Always One Foot on the Ground -- Brendon/Spencer -- NC-17

[sneaky_sena]

So, this is my bandomstuffsit story. It was revealed on Friday, and I meant to post this on Saturday, but things got a little crazy in the Old Pueblo, so, yeah. There are also about 10,000 words of not!fic on their way.

Title: Always One Foot on the Ground
Pairing(s): Spencer/Brendon
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Word count: 10,600
Summary: In his first few months of college Spencer has figures out that he really does like guys, that his best friend and roommate, Ryan, has terrible taste in women, and this random guy he meets named Brendon is kind of ridiculously hot.



It's a weird way to do it, Spencer knows. He knows he could just ask Ryan to hook him up with somebody. He knows he could wait, too, knows he could find a boyfriend and wait until it means something more that just getting off. But that's not what he wants, so he loses his virginity on a Wednesday afternoon to a guy he vaguely knows.

They'd met at a party a couple weeks before, and Spencer had been drunk enough to be flirty. They'd exchanged numbers and Spencer mostly forgot about it.

He gets a text on a Wednesday afternoon that says u shuld come over and Spencer knows what he's getting into when he agrees. The guy lives a couple blocks off campus and Spencer shoves his hands in his jacket pockets as he walks because they're shaking.

The guy's name is in Spencer's phone as Maarfil. Spencer's about 99% sure the guy's name isn't really Maarfil, that nobody in the entire world is named Maarfil, and that Spencer has to pay more attention when he's trying to flirt and drink and put names into his phone all at the same time. He doesn't remember what the guy's name actually is.

It's not awkward when the guy kisses him, not even awkward when they get naked. Spencer feels a little stupid when he admits, "I've never done this before," but the guy doesn't laugh at him or push him away. The guy says, "That is so fucking hot," and maybe slows down a little bit, maybe takes a little more control.

There's a lot more laughter involved than Spencer had expected. It's a lot more relaxed and casual than he'd been led to believe. The room is flooded with natural light and the bed is big and soft and they kiss for what feels like hours. He likes the way his body feels against another guy's. He's pleasantly surprised that he's not embarrassed at all being naked and hard in front of another person.

It's not earth shattering or mind blowing. When Spencer comes, his toes don't curl hard enough to cramp and his eyes don't roll back in his head--at least no more than any other time he's come. It's nice, though, and when it's over Spencer doesn't feel any different but he feels comfortable and relaxed and warm.

When he gets back to the dorms, he wonders if anyone can tell. Nobody seems to be able to. Not even Ryan looks at him twice.

"We're going apple picking on Saturday," Ryan tells him as he gets back to their room. He doesn't even look up from his book.

"Apple picking?" Spencer asks. "Seriously."

"We're leaving at nine."

The fact that Ryan's friends have planned the outing does not bode well. Of course, Ryan's friends are pretty much the only people on campus Spencer knows. He thinks about the year they spent apart, Spencer hanging out with no one at all and Ryan making friends with the entire campus. He thinks maybe it should bother him, but it doesn't. Spencer's always known a lot of people, but he's never had a lot of friends. He's never seen any reason to have more friends than he needs. Growing up, Ryan was pretty much his only friend even though he was always friendly enough with other kids from band or at the skate park.

Ryan's always had tons of friends, though, and Spencer's always thought they were weird. He knows most of it is his fault, but he's particular about people. His mother calls him unforgiving and has always urged him to be more easygoing, but whatever. Spencer's never going to like hanging out with people who can't even show up places on time, no matter how hard he tries.

The first week of the semester, Spencer had ended up sitting in some girl's dorm room for three hours with Ryan and five or six other people and they hadn't even been doing anything except waiting for another girl who kept sending texts promising that she was on her way. By the time she'd actually gotten there, it was midnight and they'd missed the movie and nobody except for Spencer had even seemed mad about it. Spencer had been livid, though he kept it under control enough that only Ryan knew.

"Your friends are retarded," Spencer had snapped as they walked back to their rooms. If he'd wanted to watch stupid sitcom reruns all night, he could have just stayed home, and then he wouldn't have had to listen to Ryan's stupid, pretentious friends make stupid, pretentious conversation.

"Mia's just late sometimes," Ryan had said. There was a hard glint in his eyes, and Spencer knew why. Mia was tiny and blonde and artistic, flighty and disorganized just like every other girl Ryan had ever been in love with.

"Ten minutes is late," Spencer had said, biting back the absolute worst things he wanted to say about having to spend hours listening to trust fund brats talk about the beauty of socialism; like any of them could survive actually working their fair share. "Ten minutes is late," Spencer repeated. "Three hours is disrespectful and rude."

"She's not--"

"I don't care about how fucking beautiful her poetry is, Ryan. Her actions show loud and fucking clear that she doesn't care about anybody who was waiting for her half as much as she loves her precious, pretentious self, and that includes you. Did she even apologize for fucking up everybody's plans? No. No, she just breezed in when it was convenient for her, like being a free spirit makes it okay to be an asshole. Don't you think it's creepy that you always fall for girls that are, like, carbon copies of your mother?"

Ryan hadn't spoken to him for a week after that. Spencer had accepted the silent treatment because it had been a really low blow. In his defense, he'd also been sleep deprived and hungry, otherwise he probably would have been able to keep his mouth shut.

The only other friend Spencer has on campus is a girl named Greta who lives on the floor below theirs and is in his Rhetoric class. He doesn't even know if they're actually friends, but they walk back from class together and eat lunch a couple of times a week, so Spencer invites her along.

"Apple picking?" she asks, her face breaking into a smile. "Like, in an orchard?" The wind's blowing her hair and her smile is radiant and Spencer thinks that if he liked girls, he'd probably be in love with her.

"I guess," he says. "I mean, that's where apples grow, right?"

Later that day, he gets a text from Greta. a bunch of people want to come on Sat we'll bring own car if ok? Directions?

"A bunch of people I know are going apple picking on Saturday, too," he tells Ryan. "You cool if we caravan?"

"Sure," says Ryan. "Alex is driving, but I'm sure he won't mind."

Spencer grimaces. He likes Alex the least of all of Ryan's friends. Except maybe for Mia. He hopes Mia isn’t coming, but he doesn't ask. If he asks, Ryan will want to know why he cares, and then Spencer will tell him what he thinks of her, and they won't talk for another week.

He texts Greta back, tells her the name of the orchard, tells her to meet them in the commuter lot at nine.

Of course, at nine o'clock in the morning on Saturday, Spencer's ready, Ryan's ready, Greta's got an entire minivan full of people ready to go, but Ryan's friends are, predictably, late. Alex makes it out to the lot by nine-thirty with some vaguely dazed looking blonde girls in tow that Spencer knows he's met before but whose names he can't remember.

