bandombigbang Along the Way (Brendon/Spencer) NC 17 Part 1

[cloudlessclimes]

Title: Along the Way
Author: cloudlessclimes
Wordcount: ~35 500
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Summary: Continuation of All I Want, but it's not necessary to read that one to know what's going on here, anymore than anyone in the story knows what's going on, anyway. (although I would never discourage you from doing so)
A sort of college AU.
Definitely a tale of good friends, cheap beer, cross dressing, falling in love, and figuring out what that means. No matter how much Spencer's friends may mock him, at least he and Brendon are doing it together, eventually.
Warning:Brief mention of past bullying, brief mention of past transphobic violence, brief use of transphobic language, cross dressing.
Disclaimer:I own no one I know no one. All made up. Please don’t sue me.
Notes:Many thanks to the bandombigbang mods for organizing this whole thing. Thanks also to my beta and hand holder, ohnoscarlett, and any and all who had to hear me prattle on about this for years.
Title comes from the song of the same name by the awesome Tyrone Wells. Cut text is also lyrics from the same song.

Please check out the wonderful mix saint_vee made for me here

Also, while you're at it you can see the beautiful art look_alive did for me here.

Both are perfect and amazing and I am blown away to be the recipient of such wonderful works of art.



The sun shines in through the tiny window over the sink, and Spencer closes his eyes against the glare. "Mmm," he murmurs, slicking his tongue across the fullness of Brendon's bottom lip and smiling at the sweet, sleepy, encouraging sounds Brendon makes. He pulls Brendon almost impossibly closer, and if he had to he could use the tininess of Brendon's twin bed as an excuse.

But, by the way Brendon's fingers tangle in the sleep-messy stands of Spencer's hair, he doesn't think he needs any excuse at all to teasingly ghost careful finger tips down over the arch of Brendon's all too prominent ribs, resting to cup his hipbones. Spencer spreads his legs wider and encourages Brendon to sprawl on top of him. "So good," Spencer's voice is a low scratchy whisper as he tilts his head back, allowing Brendon to kiss, hot and open-mouthed, along the straining tendons of Spencer's neck. His hands slide from the sharp gulls wings rise of Brendon's hip to the flat of his belly, and his fingers tease beneath the stretched elastic of the pj pants Brendon must have changed into sometime during the night.

"Spence," Brendon's voice is tight and distracted and Spencer feels him freeze beneath the gentle, questing touch. Brendon shifts from where his entire body is pressed across Spencer's and with a small, almost-smile, wraps his fingers around Spencer's wrist, moving the exploring hand to a safe place flung across Spencer's own chest. "Sorry, I'm sorry," Brendon whispers in a shaky huff of breath. He rubs at his eye and bites at his lip.

Spencer realizes that Brendon's scared.

Spencer runs both hands through his hair and scrubs at his beard. "Shit Brendon, I'm sorry. Just got a little carried away," he smirks and hopes to relieve the fear in Brendon's eyes and the tightness across his shoulders. "But you have nothing to be sorry about, okay?" Leaning back on one elbow he reaches his other hand over to cup Brendon's cheek, smoothing at Brendon's frowning mouth with the pad of his thumb. His smile widens a little and he shrugs, but he won't meet Spencer's eyes, "Okay?" Spencer leans in close and tilts Brendon's chin up.

Shrugging again, Brendon mumbles "Okay," but he's twisting his fingers in his lap, and digging his toes into the wrinkled sheets.

"Okay?" Spencer reaches across the mess of quilt and blankets and grabs Curious George, making the stuffed animal do a stupid dance in front of Brendon's face. Brendon yips out a startled laugh, but the corner of his eyes crinkle adorably. "Okay?" Spencer flings the monkey across the room and gently tweeks the tip of Brendon's nose, making him laugh harder. He smacks a quick kiss to the corner of Brendon's mouth and then jabs his finger into Brendon's belly, making him squeal. "Okay?"

Spencer turns to full out tickling now and Brendon is curled up on the bed, clutching at his chest as he dissolves into uncontrollable giggles. "Okay okay okay!"

"Good!" Spencer gives one short emphatic nod, and then lies down beside Brendon again.

Brendon's hand is tentative as he reaches to trace the nonsense pattern of the freckles that fleck Spencer's collar bone. "It's just," he sighs out the breath he's finally caught and chews on his lip, "I don't want you to think I'm a tease or, you know, whatever." He screws up his face in a fussy, unimpressed way.

Kissing Brendon softly, Spencer pulls him into a hug and says, "You aren't a tease Brendon. I mean, we just met, right? And we're figuring, you know stuff out. We can take it slow, if you want."

"Okay," Brendon says, and then snorts out a laugh at the number of times that word has been repeated in recent minutes.

Spencer sighs and slumps to rest his head on Brendon's shoulder, "Can I ask you something?" he says to Brendon's earlobe.

"Sure, I guess." Brendon raises an eyebrow and twists awkwardly in Spencer's arms to look at him.

It's Spencer's turn to look nervous and unsure. Color climbs high on his cheekbones, and in a whoosh he says, "So what have you done?" He motions awkwardly between them, "With, you know, guys. I mean."

Blinking slowly, Brendon opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again. He groans in embarrassment and turns to bury his face in the pillow. "Uh, yeah, I get what you mean." He scrunches up his face and scratches at his nose, like he's thinking, "Kissing mostly, I guess." He licks his lips, and Spencer is distracted by the wet shine of his tongue across lips that have been kiss-bitten a deep red. "And like, maybe a little groping," he giggles and runs his hands through his hair, "And dancing at Cobra which is," he arches up off the bed, swiveling his hips to illustrate his point. "So, a lot of groping, I guess." He turns and meets Spencer's eyes, his breath fanning out across Spencer's chin as he laughs.

Spencer laughs too, but it's nervous and tight. He watches his hands stroke over Brendon's flannel clad hips. "Yeah," he finally manages, not sure at all what he's saying yeah to.

"So, uh, now you tell me." Brendon winds his arms around Spencer's neck and smiles sweetly.

"Um, with Haley I like, did pretty much, you know, everything." The embarrassed heat in Spencer's face is slowly creeping down his neck and chest. "But, with guys. Well, guy, I guess. I got a blow job in a bar once."

"In a bar!" Brendon sits up and looks at Spencer with barely hidden shock.

Frowning, Spencer takes Brendon's hand, gently tugging til he settles back down beside him. "Yeah," his smile is a little sad as he scoots over to lay his head on Brendon's pillow. "I'd just broken up with Haley because I finally figured out the real reason an awesome girl like her didn't make me happy was because she wasn't an awesome guy like her." The strands of Brendon's hair slip across the cotton of the pillow case as he nods in encouragement. "So Ryan and Jon--my best friends..."

