Work Header

Here At The Right Time

Work Text:



"So," Spencer says, uncomfortably.

"Yeah," Brendon says, equally awkwardly. Spencer rolls over, leaning over the side of the bed and reaching for one of their discarded shirts. He wipes at Brendon's stomach without making eye contact, and he gives his own cock a quick swipe before dropping the condom in the trash and throwing the shirt in the direction of his laundry pile.

He lies back down next to Brendon and stares up at the ceiling, uncomfortably aware of how naked they both are.

"It wasn't that bad," Brendon says, after a while.

Spencer hums under his breath, because it really, really was, and it wasn't the first time. He and Brendon have spent months being careful around each other, and now that they've finally gotten their shit together and started dating, Spencer's managing to fuck it all up in just a few days. "I'm, uh," he trails off. There isn't really a way of saying, I'm not that good at sex without sounding like a loser. Plus, he's kind of sure that Brendon's already figured that part of it out.

Brendon rolls over, pressing himself close to Spencer's side. He drops a kiss to Spencer's shoulder. "It's okay," he says.

Spencer thinks he couldn't be more embarrassed about this if he tried. He'd thought he was used to it. Before he and Haley had broken up, they'd graduated from attempting to fuck, to Spencer just getting Haley off with his fingers, or his mouth, and then Spencer had kind of finished off by jerking off over her. Anything else just took too long and Spencer didn't really get off, and she'd get bored and he'd get embarrassed and it had pretty much been the worst time of his life. They'd stayed together so long because Spencer had gotten pretty damn amazing at getting Haley off, and they'd actually gotten on really well outside of the bedroom.

When he'd started falling for Brendon, though, he'd figured that sex with Haley had been bad because secretly he'd been thinking about guys. But that hadn't been true, either. Here he is, with Brendon, and still screwing everything up.

"Sorry," Spencer says.

"It'll get better," Brendon says, snuggling closer. He hooks his ankle over Spencer's, and rubs his thumb down Spencer's chest.

Spencer shuts his eyes and doesn't answer.



"I could, uh, just jerk you off," Spencer says. He doesn't even want to try fucking Brendon again. He isn't even sure he's hard any longer. "Or go down on you, whichever."

Brendon kisses the corner of his mouth. "Stop stressing," he says, nipping at Spencer's lip with his teeth. "I don't care."

"You should," Spencer says. "Sex is important, and I'm really shitty at it, and it's okay, I get that." He'd got it with Haley, and now he's getting it with Brendon, too. He figures that there's a good chance he could soon be as good at getting Brendon off with his hands and his mouth as he was when he was with Haley, though, and maybe that was what he should be aiming for. Not this actual sex thing he's so fucking bad at.

"We just have to keep trying," Brendon says. "We'll figure it out."

Spencer takes a deep breath. "I've never figured it out," he says, frustratedly. "Nothing's going to change now." He rolls over and stares at the wall, trying not to flinch as Brendon presses himself to his back, wrapping his arms around Spencer's chest.

"We'll figure it out," Brendon says again, and kisses the back of Spencer's neck.



"What do you think about when you jerk off?" Brendon asks, in a low voice.

Spencer shrugs. "You," he says, without meeting Brendon's eyes. Mostly. Whatever.

Brendon pushes Spencer back down on to the couch and kneels over him. "Yeah?" he says, and Spencer's been around Brendon long enough to know that Brendon's turned on, even though he's not exactly pushing Spencer into anything. It's been like this for a couple of weeks now, Brendon trying everything he can think of to try and make Spencer get off more easily.

Spencer's embarrassed and humiliated but he's tried everything Brendon's suggested, and it turns out he's still shitty at sex. There's a reason he mostly picks up fans and gets them off. They never have to have this conversation.

"And thinking about me gets you off?" Brendon asks, sitting back on his heels. He doesn't back off when Spencer doesn't say anything.

It's weird, because Spencer's never known Brendon be still, exactly, but ever since they've started this thing, Spencer's noticed that Brendon's more in control when they're like this. He wriggles less, pushes more, moves with a little more control. It's interesting, even though Spencer's pretty sure that Brendon has no clue he's doing it.

"Yeah," Spencer says. "You get me off." He does. Spencer jerks off as much as the next guy, and he thinks about Brendon pretty much all of the time, anyway. Spencer really fucking loves this dude, but there must be something missing between his brain and his dick because loving him and getting hard for him just doesn't translate as anything even vaguely close to good sex, or even staying hard some of the time. They've tried everything; foreplay and porn DVDs and dirty talk and even role play, but it just hasn't worked. Spencer still can't fuck Brendon and have it work out.

"What do you think about?" Brendon goes on, and he touches at Spencer's chin, tilting it up so that Spencer's meeting Brendon's eyes.

Spencer shrugs. "I don't know. Having sex with you," he says. "You riding me, whatever."

"Yeah?" Brendon says. His eyes gleam, and Spencer's mouth is dry all of a sudden. "You want me to ride you?"

"It's not going to make any difference," Spencer says, tiredly. Half of him wants to push Brendon away and tell him to just break up with him already, but Spencer's kind of stuck wanting Brendon around for as long as he can have him. He thinks about offering to go down on Brendon instead. Brendon can't turn down a blow job, right? "I could -"

"Shut up," Brendon says, rolling his eyes and closing the distance between them so that he can kiss the corner of Spencer's mouth. "We haven't done that. If you want me to ride you, we'll do it."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "Okay."



It starts off feeling just like every other time.

They make out, Brendon trying to relax him, crawling into his lap and kissing him long and lazy, taking his time. He's the one with his hand around Spencer's cock and it isn't as if Spencer being turned on around Brendon is exactly new, but Spencer's feels sort of different, like he's hard and wanting to follow through on it. Brendon pushes him down against the pillows and Spencer's not exactly going to resist; by the time Brendon's kneeling over him, lowering himself down onto Spencer's dick, Spencer's breathing hard and fast.

"This okay?" Brendon asks, when the tip of Spencer's cock is brushing up against Brendon's ass.

"Yeah," he says, breathlessly. He's trying not to think too much; they've been close to having good sex before. It isn't like Spencer has a problem getting it up; Brendon's fucking hot.

Brendon ducks his head and presses a kiss to Spencer's mouth. "Stop thinking," he says. "Fuck, you look amazing."

"Uh-huh," Spencer says, trying to concentrate on his cock, and its proximity to Brendon's ass. He touches at Brendon's hips. "Come on," he says, and then he pauses, biting his lip. "Please."

Brendon brushes his mouth to Spencer's. "You're still thinking too much," he says. "Stop rushing." And he gently pulls Spencer's hands away from his hips, putting one of Spencer's hands up above his head, and then the other.

"What -" Spencer manages, but he doesn't move his hands away from where Brendon's placed them, above Spencer's head, on the pillows.

"There's no rush," Brendon says, and he presses the palm of his hand to Spencer's wrists, just for a moment.

All of a sudden, Spencer can't breathe. "Brendon," he manages, and for a moment Brendon looks just as wide-eyed as Spencer imagines he looks himself, but then Brendon's eyes gleam and darken and he shifts a little so that he can push down on to Spencer's cock.

It's different. It's different from all those times they've tried before. Brendon's controlling the speed, and the rhythm, and how much of Spencer's cock he's taking in; his hand is still closed around Spencer's wrists and Spencer doesn't struggle. He tries to push up with his hips but Brendon's knees are flanking him, impeding his movement. Brendon stops moving long enough that he can splay his fingers across Spencer's hip and wait for him to still. It's a moment before Brendon leans over, and Spencer arches his back so that he can press up and meet Brendon in a kiss.

Spencer's relinquishing control and it's such a relief he can barely breathe.

When Spencer comes, Brendon is still riding his cock, and it's the best sex Spencer's ever had.



Afterwards, Brendon's fingers mark a slow pathway across Spencer's hips, and Spencer thinks that maybe the epiphany belongs to both of them, and not just him.

Brendon wraps an arm around Spencer's waist and tugs him closer, hiding his face in Spencer's shoulder and kissing his neck.



Spencer tries not to think about what it all means. He's pretty sure that Brendon's being deliberately easy about it, deliberately relaxed, deliberately laid back, and he's pretty sure that Brendon's doing it so that Spencer doesn't freak out. Spencer appreciates the gesture. The illusion of control still points firmly in Spencer's direction, but Spencer isn't stupid. He knows that Brendon leaning over and whispering fuck me means that Brendon's going to ride him, that Brendon's going to press Spencer's wrists into the sheets with one hand and hold them there until Spencer comes.

The shift is slow, but even Spencer can't deny it after a while. The only way Spencer's ever gotten off without jerking himself off is with Brendon holding him down.



Brendon tumbles over the back of the couch and lands heavily in Spencer's lap. Spencer tries to complain, but Brendon's already kissing him, pushing him back against the couch cushions. They're in the dressing room after a show, and Brendon's clearly taking advantage of the two minutes they have before they have to leave for the bus to the hotel.

"What -" Spencer manages, as Brendon straddles him and moves in to kiss him again. Fuck knows who's fucked on these cushions, Spencer doesn't wants to think about it. He's had his fair share of fans, sliding his hand between their thighs in more venues than he can count, and he's pretty sure that no one's thought to clean the cushions after the last hundred bands who've probably done the exact same thing right here.

"Shut up," Brendon says. "Kissing time, not talking time."

Spencer rolls his eyes, but he lets Brendon press him down against the cushions, pretending like he doesn't get hard from the way Brendon's body covers his. He can feel the thrum of adrenaline beneath Brendon's skin, the latent energy he's not doing that good a job of hiding. It feels kind of amazing.

Brendon slides his mouth across Spencer's cheek, his tongue rough against Spencer's beard. He stops by Spencer's ear, letting his teeth close gently around the lobe. Spencer can barely breathe.

"I want to fuck you," Brendon says, so softly Spencer thinks he's imagined it. "Spence," he says, and his other hand cups Spencer's cheek. "I want to take you to bed and fuck you."