The girls look sleepy and hungover, and they lean against Alex's car, smoking and playing with their phones.

"Mia's totally on her way," says one of the girls. Spencer grits his teeth.

"There's room in the van if you want to ride with us," Greta says. "We could probably squish everybody in if we tried."

"No need," says Ryan. He leans against Alex's car and bums a cigarette off one of the girls. Spencer's never seen him smoke before. He looks over at the minivan. Greta's on the far side where the door opens, and she's watching him.

"I'm going with Greta," Spencer says.

"She'll be here soon," Ryan tells him.

"No, she won't. She never is."

Ryan clenches his jaw and crosses his arms over his chest.

"I'm tired of waiting for her," Spencer tells him. "All we ever do is wait for her. So I'm going with Greta. There's room for you."

"She'll be here," Ryan says.

Spencer sighs. "I'll see you there, then." Spencer climbs into the ugly van and fastens his seat belt and tells them that everybody else will catch up later.

"Are you okay?" Greta asks softly, tugging gently on a strand of his hair.

Spencer shrugs.

"They'll meet us there, right?" she asks.

"Probably not," he admits. He sighs and looks out the window and he'd wave as they pulled out of the parking lot, but Ryan's facing the other way.

"So," says the dark-haired boy on the other side of Greta. "You are all going to be very, very appreciative of my forethought and planning."

"I don't know what he brought," says the girl driving, "but I think it's pretty much everything he owns."

The boy gets up and kneels on the seat, starts rifling through a bag behind him. Spencer wants to remind him that the van is moving, that he should have his seatbelt on, but he's kind of amused by how excited the guy seems about whatever he's getting and he's kind of distracted by the guy's truly amazing ass.

"Here," says the guy, passing something red and fuzzy to Greta. It's a Christmas stocking, and it says, "ASHLEE!" on it in sparkly puff paint.

"Honey, you know Christmas is months away," Greta tells him.

"They served my purpose," says the guy. Greta hands the stocking up towards the driver. The next stocking says, "DALLON!" and goes to the guy in the passenger seat. There are two other stockings with names on them, "GRETA!" and "BRENDON!"

"I made a couple extra," says the guy, Brendon, as he turns back around in his seat, "but they're generic since I didn't know who else would be coming with us."

He hands Spencer a stocking. It's red and fuzzy with a white fuzzy border and there are apples drawn on it in glitter paint.

"Thanks," says Spencer. He peeks into his stocking. There's a Capri Sun at the top and a Ziploc bag with crackers in it. He's pretty sure he also sees a bundle of multicolored pipe cleaners.

"I've also got a cooler full of soda and stuff for lunch," Brendon says.

"Bden," says Greta, leaning over to hug him. "You planned all of this?"

"I made Ashlee get the cooler and the ice," he says.

"This is..." Spencer wants to say something cutting. He wants to say something about how travel packs in Christmas stocking are stupid, how they're not in elementary school anymore, but he doesn't. He just tells the truth, says, "This is freaking awesome."

From the front seat, Dallon cries, "Gummi bears! Sweet!"

The orchard is nearly a two-hour drive away, but it goes by in a flash. Greta makes her pipe cleaners into a tiara, then she makes another one for Ashlee who can't, since she's driving. Dallon makes a bouquet of flowers and Brendon shows Spencer how to make a brachiosaurus. They sing along to the radio. Greta's got the new David Sedaris book and she makes Dallon read a couple of the chapters aloud, and Spencer's laughing so hard he's actually got tears running down his cheeks.

When they get to the orchard, they set up at one of the picnic tables. There are roast beef sandwiches, potato salad, chips with both salsa and ranch for dipping.

Ashlee says, "Honey, how much did this cost you?"

Brendon shrugs and says, "It doesn't matter. I like to splurge sometimes, okay?"

Greta and Dallon exchange looks and Spencer knows he's missing something, but nobody comments further.

They eat and they talk about music and when somebody mentions Bright Eyes, Spencer thinks of Ryan and he checks his phone. He doesn't have any messages. He texts Ryan. eating lunch, want us to wait until you get here?

He never gets a text back.

The orchard has something like fifteen different varieties of apples, plus raspberries, plus a pumpkin patch, plus a corn maze. Spencer takes a picture with his phone and sends it to his mom with the caption, "Apple picking with friends today." She worries that he's not settling in.

The first thing that Brendon does is climb one of the apple trees. "Come on," he says to Spencer.

"Um," says Spencer. "No."

"It's awesome up here." Brendon tosses down a ripe apple.

"Are you even allowed to climb the trees?" asks Spencer. There wasn't a list of rules posted at the entrance to the orchard, so he has no way of knowing.

"It's a tree. You're supposed to climb, trees. It's, like, a natural law. Ash, come on, the view's awesome."

Ashlee climbs up after him, but thankfully, Greta and Dallon stay on the ground with Spencer. They make a game out of it, catching the apples that Ashlee and Brendon toss down. Spencer's thankful, though, when they move on past the giant old Golden Delicious trees to the varieties too small to climb.

They've got three giant wooden baskets between the five of them, and they end up filled to the brim. "Greta and I are buying them," Dallon says as they haul the baskets towards the quaint wooden cashier stand.

"But--" says Spencer.

"Brendon got food, Ashlee drove, and you can buy gas on the way home," Dallon tells him.

Spencer doesn't think that sounds exactly equal, but Dallon doesn't look like he's willing to argue. There's a hand-painted wooden sign near the apple pies and jars of jam and it says, "Send Apples to your LOVED ONES! We Ship!" so Spencer buys apple butter, raspberry jam, blackberry jam, and a dozen apples to send to his family.

"Petting zoo," Brendon says, hooking his chin over Spencer's shoulder as Spencer fills out the address form. It would be weird, but he's seen Brendon interact with people all day, has seen him hug Greta and jump on Dallon's back for a piggyback ride and walk arm in arm with Ashlee so he figures it's just the way Brendon is. "Whatcha doing?"

"Sending stuff to my parents," says Spencer.

Brendon makes a strange sound as Spencer fills out the city and state, but when Spencer turns to ask him about it, he's jumping up and down in place and he says, "Petting zoo, seriously, it's going to be awesome."

Spencer has absolutely no desire to go into a pen filled with hyper children and goats, but he goes anyway, and when one of the goats clamps its teeth down on Brendon's pant leg and refuses to let go, he and Ashlee laugh so hard she has to hold on to him to stay upright.

They walk back to the van and Spencer's exhausted and he's got a little bit of a sunburn and he thinks it's the most fun he's had since he got to college. Greta and Dallon are walking in front of them, arm and arm, and Spencer says, suddenly, "Oh, my God, have I been a fifth wheel all day without even knowing it?"

