should show Dallon.”
“See, Mikey even included a helpful diagram about your syrup,” Spencer points out, smirking when Brendon rolls his eyes and takes a long, obnoxious slurp of his drink.
“I beheld my creation and called it good,” Brendon says loftily. “You’re just jealous that you don’t have a drink called the Spencer.”
“They only call it the Brendon because otherwise it’d take five minutes to call,” Spencer informs him. “It’s not like having a sandwich named after you.”
“Mm. My day’s going great, honey, thanks for asking,” Brendon tells him, pasting on a fake smile for him. “Julie fucking nailed Play That Funky Music and I’m a badass teacher.”
“Awesome,” Spencer says dutifully, finishing the last of his coffee and setting the cup down beside him. “What else?”
“Well.” Brendon pauses, squinting at the wall on the other side of the alley for a moment or two. “Not much. I had the last bagel for breakfast. Got the inventory mostly done. Sold a couple of hardcore CDs to some kids with a lot of face metal. What about you?”
“Eh. Classes. Stats is gonna kill me,” Spencer groans, remembering. “Made a friend in Shakespeare but we have to read out loud. And I have to go back at three for Poli Sci, which is most likely going to suck, so. Y’know. Yay school.”
Brendon sucks his teeth, and rubs his hand across Spencer’s back comfortingly, leaning in when Spencer grumbles and sags against him. “This is totally why I married you. For your sunny disposition.”
“Fuck you, I’m cheerful,” Spencer grouses, into Brendon’s coat sleeve. “I brought you awful coffee.”
“I mostly married you for the coffee,” Brendon admits, cuddling him in a little. Spencer goes with it, burrowing in against Brendon shamelessly. Brendon smells like cigarette smoke and their laundry detergent and hippie shampoo, and Spencer closes his eyes for a few seconds, comforted despite his best efforts.
“You married me because I am the most awesome,” Spencer informs him, tucking his hands inside Brendon’s coat, heedless of the yelp it causes. “And because now we can go to the doctor on Thursday, and get your leg fixed on your day off.”
“Yeah?” Brendon says, sounding a little surprised. Spencer nods, and presses in closer, resting his cheek on Brendon’s shoulder.
“And I was thinking, you probably need new glasses, we could go see an eye doctor about that too,” Spencer says, glancing over at him, to gauge interest. Brendon’s giving him an incredulous little look, and then he breaks into a smile.
“Okay, Spence,” he says, tugging him up so that their legs are tangled together and they’re both mostly protected from the wind tunnel of the alley. Brendon reaches for his coffee, and makes a face when he realizes it’s already gone completely cold, but he presses on regardless, gulping it down.
“Gross,” Spencer mutters, making a face at him. “You don’t have to finish it, B, seriously.”
“Hey, Gerard and Mikey went to a lot of trouble to make this,” Brendon points out.
“Yeah, they did have to ignore a lot of paying customers,” Spencer agrees, nodding his head.
“See? So,” Brendon says, just before he tilts his head back and chugs the rest of it, wincing and setting the cup down beside him. It immediately tips over, and skitters off down the alley. Spencer snickers, especially at the way Brendon seems to take the loss and the littering personally. “I was going to keep that to show Dallon.”
“Gerard will totally draw you another one,” Spencer tells him, patting his arm. “Give him half a reason to draw on a cup and he will.”
“Awesome,” Brendon sighs, settling down next to him. They stay like that for a long moment, breaths condensing in the cold, before Brendon shifts, just a little. “I left you a note, this morning.”
“Oh yeah,” Spencer remembers, brightening. “I brought it with me, it’s in my bag.”
“Yeah?” Brendon turns his head a little, enough that Spencer can see him raise his eyebrows expectantly.
“I checked ‘yes’.” Spencer smiles when Brendon does, helpless to stop.
“Well,” Brendon says after a beat, still sort of beaming stupidly at him, “duh.”
Spencer rolls his eyes and thumps him on the chest lightly. “Dick,” he mutters, just before Brendon slides his ice-cold fingertips up to Spencer’s chin, tilting it up a little as he leans in for a kiss. Something in Spencer’s chest stills and settles at that, and for a weightless second Spencer realizes he’s been waiting for this, since he saw Brendon in the alley. Somehow his body is already trained to expect Brendon to kiss him. Weird.
Brendon’s breath is warm on his cheeks, which is nice, and his mouth tastes like coffee and hazelnut and still a little like cigarettes. It’s strange to think that he’s getting used to the way Brendon kisses, but Spencer finds that this time he can comfortably sink into the pattern of their mouths sliding together and apart. He knows that when he tugs Brendon’s bottom lip a little, Brendon’s breath hitches, and he knows how the quick dart of Brendon’s tongue into the corner of his lips sends a shiver up his spine.