It isn't phrased like a question, and Spencer doesn't know if he could have answered it if it was. Brendon's waiting, though, kind of still, his body covering Spencer's. Maybe Brendon knows him too well. He's still asking.

"Fuck," Spencer manages. "Fuck. Yes."

Brendon pulls off a little, resting back on his knees. His eyes burn dark, and he circles his fingers around Spencer's wrist, thumb against Spencer's pulse point.

Spencer's breath hitches, and something passes across Brendon's face, too quick for Spencer to catch. A question, maybe. Spencer stops thinking about it, because Brendon's leaning down again, capturing Spencer's mouth in a kiss.

Spencer stops thinking, and lets go.



The hotel room is no different to any of the others they've stayed in over the years, fairly nondescript and smelling just the same. There are a couple of bottles of shampoo and conditioner on the shelf that Spencer can see through the open door into the bathroom, and Spencer resolves to put them into his bag before they leave in the morning. He hardly ever has to actually pay for toiletries. It's a perk of touring so much.

Brendon starts to take off Spencer's clothes, one piece at a time, and Spencer's brain is already rebelling. As the clothes start to pool at his feet, Spencer can feel the tension mounting. He's trying to concentrate on the open bathroom door because if he doesn't, he knows he's going to want to tell Brendon to stop.

It feels like there's a battle going on inside of him and it's an actual struggle to let the part of his brain that's telling him to stay still, win. He can't—and doesn't want to—deny how this is making him feel, how turned on he is, how much he wants this. Brendon is slowly undressing him so that Spencer's naked and hard and desperate, and Spencer has never, ever stood still and let this happen before.

He's shaking.

Brendon takes Spencer's socks off, kneeling down in front of him and dropping them on top of the pile of Spencer's clothes, his shirt and hoodie and belt. He runs his hands up Spencer's legs, slowly, not stopping until his hands are on Spencer's hips. He undoes Spencer's button fly slowly, and pushes Spencer's pants and underwear down and over Spencer's erection.

Brendon helps Spencer kick off his pants and then he stands up and presses Spencer into a hug, a full body hug like the ones that Brendon's been giving him for years. It feels weird because Brendon's still fully-dressed and Spencer's completely naked, and hard, and shaking. Brendon strokes the nape of his neck, slowly, his fingers in Spencer's hair.

"Love you," Brendon says, softly. It isn't the first time he's said it, but Spencer shivers and presses closer, trying to ignore the voice in his head that's telling him to fight letting go like this.

Spencer doesn't say anything back, and just lets Brendon hug him harder.

"You should get on the bed," Brendon says, after a while. He runs his hands down Spencer's arms, closing his fingers around Spencer's wrists. It's weird, because it's not phrased like a question, but there's something about the way Brendon's looking at him which reassures Spencer that it is, really.

Spencer nods, and Brendon pushes him back until his calves are bumping up against the end of the bed. From there it's easy to sit down, to shuffle back so that he's just lying there on the bed, waiting.

"Yeah," Brendon says, his eyes dark. "Just like that. Stay there." Then he stands at the foot of the bed and peels his clothes off before crawling up the bed and kissing his way up Spencer's chest.

It isn't until Brendon's laying on top of him, hands in Spencer's hair, that Spencer feels like he can breathe again. "Brendon -" he tries, and Brendon closes the distance between them and kisses him.

"Fuck," Brendon says, in between kisses, "you're so fucking hot, Spence. You're gorgeous."

Spencer's cheeks burn and his hips press up, and he kisses Brendon back, harder this time, his breath catching.

It's a while before Brendon breaks the kiss to lean over to the nightstand. Spencer had watched him get a tube of lube out of his duffel earlier, lube and a handful of condoms, and Spencer doesn't know why this is such a big deal for him. People switch all the time, he's pretty sure, so he doesn't know why he's freaking out now that it's him. He concentrates on not showing Brendon how freaked out he is, or how much he wants this to work.

"Been thinking about this," Brendon says, coating his fingers with lube.

"About, uh." Spencer trails off. "Fucking me?"

"Fucking you," Brendon agrees, and he leans over and so fucking slowly, he opens Spencer up. Spencer's never had anything in his ass before, and even though it's a little uncomfortable and more than a little gross, it's kind of ridiculously satisfying, right from the first moment Brendon presses in a finger. Brendon pushes Spencer's knees up and kneels between them, still moving his fingers really slowly and carefully. Spencer's dick bobs wetly against his stomach.

Spencer's making noises, sounds he can't recognize, barely formed words, gasps and whimpers and when he looks down the bed it's to see Brendon between his legs and his fingers splayed across Spencer's thigh.

"So hot," Brendon says, softly, although Brendon's eyes are so dark Spencer hardly recognizes them. "I'm going to fuck you," he goes on to say, and Spencer can't help it, he keens.

He's not going to last much longer, he can't. "Brendon," he says, his fingers reaching out, trying for purchase. "Please -"

"Yeah," Brendon says, and then he's reaching for the condom, sliding it on, slicking himself up (God, Spencer thinks, God God God) and then Brendon's sliding in, so slowly that Spencer's just gasping for breath and holding onto Brendon's arms, fingers digging in as Brendon moves.

Spencer doesn't last long, but then neither does Brendon. It's over in a couple of minutes and Brendon's collapsing down on top of him, mouthing wetly against Spencer's neck.

When they've gotten their breath back, Brendon crawls up the bed and presses his mouth to Spencer's.

"Holy crap, Brendon," Spencer manages, his fingers curling into Brendon's hair. There's still sweat across his forehead. His heart's beating fast and there's too much stuff going on inside his head.

"Yeah," Brendon says, tucking his face into the curve of Spencer's neck. "Can it always be like that?"

Spencer says, "Please."



Brendon crowds him up against the wall by the door to the hotel room, five minutes before they're supposed to be down in the lobby for the bus call.

"Brendon -" Spencer starts, but Brendon just grins and splays his fingers across Spencer's hip. With his other hand, he takes Spencer's wrist and holds it up above his head, pressed against the wall.

Spencer gasps, and Brendon leans in for a kiss, not letting go of Spencer's wrist.

"You like that?" Brendon asks, sliding his tongue along Spencer's lip.

"Which part?" Spencer manages, because his brain is seriously fucking whiting out. Brendon's body is covering his, crowding him back against the wall, and his hand is above his head and Brendon is holding it there, and Spencer has no idea which of those things is the hotter, because he's already hard again, and he's pretty sure that that sound in his throat he's desperately trying to keep in is a fucking whine.

"If we had time," Brendon says, ignoring Spencer's question and concentrating on pinning both Spencer's wrists to the wall above his head, "I'd hold you here like this."

Spencer actually groans, and Brendon looks a mixture of delighted and turned on.

"Fuck, you really fucking like this," he says.

"No shit, Sherlock," Spencer grinds out, and he is really, stupidly hard. He wants to press his hips forward and rub off against something—anything—and he thinks this might be the closest he's ever come to coming without at least a hand on his dick.

"Jeez," Brendon goes on, eyes wide. He presses his knees either side of Spencer's, so that Spencer can't arch forward, pinning him in place. Spencer bites off another whine as Brendon tightens his grip on Spencer's wrists. "I could turn you around," Brendon says, kind of wonderingly, "and fuck you up against the wall, just like this, hands above your head -"

Spencer cries out, and comes.

It's so unexpected that Brendon just stares at him for a moment, as Spencer tries to breathe, head tipped back against the wall as he rides out his orgasm.

"Did you just -" Brendon manages, loosening his hold on Spencer's wrists. "You came."

"Fuck," Spencer says. He did. He's never come like that before.

"Just from that," Brendon says, stupidly, stepping back.

"Yeah," Spencer says, red-faced. He's embarrassed, and hot all over, and sticky. His heart is racing. He doesn't know if he's got a spare pair of jeans up here. He pushes past Brendon to where his bag's on the floor, zipped up and ready to go downstairs. He kneels over it, his face burning, and roots through until he finds a pair of sweatpants. He's embarrassed about changing in front of Brendon for some stupid reason.

"Spence -" Brendon says.

"It's nothing," Spencer says, quickly, tugging up his sweatpants. "Come on, we'll be late down."



Spencer spends the rest of the day sprawled across the couch on the bus watching old episodes of Thunderbirds on imported DVD. When Brendon comes in from the bunks, he looks sleepy and half-awake, his shorts low on his hips, a well-worn, scruffy t-shirt rucked up so that he can scratch his belly.

Brendon wanders into the kitchenette and comes over with a couple of bottles of juice. "Thirsty?" he asks, waving one of them in Spencer's direction.

"I guess," Spencer says, shrugging a shoulder. He doesn't know why he feels so awkward around Brendon right now. He's been bad at sex for so long that he's pretty sure he should be happy now it's finally starting to go right. It's just that it's some definition of right he hadn't previously figured out. He gets off by being held down and crowded and fucked, by Brendon, and that's just going to take a little getting used to.

"Cool," Brendon says, handing Spencer a bottle and poking him in the thigh until he rolls over. "Move over," he says.

"What?" Spencer starts, but Brendon's already clambering onto the couch and taking the warm spot. He arranges himself carefully, letting Spencer be the big spoon. He tugs Spencer's arm around his waist, pressing back against Spencer's chest.

"Stop thinking," Brendon says, lacing his fingers with Spencer's. "And definitely stop freaking out."

"Am not," Spencer lies, but Brendon just hums, and squeezes Spencer's hand.

"Tell me which episode this is," Brendon says, nudging at Spencer's feet with his own. "What have I missed?"

"This dude's trapped in a vault under a bank," Spencer explains, "and International Rescue have to come rescue him before the air runs out, but they can't use the mole to dig in because of all the underground shit around the bank."

"You're such a dork," Brendon says, affectionately.

"Shut up," Spencer says, and hides his smile in the back of Brendon's shirt.



"Do you think," Brendon says, one evening just after they're back from tour, "do you think if I got some handcuffs, you'd be okay with that?"

