bandombigbang Along the Way (Brendon/Spencer) NC 17 Part 3
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Scooting down the bed and elbowing between Spencer's thighs, Brendon says, “Well all right then!” and tugs down Spencer's briefs so his erection springs free.
“Um, are you sure? I mean you've never done oral, but I've had, you know, maybe kind of a lot of blow jobs.” Spencer tucks a wayward tuft of Brendon's hair behind his ear.
Brendon pauses, chin resting on the crest of Spencer's hip. “I never thought about that. I guess we could switch after or something. Because I've been thinking about how you taste, all day. And I really want to find out. Tell me if I'm doing something wrong?” Remembering that Spencer likes to be jacked slow and steady, with a lot of teasing, Brendon curls his fist and slides his palm down Spencer's shaft, kissing Spencer's thighs and the jut of his hip. When his tongue slides low under Spencer's naval, Spencer wuffs out a little laugh that makes Brendon smile. “Okay,” he says more to himself more than anything, and touches his tongue to Spencer's already leaking slit. He's tasted Spencer's come before, kissed all over his skin, so this isn't very different. Except it's Spencer's cock.
In his mouth.
He is sucking Spencer Smith's cock.
And it's awesome.
Brendon licks and sucks, changing and adjusting his rhythm and pressure based on the intensity and volume of Spencer's reactions. His jaw is starting to ache and his hollow cheek sucking causes tiny strings of saliva to spill from his lips to his chin and Spencer's dick. When Spencer's hips start twisting up to meet every lick and pull on his dick, Brendon knows he's close. But he doesn't pull off. He's all in, and it's probably gross but Brendon likes how Spencer's come tastes.
“Shit, shit!” Spencer grabs wildly at Brendon's hair and sort of holds his head in place while he thrusts three or four times. It's only when Brendon makes gagging noises that Spencer releases his painfully tight grip on Brendon's hair, and Brendon feels the totally unlike anything else sensation of Spencer's come coating his tongue and the roof of his mouth and spilling out over his lips.
“Wow,” is all Brendon can say, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth and crawling up the bed.
Spencer flops a weak arm across Brendon's chest. “You're sure you've never done that before?”
“Yup. I'm pretty sure I'd remember if I had. I'm kind of naturally good at most things. I guess it's sort of annoying if you're not me.” Brendon lets Spencer kiss at his lips, but he's a little weirded out about Spencer tasting his own come in Brendon's mouth. He'd really like to brush his teeth. Or maybe rinse with some mouth wash.
Spencer's nuzzles at Brendon's ear, “Well I can tell you that it is most definitely not annoying to me...You're turn?” and then he yawns and stretches.
Brendon sighs and gives Spencer's arm a squeeze, “Nah, I'm good for now. I think you'll probably fall asleep in the middle of trying. And dude, you grind your teeth.”
* * *
“So, are you like, ashamed of me?” They're standing at the pancake bar at Stanley's when Brendon blurts out what he's been thinking about for a couple of days.
Spencer is so shocked his blueberry waffles fall into the mashed potato section of the hot table. “What???”
Brendon shrugs and makes a show of picking all the banana pieces out of the fruit salad. “It's just you've met my friends, and you talk about your friends all the time. We've been going out or whatever for a month and I've never met them.” Brendon's eyes are sad when he turns to walk back to their table.
“Hey, hey!” Spencer catches up with him and tugs on his shoulder. “You can't drop shit like that on me and then walk away. Brendon, of course I'm not ashamed of you. You're amazing. And maybe I just want to keep that for a while. This thing...just the two of us. Maybe I don't want to share.”
“Or maybe I'm not good enough for Ryan and Jon.”
Spencer angrily plonks down his orange juice and slides into his seat, “Man, when you meet my friends you will realize how completely impossible that is. I'm sort of afraid for you to meet them. They're kind of douchebags. But, like, loveable douchebags.”
“Is that even a thing?” Brendon focuses his attention on cutting up his waffle into tiny pieces.
“They mean well, they're just...Arts majors who get stoned a lot.” Spencer reaches over the table and takes Brendon's hand. “Look, we're having a jam session band practice kind of thing, which is basically a ninety minute block of time where we drink beers, I occasionally bang the shit out of my drum kit, and Jon and I mock Ryan and his inability to tune an electric guitar, with an electric tuner, in under twenty minutes. If you don't have any music lessons, come. Please?”
“Okay.”
* * *
Jon twines bass strings into a neat coil and says, “So what do I call him? Her? Is he a tranny?”
“Oh my god, the word is transgender and no he isn't.” Spencer is kicking his drum peddle in annoyance.
“So he's a transvestite then? A cross dresser?” Ryan is cramming Doritos in his face and pretending that he's writing down the musical notation that Jon's just dictated.
Twirling one drum stick and voice edging towards irritated, Spencer says, “For Christ's sake, just call him Brendon. Brendon. You got it? If you fuck this up or upset him, that's fucking it.”
Wiggling his toes in his flip flops, Jon says, “Geez, Spence, we're just trying to make sure we don't say anything stupid.”
“That, my friend, is a statistical improbability.” Spencer stuffs his sticks into their holder and twists, stretching out his back. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he takes it out, studying the screen. “Okay, he's here. Please try to keep the douchiness to a minimum.”
Spencer opens the door and Brendon is standing there, bouncing on the toes of his high tops. “Come on in,” Spencer smiles wide, kissing Brendon's cheek. “Ryan and Jon, this is Brendon. Brendon, this is Ryan and Jon.” Everyone waves awkwardly and then Spencer motions for Brendon to take a seat on Ryan's couch. “If the rock and roll boy genius ever gets his act together, we're just gonna run through one more song, then we can leave, okay?” Spencer smiles over his shoulder as he takes his seat behind the kit.
“Sure, sure. Take your time.” Brendon scratches nervously at his nose and sits back in his seat. Ryan signals that he's finally ready to go, and they launch into Daytripper. Ryan had recently heard this amazing brand new band-it turned out it was the Beatles-and insists they learn the entire catalog. Spencer doesn't even try to figure out how Ryan's brain works anymore.
Before he really knows what he's doing, Brendon is tapping his foot in time to the music, and tapping his finger on the glass coffee table. By the second chorus he's singing along. Ryan stops dead and the other two are a beat behind. “Sorry,” Brendon bites his lip and looks in alarm at Spencer, who is beaming. “It's just something I do. If I know a song, I just have to sing along with it. It's probably annoying.”
“Holy shit!” Ryan exclaims, heading towards the couch but being pulled up short by his guitar cable. “Holy shit! You can sing.”
“I told you he can sing!” Spencer yells in annoyance.
Waving a dismissive hand Ryan says, “Yeah, but you're trying to get into his pants, who knows what crazy rose colored glasses type shit you're into.” Instead of fighting with the cable, Ryan lifts the strap over his head and sets the guitar down. “You can really sing!” Ryan lays a companionable arm along Brendon's shoulders.
“Thanks?” Brendon is trying not to laugh.
“Sing the next verse!” Ryan prompts and unable to stop himself or question what the fuck is happening, Brendon does as asked. “Here, can you sing this?” he takes a notebook out of his inside vest pocket and thrusts it under Brendon's nose.
Brendon takes the moleskin and moves it down to a more manageable height. “That's a lot of words.”
“Just cram in what you can, here's the melody.” Ryan waves a dismissive hand and the flips to another page in his notebook. Again, Brendon does as asked without thinking about it.
From the other side of the room, Spencer yells “He also plays guitar and piano!”
“And drums and trumpet and accordion and melodica.” Brendon feels like he's on some sort of hidden camera show. “And I kind of hack at the cello when I'm bored.”
“I have a feeling we're going to get on just swell!” Jon seats himself on Brendon's free side and salutes him with a beer bottle.
Spencer rolls his eyes and mutters, “Awesome,” under his breath.
* * *
Spencer leans against the El train doorway, watching the giant brown box that is Merchandise Mart recede in the distance when his phone buzzes. “Hello?”
“Spencer Smith, I've been avoiding you,” Brendon's voice is solemn in his ear.
To be honest, what with midterms and projects and Brendon's crazy work schedule, Spencer could have probably gone as things were for another month before he even realized that Brendon was not speaking to him on purpose. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes!”
“And why's that?” Spencer winds his ear buds around his ipod and then shoves the whole thing into his pocket.
Brendon clears his thought and then coughs, “Well, see I did some research, right? And um...I don't think I can do, you know it?”
Spencer runs his fingers through his beard, scratching at his chin in confusion. “Brendon, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Sex!” Brendon hisses into the phone, making Spencer sit up straight and pay attention. “I'm talking about sex. I don't think I can do it. I don't think I can be the, you know, the catcher.”
Tired after spending the entire previous night working on a project, and not as patient as he could be, Spencer says, “Do you mean you don't think you can bottom? And what kind of research lead you to this decision, pray tell?” Luckily his train car isn't very crowded.
This isn't a conversation he wants to have in public.
“Yes, that's exactly what I mean,” Brendon hisses. “And I was doing some research, on the internet.”
“You mean you were watching porn, don't you?” Spencer watches the woman across from him, and he knows by the change in her expression that she is eavesdropping. “Because let me tell you, actual sex? Is usually not very much like porn sex.”
There's a very long pause and Brendon says, “Oh well, that's a relief, because it seems sort of terrifying.”
Spencer tries his best not to laugh. “And, who says you have to...bottom, anyway?”
Brendon sputters and hems and haws until he finally says, “Well, no one, I guess. Maybe I thought because you're so...you know and I'm well, I'm so like, me...I thought that's how things were supposed to...”
“Yeah well, fuck that shit,” Spencer has to work to lower his voice, “The best orgasm I've ever had in my life was this one time when Haley used a strap-on on me.” He studiously avoids eye contact with anyone else in his train car but he can hear the eavesdropping woman across from him making strangled noises of shocked surprise.
“Holy shit, straight people do that?” Brendon makes a very similar noise, and Spencer does laugh then.
Holding the phone closer and whispering, Spencer says, “I dunno about straight people, but I do. Listen, I'm coming over okay? We'll talk about...stuff. I don't want to just jump into something without both of us being comfortable, being okay with it. Okay?”
“Okay,” Brendon says in a small voice. “See you soon.”
* * *
“Brendon!” Spencer uses the counter top to boost himself up enough to give Brendon a quick kiss, square on the mouth. The girls working in the store smile indulgently at the two of them, and there might be mumblings of “adorable” that Spencer would never admit to hearing, never mind enjoying.
Brendon sets down the box of tissues he'd been trying to jam into a holder and smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners where they're smudged with a dark purple eye shadow. “Spencer! I don't get off for another half hour, but if you want to hang around I'm sure Cassadee could sell you some of the new metallic liquid eyeliner we just got in.
“No, thanks. I'm sure that between you and Ryan Ross all my manliest make up needs are currently being met. But, I'll hang out and wait for you to finish, if that's okay. Also, I have big news!”