He breathes a contented little noise into Brendon’s mouth and squirms closer, til his arms fit comfortably around Brendon’s middle, grinning a bit at the way Bren falters and whines.
“Stop laughing at me,” Brendon huffs, mouth still against Spencer’s.
“M’not,” Spencer promises, patting his back, though he can’t help grin again at the way their teeth clack when Brendon pulls him in. Brendon exhales again, and Spencer tugs him closer, pulling at the sides of his coat until Brendon’s pretty much on his lap. “Good?”
“Mm,” Brendon hums, untangling his arms til Spencer feels them settling on his shoulders. “Yup. You?” he says, pressing the cold tip of his nose against Spencer’s cheek.
“Well, my ass is kind of cold,” Spencer says conversationally, “but I figure, y’know. Chicago. January. Sitting on cement.”
“It is kind of a given,” Brendon agrees, flashing a quick smile before sealing his mouth over Spencer’s again, before he can respond. This time he’s not fucking around at all; his tongue slicks interestedly over the back of Spencer’s teeth only a few seconds later, and Spence finds his fingers digging into Brendon’s back, having to hold on against a sudden onslaught of kissing. Brendon shivers in his arms, clutching at him a little, twisting fingers in his hair.
“Jesus, Bren, y - mmf,” Spencer grunts, interrupted by Brendon nipping at his upper lip and tugging him back in. He kisses back gamely, but after half a minute breathing becomes kind of an issue, and he has to pull away, duck his head, and gasp. “God.”
The thing is - and he is never going to tell Brendon, or anyone, ever - Brendon is only the third person Spencer’s ever kissed. And even then, he feels like it’s cheating to include Jennifer Hitchens because they were only in fifth grade and it was at a stupid Halloween party. He was dressed like a fucking scarecrow and she was dressed like a cowgirl. It wasn’t the bright, shining moment the movies said it should be.
His second kissing experience was a little better, but Emma only ever wanted to when they were the last ones left in the band room, and once or twice when he’d drive her home after jazz practice. But then she’d gotten back together with her on-again-off-again boyfriend (he played the fucking tuba) and Spencer suddenly had Ryan and Brendon to worry about all the fucking time, so they’d just sort of petered out.
That said, Brendon’s urgency is weird and completely foreign to him, and it’s kind of unnerving. He’s really unused to being the focus of this much attention.
He takes a breath, and closes his eyes for a second, resting his forehead against Brendon’s cheek briefly before he pulls back and gives Brendon a tentative smile. Brendon smiles back, looking him over carefully. “Hey.”
Spencer’s mouth twists a little, wry. “Hey,” he murmurs back, sliding one of his hands against Brendon’s middle, feeling it expand and contract with his breath before he reaches up, cautious and sort of embarrassed, and cups Brendon’s chin. (Just because he hasn’t had much experience with this whole kissing thing doesn’t mean he hasn’t devoted hours to developing theories on how to go about it. He’s hoping this translates into a few levels of skill. He’s also hoping this concept works with blowjobs.)
Brendon makes a soft, inquisitive noise, and starts to lean in again, but Spencer shakes his head, sharp, and he stops. “Let me - hang on,” Spencer mutters, his eyebrows knitting together, his cheeks going even redder as he curls close to Brendon, ducking in and barely pressing their lips together, their mouths just brushing. Brendon’s lips part automatically, but Spencer keeps the touch light, barring Brendon from pressing forward. He slides his lips down, tracing the warm line of Brendon’s, ending at the corner of his mouth and staying there for a second or two.
“Spence,” Brendon whines, trying to tug him down into another sloppy kiss. Spencer rolls his eyes a little and resists, laughing a little as Brendon squawks and starts tugging on his coat collar. “Come onnnn.”
“Cut it out,” Spencer huffs, poking his fingers into Brendon’s ribs, even as he tucks him in a little closer. He moves his thumb up, dragging it over Brendon’s lower lip, back and then forth, watching interestedly at the way the skin tugs a little before it slides away. Brendon goes still, his eyes dark and wide behind his glasses, and Spencer’s breathing goes a little unsteady as a pink flicker of tongue presses to the pad of his thumb. He swallows and leans in a little, pausing to make sure Brendon isn’t planning on mauling him once he gets there, and finally fits his mouth over Brendon’s, moving his thumb out of the way.