Brendon laughs and Ashlee hooks her arm through Spencer's and says, "Don't worry about it. Brendon and I are the token gays, so, no, you haven't crashed a double date."

"They're not even dating," Brendon says, tipping his head towards Greta and Dallon.

"Yet," says Ashlee.

"Because they're retarded," Brendon tells Spencer.

Dallon drives on the way back, Greta sitting shotgun, Ashlee stretched out on the back seat to sleep. After half an hour or so, Brendon digs into the extra travel bags and hands Spencer packages of gummi bears and crackers, plus three or four apples and a can of soda.

"Unless you want the Capri Suns?" Brendon asks, looking down to where he's piled the plastic foil packages by his side.

"Nope," says Spencer, cracking open his soda. "Those are all you."

Brendon smiles and shoves a straw into the first one. He finishes his Capri Sun and looks over at Spencer out of the corner of his eye. He says, "I saw, um, when you sent that stuff to your parents. They live in Summerlin? Nevada?"

Spencer nods. "Yeah. It's just outside of Las Vegas."

Brendon nods and he plays with his straw, winding it around his finger. "I know. I grew up there."

"Get out," says Spencer. "Me, too. You went to Palo Verde, then?"

"Yeah. You went to Bishop Gorman?"

"Yeah. This is so weird."

Brendon smiles at him, but it seems almost brittle. "Did you, um, you know the Tropical Smoothie Café on Charleston? By the Starbucks?"

"Yeah, and the Port of Subs."

"That's the one. That's where I worked."

Spencer laughs, grinning. As they talk, he figures out that Brendon knows a bunch of the guys Spencer went to middle school with, that Spencer knows a girl Brendon worked with, that they both hung out at Red Rock on the weekends.

Brendon's telling him a story about the bowling alley at Red Rock, talking animatedly, hands waving, eyes dark and bright, and it hits Spencer right in the gut, how gorgeous Brendon is. He doesn’t know what to do with it, though, doesn't know how to act on his attraction, so he does nothing.

Dallon pulls the van into the circular drive near Spencer and Greta's dorm much sooner than Spencer wants him to. He wants to sit there in the minivan talking to Brendon and eating apples for at least another two hours.

"Oh, here," Brendon says, digging through his bag. "Thursday night my friends are having a party." He scribbles something on a piece of paper. "This is the address. You should come."

"Okay," Spencer says, getting out of the minivan reluctantly. He wonders if he should ask Brendon if he wants to get dinner or something. He takes the cardboard box full of apples that Ashlee shoves into his arms and gives a little wave and Dallon drives away. He wonders if it would be weird if he asked Greta for Brendon's number. He wonders why Greta didn't get out of the van, then figures she probably has plans with Dallon.

He climbs five flights of stairs, fumbles in his pocket for his keys, opens his door, sets the box of apples down in the middle of the room and sighs. Ryan's silent, but Spencer knows he's curled up in his bunk beneath his covers. He says, "I have, like, a ridiculous amount of apples and you're going to have to eat at least half of them."

Ryan doesn't say anything.

Spencer takes off his jacket and toes off his shoes and he climbs the ladder up into Ryan's bunk and curls up behind him. He drapes his arm over Ryan's hips and tugs him close so they're spooning.

"She didn't show up," Ryan whispers. He's not crying, but his voice is rough so he probably had been, earlier.

"I'm sorry."

"I like her so much, Spence."

Spencer closes his eyes and doesn't say anything else. He wants to tell Ryan to stop falling in love with selfish women, but he doesn't. He's said it before, anyway.

"Was it fun?" Ryan asks after a long while.

"I guess. There was this guy, Brendon. I think he climbed every tree in the orchard. He did most of the picking, too, I just caught the apples as he threw them down to me."

Ryan nods.

"We got invited to a party next week."

"You mean you got invited to a party next week."

"Whatever. You know I won't go unless you do."

"I won't know anyone there."

"And I will? You're coming. Besides, it's off campus, so you have to drive."

Ryan laughs softly.

Spencer's tempted to tell him that Mia's a bitch, but he knows it won't make anything better so he bites his tongue. When he slides down off Ryan's bunk, a pair of white cotton underpants with pastel blue polka dots flutters down and lands at his feet.

Spencer looks at the tiny bikini-cut panties. He looks at Ryan. "Is there something you need to talk to me about? Because if you're thinking about a sex change, you know I've always got your back."

Ryan leans over the edge of his bunk and looks down at the panties, then laughs. "They're Charlene's," he says.

"I don't know anyone named Charlene," Spencer tells him.

"Hell," says Ryan. "I hardly know Charlene."

"So, seriously, you somehow got laid this afternoon, and you're still Mopey McMopeypants?"

Ryan shrugs. It's as good an answer as any.

The next morning, Spencer wakes up with his front half frozen and his back sweaty. Ryan's spooned up behind him and he's stolen the covers, like he always does. Spencer grumbles and turns and yanks the covers back.

"'m sleeping," Ryan mumbles.

"Blanket hog," says Spencer.

Ryan snuffles a little bit and rearranges his limbs and falls back to sleep with his forehead pressed to Spencer's shoulder.

They've been sharing a bed since they were kids. They'd gone nearly a year without it, when Ryan had been away at college and Spencer had still been a senior in high school, and Spencer thought maybe they wouldn't ever share again, but Ryan still climbs into his bed sometimes, still snores in Spencer's ear and steals the covers and presses his cold feet to Spencer's ankles. Spencer knows its weird, they're eighteen and nineteen now instead of nine and ten, but still. Its nice, sometimes, to wake up to Ryan's familiar presence, so Spencer never says anything about how other people probably don’t sleep in their best friends' beds past the age of eleven.

Spencer falls back to sleep and wakes up again to find Ryan still curled up against him. He's got his phone in his hand and he's scrolling through his texts.

"She wants to hang out this afternoon," Ryan says. "I keep expecting her to say she's sorry, but she doesn't. She just asked me to hang out, like nothing happened."

"She's never going to say she's sorry," Spencer tells him. "She's never going to be sorry."

"Why?"

Spencer rubs his back. "Because she doesn't think about anyone but herself," he whispers. "Because it never occurs to her that other people might have plans that don't correspond to her whims." He thinks he's being really generous. What he really wants to say is, Because she's a narcissistic bitch who thinks of other people as secondary to her own importance if she even thinks of them at all. He also doesn’t mention that he thinks she might be some sort of sociopath.

"Tell me a story," Ryan says.

When Ryan says that, Spencer usually tells him something he already knows. He tells Ryan about the time they went to Lake Meade and Spencer's jet ski died in the middle of the water and he had to wait an hour before anybody noticed that he was in trouble and towed him in. He tells Ryan about the Christmas when he woke up to two golden retriever puppies playing next to the tree. He tells Ryan about the stripper who lived next door to him and used to come out and yell at them if they were playing too loud after school because she was trying to sleep.