“Yay!” Brendon twirls a sable powder brush against the palm of his hand, “I like big news! Spill it!”
Spencer fiddles with the rows of lip gloss and says, “So, my friends Bill and Sisky, they have these epic parties, right? And they're totally having a Halloween party that's going to be the most epic party, ever. And, you, good sir, are invited!” He beams at Brendon across the glass display cabinet.
Hurrying around the counter and plonking himself onto a stool, steadfastly ignoring the pointed looks of his shift supervisor, Brendon says, “Coolness. I love Halloween. We never celebrated as a kid. I mean, some LDS families do, but mine didn't. We dressed up for other stuff though. It is a costume party, right?”
“It would be kind of weird to have a Halloween party that's not a costume party, don't you think?” Spencer twirls the stool Brendon's sitting on, and Brendon giggles as he spins.
“Oh, I have so many ideas! Are Ryan and Jon coming too?” Brendon flings an arm around Spencer's waist to stop the spinning.
Spencer tugs on a stray piece of hair that has fallen free of Brendon's kind of amazing pompadour. “I was hoping you'd say you had costume ideas. Usually I just buy a stupid Halloween t-shirt from Target or do what ever Ryan says. Yeah, he and Jon, and their girlfriends are gonna be there. But they won't tell me what their costumes are.” Spencer frowns at the long glass window that runs along the front wall of the store, glad he's not caught in the downpour that came out of nowhere.
“I like Ryan, he's hilarious.” Brendon makes a face when his supervisor asks him to ring through a customer's order.
“You know he doesn't try to be funny, right? That's just his personality. But, I am not above laughing at him.”
Brendon hands the woman he's helped her change and says without looking at Spencer, “So, just mill around for like twenty minutes and then we can go, okay?”
* * *
Brendon won't tell Spencer what his ideas for their costumes are. He'd just sent an email asking Spencer for his veto list. Spencer had typed:
-high heels (for me)
-masks (for you and me)
-clowns (please fuck no, does anyone actually like clowns? Stupid fucking Stephen King and Pennywise have fucked up generations of possible circus going children for ever)
-and please for the love of all that's halloweeny no feathers (for me. I'd say ask Ryan and Jon but we agreed to never speak of that again)
So he only finds out when he arrives home early on the day of the party-he'd had to clarify to Brendon that yes, the party is on the 31st, because it's a Halloween party-and finds Brendon waiting for him on the front steps of his three-flat with garment bags, what looks like a hat box, and a backpack that seems even more full than usual.
“Hey, ready to get your Hallloween freak on?” Brendon jumps up and kisses Spencer.
“Trick or treat?” Spencer asks, taking the garment bags from Brendon and herding them inside.
Brendon motions for him to sit on the sofa and he makes grabby hands for the bags. “Okay, are you ready?” He's beaming and tapping his toe a mile a minute on the hardwood floor.
“Ready as I'll ever be,” Spencer drawls, stretching his arms along the back of the sofa, fixing Brendon with what he hopes is an expression of eager interest.
Undoing the zipper with a flourish, Brendon reaches in and extracts the first costume. “Tah dah! For you!” Spencer laughs when he sees it-an old school convict's costume-a one piece black and white striped jump suit and a little round hat. “There's a ball and chain in my back pack-shut up, by the way,” Brendon adds before Spencer can make the obvious joke.
“That's awesome. Looks pretty comfortable, given what you could have come up with. It'll make going to the bathroom a challenge, though,” Spencer catches the costume as Brendon throws it at him, inspecting it closely. There's only a single tie closure, at the back of the neck.
“You're a smart guy, you'll figure it out,” Brendon flashes a grin at Spencer and then pulls his costume out of the bag.
Spencer raises his eyebrow at the blue polyester police officer's jacket. “Cool, that's what I thought, you know after I saw my costume,” he waves one of the convict outfit's pant legs towards Brendon. “But, um...where are the pants?”
“Oh!” Brendon undoes the brass buttons on the front of the jacket and holds up a tiny navy blue strip of fabric.
“Umm...” Spencer is really confused.
Brendon drops the now empty garment bag and settles himself in Spencer's lap, “It's a skirt,” he whispers in Spencer's ear. “Unless...you think your friends won't appreciate drag?”
“Oh shit no, drag is awesome. They won't care. They're pretty open, accepting dudes. And they've been known to wear a dress every now and then.” Spencer brushes his lips across Brendon's and Brendon swivels around until he's straddling Spencer's thighs, arms looped loosely around Spencer's shoulders. “Awesome costumes; convict and the lady cop. Hot too.”
Brendon giggles and, after brushing a few light kisses against Spencer's mouth, says, “Putting lady in front of everything makes it more awesome. Lady cop. Lady doctor. My fav is Lady trucker.”
Deepening the kiss and letting his hands wander up under Brendon's shirt to stroke across the warm soft skin of his back, Spencer laughs and says, “Look out Lady Gaga here comes Lady Trucker,” into Brendon's open mouth, making them both laugh harder.
“I should start getting ready,” Brendon pulls away from the kiss with a wet smacking noise, and lifts Spencer's arm, turning his wrist so he can see the time on his watch.
“Yeah, you should,” but the only move Spencer makes is to trace his teeth down Brendon's neck and tuck his fingertips into the back of Brendon's jeans.
Wriggling, Brendon smacks Spencer's hand away and eventually manages to stand. “We'll be late.”
“So?” Spencer really doesn't see the problem. “It'll take me like, two seconds to get ready. Do you think I should just wear it over my clothes, or like shorts and a t-shirt?” He holds up the costume and shakes it out.
Brendon wrinkles up his nose, thinking for a second and say, “Well, it's polyester, so you'll probably get really hot really fast and you know...you sweat so...”
“Hey! No one is sweatier than you!” Spencer says defensively, then concedes that Brendon's probably right, “Boxers and t-shirt it is then.”
“And I don't sweat. I glisten!” Brendon makes a grumpy face and takes his make up case out of his back pack. Spencer thinks it's sort of hilarious that Brendon's make up case is a tool box. Especially considering he's pretty sure Brendon would be hard pressed to tell a wrench from a screwdriver. “There's the big mirror in the bedroom is you want.”
Brendon scoots on to the floor, his legs flat in front of him under the coffee table, “Nah, this is good.” He takes a terrycloth band out of the front pocket of his backpack and uses it to secure his hair back, fierce concentration in his eyes as he digs out foundation and sponges and a small mirror. He sets out various pallets and pots and brushes, lining them up in neat order. Spencer feels something slide rather painfully to a halt inside his rib cage.
Shit. He can't sit here watching Brendon put on make up without embarrassing himself, he's pretty sure. He exhales sharply through his nose and then, smacking his palms against his thighs, stands. “Guess I should try this thing on and make sure it fits, huh?” He grabs up his costume and then strides towards his bedroom. Brendon briefly looks up, a bemused expression on his face, and shrugs.
Spencer comes back into the living room clad in the prisoner's jump suit, and Brendon stops applying mascara to clap his hands and jump up, circling Spencer in appraisal. “You look hot.” He says with knowledgeable finality.
“Sure,” Spencer snorts out a laugh and then his eyes soften when he looks at Brendon, “So do you,” he says quietly, leaning in to kiss him.
Brendon ducks out of the way, waggling a finger at Spencer, “Dude, I just managed to get this shit to look like it's supposed to,” he makes vague circles around his heavily made up face. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to cover up stubble? Jesus, no matter how close I shave, I was cursed with dark hair. I wish I had the money for laser, seriously.” Brendon pouts and sets about returning his make up to its pouches and cases and then into his tool box.
Lasers anywhere near his face sounds infinitely terrifying to Spencer, but he tries to nod sympathetically. “Well, you look awesome, so what ever you did worked. I mean, not that you don't always look awesome. And man, I have a fucking beard and you never say anything when you slap that shit on my face.”
“Exactly. You have a beard. Also? You aren't dressing up as a lady cop. Lady cops do not have five o'clock shadows.” Brendon punctuates his words with knowing bobs of his head.
“You've never been to the south side...”
Brendon stand up and covers Spencer's mouth with two fingers, “Please do not finish that sentence. I know in my heart you aren't a sexist douchebag, so let's just keep it that way, huh?” He pastes on his sunniest smile and gathers up the rest of his things. “I'll be right back!” he says, sauntering towards Spencer's room.
“Where ya goin'?” Spencer cocks his hip against the living room doorway.
“To change into my costume?” Brendon seems confused that Spencer is asking.
Licking his lips and clearing his throat, Spencer says, his words a rushed jumble, “You don't have to...I mean you can change in here if you want,” he indicates the living room with a backwards flick of his head.
Confusion furrows Brendon's brow for a brief moment. “Spencer, I have occasionally had people offer me money to take off my clothes, but I can honestly say that no one has every invited me to dress for them.”
Spencer crosses his arms over his chest and frowns, “I didn't mean anything weird, I just thought that, you know, instead of having to cart everything around you could just...”
“There's no magic in that,” Brendon shakes his head sadly, “It's like...” he licks his lips, thinking, “It's like a magician, you know?”
“Um, no?” Spencer scratches at his beard and waits for Brendon to elaborate.
Shifting the weight of the bundle in his arms, Brendon leans against the wall beside Spencer. “It's like Gee told me when I first started doing this,” he looks down at the costume. “Got to keep the mystery, you now? Create the illusion? Not give away my secrets.”
“Oh okay!” Spencer smiles and brushes a barely there kiss to Brendon's cheek.
“And alright, mostly it makes me feel self-conscious. Getting pretty is hard work!” Brendon's nose wrinkles as he laughs.
Leaning in again, Spencer kisses Brendon softly on the lips, despite his protests about his make up. “I find that hard to believe,” he says quietly. “You're already beautiful.”
Brendon rolls his eyes and shoves playfully at Spencer's chest, putting some space between them, “Oh get lost,” he laughs. “I'm going to go do my thing now,” and he saunters the rest of the way down the small hallway.
Spencer returns to the living room, the polyester of his costume makes a zip-zip-zip noise with each step, and he laughs, thinking this must be what it's like to walk around in snow pants. He sits on the sofa and does his best to be patient as he waits for what seems like forever. He hears the click of the door knob, and gets to his feet when he hears the clacking of Brendon's heels. Only to sit back down, his mouth hanging open, “Holy shit!” he whispers in awe.
“Tah dah!” Brendon says in a playful voice an octave or two higher than his normal speaking voice. He raises an arm over his head and cants his hip, before winking and walking over to stand in front of Spencer. “Well?” the lightness of his tone doesn't match the wary concern in his eyes.
Reaching out and wrapping his hand around the expanse of bare flesh on Brendon's thigh that's visible between the very short skirt and very high heeled, tall, very black, very shiny, boots, Spencer swallows and says, “Holy shit,” and then he slides his palms up to Brendon's hips, tugging him down into his lap. “Don't tell me to not mess up your make up, you can fix it.” Is all Spencer says before winding one hand in the long shaggy tresses of Brendon's wig-the one he was wearing the night they met-and bringing their mouths together in a hungry, urgent kiss. “You are so fucking hot. Jesus.”