"Are they the guys you were at the Kit-Kat with?"

"Yeah, them--anyway, they decided that I needed to drown my sorrows in some manly gay bar or some shit?" Brendon giggles at the horrified face Spencer makes. "So we go, and Ryan Ross, who is very very straight and Jon Walker who is also very very straight spend the night fending off all kinds of advances."

"Yeah, they're hot!" Brendon supplies helpfully but then shuts up when he sees the blue steel death glare Spencer directs at him.

Spencer can't hold the expression very long and it dissolves into a small, somewhat sheepish smile. "So I pounded back the brewskies." Brendon has to physically clamp his hands over his mouth to prevent the giggles Spencer's choice of words elicit. "And got really fucking drunk and really fucking angry. So there was this guy, who seemed interested enough in me--I can't even tell you his name or what he looked like--so we went into the bathroom and he started to blow me and I may or may not have freaked out and run out the emergency exit with my jeans unzipped."

"Holy shit! You did not!" Incredulous, Brendon slaps at Spencer's shoulder.

"True story. I fell asleep," Spencer raises his hands to make air quotes, "In Ryan's car and the next day I woke up and was convinced I had, like, seventeen different STDs so I went to the clinic." Spencer is laughing at himself now.

"That's very responsible of you," Brendon pecks a kiss to Spencer's cheek and Spencer laughs harder.

Through his laughter he manages to say, "I was, of course, fine."

"Of course!" Brendon finishes brightly. "So I guess we are the two twenty something gay dude exceptions that prove the rule, huh?"

Turning his head to brush his nose along Brendon's jaw, Spencer smiles stupidly, "Yeah. So, slow is good, right?"

"Slow is fucking awesome," Brendon agrees heartily, then tilts his chin up, kissing Spencer.

They kiss and doze until Brendon's stomach growls obnoxiously loudly, making Spencer laugh. "You gotta work today?"

"Dude, I gotta work every day. How d'you think I manage to stay living in the lavish lap of barely scraping by?" Brendon flings out an arm to encompass the tiny room and its few belongings.

Spencer takes hold of Brendon's hand and threads their fingers together. "Too bad," Spencer tries pouting, making Brendon grin, "I was totally gonna buy you breakfast."

Squinting at the monkey on a surfboard wall clock above his make up table, Brendon says, "Most people call the meal around noon lunch."

"I told you I'm not most people," Spencer sits up and yawns, scratching at his belly. "So-- brunch. Every place in the city has all day breakfast, so what the fuck ever."

Nodding enthusiastically, Brendon replies, "You are correct sir. And I'm working at Cobra Starship so I have hours free." He waggles his eyebrows and then lies back down, wrapping his arms around Spencer's neck. Spencer pulls him close and is just about to show Brendon what they can do with those hours when Brendon's stomach again loudly makes it's empty state known.

"Food?" Spencer sighs and sits up, but Brendon doesn't let go, just slides his arms down to wreath Spencer's waist.

"Food," Brendon agrees, and then in a flurry of flung blankets and pale skin gets to his feet, bending to search under the bed for the t-shirt he'd discarded earlier that morning. "Hey, so I'm working at MAC tomorrow. If you have classes you could come by and keep me from killing spoiled rich girls from Hoffman Estates."

Spencer freezes, fingers stilled as he retrieves his shoe from where it's wedged between the bed and the wall. He turns to look at Brendon and his blue eyes are wide with wonder. "You want to see me tomorrow?"

Huffing out an annoyed breath, Brendon flicks Spencer's black henley at him and says, "Of course I want to see you tomorrow, dumb ass." He takes the shoe from Spencer's hand and flings it to the floor with a thump. Kneeling on the bed, Brendon takes Spencer's hand and with a small, quiet smile says, "Tomorrow, and the day after that. And the day after that, and the day after that."

The two of them stay where they are, awkwardly kneeling on Brendon's bed, staring stupidly at each other as the afternoon sun shines bright through the tiny, dirty window.

* * *

"Okay, that's it. I've had enough, I'm going home!" Ryan sits up from his sprawl on Spencer's sofa and begins to purposefully jam his books into his backpack.

Looking up from where he's murmuring into his cell phone, Spencer makes a confused noise of protest and then says into his phone, "I'll call you back." He tosses the phone onto a pile of old magazines and moves his feet from the arms of the battered chair he's sitting in to the floor, "I thought we were studying?" He's clearly at a loss to explain Ryan's exasperation.

Crossing his thin arms across his argyle sweater-vest clad chest, Ryan huffs, "Well, I'm trying to make research notes for my Post Modernity and the Sublime paper. You are mostly making gross baby talk noises to some guy on the phone."

"It's Brendon, he's at work and he's bored. I wasn't making baby talk noises!" Spencer glowers.

Hand still holding onto his Norton Anthology, Ryan glowers back, "Dude, you were on the phone for a fucking hour with a guy you just spent the whole night and morning with. Some guy you ditched your friends to hook up with at a bar!"

"We didn't hook up!" Spencer crosses the living room to flop down on the sofa and tugs on the straps of Ryan's backpack, trying to get him to sit back down. "We just hung out and talked and watched movies and fell asleep." He pauses and smiles, scratching his beard covered cheek, "And okay, there might have been some making out but..."

Ryan is quick to interrupt with a halting wave of his hand, "I do not need details." He sighs then, shifting the heavy text book from hand to hand. "You called him Boo." He wrinkles up his face like he's tasted something awful.

Instead of being angry or defensive, Spencer laughs, "Shit, did I?" he rubs his palm across the back of his neck, still smiling.

Ryan nods so quickly it knocks his fedora crooked, "Yes. Yes you did. You called that kid Boo multiple times. It was gross."

This does make Spencer frown, "Yeah, because I never had to hear you make kissy noises at Keltie on the phone."

"You were never like that with Haley."

Angry now, Spencer hops up and paces in the narrow space between the couch and the coffee table, making Ryan curl up in the corner of the couch. "Is that what your problem is? That I'm excited to be with a guy?"

"Oh Jesus Christ, you know that's not what I fucking meant. I don't care if you want to fuck girls, guys, or farm animals--although if the last one is true please never tell me, and if you get caught and go to jail please do not waste your one phone call on me. Because I am going to leave your freaky ass in the slammer."  Ryan juts a long leg out to rest his heel on the glass coffee table top, blocking Spencer's route.  "I just meant, you never go all...goofy," he affects a ridiculously besotted expression and makes kissy faces at Spencer.

Quick to anger, and just as quick to let things go, Spencer laughs and pushes his palm into Ryan's face. "Yeah, okay, whatever." He sits down on the couch again.  "It's just...Brendon's so..." he spreads his arms wide and shrugs.

"You're really gone for this guy, huh?" Ryan squeezes Spencer's knee and looks at him carefully.

