The Perfect Gifts Are Little And Lacy (Brendon/Spencer, adult)
The Perfect Gifts Are Little And Lacy
bandom || Spencer/Brendon (PATD) || adult || 2505 words
This is fiction. Except that Brendon's favorite store really is Victoria's Secret, according to a couple of interviews. If you got here by googling yourself, for the love of whatever deities you worship, please click the back button.
Um, you might guess from the previous line that there's some cross-dressing to be found here. If that's not your thing, you might not want to read this.
Beta'd by shutyourface and why_me_why_not. Follows Retaliation.
If you're curious, this is what Brendon's wearing.
*
It starts as a joke. Well, and because Brendon can't keep his mouth shut. Spencer knows, okay? It's not that Brendon means to share every detail of their sex life, but that stupid song got stuck in his head, and he hates it - the lyrics are so ridiculously trite - and his alteration is awesomely appropriate.
"He bit my ass, and I liked it, dah dah dah dah dada dah dah..."
Singing it in front of Ryan is unintentional, though. Ryan's a prissy bitch sometimes, and he acts all amazed and appalled at the stuff that Brendon and Spencer do together, which is ridiculous. Brendon has shared a bus with Ryan Ross for years, and he knows what that kinky fucker gets up to when his girlfriend rides along. Spencer's cheeks pink, and his eyes glaze as he watches Brendon, and Brendon worms it out of him later: he couldn't help thinking about the video Katy Perry made to her song, the women and the lingerie and the dress, and. Yeah.
So, Brendon's totally down with this. He's giving Spencer something he wants without making him ask for it. Plus: kinky sex is always a bonus.
Brendon likes lingerie. He liked it when his girlfriends wore silky, lacy panties and fancy bras and teddies. He likes the way the slippery, shiny fabric looks, alternately showing and hiding flesh, and the way it feels when he touches it. More than once he'd asked Lana to leave stockings and such on while they fucked, and she'd obliged. He's willing to go shopping himself - he was not lying in those interviews when he said Victoria's Secret was his very favorite shop - but apparently his and Spencer's oversharing got further shared with one Keltie Colleen, and when she joins them for a few days, she insists on "helping".
He has a grand time shopping with Keltie. They watch the I Kissed A Girl video (muted, because Brendon is not a masochist, no matter what Spencer thinks) a few times, and he points out the bustier and the other things (he doesn't even know what they're called, okay?) and stockings he thinks are hot. When they get to the store, Keltie has him handle them, though, and he really doesn't like the way the metal and hard plastic feel in his hands; they go right back onto the rack. He eyes thigh-highs indecisively while Keltie picks out a few things for herself. Then she gathers an armful of additional items and shoves Brendon into one of the changing rooms with an ordered, "See which ones fit," standing guard while he obeys.
He feels like the world's biggest pervert, trying on a lacy black camisole. There is no way he's actually putting on the panties. He holds them against his hips, and yeah, they look like they fit, but his dick will likely be dangling out one leg-hole, he thinks. Keltie wants to see, but no way is he opening the door with this on. He makes his choices and purchases them, waiting while the salesgirl wraps everything in pink tissue paper and the distinctive Victoria's Secret shopping bag. (He tells himself that anyone watching probably thinks he's buying something for his girlfriend. Boyfriend. Whatever.) He makes Keltie wait until they get back to the bus. Then, feeling like the grandest ass (heh) he models them for her. For a long long moment, she looks at him, her face completely blank. Then she mutters, "Everything I can do, he can do better," followed by "Spencer'll love it." In swift order, her own bags are gathered and she's gone. Brendon takes the underwear off and tucks them back in the bag. He's not sure he's really going to go through with it.
(He, Spencer, and Jon are banned from the back lounge that night. Ryan wears a goofy grin for hours the next morning. Brendon really does not want to know.)
A few days later, though, during which Ryan gives Brendon weird looks and Spencer acts oddly expectant, he showers after the show and puts the underthings on beneath his jeans and shirt. And. It's weird, the soft fabric and scratch of lace. The panties really don't support anything, but he likes the way the elastic rides low on his hipbones and the rear is short, so his ass shows to its best advantage. And they're low cut enough not to be noticeable under his jeans. The camisole is an extra layer of fabric that clings even tighter than his tshirts, catching cotton sometimes. He's aware of every nerve ending, and he can't be still, even though his post-show high has worn itself off.