Brendon's smile widens against Spencer's mouth and he giggles through his nose, “If we're late, it's your fault.”
“Fuck those guys,” Spencer mumbles, tasting the fragile skin beneath Brendon's chin, and ignoring the weird chemical tang of the make up there. His hands roam slowly down Brendon's back to his hips and lower to trace the slippery edge of Brendon's boot where it's digging into his thigh. He pauses when his finger tip touches something plastic between the boot and Brendon's skin, and he tugs it free.
“Um,” Brendon's face reddens with embarrassed heat as Spencer stares at the small packet in his palm. “Homage to Pretty Woman?” he tries to laugh but his expression is shuttered by the thick fall of his lashes.
Slowly curling his fingers around the condom package, Spencer tilts Brendon's face up with a gentle finger under his chin, “Bren?”
Brendon sighs and rolls his eyes up to study the ceiling, “Well, you know. Be prepared and all that?” and he pries the condom out of Spencer's hand and tucks it back into the top of his boot.
Spencer secures Brendon in his lap by linking his finger's low against Brendon's back. “So you mean you want...”
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Brendon sighs and squeezes his eyes shut, but when he says, “Yes,” he's looking directly at Spencer.
“Oh,” Spencer kisses him again, tongue licking and tasting before Brendon opens up enough for him to flit across the inside of his mouth.
Pausing for breath, Brendon leans his forehead against Spencer's and says, “I mean, that is if you...you know, you want to. I guess I should ask that since you're the one who's gonna be...” he trails off and makes an awkward gesture with his fingers.
Spencer barks out a laugh and drops his head to the padded shoulder of Brendon's costume, “Do I want to? You have no idea. No. Idea.”
Brendon smiles, his hand palming down Spencer's chest, making a zipping noise against the polyester of his convict's costume. “I think I might have some idea,” he smirks, and cups the erection currently tenting the lower half of Spencer's outfit.
“You know what else I spend a lot of fucking time thinking about?” Spencer twists and without warning tilts so Brendon lands prone on the sofa beneath him. Delight and arousal shine in Brendon's dark eyes as he shakes his head, the shaggy stands of his wig spreading out over the couch. “Blowing you,” Spencer's voice is almost a growl as he slides down Brendon's body, nosing at his skirt and raising his hands.
Brendon yelps and clamps his knees together. His hands fly up to grab Spencer's forearms and he says a frantic,“Spencer, wait!” while trying to sit up. But, Spencer's hand has already found its way beneath Brendon's short skirt, and is now floundering across the entirely flat plane of Brendon's groin and plucking at the weird, stretchy fabric of Brendon's underwear.
“What the...?” Spencer sits up, confusion clear on his face and his hair sticking up in a thousand directions.
Managing to wriggle up into a semi-sitting position, his legs straddled by Spencer's thighs, Brendon swallows, and looks like he's going to cry, “That's why I went into your room to change. You're freaked out, right? Grossed out?”
Blinking and shaking his head, Spencer says, “Just kinda confused, actually.”
Shuddering out a sigh, Brendon smooths at his skirt and says, “Lady cops don't have dicks, Spence.”
“Ohhhkaay,” Spencer says slowly.
“So, like, when we're performing, and the costume is, you know, tight, we tuck, right?” Brendon still isn't looking at Spencer, just watching his finger nail scratch against the ugly weave of the sofa.
“Tuck?” Spencer winces.
“I'm pretty fucking sure you've seen Ace Ventura: Pet Detective right? Sean Young's character, at the end?” Brendon crosses his arms over chest and tries to move his legs out from underneath Spencer.
Spencer thinks about what Brendon's saying, and when everything clicks into place he makes a pained face, “So it's like a kind of girdle thingie? Shit. Doesn't that hurt?” He gives Brendon's thigh a little squeeze before swinging himself up and off him. He tugs Brendon to sitting and then wraps an arm around his shoulder.
“Well, you know, suffer for beauty,” Brendon snorts out a laugh, still embarrassed. “And man, I've never been, you know...horny in um, full drag before, if you get what I'm saying. It's kinda...not the best feeling ever.” He grimaces, mouth pulled down and nose scrunched up, and shifts back and forth. “To be honest, I sort of always thought I'd be able to get it up for you any time, any where. But maybe not so much,” he scratches at his nose and chuckles low in the back of his throat, “Maybe not so much right now.” He pats Spencer's thigh in consolation.
Spencer smacks a kiss to Brendon's temple and then sighs loudly, “Okay. I get that. So, lets just go to this fucking party; have an ace time. Then, when you've had enough of my hipster douchebag friends, we'll leave and free you from your...” Spencer waves his hands at Brendon, “And see what happens.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Brendon laughs and kisses the tip of Spencer's nose. “How can I refuse such a romantic offer.”
“Fuck you, I'm just concerned for your...circulation,” Spencer stands and puts on his jacket.
“Aw, always looking out for me!” Brendon laughs and hands Spencer the little round hat that completes his costume. “Let me just go see what kind of state my make up is in, then we can leave, okay?” He heads towards the bathroom and then over his shoulder says, “And I believe I'll be the one fucking you.”
* * *
They hear the party before they can even see the apartment block, and Spencer briefly feels pangs of pity for Bill and Sisky's neighbors before he's drawn back into the ridiculous story about bar patrons Brendon's been telling since they got off the El. The ride across town was uneventful and Brendon had been vocal and affectionate, holding Spencer's hand and at one point when there had only been one free seat, sitting in his lap. In public Brendon's usually tentative and careful with displays of affection, never holding his hand for too long or doing more than brushing a kiss to his cheek, but with the train full of costumed and somewhat drunk Halloween revelers, it seems to Spencer that Brendon feels safe. So he clings more, and holds his hand longer and kisses him for long, dizzying minutes.
Reaching the front door of the ramshackle building, Spencer doesn't knock, just turns the knob and holds the door wide for Brendon, then ushering him through. They're almost immediately swallowed up by the crowd and as Spencer accepts a red solo cup, half full of what tastes like the bottom of the keg, it takes him a minute to cleave the crowd enough to get back to Brendon's side and discover what has him convulsing with laughter. Ryan is standing at Brendon's side, his expression somewhere between a smile and a scowl as he watches Brendon's reaction to his costume.
He's dressed as a banana. A giant, shiny, banana. He's encased in bright yellow polyester, arms and legs free, and his gormless face is peering out from a small round hole. “Keltie's a monkey,” he offers by way of explanation for his costume choice.
“Oh my god! Do not explain to Bee why she calls you Banana Pants. No one needs to know that much about you two,” Spencer spits out in disgust, linking his fingers with Brendon's and leading them deeper into the crowded apartment.
“Holy shit, Ryan is so hilarious!” Brendon giggles into his hand as he follows Spencer, carefully picking his was through the throng of people, avoiding landing a stiletto heel to any hands or feet of the large number of partiers sprawled every which way on the hardwood floor.
Spencer comes to an abrupt stop, and Brendon's boot heels clatter against the bare floor tiles as he tries not to spill the drink he's magically acquired in their journey from the front door. “Bill, this is Brendon,” Spencer holds up their joined hands and nods at a guy dressed as a vampire sitting on the couch, all plastic cape and slicked back hair. He gets to his feet and Brendon has to take a step back to see his face because this guy is tall. “Brendon,” Bill takes Brendon's hand in his and instead of shaking it, turns it over to brush a kiss across the top of his knuckles,“Enchanté, I'm William, your humble host,” he slurs around his plastic fangs.
Brendon gives Spencer an is this guy for real? look before smiling and replying, “Nice to meet you. Great party.” He wriggles his hand free and takes his drink back from Spencer.
“They always are, and the night is young,” William replies confidently, just in time to be tackled by a tiny guy with a crazy mass of blond curly hair. The two of them collapse back onto the couch, laughing and spilling their beer on a disgruntled cat, who hisses and slinks away. “And this, dear Brendon, is your co-host for the evening, Mr. Adam T. Siska, or as he's affectionately known around these parts-Sisky.” William puts Sisky in a headlock and they both start howling.
Rolling his eyes, Spencer begins to pick his way through the crowded apartment, and by way of farewell, Brendon says, “I love your costume, the 80s were the best. I wish I could get my hair to do that.”
Sisky looks down at his oversized basketball shorts and Bulls jersey, then runs his hand through the messy asymmetrical cut of his hair. He's a little confused by Brendon's compliment, because his last minute costume-a white bed sheet ghost, complete with roughly cut out holes for eyes-is wadded up in the hallway underneath Mike. But he just says, “thanks!” with a blushing smile.
“You hungry?” Spencer leans close to yell into Brendon's ear over the din of music and drunk people.
Pausing to give Spencer his best affronted pout, Brendon says, “It's like you don't even know me. I'm always hungry.”
“Of course you are. Silly me,” Spencer kisses his cheek. “They usually have like wings and dip and that kind of shit at these things.” Spencer squeezes Brendon's hip as he guides him through the crowd. Somebody's shoved a long table covered in a cheap plastic tablecloth printed with bats and ghosts and jack-o-lanterns against a long wall, and it's loaded with various kinds of party food and hors d'oeuvres.
As he's piling his plate high for the two of them to share, Spencer hears a high pitched, enthusiastic, “Oh my god! You're Brendon!” just as Brendon is swallowed in a hug by a blond woman in a brown leotard and tights. “You're gorgeous!” she steps back out of the hug, appraising Brendon and his costume. “And, can I just say that has got to be the raddest smokey eye I have ever seen. Did you do your own make up?”
“This is Ryan's girlfriend, Keltie,” Spencer interjects as the two compare beauty school experiences and the merits of MAC's color pigments.
“Oh! The monkey!” Brendon reaches out a hand to tweak the felt ears Keltie has attached to a brown plastic headband.
Keltie snags a baby carrot from Spencer's heaping plate and laughs. “Yup! You see my Banana Pants? Best couples costume ever or what?”
Sighing, Spencer reels Brendon in close, arm tight around his waist. “Please, please, do not scar Bren for life and share the origins of your nickname for Ry.”
Brendon pats Spencer's hand where it rests possessively on his hip, fingers fiddling with the cheap plastic handcuffs Brendon had bought at the dollar store. Ray, the tailor who makes all of Brendon's costumes, had refused to allow him real handcuffs, and Brendon had to admit that was probably for the best. The likelihood of him losing the keys was high. Although when he'd first come up with the idea for their costumes, Brendon he had spent longer than was strictly healthy thinking about what Spencer would look like cuffed to the headboard. “Gee Spence, for someone into dick, you sure spend a lot of time embarrassed at the thought of anyone else talking about it.”
Making a strangled noise at the back of his throat, Spencer says, “Ryan is my best friend. I do not want to spend any time thinking about his cock. Ever.” Several people within earshot smirk and laugh at Spencer's outburst.