Spencer takes a moment to compose himself, and spends longer than strictly necessary trying to find the ketchup in the fridge. "What?" he says, just in case he made that shit up with his brain.

"Handcuffs," Brendon says, patiently, hauling himself up so he's sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter. He throws one of Bogart's rubber balls from one hand to the other, and out in the hallway Bogart starts going crazy, thinking Brendon's going to take him to the park. "I want to buy some for you."

Spencer's heart speeds up, and he can't help but think about Brendon kneeling over him in bed, handcuffs in hand. He's getting hard just thinking about it. "You'd, uh," he says, eloquently, letting the fridge door fall closed behind him.

"Cuff you to the bed, probably," Brendon finishes, super-casually. "Or maybe cuff your hands behind your back."

Spencer is all of a sudden, completely breathless. "B -"

"You think you could kneel down with your hands cuffed behind your back?" Brendon goes on. "Maybe suck me off like that?"

Spencer thinks, yes. The answer is so immediate, and so obvious he can barely manage to nod.

"Come here," Brendon says, opening his legs so that there's space for Spencer to stand in between them. He scoots back on the counter a little, his knees wide apart.

Spencer doesn't need to be told twice, and he leaves the ketchup on the table as he presses into Brendon's embrace. Brendon kisses him hungrily, tugging him even closer so that they're pressed together, chest to chest.

Spencer's erection bumps against the edge of the counter as they kiss, and it feels good to get some friction. His hips press forward a little, but then Brendon's grinning against Spencer's mouth and sliding a hand down and into Spencer's shorts.

"Fuck," Brendon says, in between kisses, "you're so hard."

Spencer always thinks he's done being embarrassed about stuff like this, but he isn't. Not when it means admitting just how turned on he gets at the thought of Brendon being in charge. "Shut up," he says, trying to roll his eyes. He bites back a groan, instead, unable to stop thinking about Brendon cuffing his wrists together.

"You shut up. I fucking love how hard you get," Brendon says, his fist curling around Spencer's erection. "You have no idea."

Spencer's head tips back as Brendon starts to jerk him off, a little rough, not enough glide and too much friction. Spencer groans, and Brendon cuts him off with another kiss.

"You're so hot like this," Brendon continues, running his palm across the tip of Spencer's cock. "You love it."

"Yeah," Spencer finds himself agreeing, because he does. His brain-to-mouth function is kind of screwed when Brendon's got his hand down Spencer's pants, anyway. He loves it. Him. Whatever.

"Want to try it now?" Brendon whispers, nipping at Spencer's ear.

Spencer must look pretty stupid, because Brendon laughs and slides his hand around Spencer's neck, stroking at his nape and kissing him again.

"You on your knees for me. No handcuffs, but you could hold your hands behind your back for me."

Spencer's cock jerks in Brendon's hand, and Brendon grins against Spencer's mouth.

"Say yes," Brendon tells him.

"Yes," Spencer manages, and then Brendon's hopping off the counter and pushing Spencer into the living room, where there's carpet. Brendon shuts the door so that Bogart's out in the hallway, whining by the front door with his leash in his mouth. "You'll have to take him out," Spencer says, trying to sound normal.

"Afterwards," Brendon tells him, and he pushes Spencer up against the wall and kisses him, hard and dirty. "So amazing, Spence."

Spencer's cock hangs out over the waistband of his shorts, and he'd feel stupid, apart from how Brendon always manages to make him feel like he's really fucking hot.

It's another minute before Brendon lets him go, and then they switch places so that Brendon has his back against the wall, and Spencer drops to his knees in front of him.

"Hands behind your back," Brendon says, one hand in Spencer's hair. "And next time, we'll have the cuffs."

Spencer's breath stutters, and Brendon tugs him forward a little so that his nose brushes against Brendon's crotch.

"Can you keep them there?" Brendon asks, without making a move to undo his fly. "Just like that?"

Spencer nods. His palms are sweaty already, where he's holding his hands together behind his back. There have been blow jobs in bed, but he's never gone down on his knees for Brendon before. He's concentrating on what it feels like to have Brendon's hand in his hair, just stroking, but then Brendon's fingers catch, and pull, and Spencer hisses in a breath as his cock jumps.

He's pretty sure that Brendon notices, but Brendon doesn't say anything, just unzips his fly and pushes his pants down and out of the way. Spencer can feel Brendon's hand in his hair, guiding him forwards, but Spencer's already there, his mouth open.

Brendon is a heavy weight on his tongue, and his mouth is too dry and his jaw is tired, but it's kind of amazing. It's the difference between him controlling how he goes down on Brendon, and Brendon controlling it himself. Brendon's hands are in his hair, dictating how much, and how fast, and it's like there's this box in Spencer's head that Brendon's somehow managed to unlock. All of these feelings and labels and words are suddenly swimming around inside of him, and it's kind of overwhelming.

Brendon comes after a while, tipping his head back against the wall and trying to catch his breath.

Spencer sits back on his heels, but he can't speak. He doesn't know what to say. He tucks his cock back inside his shorts and feels really weird. He's still hard, but he doesn't much feel like jacking off anymore.

When Brendon opens his eyes again, he takes one look at Spencer and drags him up and onto the couch, wrapping his arms around him. He doesn't say anything, and Spencer waits a moment before hugging Brendon back.

"Are you freaking out?" Brendon asks, after a minute. "Was that too much? Do you want me to jerk you off?"

Spencer shakes his head. He's not in the mood, somehow. But it hadn't felt like too much. It had just felt hot. It was just—his head. The middle of a blow job probably wasn't the best time for an epiphany. "I'm fine," he says.

"Yeah," Brendon says, "and I can play the piano strings with spoons."

Spencer pushed him away, rolling his eyes. "Really, I'm fine."

"For some definition of fine that means totally freaking the fuck out," Brendon agrees.

"Brendon," Spencer says, tiredly. He doesn't want to talk about this; he doesn't want to talk about how it turns out he wants to be held down and fucked and have his hair pulled and his hands tied behind his back. About how he's a freak.

"Okay, okay," Brendon says, his voice measured. They don't say anything for a minute, and Spencer stays rigidly still in Brendon's arms. "You want to come with me while I take Bogart to the park? We could play ball, or whatever. Bogart likes that shit."

"You like that shit," Spencer says, uncomfortably.

"Yeah, yeah," Brendon says. "Me and Bogart. And you. You like that shit. Come with us. We'll stop and get take out on the way home."

"Are you sure?" Spencer asks.

"Yeah," Brendon says, standing up and fixing his pants. "And then later on, I can tell you about how weird it is that I get off thinking about telling you to do stuff and holding you down. And about how I jerked off this morning thinking about handcuffing you to the bed, and how I'm pretty sure that makes me a freak for wanting to do all this stuff to you."

There's a long pause. "You're not a freak," Spencer says, finally. His skin feels really hot.

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure you're not, either." Brendon shrugs, and holds his hand out. "You want to come out with me and Bogart and tell me what's going on in your head?"

Spencer swallows. He can't get past the idea of Brendon jerking off thinking about doing all that stuff to him. "You, uh, really jerked off to that?"

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Yeah," he says. "Like you don't jack off thinking about me doing just as weird shit to you. Come and throw a ball for Bogart."

"Okay," Spencer says, after a beat, and goes to find his shoes.



Spencer refuses to go to the sex shop with Brendon, because he might have admitted to wanting Brendon to handcuff him, but the idea of having to see all that other stuff is just too much, too soon. He's pretty sure that his brain can only take so much stimulation before he freaks out again.

But Brendon just grins a lot, and leaves Spencer with Bogart for the afternoon.

He comes home with a bag that looks way bigger than it should do just for a pair of handcuffs, but Brendon just shakes his head and refuses to show him.

"It's going to be a surprise," Brendon says, after he's hidden the bag and come downstairs with a pair of wrist cuffs, connected by a chain attached to a D-ring on each cuff. "Anyway, these looked much more comfortable than the handcuffs," Brendon explains, straddling Spencer's legs and getting in the way of his view of the TV.

"Ace of Cakes," Spencer says, pointing at the TV and trying his best not to concentrate on the way his heart's thumping, or the way his dick is stirring in his pants.

"Spencer," Brendon says, severely, holding the cuffs up. "Sex. With me. And cuffs."

"Charm City Cakes," Spencer says. "They're making a train out of gingerbread. There's a marathon."

"Wow," Brendon says, nodding. "That's amazing. It's like, a train out of gingerbread, or sex with me. If there's even a question there, we're breaking up." He waits a moment. "Unless you don't want to, or whatever. If you've changed your mind -"

Spencer blinks. "I'll tivo it," he says, and reaches for the remote.

Brendon lets out a breath. For a brief moment, his face flickers, but then he slips back into his familiar easy smile. "Gee," he says, "thanks. You do that, and I'll just get started on my own." He unzips his pants, deliberately shifting so that it's even more difficult for Spencer to see the screen. He isn't wearing any underwear, and Spencer's mouth is dry. "That's fine, Spence, you keep watching TV and I'll just jack off all over you, that okay?"

Spencer actually chokes on thin air, which - as he gasps for breath and stumbles over his words—turns out to be just as embarrassing as he had always imagined it would be.

Brendon starts to laugh, and Spencer gets more and more red-faced. In the end, Spencer pushes Brendon so that they both tumble down sideways onto the couch.

"Dick," Spencer says, once he's gotten his breath back. He's pressed back against the couch cushions, Brendon awkwardly splayed against his front.

"Lamer," Brendon retaliates, and Spencer feels warm, right down to his toes. Brendon leans in and drops a kiss to the corner of Spencer's mouth. "Hey," he goes on, "you should have come with me today. That place was kind of amazing. I was so fucking hard the whole way home, thinking about you and some of the stuff there."

Spencer shuffles a little, awkwardly so that his dick isn't so uncomfortable up against his fly. "Next time," he says, and thinks about the wrist cuffs in Brendon's hand.

Brendon nods easily. "Sure," he says. He props himself up on one elbow and unhooks the chain from the cuffs. "Want me to put these on you without the chain, first? See how they feel?"