Jon, Zack and Eric join the techs for a poker match and Ryan's occupied with a newly edited collection of Bukowski's short stories, and he and Spencer have the lounge to themselves. They've got Iron Man playing again, Spencer wedged in the corner of the sofa, Brendon's head in his lap, feet propped against the opposite arm. Brendon's twitchy, wriggling his hips and tugging at the hem of his shirt, aware of his skin and his body in a way he usually isn't.
He doesn't know when or how he's going to reveal his surprise to Spencer, hasn't decided when he feels Spencer's hand move from petting his hair to palming his stomach, half on, half under his tshirt, and. That's lace between their skins.
Brendon likes the way that feels. A lot.
Brendon stays still, his eyes on the TV, although he has absolutely no idea what's going on with Stark Industries. Spencer's fingers slide further under his shirt, trace the diamond pattern of the lacy fabric beneath it, and he shivers.
"Brendon, are you..." Spencer sounds a little uncertain, but definitely curious. Brendon finally turns his head, deliberately pushing it deeper into Spencer's lap as he does.
"Am I?" He wants Spencer to say it.
"Do you have- are you- are these-" Spencer scratches at the camisole lightly before moving to Brendon's jeans and tugging the buttons open, spreading the fly to reveal the scalloped edge of the matching underpants. "Oh fuck, they are."
So, yeah, this started as a joke, humoring one of Spencer's whims, but Brendon can see the surprise and heat on Spencer's face, and his last reservation vanishes. Spencer shifts, moving, pushing Brendon off his lap and to his feet.
"I want to see, come on."
It's. Okay, Brendon likes it when Spencer watches him, but he's never actually spent time on the undressing part of sex; usually they're in a hurry to get to the touching/fucking/coming portion of the agenda. He feels oddly tentative as he stands there, illuminated by the flickering light from the TV. He reaches for the bottom of his tshirt and pulls it up, over his head, and lets it drop to the floor. His hands flutter nervously for a second, then he anchors his thumbs in his beltloops and cocks his hip at Spencer. Spencer's silent, but his mouth drops open, and he settles deeper into his spot on the sofa, his legs spread slightly wider, his eyes studying Brendon intently.
Brendon can do this. It's like a private performance. And he is good at putting on a show.
A deep breath in, out, and Brendon lets his shoulders drop. He runs one hand up his torso, lets it linger as it crosses the inches of bare skin between the panties and the bottom of the camisole. He traces the edge, and watches Spencer - Spencer's eyes follow his hands, and his lips part as his breathing speeds up. Brendon lets his fingertips meander across the diamond pattern, up his chest to slide under the length of on strap before brushing across his collarbone and back down, into his jeans, to curl around his dick.
Brendon closes his eyes and lets his head fall back.
"Stop teasing and show me." Spencer's voice is husky, and Brendon can hear anticipation and eagerness in the growled order.
Brendon looks at Spencer again, flashes him a wicked grin before hooking his thumbs into the loops of his jeans and pushing them down. He kicks them off, and he really doesn't care, usually he'll let his clothing lay where it falls until he needs clean stuff again, but just for the hell of it, he bends and picks them up. He turns his back on Spencer and takes his time, shaking the denim out and folding them, bending to put them on the chair in the corner.
All in all, he's pretty pleased when he hears Spencer's choked breath.
He allows himself to look back over his shoulder and sees that Spencer's palming himself, his other hand gripping a sofa cushion tightly, his eyes pinched closed. He presses the heel of his hand to his groin and shudders, and when he opens his eyes, Spencer catches Brendon looking.
"Come here."
It's not far, just a few feet, but Brendon takes his time, puts a little sway in his steps. He stands there, his knees between Spencer's, and waits. Spencer sits up, but he doesn't touch, just looks. Brendon starts to feel self-conscious again under Spencer's gaze, so heavy and intent, but he's turned on, so turned on, because the way Spencer looks at him... it's almost like a drug. He really wants Spencer to touch him now. He traces the edge of the panties' leg, adjusts himself as best he can - the panties are a light net of lace and fabric, and they don't actually hold him in, and now that he's turned on, it's just weird, because he's mostly uncovered, pointing toward Spencer like an awkward compass. Spencer leans forward and pulls him close, close enough to rest his forehead on Brendon's stomach. He rubs his nose against the camisole, and Brendon's busy cataloguing the involuntary rise of goosebumps that comes from the scrape of beard through the delicate fabric when Spencer sinks down enough to press a light kiss to the faint line of hair that begins where the lace ends. He trails his hands up and down Brendon's sides before letting them curve around his back and down to squeeze his ass. Brendon's dick twitches; he's already so hard, and they haven't really even done anything yet. Brendon anchors his hands in Spencer's hair and tries not to shift restlessly, but he can't help but push back into Spencer's hands, just a little.