Spencer blushes and snorts, "Yeah, I mean I guess so? It just feels...right." He scratches his nose and watches Ryan's fingers uncurl from around his knee cap.  "Ry, do you believe in fate?"

"I dunno. I mean I change my mind all the time. I can never decide if, as a misanthrope, I should definitely, or should definitely not believe that everything happens for a reason. Why?"

“Well, um, you remember that uh, that girl I met? That I helped?” Spencer is smiling awkwardly and his embarrassment is pinking his cheeks.

Ryan opens the Norton Anthology and it flips easily back to the pages where he'd made notes in the margins, “Oh yeah, that chick you helped and then got your panties in a knot 'cause she made you wet and threatened your sexual identity or some shit.” He picks up a pen and chews the cap between his front teeth.

Raising an eyebrow, Spencer says, in a dry tone, “That's not exactly what happened, but yeah-her. Um, so Brendon-he's kind of her, right?”

“Are you high? What you just said makes no fucking sense.” Ryan stops chewing on the pen cap and lobs it at Spencer.

“Eww,” Spencer makes a face and brushes the chewed up pen cap off his lap where it had fallen after plinking off the side of his face. “Okay,” he scratches at his nose and sighs, “Let me explain this better. So Brendon, the guy I left the club with? He was the guy...girl...you know what I mean...in the drag show. Like, in the sailor outfit?”

Ryan's eyes go wide and he does a poor job of holding in his laughter, “So, you were attracted to a guy dressed like a girl? Why Spencer Smith I never knew you were so kinky!” Realizing what he's said, Ryan's expression slides quickly into one of horror and he says, “I never wanted to know you were so kinky. Geez.”

“It's not,” Spencer stops, searching for the words to explain what he feels, “It's not kinky. He's just. It's. He's really pretty.” He finishes kind of stupidly.

“Spence, look. You're attracted to who you're attracted to. I said it before, and I mean it. You deserve to be happy and as your best friend I want you to be happy. Even if I don't exactly get where you're coming from, or you know, share your um...tastes.” Ryan is speaking slowly and carefully in a low monotone, clear proof that he is trying to be sincere.

Reaching across the sofa, Spencer squeezes Ryan's hand and smiles, “Thanks. So yeah, I met him that night, then met him again at the Kit-Kat Club, and that has to mean something right? So then I talk to him and he's from fucking Vegas, man.” Spencer can't help the smile that forms as he talks.

“Seriously? Well, yeah, that's kind of...” Ryan once more picks up his pen and starts underlining sentences in his book.

“Right? He went to Palo Verde. And he's smart and funny and has a seriously hilarious laugh and his ass is kind of amazing.”

Ryan winces at the last part of Spencer's declaration but takes a breath and, searching for something to add to the conversation, says, “And um, he looks really good in short skirts?”

Chuckling low and poking at Ryan's knee with his toe, Spencer readily agrees, “Yeah, he does. This feels good, you know? Different. When I was with Haley, I really liked her, and she was a great girl but it always felt like, I don't know. Maybe like I was trying too hard.”

“And this doesn't feel like that?” Ryan wraps his long fingers around Spencer's toes, stilling them.

“Not at all. Last night and this morning just felt like it was meant to happen.” Spencer's shrug makes it clear that he knows how ridiculous it sounds.

Mirroring Spencer's shrug, Ryan says, “Well then that's all that matters. So we gonna study or what?

“Maybe. But I need to call My Boo back first.” Ryan groans and throws a couch cushion at Spencer's head.

* * *

Clutching a paper bag in one hand and a drink tray in the other, Spencer casts a quick glance up and down the street before darting across. He picks up his pace when he catches sight of Brendon's dark hair. He's sitting on a bench not far from the MAC store, head bent low as he types on his phone.

“Hey,” Spencer says, coming to a stop in front of Brendon.

Brendon smiles, studying Spencer's shoes and then slowly raising his glance until he and Spencer are smiling at each other. “Hey.”

Spencer feels something warm and bright spread through his ribcage as he smiles into Brendon's upturned face. His full lips are shiny and pink and his eyes are lined a deep black, but the thing that draws Spencer's attention is the metallic green-blue shadow Brendon has swept from lash to brow. “Wow, you look really pretty!”

“Thanks!” Brendon giggles and pats the empty space on the bench beside him for Spencer to sit down. “Helps to sell the product if you model the product,” Brendon says sagely. “Unfortunately I spend too much time make-overing and not enough time selling.” He takes a less than enthusiastic bite out of his sandwich-a thin layer of peanut butter and jelly between two white bread crusts.

Seeing his opportunity, Spencer plonks the paper bag in Brendon's lap and snatches away his poor excuse for a sandwich. “Man cannot live by PB and J alone.”

Before he can school his expression into indifference, Brendon cast a longing look at the white Jimmy John's bag and inhales deeply. “Nah, man. It's fine. Got the peeb, got some chips,” he picks up a ziplock back and waggles it at Spencer.

“Look, I already bought enough for both of us,” undeterred by Brendon's attempts at protest, Spencer hands him one of the drinks and then continues to unpack the sandwiches from his bag. “Everybody knows that a Jimmy John's sub could feed a small family, so you can't expect me to eat more than one.” He plonks the sandwich into Brendon's hand. “And really, these sodas are ridiculous. Like kiddie pool sized ridiculous. My kidneys would explode or something if you made me drink both of them.”

“Well,” Brendon smiles affectionately at Spencer, “I wouldn't want you to lose your girlish figure now would I?” His once over of Spencer stops at the hips and Spencer gives a quick shimmy and then flips him off. Brendon laughs, re-wrapping his sandwich and chips and carefully placing them in his backpack, and then takes a big bite of the sub. He makes a dirty noise low in his throat and affectedly rolls his eyes back in ecstasy.

They sit in companionable silence, punctuated with the occasional shift of ice in their cups as they drink. “How long's your break?” Spencer tugs on the strings of his hoodie, leaning into Brendon.

“Fifteen minutes,” Brendon sighs melodramatically. He wads the sub wrappings into a ball, then tosses them towards the trash can, missing by a wide margin. “I've already been gone twenty. Good thing I'm cute, huh?”

Spencer stand, stretches, and then picks up the trash from where Brendon had thrown it, easily tossing it into the bin. “Yeah, really good thing.” He traces the line of Brendon's bottom lip with his finger before he sits down again. He stretches and drapes his arm across the back of the bench, and it's all the hint Brendon needs to shuffle incrementally closer until they are pressed side to side.

“Tomorrow night, if you're not busy, I mean, you could come to Cobra?” Spencer hates to see how unsure Brendon is, like at any time Spencer could decide that he's had enough of Brendon and be gone. Spencer's not sure he could ever get enough of Brendon.