It's an easy decision, and Spencer holds his hands out.

Brendon's eyes flicker dark, and then he's pressing Spencer back against the couch, kissing him hard. "You're so fucking amazing," he says, in between kisses. "Seriously."

Spencer arches up against him, itching to tangle his fingers in Brendon's hair, pull him closer and make him stay. "Yeah, yeah," he says, breathlessly. "Come on, I thought you were going to put those cuffs on me." He's been thinking about the handcuffs every since Brendon first mentioned them, but now he's seen the wrist cuffs, he much prefers the idea of them.

"Promises, promises," Brendon hums, tugging at the hem of Spencer's shirt. "Shirt off, Spence. I want to jack off across your chest."

Spencer hisses in a breath, but he keeps it together this time, and doesn't lose his shit. He tugs off his shirt and drops it over the back of the couch; Bogart immediately commandeers it as his new, personal bed.

"Hands," Brendon says, and Spencer holds his hands out.

"That dog'll piss on my shirt," Spencer complains.

Brendon rolls his eyes. "And I'll come on your chest. Shut up."

Spencer's dick jumps at that, and Brendon's eyes gleam as he carefully wraps the cuffs around Spencer's wrists. They're not tight, but they're close-fitting, and even without his wrists being bound together, Spencer feels kind of different, like he's connected to Brendon in a way he hasn't been before.

Brendon circles his fingers around Spencer's wrists, on top of the cuffs. "You okay?" he asks.

Spencer nods, slowly.

"How'd they feel?" Brendon asks, after a moment.

Spencer swallows. "Like -" he trails off. Like I belong to you is too weird a thing to think, let alone say. He amends it to, "Good. They feel good."

Brendon leans in and presses a kiss to Spencer's mouth. "Good," he echoes, and there's something about the way his eyes meet Spencer's that makes Spencer think that maybe they're thinking along the same wavelength. It probably should be weirder than it is. They shift position so that Spencer's laying along the couch with Brendon straddling him. Brendon curls in for a kiss.

"Hands above your head," Brendon says, after a while of exchanging soft, almost-chaste kisses. He runs his hands down Spencer's chest. It isn't as if Spencer's ever found people touching his chest to be that good, but the way that Brendon's running his fingertips across his skin, feather-light and slow, means that Spencer's left tipping his head back against the cushion and fighting back a groan. "Hands," Brendon says again, and it's definitely not an order, but there's something about the way he says it, an edge that means Spencer's quick to obey.

"Good," Brendon says, deftly attaching the chain between Spencer's wrists before leaning in and licking a stripe down Spencer's neck. "Good," he says again, softer this time, but there's a shake to his voice he's trying to hide.

Spencer shivers, and tries to remember how to breathe. He pulls against the chain a little, just testing the give. There's plenty, but it still feels like not enough. He can't describe how he feels, laying there with his wrists cuffed. He feels a little like he does when he gets his first hit off a joint, that first moment when the drug hits and everything shifts.

"Fuck," Brendon says, breathlessly, "you're so fucking hot, Spence."

It's a total shock, looking up and meeting Brendon's gaze and realizing that he's as turned on as Spencer is. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are dark and he's jerking himself off roughly, quickly, one hand still stroking at Spencer's chest.

Spencer shivers as Brendon's fingertips reach his shoulder, his armpit, his arm. It's incredible. He's still wearing pants and his dick is painfully hard, trapped up against his fly and Brendon's ass. He can't do anything other than try and push upwards, desperate for friction, but Brendon doesn't help.

"Gonna take you upstairs after this," Brendon tells him, jacking himself quicker. "Going to fuck you while you're cuffed to the bed."

Spencer bites his lip to keep from whining.

"You want that?" Brendon asks, touching Spencer's chest, brushing his palm over first one nipple, then the other.

Spencer can't stifle his groan, bucking up as much as he can against Brendon's weight. "Yes," he manages. "Fuck, yes."

"Going to finger you first," Brendon gasps, and it's almost weird to see Brendon so out of control, so desperate. He's really fucking hot when he's this turned on.

"Oh, fuck," Spencer manages. He keeps looking at Brendon's dick, hard and red and glistening wet across the tip. His mouth fucking waters, and jeez, how had he managed to get this far in life without realizing exactly what it was that turned him on? He doesn't think he's ever come in his pants so much as he has since he and Brendon started figuring this shit out. He bucks up against Brendon's ass, and wishes that someone was actually touching his dick.

"Going to come," Brendon says. "Oh fuck, Spence, I'm going to come."

"Me too," Spencer tries to catch his breath, but he can't.

Brendon comes first, in streaks across Spencer's chest, one hitting Spencer's chin. It's almost his mouth and no one has ever come on Spencer's face before, but just the thought of it is enough to tip Spencer over the edge, too, and he's coming in his pants.

Afterwards, Brendon rolls on to his side, pressing himself into the gap between the back of the couch and Spencer's side. He leans up and unhooks the chain from one of the wrist cuffs, leaving Spencer's wrists free but the chain dangling from one wrist. He shifts so that Spencer can wrap his arms around him, and Brendon can lick sleepily at Spencer's jaw.

"Wow," Spencer says, after a while. He'd managed to wipe away some of Brendon's come with Brendon's t-shirt, but there's still a streak of rapidly drying come across his belly. He picks at it with one finger.

"Dude," Brendon says, sleepily.

"You liked that, huh?" Spencer asks, with a grin. He's sticky and wet and uncomfortable in his pants, but the idea of letting Brendon go anytime soon is a pretty stupid one. His shoulders are aching a little too, but not enough to bite. He rolls them, trying to loosen up.

"Shut up," Brendon says, lazily. "Of course I did. You're totally fucking hot."

"You totally fucking came on my chest."

"Yeah, yeah," Brendon grins against Spencer's shoulder. "You came in your pants."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Only because you promised to fuck me."

"Promises, promises," Brendon echoes, shuffling so he's more comfortable and Spencer's less comfortable, with a sticky, sweaty Brendon plastered to his side.

Spencer pokes him in the side. "You promised to fuck me," he says again.

"Dude," Brendon says. "Can't a guy ride a post-orgasm high around here without being bugged to start fucking, too?"

"No," Spencer says, and sits up. "I'm taking my clothes off," he says, unbuttoning his jeans. "And I'm pretty sure you should follow me upstairs."

Brendon rolls his eyes and stands up. "I'm sleepy," he complains. "That was a really fucking good orgasm. You should give me a piggy back upstairs."

Spencer kicks off his jeans and leans in for a kiss. He's still in the cuffs and there's a chain brushing against the inside of his wrist as he lets Brendon tug him closer for another kiss. It feels—it feels kind of amazing. "Upstairs," he manages, after a minute, and Brendon grins against his mouth.

"Lead the way, then," he says, and smacks Spencer on the ass.

Huh, Spencer thinks and goes upstairs.



Brendon's careful with him, which Spencer really likes. They make out for a while, Brendon cupping his face and taking his time. Every time Spencer tries to speed it up, push for the part where Brendon takes his wrists and binds them to the headboard, Brendon just shakes his head and kisses Spencer again, pressing him down into the sheets.

"Stop rushing," Brendon tells him. "This is kissing time, not turning-Brendon-the-fuck-on time."

"You're so weird," Spencer says, rolling his eyes.

"You love it," Brendon agrees, sliding his knee in between Spencer's thighs, and running a hand down Spencer's chest. "Now shut up and kiss me back."

"Mmmph," Spencer manages, but it's easy to tilt his chin up and meet Brendon's mouth in a kiss, groaning as Brendon nips at his lip before sliding his tongue against Spencer's.

Spencer doesn't know how long they make out for, but it feels like too long. Every time he tries to speed it along, pull away and put his hands above his head, Brendon drags them back down to his side again.

"Stop that," Brendon says, eventually, reprovingly.

"But -" Spencer starts. Brendon puts his hand over Spencer's mouth and rolls his eyes.

"Will you do what you're told for one minute?" Brendon asks. "Hands down by your side, I said."

Spencer feels a thrill of pleasure rush through him, and he's not entirely sure why. He keeps his hands down by his side, though, even though he wants to put them up above his head and have Brendon attach his wrists to the headboard.

Brendon watches for a moment, then he nods. "Good," he says, "that's better."

Spencer feels stupidly, ridiculously proud. His brain is trying to stick with the stupid part, though, and something must show on his face because Brendon wraps his arms around Spencer's shoulders and holds on.

"Stupid brain," Spencer says, against Brendon's skin.

Brendon buries his face in Spencer's neck and licks at the hollow there. "It's okay," he says. "We can stop. Or, you know, wait. Whatever."

Spencer thinks about moving his hands, shifting so that he can wrap them around Brendon's back and hold on. He doesn't, though, and he stays still for a moment and tries to remember what it felt like a moment earlier, proud. "No," he says, softly. "We can go on."

"You sure?" Brendon asks. He looks concerned, and Spencer feels even more stupid.

"Yeah," he says, "come on, where were we?"

"Hmm," Brendon says. "Okay." But he doesn't tell Spencer what to do anymore, much to Spencer's frustration. They're back to making out, Brendon's hands in Spencer's hair, tilting his mouth up for kiss after kiss after kiss, until Spencer's lips feel swollen and tender. He's hard, and Brendon is too, but Brendon doesn't make a move to speed anything up.

"Brendon," Spencer manages, eventually. "Please, can we -"

Brendon pulls back a little, and rests back on his elbows. "Can we what?" he asks. He strokes at Spencer's hair, tucking it back behind his ear.

"I want to," Spencer says. His cheeks feel pink and he's not sure why he's embarrassed. Brendon waits patiently, but he doesn't stop touching Spencer, which Spencer feels relieved about. "What we were doing before. You, uh." His brain is trying to rebel again, but Spencer soldiers on. He wants this, he really does. "You could cuff me to the headboard," Spencer says, after a moment. "Fuck me, like you promised. Or -" he colors, and Brendon's hand stills. "Or you could just keep telling me what to do, like before. I liked that."