That's enough for Spencer - he pulls Brendon so that he straddles his lap, and it's not a frenzy or anything, but there are a few minutes that are a blur of kissing and groping, denim and lace rubbing together, and Spencer's hands. At first the grip is firm, but not demanding. The slip-slide of Brendon's mouth and tongue on Spencer's gets deeper, messier, and Spencer's grip grows tighter, until Brendon can barely move. He's used to being in control when he's on top like this, setting the pace with a roll of his hips and flex of his thighs, but he can't now. He can only angle into it when Spencer relaxes against the sofa-back and rocks up against him.
He leans back and just looks. Jesus Christ, Spencer is hot like this. His hair is askew, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his beard a sharp contrast to the soft pink of his lips. The bottom one is tugged between straight white teeth, and Brendon wants that, the scrape of beard on his cheeks and the nip of sharp teeth. He crowds back in, chest to chest, but it's Spencer's turn to tease now, and he grants short kisses, a swipe of lips and away, another and then away, then back, until Brendon tugs Spencer's hair and holds his mouth where he wants it. With Spencer's face tilted up at him, Brendon plants his hottest, dirtiest kisses on him, grinning into it when he feels the puff of Spencer's exhaled groan.
He untangles one hand to reach down and tug Spencer's zipper down, pushing fabric out of the way until there's just a layer of panties between them, so narrow it just covers his balls and the base of his cock, and lines up so he can push their cocks together. Spencer's hands tighten on his ass, and Brendon wonders if he's going to have finger-shaped bruises on his butt-cheeks. The thought sends a shiver through him, and he pushes down against Spencer. He manages one awkward stroke together, then abandons that to palm the head of Spencer's cock.
Brendon knows they're not going to get to this right now, can't. He can tell by the way Spencer moves and the hitch in his breath each time Brendon's thumb circles the head of his cock. They're both already worked up even though Spencer's barely even moving. But he says it anyway, bows his head and whispers in Spencer's ear, "I want you to fuck me like this. With these lacy girls' underwear still on, dangling on one leg or just pushed to the side because you're in such a hurry. And I want you to suck my cock with them on, just push the panties aside for your mouth, do it with your eyes open so you can see how it looks."
Spencer's hands move on Brendon's ass, his fingertips squeezing and spreading him, holding him down as he pushes up. Brendon wants to move but all he can do is feel it when Spencer's hips roll up against his, letting Spencer's hold on him direct his movement otherwise.
Brendon feels like he has miles and miles of skin, and all of it's sensitized. Spencer's lips and beard are on his mouth, cheeks, and neck; the fabric of the camisole clings to his torso; the hot, sweaty bulk of Spencer is broad and steady beneath him; denim scrapes his inner thighs; elastic bites at his hips, where the panties are stretched tight now; most of all, Spencer's cock is heavy against his, and the panties' smooth fabric is slippery against his balls, and-oh, fuck! Spencer's fingertip pushes into him, dry, but not at all tentative or unwelcome. It stings, but Brendon doesn't care, because Spencer aims unerringly for his prostate, and Brendon's done. He can't breathe, can't speak, can't see, can't do anything but clench against the probing finger, tensing as he comes, slick and hot against Spencer's cock, their stomachs.
Spencer's grip on Brendon tightens, and Brendon opens his eyes in time to watch as Spencer's head falls back against the sofa, his neck a pale arc, as he comes too.
They slump together, catching their breath. Brendon is sweaty and sticky, and they both need a shower. Again. Spencer's t-shirt and Brendon's panties and camisole have come splattered and rubbed in.
Spencer finally unclamps a hand from Brendon's ass and touches a gentle fingertip to the fabric, tracing it lightly. "Sorry I ruined them."