“Oh yeah? I thought you said Cobra Starship was super gay and they'd feed me to the sparkly rainbow vultures,” Spencer stands again, and wipes his hands off on the seat of his jeans.

Brendon stands up with him, laughing and looping an arm through Spencer's, “That's pretty much true for dance nights, but tomorrow is cabaret night. Gabe, the manager lets me do my torch song piano rock thing. And I doubt you'd ever let anyone feed you to the vultures-sparkly or otherwise-- you're a tough guy, Spencer Smith.”

“The toughest,” Spencer snorts. “And I'd love to come hear you sing, Brendon.” Spencer's voice is soft with sincerity and he squeezes at Brendon's waist. “Gotta dip my toes into the shiny sparkly gay pool some time, right?”

Eyes shining with happiness, Brendon says, “True story. Shit, I gotta go.” A woman, jet black hair cut in a chic, severely angled bob, opens the door of the MAC store and scowls down the street in Brendon and Spencer's direction. ”Text me to keep me from dying from the dumb. It's contagious you know.” Brendon pecks a kiss to Spencer's cheek and then does a little hobbling run back to the store, his black apron flapping in the breeze.

“See you tomorrow!” Spencer yells after him, then turns to head back to the student center to meet his stats study group.

* * *

Spencer hates being late. And he's really late right now. He blames Victoria and Greta and their inability to stay on topic enough to finish the chapters they have to present on in Theories of Financial Management. He's doing a panicked jog along the road, glancing at the address on the scrap of paper he's clutching so hard his knuckles ache. Blinking, he comes to a dead stop. How the fuck did he think he'd ever miss that?

Actually, how had he never noticed it before? Cobra Starship is lit up like some kind of neon purple acid trip. The marquis features a cartoon cobra sinking it's teeth into a UFO and Spencer's quite sure the entire monstrosity could be seen clearly from outer space. He's also pretty sure if he was some kind of intergalactic space traveling alien, the sight of this club alone would be enough to make him take a pass on a visit to Earth. Crumpling the scrap of paper, Spencer shoves it into the front pocket of his jeans. Smoothing his hair back from his face, Spencer steels himself and opens the door.

Zack, Brendon's large, scary, and protective neighbor is standing in the entry way. "Um hi." Spencer squeaks out.

"Upstairs," Zack hooks a thumb towards a narrow stairway lit with yellow lights. As he climbs the steps, Spencer looks at the photographs that neatly line one wall. They're all stills from various 1950s Hollywood B Sci Fi movies, and Spencer laughs and shakes his head, wondering exactly what he's gotten himself into. There's a woman at the top landing, dressed in what appears to be a black skirt and corset made out of PVC or maybe rubber. When she sees Spencer reach for his wallet, she smiles, revealing a row of tiny teeth, and scrunching up her heavily lined green-gray eyes. "Oh honey, no cover for you. But hurry, he's already started." Spencer's mouth opens and closes several times in rapid succession, but he doesn't make any kind of noise that could be called language.

"You're Spencer, right? Brendon said you were pretty, but he didn't tell me how pretty." She stands and holds out her hand, "I'm Gee." Oh. Right. Gee. The drag queen Brendon told him about--who showed him everything she knows.

"Yeah, um thanks. Nice to meet you. I'm just gonna..." Spencer trails off, motioning to the long hallway leading to the interior of the club. Gee nods and waves and takes her seat again. The club is tiny and packed with groups of people sitting at round, white cloth covered tables and Spencer has to admit that he's surprised to find it so tasteful. There's no actual stage to speak of, but there is a space at the front of the room that's been cleared and a piano and microphone have been set up.

It should be ridiculous. It should be hilarious and awful and cheesy. But it's not. It's beautiful. Brendon is wearing a purple hoodie emblazoned with the Cobra Starship logo and singing Dust in the Wind, and it's the most beautiful thing Spencer's ever heard in his life. The rest of the audience seems to agree with Spencer; they're watching Brendon play and sing in perfect silence. When he finishes the song, he giggles and shoves his glasses up his nose. "Hey! Thanks!" he says into the microphone over the burst of wild applause. Brendon stands and makes an awkward little bow before the MC comes out to introduce the next act.

"You came!" Before he knows what's happening, Spencer's arms are filled with an enthusiastic Brendon.

"Hi," Spencer laughs and smiles down at Brendon. "Sorry I'm late. But shit man, you're amazing." He feels a thrill zing down his spine when Brendon kisses him soundly and directs them towards the bar.

"Hey, everyone, this is Spencer!" Brendon bounces up and down and waves his and Spencer's joined hands in the air between them.

The crowd at the bar greets Spencer enthusiastically with knowing smiles. "Uh, hey!" Spencer is a little embarrassed and uncomfortable at all the attention. He focuses on untying the growing knots in his stomach and remembering to breathe as Brendon works his way through the throng of his friends, introducing them with a breathless, “GabeAlexFrankBob,” and Spencer dutifully shakes each and every hand, and hopes he’s not called on to address any of them by name any time soon.

The two biggest-Gabe and Bob? Spencer thinks-dedicate a lot of time to glaring at Spencer. Brendon, unaware of Spencer's unease, is cheerfully chattering away to a tiny guy covered in tattoos about some awesome product or other than will help his hair, which is, to Spencer's untrained eye, something of a greasy unruly mess. Shoulders hunched to his ears and nursing the can of PBR that had magically appeared not long after he and Brendon had found stools and sat down, Spencer raises his eyebrow in questioning challenge to the two men “What?”

“You hurt him, you die, right Gabe?” the blond guy-Bob--says without blinking an eye. The other guy-Gabe, crosses his arms over his chest and amps up his glare.

Spencer takes a large, fortifying, gulp of his beer and then says, “Jesus, why the fuck does everyone automatically think I'm gonna hurt Brendon?” He's honestly puzzled at the frosty reception he's gotten by these two, added to Zack's aggressive posture the night Spencer had met Brendon.

“Bee...he's nice to everyone, you know? And maybe people, they haven't been so nice to him.” Gabe sits down beside Spencer and wraps an arm around his shoulders, but Spencer is aware that there's no friendship in the hug. Gabe leans past Spencer to stare pointedly at Brendon, who is laughing and trying to fix the little guy-Frank's-eyeliner.

An unaccustomed fiercely protective feeling shoots through Spencer's veins and he says, “I would never hurt him!” Spencer's scowl deepens and he shrugs free of Gabe menacing embrace, “I'm a fucking nice guy!”

Brendon stops mid-sentence to beam at Spencer, then leans over and smacks a kiss to Spencer's beard covered cheek, “He is a nice guy, boss man!” Brendon waggles his eyebrows at Gabe. “The nicest.”