Brendon tenses for a second, and then sinks into him with a ridiculous little sigh. pressing close enough that Spencer can feel the rise and fall of his chest against his own. It makes his hands shake a little, but he covers it by kissing Brendon’s top lip, staying there close-mouthed for a moment before dragging his lips along Brendon’s jaw.
“Who taught you how to do this?” Brendon murmurs, sounding almost drugged, tilting his head helpfully as Spencer reaches back near his ear. He figures that that’s a rhetorical question, though, so he doesn’t answer. The thin skin near Brendon’s ear smells like shaving gel and faded cologne, familiar and comfortable, and Spencer noses and licks and sucks at Brendon’s neck there until he’s kind of a shivering wreck, tugging on Spencer’s coat and pleading kiss me kiss me kiss me under his breath.
“Damn it, Spence,” Brendon whimpers, squirming just enough to be able to curl his leg around Spencer’s back, squeezing him a little with his knobbly knees as he lets his head fall back on his shoulders. “Holy fuck, you need to - “
And yeah, that’s about Spencer’s breaking point - he can feel Brendon twined around him, twined and shaking, and he pulls away from Brendon’s neck and tugs his head back up, kissing him thoroughly.
Brendon shudders, and kisses back just as hard, and Spencer groans a little as Brendon’s tongue flicks against his lip, testing but not immediately diving in. It can be taught, he thinks to himself, just before Brendon hums contentedly around Spencer’s lower lip and it kind of fucking blows his mind.
Somehow Brendon’s maneuvered so that he’s basically straddling Spencer like a backwards chair, alternately squeezing Spencer between his thighs and trying to get closer, like they can’t already feel each other’s rocketing heartbeats in like half a dozen places at once. They’ve basically progressed to trying to eat each other’s faces. Spencer regrets nothing.
And then there’s a moment where Brendon gives up trying to tug Spencer closer by his coat and goes for his hair instead. ...Spencer didn’t really know, he doesn’t have any prior experience in that area, but apparently that’s a thing for him. So he yelps and clutches at Brendon and goes very very still as he tries not to come in his jeans.
Brendon freezes as well, and gives him a nervous little grin, loosening the hand in his hair and petting it gently as he pulls far enough away to actually see him. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” Spencer manages, his voice only a tiny bit strained. “Just, y’know. Hanging out for a second. Enjoying the ambience. The atmosphere.”
“The hand on my ass,” Brendon adds, smirking a tiny, tiny bit. Spencer raises his eyebrows, and yep, look at that - he does seem to be groping Brendon pretty firmly. He squeezes his hand, pleased at the way Brendon jolts at that. “Hey,” he frowns, fidgeting a little as Spencer doesn’t exactly remove his hand immediately. Spencer’s fingers twitch, and almost squeeze a little harder. “Spence, what’re you,” he starts, squirming a little and biting his lip.
“Shit, Bren, you’ve really got to hold still,” Spencer gasps, reaching down to grab not another handful of Brendon’s ass, but underneath, hooking just under where his thighs end and pretty much lifting Brendon bodily a few crucial inches off his lap and, more importantly, away from his dick.
“No, Spence, you - nnnh, fuck,” Brendon gasps, his arms tightening around Spencer’s shoulders for a second before he shudders and press his face into Spencer’s neck.
“What?” Spencer asks, worried. Brendon groans and shakes his head, and then his thigh muscles twitch a little against Spencer’s sides and Spencer suddenly realizes shit, holy shit - Brendon’s dick is totally hard and poking him in the stomach.
He swallows and glances up at Brendon, whose cheeks are bright red. His mouth, though - Spencer gets distracted by the state of Brendon’s lips, flushed and swollen and bitten red, and he feels this weird hot stab of possessive pride in that. He made that happen. Brendon is twitching and antsy and fucking hard as a rock for him.
Spencer exhales, sharp, and dives back in to kiss him, pulling Brendon up against his chest, squeezing his fingers into the backs of his thighs. Brendon squeaks and kisses back, letting out a small, shaky little moan as he tightens his arms around Spencer’s shoulders and rocks against him, an aborted little twist of his hips before he’s too embarrassed to keep going.
Spencer shivers and kisses him, kneading his fingers a little before his arms start to go a little wobbly and he has to settle Brendon back down onto his lap. It takes Brendon all of three seconds to realize Spencer’s in exactly the same boat he is, and he accidentally bites Spencer’s lip when he notices, making an apologetic noise. Spencer’s eyes threaten to roll back into his head and he wonders, wildly, holy shit, am I about to lose my virginity in a side street off Chicago Ave? Bad. ASS.