Instead of telling Ryan one of his usual stories, he says, "I met a guy at a party and went to his house last week and slept with him."

Ryan sits up and looks at Spencer with wide eyes.

"It's not a big deal," Spencer says. He looks away.

Ryan doesn't say anything.

Spencer sighs.

"You didn't tell me." Ryan's voice is soft.

"I didn't tell anybody."

"You could have told me."

"I'm telling you now."

"You could have told me before."

"I wasn't sure before."

"Really?"

Spencer shrugs. It's hard to do with the way he's laying but he manages it. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"But you're sure now?"

Spencer nods. "Yeah."

Ryan doesn't say anything for a minute, and Spencer still hasn't worked up the nerve to look at him.

"I think we can make money off it," Ryan says finally.

Spencer's laugh is more of a surprised snort. "What?"

"Think about it. At parties, we can bet people ten dollars they can't guess which one of us is gay and which one of us is straight. We'll be rich. You know they'll pick me as the gay one pretty much every time."

Spencer laughs and nods. It's probably true.

"You, uh, you do know I'm not, though, right?"

Spencer looks over at him. "Duh."

"Just, you know. You don't, uh, you weren't ever, like..."

"Into you?" Spencer asks. "Oh, my God. No. That's disgusting."

"Thanks," says Ryan.

Spencer sighs. "You know what I mean. Ew."

"Seriously. My self-esteem is skyrocketing right now."

"Would you rather I jerk off thinking about you?"

Ryan wrinkles his nose. "No. Gross. Okay. Boundaries firmly established." He holds his phone out towards Spencer. "Order pizza."

"Why do I always have to be the one to call?"

"Because you sweet talk them into giving you stuff for free."

"No, I ask what the specials are. There's a difference."

"I'm pretty sure you've got the touch," Ryan tells him.

Spencer rolls his eyes and takes the phone. "Fine. I'll be the one to call for pizza if you figure out what to do with those." He points to the pair of polka dot panties still on their floor.

"Conundrum," says Ryan, reaching down for them. "Keeping them is creepy, but throwing them away seems disrespectful."

Spencer dials the pizza delivery place, knows the number by heart, and asks what the specials are. He can get two large pizzas for the price of two mediums, so he gets one with the works and one with barbeque chicken and bacon.

"Breadsticks," Ryan hisses, poking at his shoulder.

"What am I, new?" Spencer asks, then orders breadsticks. It's too much food for even Ryan to eat, but the leftovers make good breakfast.

"Half an hour," Spencer tells Ryan, who's still got the underwear in his hand. "I'm taking a shower, and for the love of God, please don't, like, sniff those and jerk off while I'm gone."

Ryan laughs and gives Spencer a good kick to the thigh as he gets up.

Half an hour later, Spencer's showered and dressed and he and Ryan are waiting by the side door closest to the circular drive between the four dorms in their quad. Spencer watches as the pizza delivery car pulls up and the driver runs into Ivers, then back out, then into Snell, then back out again and into Ekland.

He and Ryan live in Tresler, the last stop on the one-way drive, so they always get their pizzas last. When the delivery guy runs up their walkway, Ryan opens the door as Spencer takes out his wallet and, of course, the delivery guy is Brendon.

"Hi!" Brendon says, smiling at him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He's smiling at Spencer and Spencer can't help but smile back.

Ryan says, "Um..."

"Oh, hey, Ryan," Brendon says, looking at Ryan like he hadn't even noticed he was there before. He looks back at Spencer. "Hey, Spence."

"Hey," says Spencer.

"Pizza," says Ryan.

Brendon hands the pizzas to Ryan and he's still smiling at Spencer. Spencer's trying to think of something to say. He wonders if he should thank him for the food and the travel bags, but that would mean explaining it all to Ryan, and he really, really doesn't want Ryan to make fun. He says, "Um."

"Now you pay him," Ryan says, annoyed. He tosses his head to flick his bangs out of his eyes. "And then he gives you your change, you tip him, he leaves, and we eat. You've done this before. It's not rocket science."

"Right," Spencer says, nodding. "Right, um, so, keep the change."

"Thanks, " says Brendon, tucking the money in his pocket without counting it. "Um. I had fun yesterday."

"Me, too," says Spencer.

Ryan says, "This is the part where he leaves and we eat."

"Right," says Spencer.

Brendon grins at him some more and says. "So, um. Bye."

"See you around," Spencer tells him. He hopes that's not lame. He's going to throw himself off the roof if it was lame.

"Awesome," says Ryan. "Heavy pizza boxes. Leaving now." He turns to walk away and Spencer can't think of anything else to say so he just nods at Brendon and turns and he thinks, after a couple of steps, that he should have asked for Brendon's number, but by the time he looks back Brendon's already out the door and headed to his delivery car.

"How do you know Brendon?" Ryan asks as they head towards the stairwell. There are elevators, but they're all the way on the other side of the dorm, and they're tiny, and they're almost always broken.

"Oh. Um. He came with us yesterday. To the orchard." Spencer's a little worried that Ryan will get moody at the reminder, but he doesn't.

They get to the third floor landing in silence and Ryan sits down on one of the steps and puts the pizzas down. "We're taking a break," he says.

Spencer agrees and sits a step below Ryan. They open the top box, which turns out to be the pizza with the works, and pull out slices.

"Ow, ow, hot," Ryan says after he takes a bite. There's cheese and grease running down his chin, but he just wipes it away with the back of his hand. "Fresh pizza's, like, the hottest element known to all of mankind," he says with his mouth full.

Spencer blows on his piece the way he always does and takes a small bite instead of shoving half the slice into his mouth the way Ryan always does. "How do you know Brendon?"

"He has his own column," Ryan says, like Spencer's supposed to know what that means.

"Um," says Spencer.

"In the paper."

"Oh," says Spencer. "Right."

"Which you read every day because your best friend also has his own column."

"Of course," Spencer tells him.

"You're such a shitty liar."

"I don't have to read your column," Spencer tells him. "You read it to me anyway."

"I read you the rough draft, not the final copy!"

Spencer puts his half-eaten piece of pizza back in the box and shuts the lid, then picks up the boxes and starts up the final two flights of stairs to their floor.

"I can't believe you don't read the paper," Ryan grumbles, climbing the steps behind him. "How do you stay informed?"

"I have you," Spencer tells him. "I trust that if anything really important happens, you'll tell me."

"You're a Philistine," Ryan tells him.

Spencer doesn't mention how he prefers podcast news to reading the newspaper, anyway. He'd only made that mistake one time.

"Oh, hey," Ryan says as they finally make it back to their floor. "Do you think Brendon's cute?"