Whatever Spencer was going to say is lost in the crowd's sudden rise in volume. Brendon hooks his index finger through one of Spencer's belt loops, pulling him off the bar stool and towards the tables, “Ohhh...Amanda's starting the finale, we don't want to miss her!”

Spencer can honestly say he never even knew a genre of music called Cabaret Baroque Punk-helpfully supplied by a man sitting at their table-- exists. He watches in drop-jawed amazement as the woman performing shimmies and shakes and sing songs about death and dismemberment, accompanying herself on ukelele or accordion. And he can't for the life of him think of a better way to describe it. It's certainly nothing like any of the bands he and Ryan had snuck out to see back home in Vegas. “Isn't she amazing?” Brendon gives Spencer's arm a little shake and then, giving a happy sigh, leans his head on Spencer's shoulder.

“Amazing, yeah.” Spencer's answer is soft as he brushes his cheek over the top of Brendon's head.

The show ends and the crowd thins, and a group of Cobra Starship employees, clad only in skin tight jeans, start tearing down the tables. Spencer is charmed when he sees Brendon's cheeks turn a delicate pink as Amanda Palmer strolls through the room, toweling sweat off her face and winking right at him. Brendon manages a besotted, wiggly finger wave in return.

“You kinda like her, huh?” Spencer elbows Brendon in the side and holds his coat, retrieved from Gee, out to him.

Brendon scratches at his nose and then smiles when Spencer helps him on with his coat. “Yeah, she's just, so cool, you know? Like, so unafraid to be who she is, and fuck the haters.”

Buttoning up his own jacket, Spencer tilts his head a little, giving Brendon a quizzical look. They trot down the stairs in tandem and he finally says, “I dunno, I think you're pretty okay being who you are.” He takes Brendon's hand in his and together they slip out into the crisp Chicago night.

Licking his lips and wrinkling up his nose with a wry laugh, Brendon says, “Maybe I'm just really good at pretending I'm okay with who I am. You know, now that being me gets the shit kicked out of me...less regularly.”

Coming to an abrupt halt beneath the soft yellow light of a street lamp, Spencer drops Brendon's hand and ghosts his fingers over the faint bruising and cuts on Brendon's face. He swallows, and his voice is thick when he says, “Brendon, nobody has the right to hit you, for any reason, ever,” in a gentle but firm tone.

“Ah yeah, well, guess you should have told that to half my high school.” Brendon tries to laugh it off, his shoulders shrugging as he struggles to muster a genuine smile. “At least the guys who made me their own personal punching bag went on to become UFC champs? I feel I was an integral part of their training.” His smirk is forced and the laughter that slides out from between his teeth is more bitter than amused.

“Jesus!” is all Spencer says, before wrapping Brendon's slight frame into a tight hug. Brendon pats consolatory hands across Spencer's back, and when they pull apart, Spencer is relieved to see that Brendon's smile has morphed into something soft and genuine. Raising his fingers to trace the corner of Brendon's wide mouth, Spencer very firmly says, “I wish I could go back in time and beat the shit out of those assholes. Seriously.”

They stand with their arms wound around each other, blinking under the street lamp's glow, for long slow minutes. Brendon turns his head to brush a kiss across the tip of Spencer's gently stroking finger before winding his arms around Spencer's neck and pulling him in and slanting their mouths together. “My Hero,” he says softly.

The strange tension of the moment recedes when Spencer mumbles, “I always knew Palo Verde was full of douchebags,” causing Brendon to giggle against his beard. Rocking back onto his heels, Brendon hooks his arm through Spencer's and they continue the short walk from the club to Brendon's apartment.

“No burritos tonight?” Spencer raises an eyebrow as they pass the storefront Brendon lives over.

“Nah,” Brendon shakes his head, “Not tonight. I ate before my shift at Cobra. Unless, I mean if you want to we can grab something but...I'm tired and I think I just want to go home?” Brendon slips his key into the lock and the door to the stairwell swings open.

Shit, Spencer had forgotten that Brendon not only worked all night at Cobra Starship, he'd also worked all day at MAC. And he was still favoring the ankle he'd twisted the week end before. “Oh, no of course, I was just kidding.” He shoves his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and follows Brendon through the doorway and up the stairs.

The door clicks shut behind them and they're awkwardly standing in the middle of Brendon's tiny studio apartment, just as neat and tidy as the last time Spencer was here. “Um, wanna give me your coat?” Brendon holds out his hands and Spencer shrugs out of his coat, handing it to Brendon. “Have a seat,” Brendon motions to the bed, “Um...do you want a glass of water or something?”

“Sure,” Spencer perches carefully on the edge of the bed, watching as Brendon sets Spencer's coat and his own hoodie down on his make up table and then walks the few feet over to the sink, running the water before getting two glasses out of the cupboard and filing them.

Licking his lips, Brendon bounces down onto the bed, water dripping over his fingers as he hands Spencer a glass and then drains his in one steady stream. Spencer watches the long line of Brendon's throat as he swallows. “You were...you were uh, really great tonight.” Spencer finally says.

“Thanks!” Brendon says brightly, setting his now empty glass on the floor and turning towards Spencer. “I was so excited you came. I hope you don't mind that my friends were sort of...super interested in you. I guess I talk about you a lot and, you know, they got to see that you're not imaginary,” Brendon giggles, bringing his legs up onto the bed and crossing them at the ankle.

“Nope, not imaginary,” Spencer smiles and rubs the rubber edging of Brendon's sneaker with his thumb. “Seriously though, you were awesome. Have you always been able to sing like that?”

Brendon looks slightly embarrassed, “Uh, sure. I mean, I guess so. I've always liked singing, anyway.” He shrugs his shoulders dismissively. “Only thing about school that didn't suck was choir.”

Spencer stops worrying at the tiny rip in the rubber of Brendon's high top. “Does your foot still hurt? Maybe you should take your Chucks off?” He doesn't wait for an answer, but starts to untie a battered sneaker. He's rewarded with a happy sigh and Brendon wriggling his toes, so Spencer does the same with the other one, and then takes both of Brendon's feet into his lap, his thumbs digging into the arches.

“Oh god I'm gonna keep you!” Brendon groans blissfully as Spencer increases the pressure. “Why the hell do sprains take so long to heal anyway?”

“Dunno,” Spencer shrugs and then starts to peel away Brendon's socks. He smiles when he sees Brendon's toes are painted a bright pink to match the polish on his finger nails. “Maybe if you laid off the high heels it would get better?”

Brendon laughs and obligingly bends to roll up the cuffs of his jeans so Spencer's strong, steady stroking can work at his injured ankle as well. “Yeah, well, you can't wear the sparkly gowns with sensible shoes, dude. That's not really part of the magic.” Safe behind the thick fall of his lashes, Brendon watches Spencer trace the lines of the fragile bones in his foot.