Kissing Spencer soundly, and flinging a comfortable arm around Keltie's shoulder, Brendon says “It's kind of hard not to. It's just so there. Am I right?” and he and Keltie giggle as Spencer makes noises of protesting disgust.
“Poor baby,” Keltie smiles in sympathy at Spencer and, filching another carrot off Spencer's plate says, “I better go find my date and make sure we're together when The Butcher starts judging the costumes.”
In the midst of chewing a giant bite of nacho dip, Brendon says, “Oh! There's a costume contest? Spencer Smith! You didn't tell me that!” Brendon's eyes light up at the prospect.
Shrugging before he shoves a handful of nachos into his mouth, Spencer crunches the chips between his teeth and carefully swallows a mouthful of beer before answering, “Didn't know there was. But, if there's a Smoking Fucking Hot award, you are so in.” He says the last words against Brendon's jaw where he mouths at a faint bottle-green vein.
“You sure about that? You haven't seen me and Cassie yet.” Jon comes up and elbows Spencer in the side. Brendon can't hide the giggle that escapes him. Jon is dressed as a hippie-bell bottoms, tie-dyed t-shirt, long wig, and little round glasses. Cassie joins him, handing over a red cup of beer and smiles hello. She's wearing a mini-skirt muumuu, tied at the waist with a macrame belt, daisies in her long flowing hair, and a giant peace sign pendant around her neck.
“Nah, we still win!” Spencer hugs Brendon as he introduces him to Cassie.
“Oh right, you work at MAC. Spencer was telling me I should stop by and you'll hook me up.” Cassie tips her cup towards Brendon, who smiles and tips up his own. “If you're interested and can get out to the burbs, I will totally trade you some pilates classes for some make up, or a make up lesson or something?”
“Really?” Brendon's entire face lights up. “That would be amazing. I took some yoga classes at the Y and really liked them.” Handing his beer cup to Spencer, Brendon does some weird stretching thing that ultimately ends up with him perching on one high heeled foot, the other balanced carefully along the inside of his thigh. “I'm pretty bendy.”
Spencer blinks and swallows and tries to think about anything except how bendy Brendon is, and how much he could possibly enjoy finding out the extent of that bendiness. In his convict's jumpsuit, there is absolutely no way to hide exactly how exciting the prospect of finding out is to Spencer. “Um, hey, I'm just gonna,” Spencer nods his head towards an empty window seat and starts to work his way through the tight knot of people around the food area before he totally embarrasses himself.
As he looks back to make sure Brendon knows where he's headed, he sees that Keltie and Cassie have joined Brendon in an impromptu yoga stretching class. Brendon and Keltie seem to be competing in a 'who's more flexible' contest. Spencer stares at them, growling as he takes a particularly vicious bite of a chicken wing. Eventually, the three of them realize they're in the middle of a party, so they collapse against each other, laughing and hugging before splitting up to find their dates.
“Spencer! Your friends are so great.” Brendon plonks himself down into Spencer's lap, dropping his arm around Spencer's shoulders. He leans over to pick his beer up and Spencer is hypnotized by the dip and flex of Brendon's thigh muscles beneath the tight layer of his blue polyester skirt.
“You seem surprised,” Spencer mumbles in a low, distracted voice. He bows his head to trace the tendons in Brendon's neck, nipping at them with his teeth then soothing the sting with his tongue.
Giggling at the sensation, Brendon presses his hands palm flat against Spencer's chest to get him to ease up. “No, not surprised, really.” He shrugs and wrinkles up his nose. “It's just I guess I've managed to surround myself with freaks and losers like me I feel comfortable around, so I never thought normal people would be...”
Spencer rests his head against Brendon's shoulder, squeezing his hips and bobbling him on his lap to a more agreeable position. “Dude, if you think these guys are normal you don't even know...” He cuts his glance to where Travie and Mike are doing some improvised version of beer pong with paper plate paddles and votive candle holders.
“They don't care that I'm...that we're...” Brendon takes Spencer's face between his hands and kisses him gently.
Spencer scowls. “Of course they don't. They're my friends. You make me happy. I told you, Bee, not everyone's an asshole about this shit.” He hugs Brendon close, pressing his lips to Brendon's temple.
They sit wound around each other in the shallow recess of the window seat, and Spencer points out people he knows and how they know each other, and Brendon laughs at the stories he tells of parties past. It feels right and good, and Spencer feels the kind of happy he guesses is what people mean when they say they're content. It spreads out from his bones and makes it possible to think that holding Brendon close like this is all he ever wants to do. Eventually their conversation drops away. Brendon hums along to whatever Bill and Sisky have blasting through the stereo and Spencer occasionally raises a hand in greeting as someone he knows walks by. He always introduces Brendon, but other than that they just sit there quietly, enjoying each others' company.
“Uh oh,” Brendon holds up his empty cup and shakes it sadly, “Why is the beer always gone?”
Spencer laughs, “Take it easy, Princess. If you get off me, once feeling returns to my legs, I will go get you more beer.” He shakes his knees back and forth and Brendon laughs, slow-motion falling onto the padded cushion of the window seat bench.
“My Hero!” Brendon bats his long eyelashes up at Spencer and squeezes his hand before pressing the empty cup into it.
Crossing to the kitchen, where the keg is located, takes forever. Spencer can't count the number of people who are pressed close in the apartment, but it makes getting anywhere near impossible. Not only is navigating through the bodies a problem, every time Spencer runs into someone he knows, they drag him into conversation. By the time he reaches the keg, The Butcher is closing the tap and rolling the whole thing off to the back door. “Bad timing, dude. Grab some cups and the new keg will be ready in a few. You try my mom's meatballs?”
“Uh, yeah. I think so? They were good.” Spencer holds up the two cups he's brought with him, letting The Butcher know that he'd come prepared, and leans against the counter. More people make their way into the kitchen and a line starts to form as Spencer listens to The Butcher give a long detailed soliloquy about the lengths he's gone to to get his mother's meatball recipe. Finally the line is hooked up to the new keg, the tap is running and after a few foamy cups, The Butcher holds out his hands for Spencer's solo cups, returning them full.
By the time Spencer makes it back to where he started, Brendon is no longer in the window seat-two giggling drunk girls he's never seen before in his life are-and the wide, carpeted area in front of the window has been adopted as a dance floor. It's packed with bodies flailing and gyrating, and Spencer stands there for a few seconds trying to figure out what the hell happened in the fifteen minutes he was in the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jon and Ryan pressed against the wall so he heads towards them.
“You were right, Brendon does have an amazing ass,” Jon says in a matter of fact way, half turned towards Ryan.
Any thought of asking his friends if they've seen Brendon disappears with what he's overheard, so Spencer says, “Okay, so, not that I'm not in one hundred percent agreement with you, but a)why are you looking at my boyfriend's ass? and b)Ryan, why have you been talking about my boyfriend's ass? and c)you two have finally got up to the Kinsey scale in sociology class, haven't you?” Spencer's scowl falters when he follows Ryan and Jon's gazes to see Brendon doing a mean mash up of the funky chicken with what he's pretty sure his dad told him had once been called the Melvin.
And yeah, okay, Brendon's ass is totally amazing but, really.
Ryan has the good grace to look sheepish, and says, “Yeah, so we're just trying to be supportive. And the Kinsey Scale is totally interesting.” It's all the explanation Spencer's going to get, so he just shakes his head and laughs.
“Man, you better go break that shit up. Poor young Sisky seems quite smitten with your fella, and I'm pretty sure he hasn't actually figured out the fella part, yet.” Jon tips his cup towards the couple and Spencer growls, low and possessive. Sisky is gazing adoringly up at Brendon while his hands roam lower and lower down Brendon's back, his fingers stretching out to stroke over the high swell of Brendon's bottom.
“Dude, what the fuck are you doing to my boyfriend?” Spencer intentionally steps close into Sisky's personal space, arms crossed and glowering.
When Sisky stops cold and manages a gob smacked “Boyfriend?” Brendon swats Spencer on the shoulder and says, “Dancing, silly. You left me all alone!” before affecting an exaggerated pout.
“I went to get your beer!” Spencer holds the cup out and Brendon takes it, swallowing an enthusiastic gulp, wiping delicately at the sweat on his upper lip, and then hooking his arms over Spencer's shoulders.
Sisky's all but forgotten as they start to sway with the music; a slow song that's cleared out some space on the dance floor. “Hi,” Spencer whispers, carefully holding his cup against Brendon's hip as he reels him in close. He kisses Brendon's nose, making him smile, and presses his lips softly against Brendon's mouth.
“Hi,” Brendon smiles beneath the kiss. “I missed you. I think Ryan and Jon were checking me out. That's weird, right?”
“Shh, don't ruin the moment,” Spencer says, but he's chuckling under his breath. “There is not enough time in the day to talk about how weird Ryan and Jon are. Let's just dance, okay?”
Brendon sways his hips across Spencer's and hums agreement under his breath. He rests his head on Spencer's shoulder as they continue to move in gentle time with the music that's filling the space in the room that's not occupied by the buzzing chatter of party goers. Spencer thinks about what Brendon told him earlier, that his friends are awesome. And they are. He's never worried what they think of him; how they'd react to his coming out, or bringing Brendon around.
And here he is standing in the middle of the room dancing with a guy, kissing and touching a guy, and no one cares. It's no big deal. Everyone's been really sweet to Brendon, and happy for Spencer. He's lucky--and he never even knew it until Brendon had brought it up. Spencer frowns a little when he wonders what's happened to Brendon that his positive treatment at the party has come as such a surprise to him.
He's shaken from his revery when Brendon says, very quietly, just a soft brush of air against Spencer's ear, “I think I'm ready to go now, Spence.”
Spencer stops dancing and backs up a little so he can look at Brendon. “You tired?”
Brendon gives him a sweet smile and shakes his head back and forth, the long hairs of his wig brushing his cheeks. “Your foot hurt?” Spencer asks, concerned as he's petting down Brendon's arms.
“No, I'm just...I think I'm ready to...you know. To go home.” Brendon stammers and blushes and looks at his hands where they're still resting on Spencer's broad shoulders.
It takes a minute for Spencer to parse exactly what it is Brendon is trying to tell him. But when it does, all the breath leaves his lungs and he manages to husk out, “You mean you want to...”
“Uh huh,” Brendon licks his lips and toys with the ties at the back of Spencer's neck.
Cupping Brendon's cheek in his palm, Spencer asks quietly, “Are you sure? I mean you're not like, drunk or anything are you? I don't want you to do something you're not ready for just because you think I want to...”
Brendon licks his lips in confusion, “No, I'm not drunk. You want to...you know...don't you? With me?” He sounds small and uncertain and Spencer's not exactly sure how that happened.
“Shit, yes,” Spencer's voice is raw as he leans his forehead against Brendon's.
“Well okay then,” Brendon smiles and kisses Spencer. He slides his hand carefully into Spencer's and leads them through the party and to the front door. “I want this Spencer. I want this, with you.” He says with finality as he opens the door and steps out into the street.