"They're washable. And they were on sale, buy two get one free."
bandom || Spencer/Brendon (PATD) || adult || 2505 words
This is fiction. Except that Brendon's favorite store really is Victoria's Secret, according to a couple of interviews. If you got here by googling yourself, for the love of whatever deities you worship, please click the back button.
Um, you might guess from the previous line that there's some cross-dressing to be found here. If that's not your thing, you might not want to read this.
Beta'd by shutyourface and why_me_why_not. Follows Retaliation.
If you're curious, this is what Brendon's wearing.
*
It starts as a joke. Well, and because Brendon can't keep his mouth shut. Spencer knows, okay? It's not that Brendon means to share every detail of their sex life, but that stupid song got stuck in his head, and he hates it - the lyrics are so ridiculously trite - and his alteration is awesomely appropriate.
"He bit my ass, and I liked it, dah dah dah dah dada dah dah..."
Singing it in front of Ryan is unintentional, though. Ryan's a prissy bitch sometimes, and he acts all amazed and appalled at the stuff that Brendon and Spencer do together, which is ridiculous. Brendon has shared a bus with Ryan Ross for years, and he knows what that kinky fucker gets up to when his girlfriend rides along. Spencer's cheeks pink, and his eyes glaze as he watches Brendon, and Brendon worms it out of him later: he couldn't help thinking about the video Katy Perry made to her song, the women and the lingerie and the dress, and. Yeah.
So, Brendon's totally down with this. He's giving Spencer something he wants without making him ask for it. Plus: kinky sex is always a bonus.
Brendon likes lingerie. He liked it when his girlfriends wore silky, lacy panties and fancy bras and teddies. He likes the way the slippery, shiny fabric looks, alternately showing and hiding flesh, and the way it feels when he touches it. More than once he'd asked Lana to leave stockings and such on while they fucked, and she'd obliged. He's willing to go shopping himself - he was not lying in those interviews when he said Victoria's Secret was his very favorite shop - but apparently his and Spencer's oversharing got further shared with one Keltie Colleen, and when she joins them for a few days, she insists on "helping".
He has a grand time shopping with Keltie. They watch the I Kissed A Girl video (muted, because Brendon is not a masochist, no matter what Spencer thinks) a few times, and he points out the bustier and the other things (he doesn't even know what they're called, okay?) and stockings he thinks are hot. When they get to the store, Keltie has him handle them, though, and he really doesn't like the way the metal and hard plastic feel in his hands; they go right back onto the rack. He eyes thigh-highs indecisively while Keltie picks out a few things for herself. Then she gathers an armful of additional items and shoves Brendon into one of the changing rooms with an ordered, "See which ones fit," standing guard while he obeys.
He feels like the world's biggest pervert, trying on a lacy black camisole. There is no way he's actually putting on the panties. He holds them against his hips, and yeah, they look like they fit, but his dick will likely be dangling out one leg-hole, he thinks. Keltie wants to see, but no way is he opening the door with this on. He makes his choices and purchases them, waiting while the salesgirl wraps everything in pink tissue paper and the distinctive Victoria's Secret shopping bag. (He tells himself that anyone watching probably thinks he's buying something for his girlfriend. Boyfriend. Whatever.) He makes Keltie wait until they get back to the bus. Then, feeling like the grandest ass (heh) he models them for her. For a long long moment, she looks at him, her face completely blank. Then she mutters, "Everything I can do, he can do better," followed by "Spencer'll love it." In swift order, her own bags are gathered and she's gone. Brendon takes the underwear off and tucks them back in the bag. He's not sure he's really going to go through with it.
(He, Spencer, and Jon are banned from the back lounge that night. Ryan wears a goofy grin for hours the next morning. Brendon really does not want to know.)
A few days later, though, during which Ryan gives Brendon weird looks and Spencer acts oddly expectant, he showers after the show and puts the underthings on beneath his jeans and shirt. And. It's weird, the soft fabric and scratch of lace. The panties really don't support anything, but he likes the way the elastic rides low on his hipbones and the rear is short, so his ass shows to its best advantage. And they're low cut enough not to be noticeable under his jeans. The camisole is an extra layer of fabric that clings even tighter than his tshirts, catching cotton sometimes. He's aware of every nerve ending, and he can't be still, even though his post-show high has worn itself off.