"Oh, my God," says Spencer. "Say it a little louder, please."

"What?" Ryan asks.

Spencer waits until they're back in their room with the door closed before he says, "Just because I'm out to you doesn't mean I want everybody to know."

"Oh," says Ryan. Then, "Why not?"

"I don't know," Spencer says. "I'm still figuring this out, okay? I hadn't even had a cock in my mouth until four days ago."

The stunned, bewildered look on Ryan's face is amazing. Spencer wishes he had his camera phone ready so he could snap a picture of it before it disappeared.

Spencer laughs. "Do I even want to know?"

Ryan rubs his hand over his face. "I just had a really, really disturbing mental image."

"You didn't picture me sucking your dick, did you?"

Ryan whimpers.

"That's gross," says Spencer.

"I can't help it. You know I have an overactive imagination."

Spencer laughs and sets the pizza boxes on the floor, then digs the beanbag chairs out from underneath his bunk and tosses one at Ryan. "Eat your fucking pizza."

They're halfway through the first pizza and mostly finished with the breadsticks when Ryan says, "Wait, oh my God, was that you trying to flirt?"

Spencer ducks his head down and says, "Shut up."

"No. Seriously. Was that, like, a love connection going on down there? Because Spencer, man, I just...that was not good."

"I hate you so bad," says Spencer. Then, "It was horrible, wasn't it? Was I completely lame? Do I have to jump off the roof?"

"You're not jumping off the roof," Ryan tells him. "And, yes, it was lame, but seriously, I can't decide which one of you was more lame. You were both, just...not good."

Spencer frowns at his pizza.

"Is he going to be at the party Thursday night?"

Spencer nods. "I think so."

"That gives you time, at least. God. If I'd known your flirting was that uncomfortable, I'd have started giving you lessons years ago."

"There are not even words for how much I hate you right now."

"So does that mean you don't want me to teach you how to flirt without being lame?"

"No," Spencer says. "No, I really need to learn."

On their way to class on Monday, Ryan tells him to touch Brendon a lot.

"I think that sounds more like molestation that flirting," Spencer says.

"Yeah, touching him anywhere below the waist is bad flirting technique," Ryan says. "Just touch his arm when you talk to him. Touching his face is the advanced class. You're not ready for that, yet."

"I don't think I'm ready for anything," Spencer admits.

On Tuesday, after he makes Spencer listen to three different draft versions of his column about the importance of arts funding, Ryan tells him to give Brendon compliments. "But not, like, normal ones."

"So, what, I tell him I like his earlobes?" Spencer rolls his eyes.

"Actually," says Ryan, "that's not bad at all. I was going to say something like, 'I didn't know you looked so good in red,' but I like the earlobes thing. It's kind of quirky. I think I can make it work for me."

Spencer rolls his eyes again and pretends to have an opinion about Ryan's writing.

On Wednesday, Ryan wants Spencer to practice on him.

"Just pretend I'm Brendon. What do you say?" Ryan asks. He leans in towards Spencer and smiles and bats his eyelashes.

"Go fuck yourself," says Spencer.

"Yeah, no, I don't think that's going to work."

On Thursday, Spencer decides he's not going to the party.

"I have a lot of homework," he says.

"You have a case of the chickenshits," Ryan tells him.

Spencer laughs. He hasn't heard anybody say chickenshit since ninth grade.

Ryan actually bawks at him and struts around the room, elbows up like wings.

"If I had my camera right now," Spencer says.

"You'd still be chicken," Ryan tells him.

"I do have a lot of homework."

"You're going to talk to him," Ryan says. "That's it. That's all you have to do. You just have to say hello and have, like, a five-minute conversation. It's a party. It's going to be loud and packed and you won't even have time to be lame. I promise."

Spencer doubts that, but he agrees to go. They leave the dorm a little after nine and walk the ten minutes to the B lot, where Ryan's car is parked.

"I almost hate to move it," Ryan says as they pull out of the lot. "You know I'm never going to get a spot that good again."

Spencer's foot is tapping rapidly and he can't stop playing with a thread on the cuff of his jacket.

"Oh, my God," Ryan says, reaching out and slapping his hand. "Calm your shit down."

Spencer takes a deep breath and makes himself remain still.

The party isn't that far off campus, and they probably could have walked, but the nights are getting really cold. It takes Ryan five minutes to find a parking spot on the residential streets, but it still better than walking the whole way.

"Don't be nervous," Ryan says as they head up the driveway. The music is loud and the driveway is packed with cars and there are people talking and laughing on the front porch.

"I'm not nervous," Spencer lies.

The guy at the door tells them it's ten dollars for a cup.

"Highway robbery," says Ryan, but he hands the guy a twenty and the guy hands them two red plastic cups.

"If you lose it, it's another ten bucks," the guy says.

Ryan shrugs and heads inside and pulls Spencer towards the keg.

Watching Ryan drink is strange. He'd been so adamant when they were younger, so anti-alcohol, that watching him drink makes Spencer feel like he's in bizzaro world. He mostly concentrates on his own beer and pretends Ryan's drinking soda.

Ryan was right about the party being loud and packed. He doesn't know anyone there, but of course Ryan does. Ryan strikes up a conversation with a pretty brunette girl who immediately puts her hand on his arm as they talk. Spencer rolls his eyes and finishes his beer and goes to get in line for more.

He's got his second beer and is heading back towards the last place he saw Ryan when someone grabs his arm. It's Brendon, and his dark eyes are bright and soft and he says, "Hey, hey you made it, hi," and gives Spencer a hug. He smells like beer and something sharper, maybe tequila. Spencer doesn't know a lot about alcohol, doesn't know enough to identify most of it by scent.

"I, um," Spencer doesn't know what to say. He says, "You look really nice."

Brendon smiles at him, then tugs him out of the way of the people walking through, towards the wall. They're pressed close together and Spencer doesn't know what to say.

"Is that Ryan?" Brendon asks.

Spencer turns to see Ryan leaning close to the pretty brunette, whispering something in her ear. "Yeah," he says, turning back.

"And you don't mind that he's, I mean, are you guys...?"

Spencer shakes his head. He can feel the beer starting to hit him. "No," he says. "No way. He's totally straight."

"Oh," says Brendon nodding. "And you?"

"Totally not straight," Spencer says.

"Oh," Brendon says softly. He's smiling.

Spencer has no idea what to say next. I think you're cute so do you want to go out? He vetoes that. What about you? Do you have a boyfriend? He doesn't think Brendon does, though, and he thinks it might sound insincere if he asks. He tries to dig through his mind for anything he's ever heard Ryan say that might be relevant to his situation, but he doesn't think, You're hot, we should have sex, is really quite his style.

"I have so many apples in my room," Brendon tells him, "I'm going to have to learn how to bake."