NEXT
Scooting down the bed and elbowing between Spencer's thighs, Brendon says, “Well all right then!” and tugs down Spencer's briefs so his erection springs free.
“Um, are you sure? I mean you've never done oral, but I've had, you know, maybe kind of a lot of blow jobs.” Spencer tucks a wayward tuft of Brendon's hair behind his ear.
Brendon pauses, chin resting on the crest of Spencer's hip. “I never thought about that. I guess we could switch after or something. Because I've been thinking about how you taste, all day. And I really want to find out. Tell me if I'm doing something wrong?” Remembering that Spencer likes to be jacked slow and steady, with a lot of teasing, Brendon curls his fist and slides his palm down Spencer's shaft, kissing Spencer's thighs and the jut of his hip. When his tongue slides low under Spencer's naval, Spencer wuffs out a little laugh that makes Brendon smile. “Okay,” he says more to himself more than anything, and touches his tongue to Spencer's already leaking slit. He's tasted Spencer's come before, kissed all over his skin, so this isn't very different. Except it's Spencer's cock.
In his mouth.
He is sucking Spencer Smith's cock.
And it's awesome.
Brendon licks and sucks, changing and adjusting his rhythm and pressure based on the intensity and volume of Spencer's reactions. His jaw is starting to ache and his hollow cheek sucking causes tiny strings of saliva to spill from his lips to his chin and Spencer's dick. When Spencer's hips start twisting up to meet every lick and pull on his dick, Brendon knows he's close. But he doesn't pull off. He's all in, and it's probably gross but Brendon likes how Spencer's come tastes.
“Shit, shit!” Spencer grabs wildly at Brendon's hair and sort of holds his head in place while he thrusts three or four times. It's only when Brendon makes gagging noises that Spencer releases his painfully tight grip on Brendon's hair, and Brendon feels the totally unlike anything else sensation of Spencer's come coating his tongue and the roof of his mouth and spilling out over his lips.
“Wow,” is all Brendon can say, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth and crawling up the bed.
Spencer flops a weak arm across Brendon's chest. “You're sure you've never done that before?”
“Yup. I'm pretty sure I'd remember if I had. I'm kind of naturally good at most things. I guess it's sort of annoying if you're not me.” Brendon lets Spencer kiss at his lips, but he's a little weirded out about Spencer tasting his own come in Brendon's mouth. He'd really like to brush his teeth. Or maybe rinse with some mouth wash.
Spencer's nuzzles at Brendon's ear, “Well I can tell you that it is most definitely not annoying to me...You're turn?” and then he yawns and stretches.
Brendon sighs and gives Spencer's arm a squeeze, “Nah, I'm good for now. I think you'll probably fall asleep in the middle of trying. And dude, you grind your teeth.”
* * *
“So, are you like, ashamed of me?” They're standing at the pancake bar at Stanley's when Brendon blurts out what he's been thinking about for a couple of days.
Spencer is so shocked his blueberry waffles fall into the mashed potato section of the hot table. “What???”
Brendon shrugs and makes a show of picking all the banana pieces out of the fruit salad. “It's just you've met my friends, and you talk about your friends all the time. We've been going out or whatever for a month and I've never met them.” Brendon's eyes are sad when he turns to walk back to their table.
“Hey, hey!” Spencer catches up with him and tugs on his shoulder. “You can't drop shit like that on me and then walk away. Brendon, of course I'm not ashamed of you. You're amazing. And maybe I just want to keep that for a while. This thing...just the two of us. Maybe I don't want to share.”
“Or maybe I'm not good enough for Ryan and Jon.”
Spencer angrily plonks down his orange juice and slides into his seat, “Man, when you meet my friends you will realize how completely impossible that is. I'm sort of afraid for you to meet them. They're kind of douchebags. But, like, loveable douchebags.”
“Is that even a thing?” Brendon focuses his attention on cutting up his waffle into tiny pieces.
“They mean well, they're just...Arts majors who get stoned a lot.” Spencer reaches over the table and takes Brendon's hand. “Look, we're having a jam session band practice kind of thing, which is basically a ninety minute block of time where we drink beers, I occasionally bang the shit out of my drum kit, and Jon and I mock Ryan and his inability to tune an electric guitar, with an electric tuner, in under twenty minutes. If you don't have any music lessons, come. Please?”
“Okay.”
* * *
Jon twines bass strings into a neat coil and says, “So what do I call him? Her? Is he a tranny?”
“Oh my god, the word is transgender and no he isn't.” Spencer is kicking his drum peddle in annoyance.
“So he's a transvestite then? A cross dresser?” Ryan is cramming Doritos in his face and pretending that he's writing down the musical notation that Jon's just dictated.
Twirling one drum stick and voice edging towards irritated, Spencer says, “For Christ's sake, just call him Brendon. Brendon. You got it? If you fuck this up or upset him, that's fucking it.”
Wiggling his toes in his flip flops, Jon says, “Geez, Spence, we're just trying to make sure we don't say anything stupid.”
“That, my friend, is a statistical improbability.” Spencer stuffs his sticks into their holder and twists, stretching out his back. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he takes it out, studying the screen. “Okay, he's here. Please try to keep the douchiness to a minimum.”
Spencer opens the door and Brendon is standing there, bouncing on the toes of his high tops. “Come on in,” Spencer smiles wide, kissing Brendon's cheek. “Ryan and Jon, this is Brendon. Brendon, this is Ryan and Jon.” Everyone waves awkwardly and then Spencer motions for Brendon to take a seat on Ryan's couch. “If the rock and roll boy genius ever gets his act together, we're just gonna run through one more song, then we can leave, okay?” Spencer smiles over his shoulder as he takes his seat behind the kit.
“Sure, sure. Take your time.” Brendon scratches nervously at his nose and sits back in his seat. Ryan signals that he's finally ready to go, and they launch into Daytripper. Ryan had recently heard this amazing brand new band-it turned out it was the Beatles-and insists they learn the entire catalog. Spencer doesn't even try to figure out how Ryan's brain works anymore.
Before he really knows what he's doing, Brendon is tapping his foot in time to the music, and tapping his finger on the glass coffee table. By the second chorus he's singing along. Ryan stops dead and the other two are a beat behind. “Sorry,” Brendon bites his lip and looks in alarm at Spencer, who is beaming. “It's just something I do. If I know a song, I just have to sing along with it. It's probably annoying.”
“Holy shit!” Ryan exclaims, heading towards the couch but being pulled up short by his guitar cable. “Holy shit! You can sing.”
“I told you he can sing!” Spencer yells in annoyance.
Waving a dismissive hand Ryan says, “Yeah, but you're trying to get into his pants, who knows what crazy rose colored glasses type shit you're into.” Instead of fighting with the cable, Ryan lifts the strap over his head and sets the guitar down. “You can really sing!” Ryan lays a companionable arm along Brendon's shoulders.
“Thanks?” Brendon is trying not to laugh.
“Sing the next verse!” Ryan prompts and unable to stop himself or question what the fuck is happening, Brendon does as asked. “Here, can you sing this?” he takes a notebook out of his inside vest pocket and thrusts it under Brendon's nose.
Brendon takes the moleskin and moves it down to a more manageable height. “That's a lot of words.”
“Just cram in what you can, here's the melody.” Ryan waves a dismissive hand and the flips to another page in his notebook. Again, Brendon does as asked without thinking about it.
From the other side of the room, Spencer yells “He also plays guitar and piano!”
“And drums and trumpet and accordion and melodica.” Brendon feels like he's on some sort of hidden camera show. “And I kind of hack at the cello when I'm bored.”
“I have a feeling we're going to get on just swell!” Jon seats himself on Brendon's free side and salutes him with a beer bottle.
Spencer rolls his eyes and mutters, “Awesome,” under his breath.
* * *
Spencer leans against the El train doorway, watching the giant brown box that is Merchandise Mart recede in the distance when his phone buzzes. “Hello?”
“Spencer Smith, I've been avoiding you,” Brendon's voice is solemn in his ear.
To be honest, what with midterms and projects and Brendon's crazy work schedule, Spencer could have probably gone as things were for another month before he even realized that Brendon was not speaking to him on purpose. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes!”
“And why's that?” Spencer winds his ear buds around his ipod and then shoves the whole thing into his pocket.
Brendon clears his thought and then coughs, “Well, see I did some research, right? And um...I don't think I can do, you know it?”
Spencer runs his fingers through his beard, scratching at his chin in confusion. “Brendon, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Sex!” Brendon hisses into the phone, making Spencer sit up straight and pay attention. “I'm talking about sex. I don't think I can do it. I don't think I can be the, you know, the catcher.”
Tired after spending the entire previous night working on a project, and not as patient as he could be, Spencer says, “Do you mean you don't think you can bottom? And what kind of research lead you to this decision, pray tell?” Luckily his train car isn't very crowded.
This isn't a conversation he wants to have in public.
“Yes, that's exactly what I mean,” Brendon hisses. “And I was doing some research, on the internet.”
“You mean you were watching porn, don't you?” Spencer watches the woman across from him, and he knows by the change in her expression that she is eavesdropping. “Because let me tell you, actual sex? Is usually not very much like porn sex.”
There's a very long pause and Brendon says, “Oh well, that's a relief, because it seems sort of terrifying.”
Spencer tries his best not to laugh. “And, who says you have to...bottom, anyway?”
Brendon sputters and hems and haws until he finally says, “Well, no one, I guess. Maybe I thought because you're so...you know and I'm well, I'm so like, me...I thought that's how things were supposed to...”
“Yeah well, fuck that shit,” Spencer has to work to lower his voice, “The best orgasm I've ever had in my life was this one time when Haley used a strap-on on me.” He studiously avoids eye contact with anyone else in his train car but he can hear the eavesdropping woman across from him making strangled noises of shocked surprise.
“Holy shit, straight people do that?” Brendon makes a very similar noise, and Spencer does laugh then.
Holding the phone closer and whispering, Spencer says, “I dunno about straight people, but I do. Listen, I'm coming over okay? We'll talk about...stuff. I don't want to just jump into something without both of us being comfortable, being okay with it. Okay?”
“Okay,” Brendon says in a small voice. “See you soon.”
* * *
“Brendon!” Spencer uses the counter top to boost himself up enough to give Brendon a quick kiss, square on the mouth. The girls working in the store smile indulgently at the two of them, and there might be mumblings of “adorable” that Spencer would never admit to hearing, never mind enjoying.
Brendon sets down the box of tissues he'd been trying to jam into a holder and smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners where they're smudged with a dark purple eye shadow. “Spencer! I don't get off for another half hour, but if you want to hang around I'm sure Cassadee could sell you some of the new metallic liquid eyeliner we just got in.
“No, thanks. I'm sure that between you and Ryan Ross all my manliest make up needs are currently being met. But, I'll hang out and wait for you to finish, if that's okay. Also, I have big news!”
“Yay!” Brendon twirls a sable powder brush against the palm of his hand, “I like big news! Spill it!”