Jon, Zack and Eric join the techs for a poker match and Ryan's occupied with a newly edited collection of Bukowski's short stories, and he and Spencer have the lounge to themselves. They've got Iron Man playing again, Spencer wedged in the corner of the sofa, Brendon's head in his lap, feet propped against the opposite arm. Brendon's twitchy, wriggling his hips and tugging at the hem of his shirt, aware of his skin and his body in a way he usually isn't.
He doesn't know when or how he's going to reveal his surprise to Spencer, hasn't decided when he feels Spencer's hand move from petting his hair to palming his stomach, half on, half under his tshirt, and. That's lace between their skins.
Brendon likes the way that feels. A lot.
Brendon stays still, his eyes on the TV, although he has absolutely no idea what's going on with Stark Industries. Spencer's fingers slide further under his shirt, trace the diamond pattern of the lacy fabric beneath it, and he shivers.
"Brendon, are you..." Spencer sounds a little uncertain, but definitely curious. Brendon finally turns his head, deliberately pushing it deeper into Spencer's lap as he does.
"Am I?" He wants Spencer to say it.
"Do you have- are you- are these-" Spencer scratches at the camisole lightly before moving to Brendon's jeans and tugging the buttons open, spreading the fly to reveal the scalloped edge of the matching underpants. "Oh fuck, they are."
So, yeah, this started as a joke, humoring one of Spencer's whims, but Brendon can see the surprise and heat on Spencer's face, and his last reservation vanishes. Spencer shifts, moving, pushing Brendon off his lap and to his feet.
"I want to see, come on."
It's. Okay, Brendon likes it when Spencer watches him, but he's never actually spent time on the undressing part of sex; usually they're in a hurry to get to the touching/fucking/coming portion of the agenda. He feels oddly tentative as he stands there, illuminated by the flickering light from the TV. He reaches for the bottom of his tshirt and pulls it up, over his head, and lets it drop to the floor. His hands flutter nervously for a second, then he anchors his thumbs in his beltloops and cocks his hip at Spencer. Spencer's silent, but his mouth drops open, and he settles deeper into his spot on the sofa, his legs spread slightly wider, his eyes studying Brendon intently.
Brendon can do this. It's like a private performance. And he is good at putting on a show.
A deep breath in, out, and Brendon lets his shoulders drop. He runs one hand up his torso, lets it linger as it crosses the inches of bare skin between the panties and the bottom of the camisole. He traces the edge, and watches Spencer - Spencer's eyes follow his hands, and his lips part as his breathing speeds up. Brendon lets his fingertips meander across the diamond pattern, up his chest to slide under the length of on strap before brushing across his collarbone and back down, into his jeans, to curl around his dick.
Brendon closes his eyes and lets his head fall back.
"Stop teasing and show me." Spencer's voice is husky, and Brendon can hear anticipation and eagerness in the growled order.
Brendon looks at Spencer again, flashes him a wicked grin before hooking his thumbs into the loops of his jeans and pushing them down. He kicks them off, and he really doesn't care, usually he'll let his clothing lay where it falls until he needs clean stuff again, but just for the hell of it, he bends and picks them up. He turns his back on Spencer and takes his time, shaking the denim out and folding them, bending to put them on the chair in the corner.
All in all, he's pretty pleased when he hears Spencer's choked breath.
He allows himself to look back over his shoulder and sees that Spencer's palming himself, his other hand gripping a sofa cushion tightly, his eyes pinched closed. He presses the heel of his hand to his groin and shudders, and when he opens his eyes, Spencer catches Brendon looking.
"Come here."
It's not far, just a few feet, but Brendon takes his time, puts a little sway in his steps. He stands there, his knees between Spencer's, and waits. Spencer sits up, but he doesn't touch, just looks. Brendon starts to feel self-conscious again under Spencer's gaze, so heavy and intent, but he's turned on, so turned on, because the way Spencer looks at him... it's almost like a drug. He really wants Spencer to touch him now. He traces the edge of the panties' leg, adjusts himself as best he can - the panties are a light net of lace and fabric, and they don't actually hold him in, and now that he's turned on, it's just weird, because he's mostly uncovered, pointing toward Spencer like an awkward compass. Spencer leans forward and pulls him close, close enough to rest his forehead on Brendon's stomach. He rubs his nose against the camisole, and Brendon's busy cataloguing the involuntary rise of goosebumps that comes from the scrape of beard through the delicate fabric when Spencer sinks down enough to press a light kiss to the faint line of hair that begins where the lace ends. He trails his hands up and down Brendon's sides before letting them curve around his back and down to squeeze his ass. Brendon's dick twitches; he's already so hard, and they haven't really even done anything yet. Brendon anchors his hands in Spencer's hair and tries not to shift restlessly, but he can't help but push back into Spencer's hands, just a little.