It's just lame enough to put Spencer at ease. He might not have Ryan's moves, but neither does Brendon. He likes knowing they're on even footing.

Spencer knows he's smiling and he wants to stop, wants to look serious instead of silly but he can't help it. Brendon's smiling back at him, so at least he's not the only one. He doesn't even know what they're talking about, marching band and high school and all the stupid things people talk about that don't matter. Then Brendon leans forward a couple of inches and Spencer lifts his hand and runs his fingers through Brendon's hair. Even as he's doing it, there's a part of his brain yelling at him to stop, but he doesn't. He runs his fingers through Brendon's hair and cups the back of Brendon's head and he leans forward and Brendon leans forward and then they're kissing.

It's not like any kiss Spencer's had before, not that's he's had a lot. But it's not awkward and weird, and it's not relaxed and lazy. He's hyper-alert and his heart is thumping against his ribs and he's so turned on so quickly that it almost hurts. He kisses Brendon hard and gasps when Brendon grips his hips and yanks him forward so their bodies are pressed together.

There are a couple of catcalls and somebody laughingly tells them to get a room. Spencer buries his face against Brendon's neck and he can feel his face get hot the way it does when he blushes.

"You wanna get out of here?" Brendon asks, fingers slipping beneath the hem of Spencer's shirt.

Spencer nods and lets Brendon take his hand and he doesn't make eye contact with anybody, just lets Brendon lead him out of the party. They're halfway down the driveway when Brendon turns and starts kissing him again and Spencer doesn't even care, is totally willing to shove Brendon up against a car and drop to his knees right there where anybody could see them.

"Where?" Brendon asks breathlessly.

It takes Spencer a few moments to get his mind working enough to speak. "I'm all the way in Tresler," he says. He knows it sounds like a whine. It's at least a thirty-minute walk, and Spencer doesn't think he can make it.

Brendon laughs ruefully as he slides his hands up the bare skin of Spencer's back. "I'm in Tower One." The Towers are even further away than Spencer's dorm.

"Fuck," Spencer moans. Brendon presses against him, and Spencer can feel how hard he is, even through the layers of denim. There's a painful jab against his hip as Brendon shifts and Spencer starts to laugh.

"What?" Brendon asks.

Spencer steps back and digs in his pocket, pulls out his keys. He's had Ryan's spare set of keys since he was fifteen, has had them for so long that he never even thinks about them anymore until Ryan calls because he's locked his set inside. He pulls Brendon down the side streets, finds Ryan's Malibu and opens the back door and Brendon shoves them both inside and pulls the door shut, and then his hand is working open the buttons on Spencer's fly.

"What do you like?" Brendon asks even as he grips Spencer's dick in his hand and starts stroking it.

"Th-this is good," Spencer stutters. "Oh, God."

Brendon stops stroking him, keeps kissing him but his hand is gone for a moment and he shifts and wiggles a little bit, and then his hand is over Spencer's and he presses Spencer's hand to his cock. It's so hot against Spencer's palm, so hard he can feel Brendon's heartbeat.

Their kisses are messy and frantic, Spencer can't catch his breath, and then Brendon says, "I wanna blow you." Spencer feels like he might pass out.

Spencer's thankful that he'd hooked up with Maarfil, because if he hadn't been prepared for how it felt to have a mouth on his cock, he probably would have passed out. It's still not the same; it's still much more intense.

He rests his hand on the back of Brendon's head and closes his eyes and concentrates on lasting at least a couple of minutes. It's almost impossible to last. Brendon's so gorgeous, and he's making soft, turned-on noises, and when Spencer looks down, the way Brendon's mouth is stretched around him is the hottest thing he's ever seen. He wishes the streetlights were brighter, wishes he could see more than hints and shadows.

Spencer touches Brendon's face with his fingertips, his sharp cheekbones and dark eyelashes. He cups Brendon's cheek in his palm and shivers because he can feel the outline of his own cock where it's moving inside Brendon's mouth. He strokes along Brendon's lower lip with his thumb, and Brendon pulls back and grins up at him.

"This okay?" Brendon asks, voice rough.

"So good," Spencer whispers. "I'm so close."

Brendon says, "Awesome," and tips his head back down.

Spencer tries to warn him, is pretty sure he says Brendon's name and paws at his hair in what is a totally I'm about to come in your mouth sort of way, but either Spencer's warnings are ineffectual or Brendon doesn't actually care about Spencer coming in his mouth, because once it starts, Brendon doesn't even pull away. He just keeps sucking Spencer through it, and he's swallowing, and Spencer knocks his head back against the seat, whiting out a little bit.

"Good?" Brendon asks, lifting his head up.

"Nnng," says Spencer, because he can't string two words together at the moment, let alone manage a complete sentence.

Brendon kisses him hard, and it's weird, tasting himself on Brendon's mouth, but it's not bad. Spencer winds the fingers of one hand through Brendon's hair and puts his other hand over Brendon, not really helping, but he's shaky and dazed and he doesn't know what else to do. Brendon doesn't seem to mind, breaks off the kiss and presses his forehead to Spencer's shoulder and groans and shudders and Spencer can feel Brendon's come sliding hot over his fingers.

He strokes Brendon's shoulders, down his back. He's still shaking a little bit. He doesn't know if he should say something.

Brendon kisses Spencer's neck gently. Spencer sighs and his fingers tighten against Brendon's t-shirt. Brendon lifts his head and he's smiling wide and Spencer can't help but smile back at him. "Hi," he whispers, leaning in for a kiss.

"Hi," Spencer whispers back against his mouth.

"I'm, um," Brendon says, shifting and tugging his pants back up. "Would you believe me if I told you I'm not usually this easy?" He swings one leg over Spencer's, settling comfortably in his lap. "I just don't have, um, what's that called?"

Spencer has no idea. He loops his arms around Brendon's waist and tips his head up for another kiss.

"Willpower," says Brendon.

"What?" Spencer asks. He's distracted, floating and fuzzy, doesn't want to concentrate on anything except the way Brendon's body feels against his.

"That's what I don't have," Brendon tells him. "Willpower."

"Oh," says Spencer. "Good." He lets Brendon kiss him over and over again. He wouldn't want to move even if he could, wants nothing more than to spend the entire night like this, Brendon in his arms, mouths pressed together.

Spencer shifts when one of his legs starts to cramp, and Brendon says, "Sorry. Sorry. I'm probably crushing you."

"You're really not," Spencer tells him, but Brendon's already pulling away.

Spencer lifts his hips and tugs his jeans back up and he's about to suggest they just stretch out in the back seat, but Brendon's opening the door and climbing out.

"We should probably get back, huh?" Brendon asks.