Spencer fiddles with the rows of lip gloss and says, “So, my friends Bill and Sisky, they have these epic parties, right? And they're totally having a Halloween party that's going to be the most epic party, ever. And, you, good sir, are invited!” He beams at Brendon across the glass display cabinet.
Hurrying around the counter and plonking himself onto a stool, steadfastly ignoring the pointed looks of his shift supervisor, Brendon says, “Coolness. I love Halloween. We never celebrated as a kid. I mean, some LDS families do, but mine didn't. We dressed up for other stuff though. It is a costume party, right?”
“It would be kind of weird to have a Halloween party that's not a costume party, don't you think?” Spencer twirls the stool Brendon's sitting on, and Brendon giggles as he spins.
“Oh, I have so many ideas! Are Ryan and Jon coming too?” Brendon flings an arm around Spencer's waist to stop the spinning.
Spencer tugs on a stray piece of hair that has fallen free of Brendon's kind of amazing pompadour. “I was hoping you'd say you had costume ideas. Usually I just buy a stupid Halloween t-shirt from Target or do what ever Ryan says. Yeah, he and Jon, and their girlfriends are gonna be there. But they won't tell me what their costumes are.” Spencer frowns at the long glass window that runs along the front wall of the store, glad he's not caught in the downpour that came out of nowhere.
“I like Ryan, he's hilarious.” Brendon makes a face when his supervisor asks him to ring through a customer's order.
“You know he doesn't try to be funny, right? That's just his personality. But, I am not above laughing at him.”
Brendon hands the woman he's helped her change and says without looking at Spencer, “So, just mill around for like twenty minutes and then we can go, okay?”
* * *
Brendon won't tell Spencer what his ideas for their costumes are. He'd just sent an email asking Spencer for his veto list. Spencer had typed:
-high heels (for me)
-masks (for you and me)
-clowns (please fuck no, does anyone actually like clowns? Stupid fucking Stephen King and Pennywise have fucked up generations of possible circus going children for ever)
-and please for the love of all that's halloweeny no feathers (for me. I'd say ask Ryan and Jon but we agreed to never speak of that again)
So he only finds out when he arrives home early on the day of the party-he'd had to clarify to Brendon that yes, the party is on the 31st, because it's a Halloween party-and finds Brendon waiting for him on the front steps of his three-flat with garment bags, what looks like a hat box, and a backpack that seems even more full than usual.
“Hey, ready to get your Hallloween freak on?” Brendon jumps up and kisses Spencer.
“Trick or treat?” Spencer asks, taking the garment bags from Brendon and herding them inside.
Brendon motions for him to sit on the sofa and he makes grabby hands for the bags. “Okay, are you ready?” He's beaming and tapping his toe a mile a minute on the hardwood floor.
“Ready as I'll ever be,” Spencer drawls, stretching his arms along the back of the sofa, fixing Brendon with what he hopes is an expression of eager interest.
Undoing the zipper with a flourish, Brendon reaches in and extracts the first costume. “Tah dah! For you!” Spencer laughs when he sees it-an old school convict's costume-a one piece black and white striped jump suit and a little round hat. “There's a ball and chain in my back pack-shut up, by the way,” Brendon adds before Spencer can make the obvious joke.
“That's awesome. Looks pretty comfortable, given what you could have come up with. It'll make going to the bathroom a challenge, though,” Spencer catches the costume as Brendon throws it at him, inspecting it closely. There's only a single tie closure, at the back of the neck.
“You're a smart guy, you'll figure it out,” Brendon flashes a grin at Spencer and then pulls his costume out of the bag.
Spencer raises his eyebrow at the blue polyester police officer's jacket. “Cool, that's what I thought, you know after I saw my costume,” he waves one of the convict outfit's pant legs towards Brendon. “But, um...where are the pants?”
“Oh!” Brendon undoes the brass buttons on the front of the jacket and holds up a tiny navy blue strip of fabric.
“Umm...” Spencer is really confused.
Brendon drops the now empty garment bag and settles himself in Spencer's lap, “It's a skirt,” he whispers in Spencer's ear. “Unless...you think your friends won't appreciate drag?”
“Oh shit no, drag is awesome. They won't care. They're pretty open, accepting dudes. And they've been known to wear a dress every now and then.” Spencer brushes his lips across Brendon's and Brendon swivels around until he's straddling Spencer's thighs, arms looped loosely around Spencer's shoulders. “Awesome costumes; convict and the lady cop. Hot too.”
Brendon giggles and, after brushing a few light kisses against Spencer's mouth, says, “Putting lady in front of everything makes it more awesome. Lady cop. Lady doctor. My fav is Lady trucker.”
Deepening the kiss and letting his hands wander up under Brendon's shirt to stroke across the warm soft skin of his back, Spencer laughs and says, “Look out Lady Gaga here comes Lady Trucker,” into Brendon's open mouth, making them both laugh harder.
“I should start getting ready,” Brendon pulls away from the kiss with a wet smacking noise, and lifts Spencer's arm, turning his wrist so he can see the time on his watch.
“Yeah, you should,” but the only move Spencer makes is to trace his teeth down Brendon's neck and tuck his fingertips into the back of Brendon's jeans.
Wriggling, Brendon smacks Spencer's hand away and eventually manages to stand. “We'll be late.”
“So?” Spencer really doesn't see the problem. “It'll take me like, two seconds to get ready. Do you think I should just wear it over my clothes, or like shorts and a t-shirt?” He holds up the costume and shakes it out.
Brendon wrinkles up his nose, thinking for a second and say, “Well, it's polyester, so you'll probably get really hot really fast and you know...you sweat so...”
“Hey! No one is sweatier than you!” Spencer says defensively, then concedes that Brendon's probably right, “Boxers and t-shirt it is then.”
“And I don't sweat. I glisten!” Brendon makes a grumpy face and takes his make up case out of his back pack. Spencer thinks it's sort of hilarious that Brendon's make up case is a tool box. Especially considering he's pretty sure Brendon would be hard pressed to tell a wrench from a screwdriver. “There's the big mirror in the bedroom is you want.”
Brendon scoots on to the floor, his legs flat in front of him under the coffee table, “Nah, this is good.” He takes a terrycloth band out of the front pocket of his backpack and uses it to secure his hair back, fierce concentration in his eyes as he digs out foundation and sponges and a small mirror. He sets out various pallets and pots and brushes, lining them up in neat order. Spencer feels something slide rather painfully to a halt inside his rib cage.
Shit. He can't sit here watching Brendon put on make up without embarrassing himself, he's pretty sure. He exhales sharply through his nose and then, smacking his palms against his thighs, stands. “Guess I should try this thing on and make sure it fits, huh?” He grabs up his costume and then strides towards his bedroom. Brendon briefly looks up, a bemused expression on his face, and shrugs.
Spencer comes back into the living room clad in the prisoner's jump suit, and Brendon stops applying mascara to clap his hands and jump up, circling Spencer in appraisal. “You look hot.” He says with knowledgeable finality.
“Sure,” Spencer snorts out a laugh and then his eyes soften when he looks at Brendon, “So do you,” he says quietly, leaning in to kiss him.
Brendon ducks out of the way, waggling a finger at Spencer, “Dude, I just managed to get this shit to look like it's supposed to,” he makes vague circles around his heavily made up face. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to cover up stubble? Jesus, no matter how close I shave, I was cursed with dark hair. I wish I had the money for laser, seriously.” Brendon pouts and sets about returning his make up to its pouches and cases and then into his tool box.
Lasers anywhere near his face sounds infinitely terrifying to Spencer, but he tries to nod sympathetically. “Well, you look awesome, so what ever you did worked. I mean, not that you don't always look awesome. And man, I have a fucking beard and you never say anything when you slap that shit on my face.”
“Exactly. You have a beard. Also? You aren't dressing up as a lady cop. Lady cops do not have five o'clock shadows.” Brendon punctuates his words with knowing bobs of his head.
“You've never been to the south side...”
Brendon stand up and covers Spencer's mouth with two fingers, “Please do not finish that sentence. I know in my heart you aren't a sexist douchebag, so let's just keep it that way, huh?” He pastes on his sunniest smile and gathers up the rest of his things. “I'll be right back!” he says, sauntering towards Spencer's room.
“Where ya goin'?” Spencer cocks his hip against the living room doorway.
“To change into my costume?” Brendon seems confused that Spencer is asking.
Licking his lips and clearing his throat, Spencer says, his words a rushed jumble, “You don't have to...I mean you can change in here if you want,” he indicates the living room with a backwards flick of his head.
Confusion furrows Brendon's brow for a brief moment. “Spencer, I have occasionally had people offer me money to take off my clothes, but I can honestly say that no one has every invited me to dress for them.”
Spencer crosses his arms over his chest and frowns, “I didn't mean anything weird, I just thought that, you know, instead of having to cart everything around you could just...”
“There's no magic in that,” Brendon shakes his head sadly, “It's like...” he licks his lips, thinking, “It's like a magician, you know?”
“Um, no?” Spencer scratches at his beard and waits for Brendon to elaborate.
Shifting the weight of the bundle in his arms, Brendon leans against the wall beside Spencer. “It's like Gee told me when I first started doing this,” he looks down at the costume. “Got to keep the mystery, you now? Create the illusion? Not give away my secrets.”
“Oh okay!” Spencer smiles and brushes a barely there kiss to Brendon's cheek.
“And alright, mostly it makes me feel self-conscious. Getting pretty is hard work!” Brendon's nose wrinkles as he laughs.
Leaning in again, Spencer kisses Brendon softly on the lips, despite his protests about his make up. “I find that hard to believe,” he says quietly. “You're already beautiful.”
Brendon rolls his eyes and shoves playfully at Spencer's chest, putting some space between them, “Oh get lost,” he laughs. “I'm going to go do my thing now,” and he saunters the rest of the way down the small hallway.
Spencer returns to the living room, the polyester of his costume makes a zip-zip-zip noise with each step, and he laughs, thinking this must be what it's like to walk around in snow pants. He sits on the sofa and does his best to be patient as he waits for what seems like forever. He hears the click of the door knob, and gets to his feet when he hears the clacking of Brendon's heels. Only to sit back down, his mouth hanging open, “Holy shit!” he whispers in awe.
“Tah dah!” Brendon says in a playful voice an octave or two higher than his normal speaking voice. He raises an arm over his head and cants his hip, before winking and walking over to stand in front of Spencer. “Well?” the lightness of his tone doesn't match the wary concern in his eyes.
Reaching out and wrapping his hand around the expanse of bare flesh on Brendon's thigh that's visible between the very short skirt and very high heeled, tall, very black, very shiny, boots, Spencer swallows and says, “Holy shit,” and then he slides his palms up to Brendon's hips, tugging him down into his lap. “Don't tell me to not mess up your make up, you can fix it.” Is all Spencer says before winding one hand in the long shaggy tresses of Brendon's wig-the one he was wearing the night they met-and bringing their mouths together in a hungry, urgent kiss. “You are so fucking hot. Jesus.”