Brendon breaks out into the biggest smile Spencer can remember seeing, and then he squeaks out a laugh and buries his face in Spencer's neck. "Dude," Brendon says, after Spencer's wrapped his arms around him in surprise, "dude, fuck. I didn't mean to do that and I swear, it's the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen. It was just supposed to be a joke, but then you did it."

Spencer shrugs, awkwardly. "I didn't know you were joking." He feels kind of stupid, and even more stupid for asking Brendon to do it again. He puts his hands back down by his side, and turns his head to look at the wall.

"No," Brendon says quickly, shaking his head and splaying his fingers across Spencer's chest. "No, I didn't mean I was joking. I meant -" he shakes his head, and then he's not laughing anymore, and when Spencer meets his gaze, his eyes are dark. "I don't know what I meant. But then you did it, and you were just so fucking still, and looking at me -"

Spencer's heart is beating too quickly, and his breath is coming quick and fast. He's not moving, trying to keep still in case Brendon notices he's keeping his hands by his side, like he asked earlier. Spencer's never noticeably begged for praise before, but he wants that feeling back, that split second of pride so strong his fingertips tingled.

"Are you -" Brendon trails off, and strokes his fingers down Spencer's jaw. "Are you keeping still for me? Right now?"

Spencer can't help the flush that spills across his cheeks. His brain is telling him to deny it, to just roll over onto his side and pretend like he wasn't hoping that Brendon would notice.

"Spence," Brendon says, softly.

"Yes," Spencer says, fast. He doesn't want to meet Brendon's eyes because he's too embarrassed.

"Fuck," Brendon manages. His voice sounds a little strangled, and he runs his palm down Spencer's chest. "You're so fucking amazing," he says, and Spencer can't help it, he feels fantastic. "Just, look at you."

"Shut up," Spencer says. Embarrassment and pride fight for control, and embarrassment wins out. His face is burning. He clenches one hand into a fist, and Brendon leans in and wraps his hand around Spencer's wrist, around the cuff.

"No," Brendon says. "I won't. Totally fucking amazing, Spence." His thumb strokes at the heel of Spencer's hand, and Spencer bites back a gasp. It's stupid, stupid, stupid how turned on he gets just from Brendon touching him, just from Brendon kneeling over him and holding his wrist.

Brendon leans in even closer, bending down so that his mouth is grazing Spencer's cheek. "You can move any time you want to," he tells Spencer, and Spencer feels strangely let down, "but I'd rather you stayed still. If you stayed like this. For me."

Spencer's skin burns, but he can't help but nod.

"Good," Brendon says. "And fucking tell me if you're freaking out, okay?"

Spencer nods again, quickly.

"I mean it," Brendon tells him, seriously. "You've got to tell me."

Spencer lets out a breath. "I'll tell you," he says, even though he feels like an idiot for making such a big deal out of this. "Promise."

"Good," Brendon says again, and he runs his hand up Spencer's thigh, from the inside of his knee up to his hip. Spencer's breath catches in his throat. Brendon rolls over, and leans in so he can press a kiss to Spencer's open mouth. It's a moment before Spencer's brain catches up, before he realizes what Brendon's doing, just kissing him open mouthed and slowly, nothing more.

There's a moment before Spencer starts kissing him back, still a little surprised that Brendon's asking nothing more of him than to stay still while they kiss. But Brendon doesn't ask for anything else. He's kissing him kind of loudly and obnoxiously, groaning against Spencer's mouth, kneeling up over him and cupping Spencer's face in his hands, but he doesn't speed up, or press for anything more. Spencer can feel himself relaxing as Brendon keeps on kissing him, fingers splayed across his jaw, his cheek.

"You kept so still," Brendon says as he breaks the kiss. He's stroking down Spencer's chest, and his eyes are darker than usual, his cheeks pink. "Even when I was kissing you, you didn't move. That's so good, Spence."

Spencer bites back a proud smile, and concentrates on the way he feels, the way his skin tingles and burns. He feels a little more in control of himself, more in control of his stupid brain. He feels proud.

Brendon rolls off him, and presses himself to Spencer's side, tangling his fingers in Spencer's and kissing the back of his hand. His erection pushes at Spencer's hip, a glimpse of what Spencer thinks is coming, and then Brendon's lifting Spencer's hands above his head, resting them on the pillow. Spencer's breath catches as he imagines Brendon cuffing him to the headboard, and it's half heat and desire, and half trepidation and fear.

Spencer waits, but nothing happens. Brendon leaves Spencer's hands there on the pillow, and leans in for another kiss. It's soft, and gentle, and Spencer can't help the sound he makes, groaning as Brendon's hand grazes Spencer's cock. He leaves his hands where Brendon left them, palms up above his head, fingers tangled together.

Brendon licks along Spencer's lip, and pulls away. "I'm going to finger you in a minute," he tells Spencer, conversationally. "And you're going to keep so still," he goes on, "you're going to look so fucking hot like that, all spread open for me and keeping still."

Spencer tries to bite back a whine, but he can't.

"You like that idea?" Brendon asks. He wraps his arm around Spencer's chest, and strokes at Spencer's nipple with his thumb.

Spencer nods. He doesn't trust himself to speak.

"Fuck," Brendon says, "I can't believe this is happening." He snorts a nervous laugh, and suddenly he's just that same guy Spencer's been in love with months, that dorky guy he's been friends with for years.

"Yeah," Spencer tries to grin, but it's too weird. He's concentrating on keeping still, on keeping his hands above his head, on the way the cuffs feel around his wrists. Even though he's not restrained he still feels kind of special.

Brendon smiles, widely, and ducks down to press his face into the curve of Spencer's neck. "This makes me so hard," he whispers, and Spencer can't decide whether to despair of Brendon's total inability to engage his brain to mouth function, or hope he never stops.

"Yeah?" Spencer manages, again. His breath feels tight in his chest, and when Brendon runs a hand down his chest, he stutters. His skin is really sensitive, all of a sudden.

"Totally fucking hard," Brendon agrees. "Fuck, I'm going to be jacking off to this for months."

"Uh-huh," Spencer says. He thinks, me too.

"You're so still," Brendon goes on, fingertips brushing Spencer's pubic hair. Spencer's cock is really hard, the head slippery and shiny-wet.

Spencer gasps, and tries really, really hard not to press his hips up and into Brendon's hand. He bites his lip in concentration.

"You're doing really well," Brendon goes on, stroking at Spencer's hip. Spencer isn't sure if keeping still means keeping quiet, too, so he swallows back a whine and tries not to whimper as Brendon's wrist brushes Spencer's cock. "So well." He shifts, and kisses Spencer's hip bone. He's kneeling by Spencer's legs, and when he looks up at Spencer, his eyes are shining, the pupils dark and wide. "I want you to spread your legs, can you do that for me?"

Spencer nods. It feels strange to Spencer, responding like this, how at odds it is with anything he's acknowledged before. The strangest part is how much he wants to do whatever Brendon asks of him, though, and how he wants to do it well. He shifts his legs apart, and bites back the part of him that wants to ask, enough? He waits for Brendon, instead. He presses his hands down into the pillow, and waits.

"Yeah," Brendon says, fingertips stroking the inside of Spencer's knee. "Like that, that's right, Spence. Fuck, you look good like this, all spread open for me -"

Brendon's always been good at talking a lot, and at times it's driven Spencer crazy, but right now he's relieved by the babble of words, the sound of something so familiar at a time when everything—even the bedroom and their own bed, the inside of his own head—feels so starkly different to him from before.

"Knees up," Brendon goes on, hands sliding down so they're circling Spencer's ankles. "Good," he says, "You're doing really well."

Spencer nods, and tries to store away the way it feels when Brendon praises him, so he can remember in the future. His skin prickles, and when Brendon leans in to press a kiss to the inside of his knee, Spencer bites back a sound he can't even recognize.

Brendon grins, and when he does it again, presses his mouth to the inside of his knee, Spencer tips his head back and tries to swallow a groan.

"Fuck," Brendon says. His voice sounds a little hoarse. "So fucking hot." He crawls up the bed and kisses the corner of Spencer's mouth. "Can you hold on to the headboard for me?" he runs his hands up Spencer's arms, twining his fingers with Spencer's for a moment.

Spencer lets Brendon touch him, but doesn't move. "Aren't you going to cuff me?" he asks. He's pretty sure Brendon's just asking him to hold on, which isn't what he expected.

Brendon waits a moment before shaking his head. "Not this time," he says, and Spencer feels some of the tension seep out of his shoulders. It isn't that he doesn't want this; he does, maybe more than he's wanted anything in a long time, but his head's telling him he's going too fast, and he's inclined to agree. "If you can just hold on and not move, then maybe next time I'll cuff you. If you want."

Spencer bites at his lip and nods.

"Can you do it?" Brendon asks, because Spencer still hasn't moved. "Hold on to the bed?"

"Yeah," Spencer says, softly.

Brendon lets out a long breath. "Good," he says, and leans down to kiss Spencer's cheek. It always feels a little strange when Brendon kisses his beard, kind of scratchy. Spencer likes it.

He moves so that he's holding on to the bed, his arms spread wide.

"That's good," Brendon says again, kissing the corner of Spencer's mouth. Spencer responds belatedly, concentrating on holding on. Concentrating on what it feels like to lay here, so open. "You want me to tell you what I'm going to do?"

Spencer nods, and tries to swallow. Brendon's stroking at his hip, and again it's a surprise how in control Brendon is—not of Spencer, but of himself. Spencer wonders for a moment if Brendon's even aware of it, but then Brendon ducks down and touches his mouth to the underside of Spencer's cock, and this time he can't stifle the cry.

"Good," Brendon says, "I want to hear you. You don't have to be quiet this time. I'm going to put my fingers in your ass first, okay? Really slow."