“So, Spencer Smith, now that we've established that my high school career was pretty much an entire season of Degrassi, tell me, what were you like in high school? The star of Cimmaron Memorial, or what?” Brendon digs his big toe into the thigh seam of Spencer's jeans.

Spencer bites his lip and thinks for a minute. He pauses to take a sip of water and sets it down safely on the floor by the bed. “No, not really. I mean no one tried to kill me or anything. And I wasn't bullied or whatever,” his blue eyes are sympathetic and apologetic as he shifts back on the bed and leans against the wall, not coincidentally closer to Brendon. “Like, normal, I guess. I'm pretty sure that no one knew who I was. Besides Ryan I mean.”

“Your best friend, right? One of the guys you came to the Kit-Kat Club with?” Brendon extracts his feet from Spencer's lap and twists around so they're dangling off the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, him. My other friend, Jon, the dude with the beard? We didn't meet til me and Ryan moved to Chicago. I guess Ryan was kind of my only friend in high school.” Spencer shrugs, smiling when Brendon snuggles into his side. “Can we stop talking about high school now? That shit is fucking depressing.”

“Hells yes!” Brendon nods enthusiastically. “Do you want to listen to music or something?”

Spencer licks his lips and grins, “Or something.”

“Huh?” Brendon looks up from where he's dangling off the edge of the bed, trying to retrieve his laptop without actually moving from his spot next to Spencer. He sees the heat in Spencer's eyes and blushes, “Oh!”

Laughing-a nervous little burst of sound-Spencer tugs on the hem of Brendon's t-shirt until they're once more pressed close against one another. “Hi,” he says, and then brings his mouth to Brendon's in a soft, curious kiss.

Brendon hums happily beneath the gentle pressure, then opens his mouth for Spencer to slick his tongue inside. Brendon's fingers slide into the belt loops at Spencer's hips, holding on for dear life.

Spencer's hands slide through the thick strands of Brendon's hair, stroking at the tendons in his neck and across his shoulders, until he's petting at the goose flesh of Brendon's upper arms. He shifts slightly, his weight tipping them back onto the bed so they lie with their feet tucked up in Brendon's pillows. Spencer can't help the grin that forms when he opens his eyes to see Brendon sliding his mouth free of Spencer's lips to peck small kisses across his bearded cheeks and chin.

“Holy shit, you're a good kisser, Spencer Smith!” Brendon tilts his mouth away from Spencer to make his awe struck declaration, then draws a shaky breath and swipes his forearm across his mouth. His hair is a mess and his glasses sit askew on his nose before he takes them off and sets them with care beside the bed.

He knows it's cheesy as hell, but Spencer doesn't really care right now, so he says, “I'm really good at kissing you,” and then smiles as he brushes away that strands of hair that have fallen across Brendon's forehead.

Nuzzling at Spencer's palm, Brendon winds his arms around Spencer's neck and pulls him down until they're touching all along their lengths. “Good! So, now more kissing, please!”

Spencer laughs but doesn't hesitate to suck Brendon's full bottom lip into his mouth, nipping it between his teeth. The kiss deepens, Brendon's tongue sweetly insistent as it slicks between the seam of Spencer's lips. Spencer traces the line of Brendon's jaw, biting playfully at a freckle just below his ear and secretly hoping that the redness will bloom, a reminder marking Brendon the next day.

Their feet tangle together and Brendon's breathing stutters in his chest. Spencer wriggles one arm between them, rucking up Brendon's t-shirt to trail lazy, teasing fingers across the inviting skin of Brendon's belly. “Shit, Spence...” Brendon rasps as his hands twist in Spencer's hair, mashing their mouths together.

“Bren? This okay?” Spencer pulls away, leaning back on his elbows and looking down with concern at Brendon's flushed face.

Swallowing a whine, Brendon flits a palm across his face and shakes his head a little, trying to focus on Spencer's words. “Huh?” is all he can manage.

“I mean...you said you're tired, right? And I don't want you to feel like you have to...” Spencer trails off and waves his arm between the two of them. He's developed a sudden and all consuming interest in the bright yellow, blue, and red squares of cloth that make up the quilt covering Brendon's bed.

Scowling in adorable confusion, Brendon tugs on Spencer's hand until he's lying back down beside him. “Yeah, making out with you is such a hardship, dude. Jesus,” Brendon takes Spencer's face in his hands and kisses him emphatically. “But I know what you mean. I'm not a scared virgin, I promise. Yes, this is okay. No, I'm not too tired. Yes, I will tell you what isn't okay. Okay, you big dumb ass, can we get back to the making out now?” He reaches behind Spencer and yanks his stuffed Curious George out from underneath Spencer, tossing it across the room and causing Spencer to tip forward just enough to roll half on top of Brendon.

“Okay.” Spencer stays perfectly still for a heartbeat or two; so close to Brendon that their noses press together and he can see the flecks of gold and cinnamon that dance in his brown eyes. They kiss, slow and sweet, eyes open and careful. The weight of all he's feeling causes Spencer to finally close his eyes, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses to Brendon's chin, until he makes a muffled, grunting noise burying his face in Brendon's neck.

Brendon squirms beneath Spencer's weight, shifting and craning his neck to try and see Spencer's face. “What?”

Flopping onto his back, Spencer stares at the water marked ceiling and says, “Can I ask you something?”

Running a soothing hand across Spencer's chest, Brendon says, “So I thought that maybe we knew each other well enough now for you to figure out that you don't have to ask me if you can ask me something. You can just ask.” He shrugs and kisses Spencer's cheek, trying to be reassuring when Spencer gives him a nervous smile.

Coughing again as his face and neck go a delicate shade of pink, Spencer says, “I know you want to go slow, right? And that's cool. But, it's just...I have this, you know, this idea.” Brendon continues his petting, waiting for Spencer to spit out what he's trying to say. “Um...doyoujerkoff?”

“What?” Brendon's hand stills against the warmth of Spencer's shirt and he scoots up on the bed to stare at Spencer in dumbfounded surprise. “Are you actually asking me if I masturbate?”

“Yes?” Spencer's face is now an alarming red and he looks like he might cry.

Crossing his arms and frowning, Brendon replies, “Look, I know I told you I'm a virgin. But, that does not mean I'm some sort of asexual freak. Of course I jerk off! Dude, anyone who says they don't is totally lying, okay?” He considers his outburst for a second and then lies back down, resuming his stroking low across Spencer's belly. “Um...that is unless you don't...you know. And that's totally okay and not weird and you're not a freak at all.” Brendon turns his face to Spencer's and pecks a prim kiss to his heated cheek.