That's enough for Spencer - he pulls Brendon so that he straddles his lap, and it's not a frenzy or anything, but there are a few minutes that are a blur of kissing and groping, denim and lace rubbing together, and Spencer's hands. At first the grip is firm, but not demanding. The slip-slide of Brendon's mouth and tongue on Spencer's gets deeper, messier, and Spencer's grip grows tighter, until Brendon can barely move. He's used to being in control when he's on top like this, setting the pace with a roll of his hips and flex of his thighs, but he can't now. He can only angle into it when Spencer relaxes against the sofa-back and rocks up against him.
He leans back and just looks. Jesus Christ, Spencer is hot like this. His hair is askew, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his beard a sharp contrast to the soft pink of his lips. The bottom one is tugged between straight white teeth, and Brendon wants that, the scrape of beard on his cheeks and the nip of sharp teeth. He crowds back in, chest to chest, but it's Spencer's turn to tease now, and he grants short kisses, a swipe of lips and away, another and then away, then back, until Brendon tugs Spencer's hair and holds his mouth where he wants it. With Spencer's face tilted up at him, Brendon plants his hottest, dirtiest kisses on him, grinning into it when he feels the puff of Spencer's exhaled groan.
He untangles one hand to reach down and tug Spencer's zipper down, pushing fabric out of the way until there's just a layer of panties between them, so narrow it just covers his balls and the base of his cock, and lines up so he can push their cocks together. Spencer's hands tighten on his ass, and Brendon wonders if he's going to have finger-shaped bruises on his butt-cheeks. The thought sends a shiver through him, and he pushes down against Spencer. He manages one awkward stroke together, then abandons that to palm the head of Spencer's cock.
Brendon knows they're not going to get to this right now, can't. He can tell by the way Spencer moves and the hitch in his breath each time Brendon's thumb circles the head of his cock. They're both already worked up even though Spencer's barely even moving. But he says it anyway, bows his head and whispers in Spencer's ear, "I want you to fuck me like this. With these lacy girls' underwear still on, dangling on one leg or just pushed to the side because you're in such a hurry. And I want you to suck my cock with them on, just push the panties aside for your mouth, do it with your eyes open so you can see how it looks."
Spencer's hands move on Brendon's ass, his fingertips squeezing and spreading him, holding him down as he pushes up. Brendon wants to move but all he can do is feel it when Spencer's hips roll up against his, letting Spencer's hold on him direct his movement otherwise.
Brendon feels like he has miles and miles of skin, and all of it's sensitized. Spencer's lips and beard are on his mouth, cheeks, and neck; the fabric of the camisole clings to his torso; the hot, sweaty bulk of Spencer is broad and steady beneath him; denim scrapes his inner thighs; elastic bites at his hips, where the panties are stretched tight now; most of all, Spencer's cock is heavy against his, and the panties' smooth fabric is slippery against his balls, and-oh, fuck! Spencer's fingertip pushes into him, dry, but not at all tentative or unwelcome. It stings, but Brendon doesn't care, because Spencer aims unerringly for his prostate, and Brendon's done. He can't breathe, can't speak, can't see, can't do anything but clench against the probing finger, tensing as he comes, slick and hot against Spencer's cock, their stomachs.
Spencer's grip on Brendon tightens, and Brendon opens his eyes in time to watch as Spencer's head falls back against the sofa, his neck a pale arc, as he comes too.
They slump together, catching their breath. Brendon is sweaty and sticky, and they both need a shower. Again. Spencer's t-shirt and Brendon's panties and camisole have come splattered and rubbed in.
Spencer finally unclamps a hand from Brendon's ass and touches a gentle fingertip to the fabric, tracing it lightly. "Sorry I ruined them."
"They're washable. And they were on sale, buy two get one free."