“Fuck, Spence,” Brendon hisses, his hips moving jerkily in Spencer’s lap as they both fight a fraught battle between nerves and the biological imperative to come in their pants. Spencer licks at the raw place on his lip where Brendon bit him and shakes at the bolt of pleasurepain that shocks through him. He squeezes his hands on Brendon’s hips and basically grinds him down, using his added leverage to set up a rhythm for them to -
“B, your one o’clock’s - oh holy crap,” Dallon squawks, quickly letting go of the door handle to slap both hands over his eyes. “Oh crap. Ohhhh geez. Sorry guys, whoa.”
Spencer just blinks up at him for the first moment or two, completely dazed, unable to process what’s happened and why there’s suddenly a Dallon outside with them. Luckily, on top of him, Brendon is having no such trouble. He’s squirming embarrassedly, trying to fix his and Spencer’s hair, smacking Spencer’s hands off his hips until finally Spencer lets go.
He frowns when Brendon slides off his lap, and winces as he has to casually rearrange the folds of his coat. The fog is really slow in lifting off of his brain, though. “Hey, Dallon,” he finally offers, giving him a wave.
Dallon is still kind of averting his eyes, but he doesn’t look so traumatized now that Brendon’s standing. “Hey, Spence,” he says gamely, shooting a smile in his general vicinity. “Um. Sorry about that.”
“No, we’re sorry,” Brendon interrupts, giving Spencer a worried look. Spencer raises an unamused eyebrow back. “That wasn’t - I mean, we weren’t actually doing - “
“I really don’t need any details,” Dallon says. He and Brendon seem to be competing to see who can blush the hardest.
“Well.” Brendon rubs the back of his head bashfully. “Sorry.”
“I’m not sorry,” Spencer mutters mutinously, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. He doesn’t miss the interested little look Brendon shoots him, at that, so he doesn’t feel very bad about smirking.
“Dallon, I’ll be right behind you,” Brendon says, holding the back door open with his hip, giving him his very best responsible worker smile. “Tell Jason to give me two minutes, okay?”
Dallon shoots them both a suspicious little look, and sighs. “Okay. Two minutes. And if you’re not in here, Brendon, I’m coming back outside with a blindfold on and a flippin’ bucket of ice water, I swear.”
Spencer can’t stop himself: “Kinky,” he drawls, having to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the horrified look Dallon gives him. Dallon points a threatening finger at both of them, waggling it a little like a schoolmarm, before the back door closes again and Brendon sags against it, looking rumpled and kind of stressed.
“Jesus Christ,” Brendon mutters. He starts going through his pockets, finding a lighter first, but Spencer hops up onto his feet and intercepts him, dragging his hands out of his pockets and twisting their fingers together. Brendon glares at him. “You are so fucking stressful, holy shit.”
Spencer snorts, but doesn’t bother responding; just crowds Brendon up against the door for a little bit, until he loses some of the tension in his shoulders and slumps against him. “That’s really not how I imagined that happening,” Spencer admits after a moment. “Not that I was complaining, or anything.”
“Yeah, no,” Brendon agrees, laughing softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll, um. I’ll see you at home.”
“Okay,” Spencer says, giving his hand one last squeeze before letting go of it. He ducks to give Brendon a very chaste kiss on the cheek, in case Dallon comes busting outside again. “I’ll get something for dinner.”
“Not Mexican,” Brendon requests, leaning into the kiss a little, straightening Spencer’s coat front. He opens the door, and gives Spencer a rueful smile. “...I have to go and teach guitar now. You’re such a dick.”
Spencer grins, heartened, and tries not to look too pleased. “I...have to pretend to be interested in political science in an hour and a half?” he offers.
“Weak, Spencer Smith,” Brendon tells him. “See you tonight.”
“Go teach some shit,” Spencer orders him, buttoning up his coat again, giving Brendon a quick grin.
“Go learn some shit,” Brendon shoots back, smirking at how Spencer flips him off, responding by blowing kisses. He finally ducks into the back room, but not before Spencer can hear him and Dallon arguing as the door shuts.
Spencer turns and shoulders his bag, and starts heading back towards the main street, popping his collar up against the blasts of wind. He’s halfway to the bus stop when his phone goes off: thanks for the unexpected coffee and boner, this kid prob thinks im a perv
He grins, and quickly thumbs in i’m going with “the electoral college really does it for me” if anybody asks, pressing send.
unhhh baby tell me the difference between republics and democracies again
Spencer rolls his eyes and laughs, and puts his phone in his pocket. He can see the bus heading his way, so he starts digging his cta pass out of his wallet.
Part Five