Spencer laughs self-consciously and says, “No, no dude, I do. I totally do. It's just I had this idea, you know?” Brendon doesn't drop his gaze from Spencer's face, his interest piqued. Swallowing audibly loud, Spencer gropes blindly for Brendon's hand and then threads their fingers together. “I though maybe since I jerk off and you jerk off that maybe we could...jerk off together or something? Forget it. It's stupid...”

“No!” Brendon says enthusiastically, giving Spencer's wide palm a squeeze. “It's not stupid, at all. Man, I am totally a world class masturbator. Like, if there was a self-love Olympics? I would totally challenge for the gold, you know?” He rolls onto his side, tugging Spencer closer with the free hand that's still draped across Spencer's midriff. “And, if you really wanna know, I have been totally rubbing one out every night since we met. And not like, met-met all proper with names and everything, but like, that night in the alley when you totally scared off those frat boy assholes?” Brendon playfully tilts his hips up against Spencer's, swaying back and forth.

Spencer kisses Brendon then, his lips are dry but Brendon's are slick, and their tongues tease against each other until they're both breathless. “Me too,” Spencer rasps against the delicate shell of Brendon's ear.

Suddenly bouncing up into a sitting position, Brendon claps his hands together and says, “So, how you wanna do this? Should we get naked? Circle jerk? Maybe do like 69? Well not 69 'cause that's blow jobs, but you know what I...”

“Jesus, Brendon!” Spencer's eyes go comically wide and he makes a whining noise at the back of his throat. “So much for going slow...” he mutters under his breath.

“Well, okay, there's only two of us so that circle jerk thing is doomed to fail...”

“Would you just,” Spencer sits up and plants a palm in the center of Brendon's chest, giving him a push, “Lie the fuck down for a second?”

They lie side by side, breathing in tandem, their hands resting loosely on their bellies. “This is your plan?” Brendon says, bemused.

Spencer chuckles and elbows Brendon. “Okay, well, I said I had an idea, not like, a step by step guide.”

“We should take our pants off,” Brendon says with confidence.

Nodding, Spencer sits up and shuffles towards the edge of the bed, “Yeah, let's do that.” Without another word he stands up, toes off his shoes and socks, then shoves down his jeans, jiggling first his right foot and then his left until his pants are lying in a messy heap. He bites his lip and crosses his arms over his chest, feeling sort of idiotically exposed in his gray boxer briefs and t-shirt.

“Well, that was...expedient,” Brendon blinks and stares at Spencer.

Kneeing his way back onto the bed, Spencer scowls and says, “You think you can do better, be my guest.”

Brendon smirks, raising an eyebrow and getting to his feet. He goes to his make up table and drags the pink Disney Princesses stool out to the middle of the room. He licks his lips and gives Spencer a cheeky smile and wink, making sure he has his full attention. Humming a little under his breath, Brendon slowly perches the toes of his right foot on the stool, swaying his hips in time to his own tune, and slowly rolling his white sports sock down his leg. Spencer thinks that would be pretty fucking funny if it wasn't so damn hypnotic. When the sock on his left foot has been peeled off, Brendon flings it towards the bed, making Spencer laugh and dodge it, as Brendon blows him a kiss. He does the same thing with the other sock, and then ever so slowly and carefully, runs his hands up the thighs of his tight jeans until they're resting on his belt buckle. Spencer swallows loudly, and holy shit how the hell did Spencer forget that Brendon's a performer for god's sake?

Spencer's mouth goes dry when Brendon turns his back to the bed, the dip and sway of his hips intensifying, and Spencer can't draw his eyes away from the generous curve of Brendon's ass. He's hard in his briefs, and he licks his lips, trailing his sweaty palms across his own thighs, mirroring Brendon's slow, sinuous movements. Careful and slow, Brendon drags his jeans down, revealing ridiculous yellow briefs, their waistband sitting low over the pronounced cut of Brendon's hip bones. He's still humming and swaying when he turns back around, his eyes locked with Spencer's as he peels the denim down his legs with great care. Brendon stoops, folds his jeans, places them on the stool, and then puts the stool back in its place in front of the make up table.

Spencer feels like he should clap or something. Grinning, Brendon does a belly flop onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Spencer's knees and brushing a kiss to his thigh. “That, good sir, is how it's done.”

“Shit yes,” Spencer growls, wrapping his hands around Brendon's biceps and hauling him up the bed. “Holy shit, yes.” Brendon's breath stutters across Spencer's bearded chin and he mashes their mouths together. Whatever levity had been between them has been replaced with heavy expectation, and Brendon shudders when Spencer's fingers trail low across his belly, flirting with the waistband of his underwear.

“Do it, Spence.” Brendon rolls his hips away from Spencer, trailing his fingers in a slow drag scratch along the veins of Spencer's arm until he takes Spencer's hand in his own. Spencer's breath catches in his throat when Brendon's fingers wrap around his own, a gentle, insistent guide to the rigid length of his cock. “What do you think about when you touch yourself?” Brendon's voice is a low rumble in Spencer's ear.

Spencer's panting, and he can feel beads of sweat rolling from his temples into his hairline; either from the heat of the tiny room or the body heat Brendon's throwing off like a furnace. He brushes his cheek over the thin pillow and groans into it, then flicks back the waistband of his boxers, finally taking hold of himself with a relieved sigh.

He's rock hard and leaking and not sure how long he'll last like this. The white noise of impending orgasm is already fizzing through his brain. But, if Brendon will just keep whispering dirty things low in his hear, he's not sure he cares. Smearing precome along his length, Spencer sets a slow twisting rhythm, and he finally answers Brendon's question; “You,” he rasps before he has to bite his lip and gulp down air. “Your eyes, your mouth. Jesus, your soft fucking skin.” His hips are bucking up to meet his curled fist and he whines a little when he sees Brendon slowly drag his own hand back up Spencer's arm and then away to fumble with his own underwear.

“Shit Spencer, you have no idea how fucking hot you were that night. So fierce. All sweaty and protective, with your fucking blue eyes that I swear to god could kill a man.” Brendon's voice has taken on a high, breathy pitch and Spencer is hypnotized by the frantic, speedy grip Brendon uses to jack himself. His cock is still hidden inside his ridiculous sunny yellow underwear, but the rough susurration of skin on skin is so tantalizing, Spencer cranes his neck, wanting to see more. “And now you're actually here, for real, and you're so fucking beautiful-like I could never imagine.” Brendon pants, his fingers slowing a little as he scrabbles across the quilt with his free hand to take hold of Spencer's. “God just...just look at you.” Brendon rests his forehead on Spencer's shoulder. He licks his lips and watches with hungry eyes as Spencer continues the intentionally slow, studied drag and pull on his erection.