Spencer lets out a long, slow breath. He doesn't say anything. It feels like there's too much for him to take in. Keeping still and letting Brendon take over, and what Brendon's doing to him, it's all too much.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He hears Brendon leaning over to the nightstand and then the flick of the lube cap. There's a moment, and Brendon moving, and then Brendon's leaning over him and resting his finger against Spencer's ass.

It's cold, and kind of a surprise even though Spencer was tensed up, waiting for it, and he can't help the strangled whine he makes as Brendon strokes at him, kind of lazily. He doesn't push inside.

They've done this more than a few times, now, but Spencer isn't sure he's ever going to get used to how good it makes him feel. "Oh," he manages, as Brendon strokes over his entrance again. "Oh."

"Yeah," Brendon says. His voice is low and Spencer wants to reach for him, wrap his fingers around Brendon's wrist and hold on. He doesn't, and his fingers tense around the wood.

"You're doing so well," Brendon goes on, nudging the tip of one finger inside of Spencer's ass. He's moving really slowly, and by the time Brendon's telling him that he's going to slide his second finger in, Spencer's breathing heavily, the room around him fading away as he concentrates on how tightly his fingers are wrapped around the head of the bed, and what Brendon's doing to his ass.

Brendon's talking to him, telling him how well he's doing, how hot he looks, how good it is that Spencer's enjoying this and doing so well, keeping so still, telling Brendon what he likes, and not keeping quiet.

Spencer doesn't even remember talking. He concentrates on not moving, and what Brendon's fingers feel like in his ass, and why Brendon isn't speeding up, why he isn't sliding another finger in and fucking Spencer into the mattress.

"Shhh," Brendon says, and Spencer thinks he must be saying all of this out loud. He doesn't care. His shoulders are starting to ache, his arms are so tense. He doesn't know how long Brendon's had three fingers in his ass but it feels like forever. He wants more.

"Brendon -" he starts, but he can't finish. He just wants more, but doesn't know how to ask.

"Going to fuck you now," Brendon says, and his voice breaks as he shifts position. He runs his hand down Spencer's chest, and Spencer groans, loudly, as Brendon wraps his hand around Spencer's dick, his own erection pressing against Spencer's ass.

"Fuck," Spencer breathes, and it feels like he's drunk, like the air is swimming around him. He can't keep still any more, not when Brendon's pushing in, when his hand is moving in an erratic rhythm on Spencer's dick. "Brendon, Brendon." He's pushing up, meeting Brendon's fist, Brendon's cock in his ass. It feels incredible. He feels incredible, laid out like this for Brendon. He's never felt like this.

It doesn't last particularly long; Brendon's slow, steady touches morphing into sloppier, quicker, more desperate strokes. Spencer doesn't know what he's saying and he doesn't care; he doesn't care about anything other than Brendon fucking him, Brendon telling him how amazing he is, how well he's doing. His whole body burns with pride and he's so hard it almost hurts to have Brendon jacking him off. His vision is starting to spark at the edges.

Brendon comes first, crying out weakly as he tips forward, sweaty and pink-cheeked. He stops jerking Spencer off, and Spencer's left pushing his erection up into Brendon's loose fist, trying to get the friction and the speed back. "Brendon," he begs, and there's a weird feeling in his belly, like he's waiting. Like he's desperate, and he's waiting.

"Oh," Brendon's eyes are wide. "Shit. You're so fucking incredible." He swallows, and tightens his fist around Spencer's cock. He flattens his palm across Spencer's stomach and says, "You can come, Spence."

Spencer gasps out a breath and comes, all over Brendon's fist. He hadn't even realized he was asking for permission, that that was something he'd needed. He can't even work up the energy to feel weird about it, because Brendon's tugging off his condom, crawling up the bed and covering Spencer's hands with his own. Spencer hadn't even realized he was still holding on. He lets go unwillingly, his arms stiff, and lets Brendon curl up against his side.

Brendon leans his head on Spencer's shoulder and rubs lazily at Spencer's stomach with a shirt. "I'm going to jack off to that five times a day for the rest of forever," he proclaims, and he sounds tired, but happy. Spencer hides his smile and his pink cheeks in Brendon's hair, but he can't hide his groan as Brendon starts to rub Spencer's hands, massaging away the tightness.

"Loser," Spencer manages. He can't work up the energy to be embarrassed about what he just got off doing—or not doing—and instead, he just feels warm and content and happy.

Brendon hums, dropping a kiss to the back of Spencer's hand. "Yeah, whatever." He rolls his eyes and presses even closer to Spencer's side. His skin is burning hot, like a radiator. "How's that feel?" Brendon asks, still rubbing Spencer's hands.

"Pretty amazing," Spencer admits, pulling Brendon even closer. "Like you, really."

"Shut up," Brendon says, "you're more amazing."

"Fight you for the title," Spencer offers, lazily.

"Thumb war?" Brendon offers, brightly. "Best of three?"

"Nrgh," Spencer manages, and tugs the sheet up over the two of them. "Maybe later."

"Uh-huh," Brendon agrees, and wraps himself around Spencer's middle. He fingers Spencer's wrist cuffs, gently. "You want me to take these off?"

Spencer tries to sound nonchalant. "No," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "You can leave them."

Brendon runs his thumb down the inside of Spencer's wrist. "Okay," he says, softly. "They look good on you."

Spencer feels a shiver of pride. "Thanks," he says, and means it. He lets Brendon twine their fingers together, conscious of how the cuffs make him feel connected to Brendon in a way that he hasn't before. He doesn't want that feeling to end.

"It's true," Brendon says.

"Shut up," Spencer says, and he shifts so he can catch Brendon's mouth in a kiss.

Brendon kisses him back, sleepily.

"Sleep time, I get it." Spencer says, as Brendon stifles a yawn against Spencer's mouth.

"You got it," Brendon kisses Spencer's jaw and presses closer, already falling asleep against Spencer's shoulder.



"Dude," Brendon says, leaning against the kitchen door. "Dude."

"What?" Spencer asks, from where he's trying to swap the coffee filters in the coffee machine without tipping grounds all over the counter. They need to get a new coffee machine, because this one is clinging on to life by a thread.

Brendon comes over and presses himself to Spencer's back, crowding him forwards into the counter. He nips at Spencer's neck with his teeth, and kisses him behind the ear. "Want to try something?" he asks.

Spencer tries not to murmur his assent without even asking what it is Brendon's offering. Spencer loves the way it feels when Brendon's body covers his, and now that he's gotten a little more used to what it means to want that, he can bask a little in actually getting it. "What?" he asks, as Brendon wraps one hand around Spencer's middle and under his shirt.

Brendon slides his other hand over Spencer's shoulder. He's holding the wrist cuffs, and what he's doing is dangling them under Spencer's nose.

Spencer can't help but shiver. "Yeah?" he manages, his skin already hot at the thought. "What were you thinking?"

Brendon shrugs a little, and presses closer. "Some making out," he says.

"With cuffs," Spencer says.

"With cuffs," Brendon agrees, and he kisses Spencer's jaw, urging him to turn his head so that he can kiss him properly, for real.

Spencer isn't going to say no to that. He wipes his hands on his jeans as he kisses Brendon back, sliding his arm around his waist.

"Do you want to?" Brendon asks, in between kisses. He's cupping Spencer's face in the same hand he's holding the cuffs in; the chain restraint brushes against Spencer's jaw.

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Make out?" he asks, pretending that he isn't aware that what Brendon's offering isn't this. He might not know what Brendon's thinking, exactly, but he isn't stupid. "I thought we already were?"

Brendon just grins, and circles his hand around Spencer's wrist. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Be pedantic." He laughs, and kisses the corner of Spencer's mouth. "You should totally come and see what I've figured out," he says, and tugs on Spencer's hand. "Come see, Spence, come see."

"You're such an idiot," Spencer says, shaking his head and following Brendon out of the kitchen.

"Yeah," Brendon agrees, "I'm a total idiot for you, whatever. Come into the laundry room and make out with me."

Spencer blinks. "What the fuck, B? What was wrong with the kitchen?"

Brendon tugs Spencer down the hallway and into the laundry room, and points at the far wall. "Because the kitchen doesn't have this."

Spencer gives up. "What am I looking at?"

"That," Brendon points.

Spencer still doesn't see anything, and it's only when Brendon rolls his eyes and goes to stand under a metal loop embedded in the wall that Spencer gets what he's supposed to be seeing.

"That," Brendon says, reaching up and touching the metal ring with one hand, "is—I'm pretty sure—a pretty good height to cuff you to." He shrugs his shoulders a little awkwardly, and then adds, "I mean. If you want to."

Spencer hums uncomfortably, and goes to stand underneath the ring. He reaches up to touch it, and runs his fingers across the metal. It feels cool to the touch. "What is it?" he asks, because he doesn't know what else to say.

Brendon points over to the other side of the room. "I think it's for a laundry line, or something. Look, there's another one over there, above the washer."

"A laundry line," Spencer repeats.

"Yeah," Brendon says. "So, you want to make out with me?"

"I'm pretty sure I always want to make out with you," Spencer points out, to cover up his awkwardness.

"Except for when Ace of Cakes is on," Brendon says, humming his disapproval.

"That's an awesome show," Spencer says.

"It's a cock-blocking show," Brendon says, reprovingly.

"I tivo it now," Spencer points out. He's distracted, staring at the metal ring in the wall. It's high enough that Spencer would have to stand up straight to loop the restraint through the ring, his hands cuffed above his head.

Brendon sees him looking. "Or we could go make out on the couch. I'm easy."

"Yeah," Spencer says, with a grin that's only half faked, "you are."

"Shut up," Brendon says, with an answering smile. He doesn't move though, just stands there and waits. He doesn't push, which Spencer appreciates.

"So," Spencer says, eyeing the metal ring with some trepidation. "Where do you want me?"

Brendon eyes light up. "Really?"

"Really," Spencer says.

Brendon pushes him back against the wall and slides his knee in between Spencer's legs, leaning in to kiss him. "Awesome," he says, and kisses him again, already tugging at the hem of Spencer's shirt.