"I guess." Spencer climbs out of the back seat of Ryan's car and locks the doors. They make it half a block before they're kissing again, Spencer pushing him up against the side of a van, Brendon's hands sliding beneath Spencer's t-shirt.

Brendon shivers and presses his face against Spencer's neck. "It's freezing," he says. "Was it this cold when we came out here?"

"Probably. I was kind of, um, distracted."

Brendon grins up at him, dark eyes bright, and kisses him hard one last time. Then his hand dips down to Spencer's back pocket and he pulls out Spencer's phone. "I wanted to get your number on Saturday but, uh, I can be kind of a pussy sometimes," he admits.

Spencer smiles and runs his hand over Brendon's shoulders. "Yeah. Me, too."

They hold hands as they walk back to the party. Spencer feels giddy and a little self-conscious, but no one seems to give a shit that he's holding hands with another guy, not even the burly dude at the front door.

Spencer's just really getting into holding Brendon's hand, smiling at him stupidly and letting his stomach flutter as he remembers what he just did when Greta comes up to them, wide-eyed and slurring her words.

"It's a tragedy," she tells Brendon. "That girl Ashlee went out with last month showed up with some girl from, like, Australia, and I can't get her to stop crying."

"The Australian girl?" Brendon asks.

"Ashlee," Greta says. "Brendon, seriously, I need you. Ashlee needs you."

"But," Brendon starts. He looks over at Spencer. "But we were--"

"It's okay," Spencer says, tugging his hand away.

Brendon sighs.

"Seriously," Spencer tells him. "I've got your number, now."

"Okay," Brendon says. He leans up and kisses Spencer once, quickly, before turning to leave. As he heads away, Spencer hears him telling Greta, "Yes, as a matter of fact, you did just cockblock me."

Spencer smiles to himself and finds a deserted red plastic cup. He rinses it out in the kitchen to rid it of any residual spit or roofies and gets himself a beer. After twenty minutes of sitting on the fringes of a conversation about lacrosse, he texts Ryan.

so bored I'm considering committing mass murder

spree killing is way underrated

where r u?

out back by the fire pit, but they ran out of marshmallows

Spencer heads out to the backyard. Ryan's sitting near the fire drinking a bottle of water and talking to a guy Spencer doesn't know.

"Where'd your girl go?" Spencer asks as he reaches Ryan, quiet enough that only Ryan can hear him.

Ryan shrugs. "Where'd you get off to?"

Spencer shrugs.

"Wanna stay?"

"No. I'm cool with leaving."

Ryan nods and they make their exit, walking around the house instead of through it on their way to the street.

Ryan frowns at him after a couple of blocks. "Do...do you have sex hair?"

"Maybe," Spencer says. He tugs on a strand and wonders just how wild it is.

"It's actually a good look for you. I've just never seen you with sex hair. Oh, shit, did you run into Brendon?"

Spencer grins and looks away. "Maybe."

Ryan pokes him in the ribs. "And you weren't even going to show up."

"Yeah, yeah," Spencer says, smiling a little to himself as they pass the van he'd pushed Brendon up against earlier.

"At least one of us got lucky," Ryan says as they get to his car. "She blew me off once she realized I wasn't vegan."

"Really?"

"She also didn't like my joke about vegans and oral sex. She told me I wasn't funny and that I shouldn't quit my day job."

Spencer snorts. "Like you've ever been able to keep a job."

"Seriously," Ryan says, grinning at him.

When Spencer gets into the car, it hits him all over again, what had happened in the back seat not even an hour before. Then he realizes that he can still smell what happened back there and he slumps down in his seat.

"Does it smell weird in here to you?" Ryan asks after a few minutes.

Spencer slides even lower in his seat. "No."

"Seriously." Ryan wrinkles his nose and sniffs a few times. "It's kind of...metallic?"

"You're imagining things." Spencer looks out the window. The whole car totally smells like jizz.

Ryan wrinkles his nose again and rolls down the window.

Spencer's thankful that Ryan only drives his car once or twice a week; by the next time he needs to use the car, the smell should have dissipated.

Ryan drives through the B lot looking for a spot and doesn't find one. They end up having to park on the fourth floor of the parking garage, and as Ryan pulls into the first empty spot he sees, Spencer curses the bright streetlight shining through the side of the parking garage like a spotlight.

Ryan sticks his head into the backseat to see if he's left anything in the open that somebody might want to steal, and sure enough, there's a definite something on the back seat. He freezes and remains quiet for a very long moment. "Spencer," he says. "I think somebody broke into my car and violated my upholstery."

Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose.

Ryan turns to look at him, mouth open. "You broke into my car and violated my upholstery?"

"Since I have keys, I didn't technically break in," Spencer tells him.

"There's a puddle of your jizz on my back seat!"

"It might not be mine."

"Oh, my God."

"What? It's not like you've never had sex in the back seat."

"Well, yeah, but it's my car!"

"Look," Spencer said. "I'm sorry. And I take back every insult about you thinking with your dick instead of your brain. It's hard to think with your brain when the alternative is sex. I understand that, now."

Ryan opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again. "Fine," he says as he gets out. "But you're getting it detailed."

"That's totally fair," Spencer tells him.

He has a nine o'clock class on Friday mornings, and as soon as it's done he treks out to the parking garage and cleans up the stain as well as he can with the paper towels Ryan keeps in the trunk. Then he drives the car to the fancy car wash close to downtown and shells out fifty dollars to get the upholstery cleaned.

Spencer's parked and walking back to the dorms when his phone rings. He bites his lip when he sees Brendon's name on the screen. It doesn't actually say Brendon, it says BDEN!!, because Brendon had put it into Spencer's phone himself. He looks at his phone for a long moment, then takes a deep breath and answers. "Hey," he says as casually as possible.

"Hey back," says Brendon. "So, um, I know there's, like, a rule that you're not supposed to call somebody for three days to prove that you're cool or whatever, but I thought it would only be fair for me to tell you right up front that I'm a total spaz. So I'm calling. Now. Instead of, like, three days from now. Hi."

Spencer grins and ducks his head down. "Hi back," he says. He feels totally lame and amazing at the same time. "How's, um, is Ashlee all right?"

"She'll be fine. Too much tequila and a broken heart. You know how it goes. I got to listen to her cry for an hour and then hold her hair back while she puked. It was awesome. You got home okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I found Ryan again and we left early. Even made it to my nine o'clock class with not much of a hangover."

"What are you up to now?"

"Walking back from the south parking garage. I had to get Ryan's car detailed since we, uh, made a mess."

Brendon's laugh is dorky and sincere. "Sorry, dude. It was probably mine. I'm pretty sure I swallowed most of yours."

"Nnng," says Spencer, stopping in his tracks.

"Spencer?"

"You can't just say stuff like that," Spencer whispers.