Brendon's smile widens against Spencer's mouth and he giggles through his nose, “If we're late, it's your fault.”
“Fuck those guys,” Spencer mumbles, tasting the fragile skin beneath Brendon's chin, and ignoring the weird chemical tang of the make up there. His hands roam slowly down Brendon's back to his hips and lower to trace the slippery edge of Brendon's boot where it's digging into his thigh. He pauses when his finger tip touches something plastic between the boot and Brendon's skin, and he tugs it free.
“Um,” Brendon's face reddens with embarrassed heat as Spencer stares at the small packet in his palm. “Homage to Pretty Woman?” he tries to laugh but his expression is shuttered by the thick fall of his lashes.
Slowly curling his fingers around the condom package, Spencer tilts Brendon's face up with a gentle finger under his chin, “Bren?”
Brendon sighs and rolls his eyes up to study the ceiling, “Well, you know. Be prepared and all that?” and he pries the condom out of Spencer's hand and tucks it back into the top of his boot.
Spencer secures Brendon in his lap by linking his finger's low against Brendon's back. “So you mean you want...”
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Brendon sighs and squeezes his eyes shut, but when he says, “Yes,” he's looking directly at Spencer.
“Oh,” Spencer kisses him again, tongue licking and tasting before Brendon opens up enough for him to flit across the inside of his mouth.
Pausing for breath, Brendon leans his forehead against Spencer's and says, “I mean, that is if you...you know, you want to. I guess I should ask that since you're the one who's gonna be...” he trails off and makes an awkward gesture with his fingers.
Spencer barks out a laugh and drops his head to the padded shoulder of Brendon's costume, “Do I want to? You have no idea. No. Idea.”
Brendon smiles, his hand palming down Spencer's chest, making a zipping noise against the polyester of his convict's costume. “I think I might have some idea,” he smirks, and cups the erection currently tenting the lower half of Spencer's outfit.
“You know what else I spend a lot of fucking time thinking about?” Spencer twists and without warning tilts so Brendon lands prone on the sofa beneath him. Delight and arousal shine in Brendon's dark eyes as he shakes his head, the shaggy stands of his wig spreading out over the couch. “Blowing you,” Spencer's voice is almost a growl as he slides down Brendon's body, nosing at his skirt and raising his hands.
Brendon yelps and clamps his knees together. His hands fly up to grab Spencer's forearms and he says a frantic,“Spencer, wait!” while trying to sit up. But, Spencer's hand has already found its way beneath Brendon's short skirt, and is now floundering across the entirely flat plane of Brendon's groin and plucking at the weird, stretchy fabric of Brendon's underwear.
“What the...?” Spencer sits up, confusion clear on his face and his hair sticking up in a thousand directions.
Managing to wriggle up into a semi-sitting position, his legs straddled by Spencer's thighs, Brendon swallows, and looks like he's going to cry, “That's why I went into your room to change. You're freaked out, right? Grossed out?”
Blinking and shaking his head, Spencer says, “Just kinda confused, actually.”
Shuddering out a sigh, Brendon smooths at his skirt and says, “Lady cops don't have dicks, Spence.”
“Ohhhkaay,” Spencer says slowly.
“So, like, when we're performing, and the costume is, you know, tight, we tuck, right?” Brendon still isn't looking at Spencer, just watching his finger nail scratch against the ugly weave of the sofa.
“Tuck?” Spencer winces.
“I'm pretty fucking sure you've seen Ace Ventura: Pet Detective right? Sean Young's character, at the end?” Brendon crosses his arms over chest and tries to move his legs out from underneath Spencer.
Spencer thinks about what Brendon's saying, and when everything clicks into place he makes a pained face, “So it's like a kind of girdle thingie? Shit. Doesn't that hurt?” He gives Brendon's thigh a little squeeze before swinging himself up and off him. He tugs Brendon to sitting and then wraps an arm around his shoulder.
“Well, you know, suffer for beauty,” Brendon snorts out a laugh, still embarrassed. “And man, I've never been, you know...horny in um, full drag before, if you get what I'm saying. It's kinda...not the best feeling ever.” He grimaces, mouth pulled down and nose scrunched up, and shifts back and forth. “To be honest, I sort of always thought I'd be able to get it up for you any time, any where. But maybe not so much,” he scratches at his nose and chuckles low in the back of his throat, “Maybe not so much right now.” He pats Spencer's thigh in consolation.
Spencer smacks a kiss to Brendon's temple and then sighs loudly, “Okay. I get that. So, lets just go to this fucking party; have an ace time. Then, when you've had enough of my hipster douchebag friends, we'll leave and free you from your...” Spencer waves his hands at Brendon, “And see what happens.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Brendon laughs and kisses the tip of Spencer's nose. “How can I refuse such a romantic offer.”
“Fuck you, I'm just concerned for your...circulation,” Spencer stands and puts on his jacket.
“Aw, always looking out for me!” Brendon laughs and hands Spencer the little round hat that completes his costume. “Let me just go see what kind of state my make up is in, then we can leave, okay?” He heads towards the bathroom and then over his shoulder says, “And I believe I'll be the one fucking you.”
* * *
They hear the party before they can even see the apartment block, and Spencer briefly feels pangs of pity for Bill and Sisky's neighbors before he's drawn back into the ridiculous story about bar patrons Brendon's been telling since they got off the El. The ride across town was uneventful and Brendon had been vocal and affectionate, holding Spencer's hand and at one point when there had only been one free seat, sitting in his lap. In public Brendon's usually tentative and careful with displays of affection, never holding his hand for too long or doing more than brushing a kiss to his cheek, but with the train full of costumed and somewhat drunk Halloween revelers, it seems to Spencer that Brendon feels safe. So he clings more, and holds his hand longer and kisses him for long, dizzying minutes.
Reaching the front door of the ramshackle building, Spencer doesn't knock, just turns the knob and holds the door wide for Brendon, then ushering him through. They're almost immediately swallowed up by the crowd and as Spencer accepts a red solo cup, half full of what tastes like the bottom of the keg, it takes him a minute to cleave the crowd enough to get back to Brendon's side and discover what has him convulsing with laughter. Ryan is standing at Brendon's side, his expression somewhere between a smile and a scowl as he watches Brendon's reaction to his costume.
He's dressed as a banana. A giant, shiny, banana. He's encased in bright yellow polyester, arms and legs free, and his gormless face is peering out from a small round hole. “Keltie's a monkey,” he offers by way of explanation for his costume choice.
“Oh my god! Do not explain to Bee why she calls you Banana Pants. No one needs to know that much about you two,” Spencer spits out in disgust, linking his fingers with Brendon's and leading them deeper into the crowded apartment.
“Holy shit, Ryan is so hilarious!” Brendon giggles into his hand as he follows Spencer, carefully picking his was through the throng of people, avoiding landing a stiletto heel to any hands or feet of the large number of partiers sprawled every which way on the hardwood floor.
Spencer comes to an abrupt stop, and Brendon's boot heels clatter against the bare floor tiles as he tries not to spill the drink he's magically acquired in their journey from the front door. “Bill, this is Brendon,” Spencer holds up their joined hands and nods at a guy dressed as a vampire sitting on the couch, all plastic cape and slicked back hair. He gets to his feet and Brendon has to take a step back to see his face because this guy is tall. “Brendon,” Bill takes Brendon's hand in his and instead of shaking it, turns it over to brush a kiss across the top of his knuckles,“Enchanté, I'm William, your humble host,” he slurs around his plastic fangs.
Brendon gives Spencer an is this guy for real? look before smiling and replying, “Nice to meet you. Great party.” He wriggles his hand free and takes his drink back from Spencer.
“They always are, and the night is young,” William replies confidently, just in time to be tackled by a tiny guy with a crazy mass of blond curly hair. The two of them collapse back onto the couch, laughing and spilling their beer on a disgruntled cat, who hisses and slinks away. “And this, dear Brendon, is your co-host for the evening, Mr. Adam T. Siska, or as he's affectionately known around these parts-Sisky.” William puts Sisky in a headlock and they both start howling.
Rolling his eyes, Spencer begins to pick his way through the crowded apartment, and by way of farewell, Brendon says, “I love your costume, the 80s were the best. I wish I could get my hair to do that.”
Sisky looks down at his oversized basketball shorts and Bulls jersey, then runs his hand through the messy asymmetrical cut of his hair. He's a little confused by Brendon's compliment, because his last minute costume-a white bed sheet ghost, complete with roughly cut out holes for eyes-is wadded up in the hallway underneath Mike. But he just says, “thanks!” with a blushing smile.
“You hungry?” Spencer leans close to yell into Brendon's ear over the din of music and drunk people.
Pausing to give Spencer his best affronted pout, Brendon says, “It's like you don't even know me. I'm always hungry.”
“Of course you are. Silly me,” Spencer kisses his cheek. “They usually have like wings and dip and that kind of shit at these things.” Spencer squeezes Brendon's hip as he guides him through the crowd. Somebody's shoved a long table covered in a cheap plastic tablecloth printed with bats and ghosts and jack-o-lanterns against a long wall, and it's loaded with various kinds of party food and hors d'oeuvres.
As he's piling his plate high for the two of them to share, Spencer hears a high pitched, enthusiastic, “Oh my god! You're Brendon!” just as Brendon is swallowed in a hug by a blond woman in a brown leotard and tights. “You're gorgeous!” she steps back out of the hug, appraising Brendon and his costume. “And, can I just say that has got to be the raddest smokey eye I have ever seen. Did you do your own make up?”
“This is Ryan's girlfriend, Keltie,” Spencer interjects as the two compare beauty school experiences and the merits of MAC's color pigments.
“Oh! The monkey!” Brendon reaches out a hand to tweak the felt ears Keltie has attached to a brown plastic headband.
Keltie snags a baby carrot from Spencer's heaping plate and laughs. “Yup! You see my Banana Pants? Best couples costume ever or what?”
Sighing, Spencer reels Brendon in close, arm tight around his waist. “Please, please, do not scar Bren for life and share the origins of your nickname for Ry.”
Brendon pats Spencer's hand where it rests possessively on his hip, fingers fiddling with the cheap plastic handcuffs Brendon had bought at the dollar store. Ray, the tailor who makes all of Brendon's costumes, had refused to allow him real handcuffs, and Brendon had to admit that was probably for the best. The likelihood of him losing the keys was high. Although when he'd first come up with the idea for their costumes, Brendon he had spent longer than was strictly healthy thinking about what Spencer would look like cuffed to the headboard. “Gee Spence, for someone into dick, you sure spend a lot of time embarrassed at the thought of anyone else talking about it.”
Making a strangled noise at the back of his throat, Spencer says, “Ryan is my best friend. I do not want to spend any time thinking about his cock. Ever.” Several people within earshot smirk and laugh at Spencer's outburst.