Spencer doesn't resist as Brendon pulls off his shirt, and he just lets his head fall back against the wall as Brendon leans in and kisses the inside of each of Spencer's wrists. Brendon loops the cuffs around Spencer's wrists, unhooking the chain so that Spencer's wrists aren't cuffed together.

"Too tight?" Brendon asks, his voice soft.

"No," Spencer says, shaking his head. His voice is already a little hoarse; he's worn the cuffs a few times now, but it's like in-between times he forgets how they make him feel. He feels special. With the cuffs on he feels like there's a connection between him and Brendon, and he loves that.

"Wow," Brendon says, after a moment.

Spencer blushes, because the way Brendon's looking at him is just incredible. It's like all the air has been sucked out of the room, and suddenly it's just the two of them, and nothing else matters.

When Brendon leans in to kiss him again, he's almost reverent, gentle and chaste. Spencer kisses him back, so soft it's barely a kiss.

"Hands in the air, Spence," Brendon says, pulling back.

Spencer nods, and slowly raises his hands above his head. Brendon circles his fingers around Spencer's wrists, and stands on tip toe so that he can feed the chain restraint through the loop.

There's a moment where they just stand there, staring at each other, and the only sound in the room is their breathing. Then Brendon carefully connects the restraint to Spencer's other cuff, and Spencer's hands are cuffed together through the metal loop in the wall.

"Okay?" Brendon asks, afterwards.

Spencer spends a moment trying to zone back in. "Yeah," he says, finally, and he means it. He feels stretched, standing tall with his back arched, and it's incredible, his hands cuffed above his head.

Brendon runs his hand down Spencer's chest appraisingly. "So good, Spence," he says, and he sounds choked, "just look at you."

Spencer's chest puffs out a little, and then Brendon's standing even closer, stroking his way up Spencer's arms until he's touching the wrist cuffs.

Spencer lets out a groan.

"You want out," Brendon says, "you say, and I'll unhook you. Just say."

Spencer nods. His focus is shifting down to just his hands cuffed to the loop above his head, and Brendon in front of him. He wriggles his fingers, and Brendon rubs at the inside of his wrists.

"It's velcro," Brendon goes on, "you can get yourself out if you need."

"I know," Spencer says, and his voice sounds a little thick.

"Good," Brendon says, softly, and then he's cupping Spencer's face and kissing him so slowly that it's barely a kiss, and if Spencer wasn't chained to a fucking wall, he'd say it was chaste.

Spencer can't even pretend it isn't anything short of amazing.

Brendon deepens the kiss slowly, licking his way into Spencer's mouth, stroking his jaw, one hand in his hair. Spencer groans against Brendon's mouth. He feels really sexy with Brendon's hands all over him.

He doesn't know how long Brendon kisses him for, but when Brendon pulls away, Spencer's breathless and hot, arching forwards as Brendon moves back.

Brendon just grins, but he's pink and breathless too, his lips swollen. Spencer wonders what he must look like, his hands cuffed to the wall. He's so turned on.

"So hot," Brendon tells him, as if Spencer had asked the question out loud.

"Shut up," Spencer tries for, but his tongue feels heavy. Brendon runs his hand down Spencer's chest, brushing his nipple with his thumb.

Brendon rolls his eyes and puts his hand over Spencer's mouth. "Stop talking back," he says, and Spencer's pretty sure that all the air in the room has just been sucked out, because he can barely breathe.

He nods, jerkily, and Brendon reaches down till he can brush the heel of his hand against Spencer's cock through his jeans.

Spencer whines, and Brendon grins, delightedly. "Fuck, you love this."

"Yeah," Spencer manages, since a sarcastic, uh-huh is probably out of the question. He flexes his wrists in the cuffs.

"Dude," Brendon says, "don't think I can't tell when you're being sarcastic. If you think I'm jerking you off now -"

"Fuck," Spencer groans. "Please." His cock aches. He's fucking tied to the wall in their laundry room, with Brendon making out with him, and it might be one of the hottest things he's ever done. He's so hard it hurts.

Something flickers in Brendon's eyes. "Say that again," he says, and he sounds a little different, a little slower. Something twists in Spencer's gut.

"Fuck," Spencer says. His skin is burning hot, and he wants Brendon to touch him again. He tries to press forward but he can't. Brendon's standing a footstep away, but it's too far. He can't reach.

"No," Brendon says. "Not that." He doesn't roll his eyes, and Spencer knows that he's serious.

Spencer tries to roll his shoulders, loosen them up a little, but he can't. He takes a deep breath, his chest puffing out. "Please," he says. His voice wavers.

Brendon moves closer, and touches his palm to Spencer's stomach. "Yeah?" he says, softly. Spencer presses forward into his touch, and wishes that Brendon was touching his dick. "Like that?"

Spencer shakes his head. He can't help it. It's not enough. "No," he says, and when Brendon takes his hand away, Spencer tugs at the restraints and bites his lip. "Brendon," he says.

"Yeah?" Brendon says again. "Tell me, Spence."

Spencer burns red. "I want -" he starts. He presses forward but Brendon's too far away for him to touch. He pulls at the restraints, conscious of how they bite against his skin as he moves. "Please," he says, "please, Brendon. So hard."

Brendon nods. "Yeah," he says, for the third time. He presses himself to Spencer's front, and Spencer lets out a groan as Brendon catches his mouth in another kiss. His hips push forward as Brendon reaches down between them and tugs at the button to Spencer's fly.

"Brendon, Brendon, Brendon," Spencer says breathlessly, as Brendon unzips him and presses the heel of his hand to Spencer's cock through his underwear. "More," he gasps, as Brendon rubs his palm against Spencer's briefs. "Please."

Brendon tugs down Spencer's underwear so that his cock is hanging out, hard and slick at the tip. He runs his hand quickly along the shaft and then steps back, letting go.

"Fuck," Spencer groans.

"Wow," Brendon says, his eyes dark. "You look—you look amazing, Spence."

Spencer doesn't want to think about what he looks like. He's tied up with his cock hanging out, and instead of worrying about that, all he can think about is Brendon touching him again. "Please," he says, again. "Touch me again."

Brendon's eyes darken, but he doesn't move. He's still in his t-shirt and his jeans; he's obviously hard and he palms his cock a couple of times before tugging his shirt over his head, kicking off his flip-flops. Then he steps closer and crowds Spencer back against the wall, and Spencer's erection pushes against Brendon's stomach.

Spencer whines.

Brendon jerks him off slowly—too slowly, Spencer thinks, because his brain is melting out of his ears and his skin is burning. Brendon kisses him, over and over, and Spencer can't concentrate long enough to kiss back. Brendon doesn't speed up, even when Spencer begs and pushes his hips forward into Brendon's fist. Spencer needs this, he really, really does, but he needs it faster.

"You're doing so well," Brendon says, tucking his face into the curve of Spencer's neck, close to his ear. Spencer's hips press forwards. "Just like now, Spence, so well. You told me what you wanted, just like I asked."

"Can I?" Spencer manages. Pride burns across his skin. "I want to come."

Brendon's breath catches and he presses his mouth to Spencer's, hard and fast and desperate, open-mouthed. "Yes," he says, breathlessly. "Spence, fuck. Come."

Spencer does, all over Brendon's stomach and his chest.

Afterwards, Brendon unhooks him from the wall and Spencer slides ungracefully to the floor, Brendon tumbling down after him, straddling his hips and kissing him, hard. Brendon's jerking himself off even as Spencer tries to catch his breath, fisting his cock hard and fast. Heat's coming off his skin in waves and he's breathless and panting.

"So fucking hot, Spence, hottest fucking thing ever, fuck."

Spencer can't figure out how he feels, but weird probably sums it up pretty well. He's so proud, like just doing what Brendon asks of him is enough to warrant the way his skin prickles and his chest puffs out. And now, with Brendon kneeling up over him, jerking himself off; it's kind of amazing. Brendon's head is tipped back, his dick hard and red, pre-come smeared across the tip as Brendon fists himself.

Brendon cups Spencer's face, sliding his thumb across Spencer's cheek. Spencer's still breathless from his orgasm, from being cuffed to the wall, and the way Brendon is looking at him is enough to have him arching up into Brendon's touch.

"Spencer," Brendon groans, and he shakes as he orgasms, coming all over Spencer.

Spencer shivers in pleasure, the heat of Brendon's come striping across his chest and stomach. Brendon slumps on top of him, breathing heavily, and Spencer can't help but concentrate on the way it feels to have Brendon's come smeared across his skin.

It's more than a couple of minutes before Brendon's shifting, nudging at Spencer's mouth with his own. "I have the best ideas," he says, smugly, in between kisses.

Spencer rolls his eyes, and Brendon snorts a laugh.

"Yeah," Brendon goes on. "You know I'm right."

"I know we're sitting on the floor in the laundry room when there's a perfectly good couch down the hall," Spencer says, pointedly.

"And a bed above that," Brendon agrees. "You want to give me a piggy back ride?"

"I was just handcuffed to the wall," Spencer says. "You want to maybe give me a piggy back ride instead?"

Brendon thinks about it for a moment. "Handcuffed to the wall," he says, happily. "That's the hottest thing ever. We should just stay here and think about that a while longer."

"On the floor," Spencer says.

"Stop complaining," Brendon says easily, leaning in for another kiss. "Tell me that wasn't hot."

Spencer rolls his eyes again. "It was hot," he agrees. "Totally fucking hot. But, Brendon, the floor."

Brendon holds out his hand."Okay, okay, slave driver. I'm sold. Lead me upstairs."

"Why do I even put up with you," Spencer complains, stumbling awkwardly to his feet and rolling his shoulders. They're still tight. He heads for the doorway.

Brendon catches up and wraps his arms around Spencer's middle from behind. "You put up with me because I handcuff you to the wall," he says, in a loud whisper, kissing the back of Spencer's neck. They're both sticky and dirty and sweaty.

"Yeah," Spencer agrees, pressing back into Brendon's touch. "That's probably got something to do with it."