All the lights in the room are on, and Brendon is staring right at him, and he's never done anything like this before, but Spencer isn't the least bit embarrassed. Instead, he's more turned on than he's ever been in his life. Raising their hands, he shoves away the hair that's fallen into his face, kisses Brendon's knuckles, then lets their joined hands fall back down onto the bed. Closing his eyes, but still so very aware that he has Brendon's attention-- and even more aware of what the soft woofing noises Brendon's making under his breath mean-- Spencer grins, full and bright. He lets himself relive all the filthy thoughts he'd had about Brendon after their first meeting; the feeling of Brendon panting beneath him, imagining what Brendon's hands or, oh god his obscenely plush mouth would feel like on his dick. He gives one more twisting pull, arching up into the sensation before barking out a tight, pained noise and coming all over his hand and t-shirt, viscous drops dotting his belly where his shirt has rucked up and his boxer briefs had been pulled low.

“Holy shit!” Spencer opens his eyes to see Brendon is still watching him. A warm, sleepy smile curves his lips as he further slows down, jerking himself through the aftershocks of his orgasm. Brendon is staring at Spencer in open mouthed awe. He giggles and leans forward, swallowing in a kiss the few shallow breaths Spencer can manage.

Groping lazily at Brendon's forearms, Spencer feels the wound-spring tension that's curling through his entire body. Without thinking about it, he trails barely there finger tips through the slippery mess on his belly. Breaking the sloppy kiss, he holds his fingers up to Brendon's lips. Brendon blinks in surprise, but his tongue darts out to taste. He purrs low in his throat and sucks Spencer's fingers fully into his mouth, tongue lapping and swirling. He rocks his hips up and squeezes his cock through his tight fist, echoing the rhythm of his lips against Spencer's fingers.

Spencer's hand muffles the grunting whines escaping Brendon as he arches up from the bed and finally comes. He's shaking and whining and still sucking on Spencer's fingers. Spencer pulls Brendon close, easing them both back to lying on the bed, and pets at his hip and back soothing him as he jerks and hiccups through the comedown. They lean heavily against each other and murmur nonsense as they both try to steady their heartbeats and breathing. “Spencer, you have the best fucking ideas, ever.” Brendon says finally, hugging Spencer tightly around the waist.

“Sometimes,” Spencer chuckles. He thinks that maybe, if Brendon had the energy his declaration would be heartfelt and enthusiastic, but the yawn in the middle of his sentence kind of killed it. But, Brendon has just come all over himself, so Spencer's willing to cut him some slack.

“Seriously fucking awesome ideas,” Brendon kisses at Spencer's shoulder through the cotton of his shirt, and then yawns even wider. “You're awesome, Spencer Smith. So's your dick.”

Spencer laughs harder and scratches his fingers through his beard before stroking a palm over his belly. 'Ugh, you know what's not awesome? Dried come.”

“Mmm...we should clean up,” Brendon says slowly, nodding his head but unwilling to move.

“Mmm...later,” Spencer feels the insistent tug of post-coital sleep.

Brendon nuzzles at Spencer's neck and manages to mumble, “Yeah, later, totally,” before his breath evens out and his hold on Spencer loosens.

* * *

Spencer's in the library, trying to put together some kind of research for his Political Imagination course. Stupid Handmaid's Tale. Seriously. In what world is Spencer some kind of English major? And stupid Ryan Ross. A best friend, especially an English Lit major best friend, would totally volunteer to write shit like this paper right here. But noooo, Ryan had to go have morals.

Okay, so Spencer's also a little extra bitchy because he hasn't seen Brendon for three days. Because Brendon is a crazy person with like eighty jobs that very rudely overlap with the time Spencer's not in class. And no, the constant texts and emails and phone calls do not count. It's enough to make anyone grumpy, really.

He's just about finished mentally constructing a proof for Margaret Atwood is a crazy hippie communist when his phone pings with a new text. Spencer blames too many hours in the library, and too many hours of trying to wrap his brain around what the actual fuck dystopian societies are for his inability to at least try to hide the besotted smile on his face when he sees the message is from Brendon: u busy? :))) He's barely finished typing nope when his phone blasts 18 and Life, the ring tone Brendon had picked out for himself. “Hey Bren.”

“Hiya stranger! Oh my god it's been years since I've seen you.” Brendon's voice is chipper in Spencer's ear.

“Right? I feel like I've been in this fucking library for years!” Spencer leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out beneath the work table. He mouths an apology at the girl he accidentally kicks in the ankle and rolls his eyes at the guy who is scowling at Spencer's cell phone.

Brendon laughs, loud and breathy, “So, ol' Mrs Atwood still giving you a hard time?”

“For real. I mean I'm a business major for fuck's sake. I can do math like a motherfucker and have so far managed to avoid any and all Lit classes. What the fuck is this lit class impersonating a politics course bullshit?”

Tutt-tutting into the phone Brendon says, “Awww, poor baby. But, you're awfully cute when you're whiny.” And then pulls the phone away from his mouth to say something to someone Spencer guesses is a co-worker.

“I'm not whiny!” Spencer whines, sitting up and then slumping down again when he gets shushed by the librarian at the circulation desk “Stupid library,” Spencer mumbles. “M'not whining, I'm stating a fact.”

Brendon murmurs some consolatory noises and then says, “Hey, so my eight o'clock piano lesson canceled.”

Scratching at his beard, Spencer grins again and tries to sound bored, “Oh? Yeah?”

“So, I was thinking....”

“Uh oh,” Spencer tries his best to chuckle as softly as possible.

There's a pause and a laugh at the other end of the line. “Shut up! You're not the only one with awesome ideas.”

Spencer blushes at the memory of his last awesome idea and its results. “Okay genius, I'm game. What's your awesome idea? And does it end with nakedness?” His cheeks heat further when he realizes the girl he'd kicked in the ankle is listening to his conversation and making squeaking noises into her hand.

There's a long pause and the rasp in Brendon's voice lets Spencer know that he's not the only one thinking back to his awesome idea. “I'm taking you on a date! Our first date! How awesome is that?” Brendon laughs in triumph and then says in a low, affected voice, “And if you're very good there could be some kinda naked involved.”

“We've never been on a date? Really?” Spencer is so focused on the first part of what Brendon's said he doesn't even hear the last. His brow furrows as he mentally reviews all the time they've spent together in the few weeks since they met.

“Not a real one,” Brendon answers with great authority. “Slurpees in the 7-11 parking lot don't count.”

Scratching his nose, Spencer smiles into his phone as he starts to pack up his books, much to the relief of the other students sitting around him. “I dunno, I thought that was pretty good, but tell me what you've got in mind.”

Brendon huffs and says, “It's a surprise! Check your email.” And before Spencer can say anything else, Brendon's hung up and the line is dead. He stares at his phone for a second and then shrugs, storing it in his hip pocket. He shoulders his backpack and heads out of the library, giving up on handing his paper in on time, and very carefully not listening for his iPhone to make the sound indicating a new email.

NEXT