Kissing Spencer soundly, and flinging a comfortable arm around Keltie's shoulder, Brendon says “It's kind of hard not to. It's just so there. Am I right?” and he and Keltie giggle as Spencer makes noises of protesting disgust.
“Poor baby,” Keltie smiles in sympathy at Spencer and, filching another carrot off Spencer's plate says, “I better go find my date and make sure we're together when The Butcher starts judging the costumes.”
In the midst of chewing a giant bite of nacho dip, Brendon says, “Oh! There's a costume contest? Spencer Smith! You didn't tell me that!” Brendon's eyes light up at the prospect.
Shrugging before he shoves a handful of nachos into his mouth, Spencer crunches the chips between his teeth and carefully swallows a mouthful of beer before answering, “Didn't know there was. But, if there's a Smoking Fucking Hot award, you are so in.” He says the last words against Brendon's jaw where he mouths at a faint bottle-green vein.
“You sure about that? You haven't seen me and Cassie yet.” Jon comes up and elbows Spencer in the side. Brendon can't hide the giggle that escapes him. Jon is dressed as a hippie-bell bottoms, tie-dyed t-shirt, long wig, and little round glasses. Cassie joins him, handing over a red cup of beer and smiles hello. She's wearing a mini-skirt muumuu, tied at the waist with a macrame belt, daisies in her long flowing hair, and a giant peace sign pendant around her neck.
“Nah, we still win!” Spencer hugs Brendon as he introduces him to Cassie.
“Oh right, you work at MAC. Spencer was telling me I should stop by and you'll hook me up.” Cassie tips her cup towards Brendon, who smiles and tips up his own. “If you're interested and can get out to the burbs, I will totally trade you some pilates classes for some make up, or a make up lesson or something?”
“Really?” Brendon's entire face lights up. “That would be amazing. I took some yoga classes at the Y and really liked them.” Handing his beer cup to Spencer, Brendon does some weird stretching thing that ultimately ends up with him perching on one high heeled foot, the other balanced carefully along the inside of his thigh. “I'm pretty bendy.”
Spencer blinks and swallows and tries to think about anything except how bendy Brendon is, and how much he could possibly enjoy finding out the extent of that bendiness. In his convict's jumpsuit, there is absolutely no way to hide exactly how exciting the prospect of finding out is to Spencer. “Um, hey, I'm just gonna,” Spencer nods his head towards an empty window seat and starts to work his way through the tight knot of people around the food area before he totally embarrasses himself.
As he looks back to make sure Brendon knows where he's headed, he sees that Keltie and Cassie have joined Brendon in an impromptu yoga stretching class. Brendon and Keltie seem to be competing in a 'who's more flexible' contest. Spencer stares at them, growling as he takes a particularly vicious bite of a chicken wing. Eventually, the three of them realize they're in the middle of a party, so they collapse against each other, laughing and hugging before splitting up to find their dates.
“Spencer! Your friends are so great.” Brendon plonks himself down into Spencer's lap, dropping his arm around Spencer's shoulders. He leans over to pick his beer up and Spencer is hypnotized by the dip and flex of Brendon's thigh muscles beneath the tight layer of his blue polyester skirt.
“You seem surprised,” Spencer mumbles in a low, distracted voice. He bows his head to trace the tendons in Brendon's neck, nipping at them with his teeth then soothing the sting with his tongue.
Giggling at the sensation, Brendon presses his hands palm flat against Spencer's chest to get him to ease up. “No, not surprised, really.” He shrugs and wrinkles up his nose. “It's just I guess I've managed to surround myself with freaks and losers like me I feel comfortable around, so I never thought normal people would be...”
Spencer rests his head against Brendon's shoulder, squeezing his hips and bobbling him on his lap to a more agreeable position. “Dude, if you think these guys are normal you don't even know...” He cuts his glance to where Travie and Mike are doing some improvised version of beer pong with paper plate paddles and votive candle holders.
“They don't care that I'm...that we're...” Brendon takes Spencer's face between his hands and kisses him gently.
Spencer scowls. “Of course they don't. They're my friends. You make me happy. I told you, Bee, not everyone's an asshole about this shit.” He hugs Brendon close, pressing his lips to Brendon's temple.
They sit wound around each other in the shallow recess of the window seat, and Spencer points out people he knows and how they know each other, and Brendon laughs at the stories he tells of parties past. It feels right and good, and Spencer feels the kind of happy he guesses is what people mean when they say they're content. It spreads out from his bones and makes it possible to think that holding Brendon close like this is all he ever wants to do. Eventually their conversation drops away. Brendon hums along to whatever Bill and Sisky have blasting through the stereo and Spencer occasionally raises a hand in greeting as someone he knows walks by. He always introduces Brendon, but other than that they just sit there quietly, enjoying each others' company.
“Uh oh,” Brendon holds up his empty cup and shakes it sadly, “Why is the beer always gone?”
Spencer laughs, “Take it easy, Princess. If you get off me, once feeling returns to my legs, I will go get you more beer.” He shakes his knees back and forth and Brendon laughs, slow-motion falling onto the padded cushion of the window seat bench.
“My Hero!” Brendon bats his long eyelashes up at Spencer and squeezes his hand before pressing the empty cup into it.
Crossing to the kitchen, where the keg is located, takes forever. Spencer can't count the number of people who are pressed close in the apartment, but it makes getting anywhere near impossible. Not only is navigating through the bodies a problem, every time Spencer runs into someone he knows, they drag him into conversation. By the time he reaches the keg, The Butcher is closing the tap and rolling the whole thing off to the back door. “Bad timing, dude. Grab some cups and the new keg will be ready in a few. You try my mom's meatballs?”
“Uh, yeah. I think so? They were good.” Spencer holds up the two cups he's brought with him, letting The Butcher know that he'd come prepared, and leans against the counter. More people make their way into the kitchen and a line starts to form as Spencer listens to The Butcher give a long detailed soliloquy about the lengths he's gone to to get his mother's meatball recipe. Finally the line is hooked up to the new keg, the tap is running and after a few foamy cups, The Butcher holds out his hands for Spencer's solo cups, returning them full.
By the time Spencer makes it back to where he started, Brendon is no longer in the window seat-two giggling drunk girls he's never seen before in his life are-and the wide, carpeted area in front of the window has been adopted as a dance floor. It's packed with bodies flailing and gyrating, and Spencer stands there for a few seconds trying to figure out what the hell happened in the fifteen minutes he was in the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jon and Ryan pressed against the wall so he heads towards them.
“You were right, Brendon does have an amazing ass,” Jon says in a matter of fact way, half turned towards Ryan.
Any thought of asking his friends if they've seen Brendon disappears with what he's overheard, so Spencer says, “Okay, so, not that I'm not in one hundred percent agreement with you, but a)why are you looking at my boyfriend's ass? and b)Ryan, why have you been talking about my boyfriend's ass? and c)you two have finally got up to the Kinsey scale in sociology class, haven't you?” Spencer's scowl falters when he follows Ryan and Jon's gazes to see Brendon doing a mean mash up of the funky chicken with what he's pretty sure his dad told him had once been called the Melvin.
And yeah, okay, Brendon's ass is totally amazing but, really.
Ryan has the good grace to look sheepish, and says, “Yeah, so we're just trying to be supportive. And the Kinsey Scale is totally interesting.” It's all the explanation Spencer's going to get, so he just shakes his head and laughs.
“Man, you better go break that shit up. Poor young Sisky seems quite smitten with your fella, and I'm pretty sure he hasn't actually figured out the fella part, yet.” Jon tips his cup towards the couple and Spencer growls, low and possessive. Sisky is gazing adoringly up at Brendon while his hands roam lower and lower down Brendon's back, his fingers stretching out to stroke over the high swell of Brendon's bottom.
“Dude, what the fuck are you doing to my boyfriend?” Spencer intentionally steps close into Sisky's personal space, arms crossed and glowering.
When Sisky stops cold and manages a gob smacked “Boyfriend?” Brendon swats Spencer on the shoulder and says, “Dancing, silly. You left me all alone!” before affecting an exaggerated pout.
“I went to get your beer!” Spencer holds the cup out and Brendon takes it, swallowing an enthusiastic gulp, wiping delicately at the sweat on his upper lip, and then hooking his arms over Spencer's shoulders.
Sisky's all but forgotten as they start to sway with the music; a slow song that's cleared out some space on the dance floor. “Hi,” Spencer whispers, carefully holding his cup against Brendon's hip as he reels him in close. He kisses Brendon's nose, making him smile, and presses his lips softly against Brendon's mouth.
“Hi,” Brendon smiles beneath the kiss. “I missed you. I think Ryan and Jon were checking me out. That's weird, right?”
“Shh, don't ruin the moment,” Spencer says, but he's chuckling under his breath. “There is not enough time in the day to talk about how weird Ryan and Jon are. Let's just dance, okay?”
Brendon sways his hips across Spencer's and hums agreement under his breath. He rests his head on Spencer's shoulder as they continue to move in gentle time with the music that's filling the space in the room that's not occupied by the buzzing chatter of party goers. Spencer thinks about what Brendon told him earlier, that his friends are awesome. And they are. He's never worried what they think of him; how they'd react to his coming out, or bringing Brendon around.
And here he is standing in the middle of the room dancing with a guy, kissing and touching a guy, and no one cares. It's no big deal. Everyone's been really sweet to Brendon, and happy for Spencer. He's lucky--and he never even knew it until Brendon had brought it up. Spencer frowns a little when he wonders what's happened to Brendon that his positive treatment at the party has come as such a surprise to him.
He's shaken from his revery when Brendon says, very quietly, just a soft brush of air against Spencer's ear, “I think I'm ready to go now, Spence.”
Spencer stops dancing and backs up a little so he can look at Brendon. “You tired?”
Brendon gives him a sweet smile and shakes his head back and forth, the long hairs of his wig brushing his cheeks. “Your foot hurt?” Spencer asks, concerned as he's petting down Brendon's arms.
“No, I'm just...I think I'm ready to...you know. To go home.” Brendon stammers and blushes and looks at his hands where they're still resting on Spencer's broad shoulders.
It takes a minute for Spencer to parse exactly what it is Brendon is trying to tell him. But when it does, all the breath leaves his lungs and he manages to husk out, “You mean you want to...”
“Uh huh,” Brendon licks his lips and toys with the ties at the back of Spencer's neck.
Cupping Brendon's cheek in his palm, Spencer asks quietly, “Are you sure? I mean you're not like, drunk or anything are you? I don't want you to do something you're not ready for just because you think I want to...”
Brendon licks his lips in confusion, “No, I'm not drunk. You want to...you know...don't you? With me?” He sounds small and uncertain and Spencer's not exactly sure how that happened.
“Shit, yes,” Spencer's voice is raw as he leans his forehead against Brendon's.
“Well okay then,” Brendon smiles and kisses Spencer. He slides his hand carefully into Spencer's and leads them through the party and to the front door. “I want this Spencer. I want this, with you.” He says with finality as he opens the door and steps out into the street.
NEXT