"I'm walking back from class right now," Brendon says, voice low. "It'll take me ten minutes to get back to the Towers. How far away are you?"

Spencer looks up. If he changes direction and cuts across the soccer fields it won't take him long. "About the same," he says.

"You, uh, wanna see my room?"

"Yes," Spencer tells him, turning towards the Towers and walking as fast as he can.

When he gets there, Brendon's standing outside with his thumbs hooked in the straps of his backpack, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He smiles when he sees Spencer and gives a little wave.

"Hi," says Spencer.

"Hey," says Brendon. He might be blushing or his cheeks might just be red from the cold. "So, um, yeah, prepare yourself to be wowed with the awesomeness of my dorm room."

The Towers are the newest dorms on campus, two twelve-story buildings made of cement and steel. The elevators even work, and they take them up even though Brendon only lives on the third floor.

The hallways are narrower than the ones in Tresler, and when Brendon opens his door Spencer can see that his room isn't nearly as big as the room he shares with Ryan. Spencer wants to shove Brendon up against the wall as soon as they're inside, but he can't. There's a guy in Brendon's room, muscled and buzz cut, sitting on an unmade bed and watching TV.

"Oh, hey," Brendon says, like he's startled to see the guy there. "I thought you had bio."

"Fuck it," says the guy. He doesn't look away from the TV or say hello to Spencer.

"Awesome," Brendon mutters under his breath. "So, um, Josh, this is Spencer. Spencer, my roommate, Josh."

"Hi," says Spencer.

"I'm fucking watching this," Josh tells them.

Spencer looks at the TV. It's a rerun of Saved by the Bell. Spencer's tempted to tell Josh that Violet and Screech will totally get together by the end of the episode, but he doesn't. "Mine?" he asks Brendon softly.

"Fuck, yes," says Brendon.

It's another ten minutes to Tresler, where Spencer lives, and he takes that time to text Ryan, go to the library

?

or the Union or somebody else's room, but please be gone until at least three

why?

I'll give you my first born

I don't like kids

you owe me for all the times I've slept on the couch in the lounge

FINE

Spencer wishes that Brendon's stupid roommate hadn't been home. His nerves are sharp edged by the time they finally make it back to Spencer's room, and he doesn't know if he wants to shove Brendon up against a wall and make out with him or just run away and hide.

"Um," says Brendon, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's, um, nice."

Spencer nods and drops his backpack by his desk. He takes off his jacket and he doesn't know what to say, the urgency of half an hour earlier faded with time and frustration. Brendon puts his hands on Spencer's hips, though, steps close and kisses the back of his neck.

Spencer sighs and his eyes close. Then Brendon slides his fingers under Spencer's sweatshirt and noses at the nape of Spencer's neck, and after he kisses the skin right behind Spencer's ear, he says, "I really want you to fuck me."

Spencer turns and kisses Brendon so hard that their teeth collide but he doesn't even care about how it hurts. He's trembling and needy again, hasn't been so out of control of his own libido since he was a freshman in high school.

"So that's a yes, then?" Brendon asks, breathless, as Spencer shoves him towards the beds and kisses him and pulls his clothes off all at the same time. He doesn't even unzip Brendon's jacket, just pulls it up over his head along with his sweater and his long-sleeved t-shirt and letting everything fall tangled to the floor.

They roll onto Spencer's bed and it's amazing. He's naked, completely naked and hard against another person and yeah, okay, technically he's been totally naked with somebody before, but it wasn't like this. It wasn't Brendon before, kissing him sweet and hot, laughing when Spencer's hands find a ticklish spot.

Brendon's body fits perfectly over his, his thigh between Spencer's thighs. He rubs his cock against Spencer's bare hip and wraps his hand around Spencer's cock and strokes slowly, squeezing, making soft, breathy sounds as he kisses Spencer's neck.

"You're shaking," Brendon whispers.

Spencer shakes his head.

Brendon pushes himself up so he can see Spencer's face. "Is this okay? Are you okay?"

Spencer whimpers and slides his hands over Brendon's body. He can touch everything, anything he wants. He can feel the knobs of Brendon's spine and the warm skin of his back and the way his ass curves to meet his thighs. He strokes along Brendon's ribs and closes his eyes and arches his hips.

"Spencer," Brendon says.

"It's good," Spencer whispers. "It's good. It's just. A lot."

"Do you want to stop?"

"No," he says quickly. "I don't think I want to stop, like, ever."

Brendon nuzzles against his neck. "Am I moving to fast? With the fucking?"

"Maybe," Spencer admits. "I've never really, um, done that. Not that I don’t want to because, well, God, yes, but I just...haven't."

"Are you okay with me just, like, rubbing off against you?"

"Totally," Spencer says.

"Good. Because you're kind of retarded hot."

Spencer blushes and turns his face to the side, eyes closed, but he's pleased. "You, too," he whispers.

They don't say anything else, just arch and rub against each other and the sound Brendon makes when he comes, the low groan in the back of his throat and the way his body actually trembles, is maybe the most amazing thing Spencer's ever witnessed.

They lay in silence for a long time afterwards, just kissing and touching. Spencer's not sure he could walk if he tried, his legs are so shaky and weak. When it starts to get cold, Spencer just pulls his blankets over them. He doesn't want Brendon to ever leave his bed.

"My parents kicked me out," Brendon says softly.

Spencer blinks at him for a little while. He's still having trouble getting his brain to work.

"Or, actually, that makes it sound simpler than it was. I don't talk to my family anymore for, like, a million reasons."

"Is this one of them?" Spencer asks, sliding his hand up Brendon's bare thigh.

"Yeah. But not, like, the only one. Anyway. If you, I know it's totally too early to be planning, like, Thanksgiving and Christmas vacation, just. I won't be going back to Summerlin. So. I don't even know why it matters, why I'm telling you."

"It matters," Spencer tells him. Brendon has tiny freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He's got a faint scar on his right eyebrow. His teeth are so perfectly straight that he must have had braces.

Spencer kisses Brendon's straight teeth and he knows it's too soon to ask Brendon to come home with him, but he files it away for when they've known each other longer.

"I don't read the newspaper," Spencer admits.

"Hmm?" Brendon shifts and curls one leg over Spencer's hips, presses in close and hums contentedly.

"I know you have your own column, but I don't really, um, read the news. I figured I'd just put that out there in case you're as touchy about my lack of respect for the art of the newspaper as Ryan is."

Brendon smiles against Spencer's skin and his fingers are cool as they trace over his ribs. "I'm not actually, like, a journalist or anything. I just write music reviews."

Spencer says, "Okay."

"I don't want to get up," Brendon whispers. "I want to stay like this forever."

"This is what I'm saying," says Spencer, and holds him tight.

this way to a whole mess of not!fic that follows this story