Brendon grins, and pushes Spencer out into the hall.



"What are you even doing?" Brendon asks, hooking his chin over Spencer's shoulder and poking Spencer in the side.

Spencer rolls his eyes and elbows Brendon away. "What's it look like?" he says. "Picking out tomatoes for your spaghetti sauce."

"Your spaghetti sauce," Brendon corrects, tugging the shopping cart out of the way of a woman with a baby. "You're the one doing the cooking."

"For you," Spencer says, distractedly. He picks through the tomatoes again, discarding the ones that aren't good enough.

"And you can't do it faster?" Brendon asks. "What's wrong with that tomato, there? Can't we just get a jar of spaghetti sauce?"

"Not ripe enough," Spencer says. "You want the really ripe ones, they're the sweetest. And I'm making you dinner, shut up complaining about how it's not coming out of a jar, what the fuck."

Brendon hums a little, and rocks from one foot to another. Spencer puts the last of his tomatoes in a bag, and reaches for another bag for onions. "So, I was thinking," Brendon starts, leaning forward and picking out two onions and dumping them unceremoniously in Spencer's bag, "we need a safe word. We should pick one out."

Spencer startles, and bumps into the grocery stand. "What?" he manages.

"A safe word," Brendon repeats, and he slides his hand into the small of Spencer's back, pressing his fingertips against Spencer's shirt for a moment before backing off. "I was looking on the internet -"

"You only go on the internet for porn," Spencer says, distractedly, trying to keep his voice low. "And is the grocery store really the best place to talk about this?"

"Porn and youtube," Brendon agrees. "You want to pick one out, or should I?"

Spencer blinks. He feels a little off balance, like suddenly Brendon's formalizing something that Spencer hadn't wanted to accept needed formalizing. That all this sex they're having, all these realizations Spencer's been having about what gets him off—and what gets Brendon off too, amazingly—it's all part of something bigger, something that comes with labels and rules and safe words.

"Spence?" Brendon asks. There's something reassuring about how normal Brendon's making this sound, like there's nothing out of the ordinary about asking him to pick out a safe word for their kinky sex games when they're in the middle of the produce aisle at the grocery store.

"Uh," Spencer says, trying to keep his voice level and calm. "Yeah, sure. How about 'spaghetti'?" He's trying pretty hard to ensure that he doesn't sound freaked out, and he thinks he's doing well, until they get to the end of the aisle and Brendon touches the small of Spencer's back again, a steadying, reassuring pressure as Spencer pushes the cart around the corner.

Brendon nods. "Cool," he says. He doesn't move his hand until they're half way down the aisle, and Spencer's stopping to pick out a jar of dried oregano. Spencer misses his touch when Brendon moves away to pick out a handful of boxes of mac and cheese.

Brendon's been touching him a lot more since they started this thing, even more than before, when sex kept going wrong and Spencer just kept waiting for Brendon to break up with him, just like Haley had done in the end. It's strange, because the way Brendon touches him now makes Spencer feel weirdly centered, like Brendon can read whenever Spencer's feeling a little unsure, and this is his way of helping. It's a hand to the small of Spencer's back, or cupping his elbow or the back of his neck. At first, Spencer had thought that Brendon was unaware of what he was doing, but now that it's been going on a while, Spencer thinks that Brendon's aware of every touch. He feels more aware of Brendon, too, like Brendon's in his head in a way he wasn't before.

They stop by the shelves of pasta. Spencer tries to figure out how much spaghetti they need, and Brendon leans into his side for a moment.

Spencer lets out a deep breath.

"You okay?" Brendon asks, softly. "I'm sorry—I just thought. I figured it would be easier for you if you didn't have the chance to freak."

Spencer wonders when it was that he became the guy who freaked out. All of this is new to him, he's always been the one everyone else thought was in control. "I'm good," he says, after a moment where he tries to work out how much of a lie that is. "I just. I hadn't thought about us going that far, that's all."

Brendon shrugs easily. "I'm pretty sure we are that far," he says. "I'm pretty sure we're further."

Spencer nods, and remembers Brendon handcuffing him in the basement, hooking him up to the wall. The way it had felt, the way he wanted to do it again. "Yeah," he says.

"So," Brendon says. "Spaghetti?"

"Spaghetti," Spencer agrees. "Do you want to pick out the ice cream for dessert?"

Brendon grins. "Sure," he says.



Spencer yawns loudly and sprawls across the couch, digging his toes into the arm as he stretches. Brendon's due back any minute, but Spencer's exhausted. He flicks through the channels on the TV, trying to find something he wants to watch, something to keep him awake, but it's all reality shows he's seen before or programs about giant squid that aren't that interesting if Brendon isn't around to talk to about them.

He settles for watching the last half hour of Flight of the Navigator, but he can't remember what's going on and he keeps yawning, anyway. He doesn't even hear the sound of Brendon's car in the driveway, and it's only when Brendon nudges at his shoulder to get him to move over that Spencer even realizes he's home.

"I didn't hear you come in," he says, stupidly, trying to sit up and rub his eyes.

"Because you were asleep," Brendon points out, rolling his eyes. He climbs over the arm of the couch rather than walking the two steps around to the front, and slides down next to Spencer. "You look exhausted. How come you're so tired?"

"Haven't been sleeping well. Couldn't sleep last night," Spencer explains, rolling his shoulders to try and wake himself up. It was still pretty early.

"Oh," Brendon says, nodding. "Miss me or something?"

"Fuck you," Spencer says, elbowing him. He doesn't particularly want to explain that he's gotten used to sharing the bed with Brendon, to waking up to Brendon wrapped around him like a blanket, and that not having that when he couldn't sleep anyway really fucking sucked. He stifles another yawn. "How was Vegas?"

"Same old, same old," Brendon says, shrugging and kicking off his converse and leaning in for a quick kiss as he shucks off his jacket. "You should come next time."

Spencer sighs, sleepily. "It was your brother's birthday party," he says, and when Brendon looks puzzled, Spencer rolls his eyes. "Family thing?"

Brendon bumps his knee into Spencer's. "And people think I'm stupid," he says. "I live with you, and I'm kind of sure I talk about you all the time." Spencer still doesn't get what Brendon's saying. His head feels fuzzy, and the two hours sleep he'd gotten the previous night have caught up with him. Brendon just snorts. "My parents asked where my boyfriend was," he says, finally. "I'm pretty sure that means you were invited too. I think they were thought we were in a fight, or something."

"We're not in a fight," Spencer says, stupidly. He hadn't ever actually considered going to Vegas with Brendon, but maybe he should have done.

"No," Brendon says, carefully. "How much sleep did you actually get? You're kind of out of it, dude."

Spencer shrugs. "Some," he says. He'd gotten caught up trying to figure out a list of all the weird shit that got him off, and what weird shit he thought might get him off, and then he'd tried to figure out what it was about all of this that set his brain off on a collision course. Then it had been seven in the morning and he hadn't figured out anything new, and he had to get up and run errands.

"Right," Brendon says. "Okay. I'm going to make a sandwich. You want anything? Truck stop food sucks dick."

"I suck dick," Spencer says, sleepily, sprawling out across the couch.

Brendon just snorts, and ruffles Spencer's hair on the way to the kitchen.

"Not the hair, fucker," Spencer grumbles, batting Brendon away.

When Brendon comes back, he's half way through a sandwich, Bogart jumping around his heels. Spencer tries to sit up to make room, but Brendon just shakes his head and tugs Spencer back down as Brendon sits down, so that Spencer's resting his head on Brendon's thigh.

"Nrgh," Spencer says, articulately, which is about as much as he can manage of his move the fuck over, dickwad argument right now.

Brendon ignores him and presses his thumb to Spencer's neck, rubbing gently. "Shut up," he says, kindly.

Spencer makes a complaining sound, but Brendon doesn't stop stroking his neck. It feels really nice, and Spencer can't work up the energy to complain. He doesn't know how much later it is when he realizes he meant to welcome Brendon home with a blow job at least.

"I was going to suck you off," Spencer says.

"Uh-huh," Brendon says. He's stroking Spencer's hair.

"No," Spencer says, trying to move. "Really. Welcome home blow job."

Brendon starts to laugh. "Spencer," he says. "You're, like, three quarters asleep."

"I'm awake," Spencer says, stifling another yawn.

"Sure," Brendon says, easily. "Stay awake another hour and I'll let you blow me."

"Done," Spencer agrees, and Brendon's fingers tangle in Spencer's hair.

Spencer really likes how that feels, and he groans his appreciation as Brendon runs his fingers through Spencer's hair. There's some movie on the TV that Spencer vaguely recognizes, and he figures that they can watch it through to the end and he'll blow Brendon then.

Brendon keeps on stroking Spencer's hair, and his neck, and Spencer's overtaken by how good it feels. It's relaxing and reassuring and comfortable, and he closes his eyes, just for a moment.

He doesn't know how much later it is when Brendon wakes him up. "Come on," Brendon says. "Time for bed, Spence."

"I'm totally awake," Spencer lies, trying to force his eyes open. His brain feels like it's all wrapped up in a blanket.

"Yeah," Brendon says. "Come on. Upstairs."

Spencer tries to complain, but Brendon's already helping him to his feet and pointing him in the direction of the stairs, following close behind.

Upstairs, Brendon helps Spencer off with his shirt and pants, and Spencer crawls under the covers in just his underwear. He can't remember feeling this tired, not even on tour. He's had a week of not sleeping so well, and coupled with the previous night, he's dead on his feet.

"Blow job," Spencer says, through a yawn.

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Yeah, your exhaustion's a total turn on," he says. "Wake me up with one instead."

Spencer yawns again, nodding. "You coming to bed?"

Brendon grins. "In a while," he says. "Bogart needs to go out first." He sits on the edge of the bed and leans in for a slow, lazy kiss. Spencer's too tired to kiss back, and Brendon smiles against his mouth and strokes at his hair.

"You should go do that," Spencer says, "then come to bed with me."

"I should," Brendon agrees. "And you should go to sleep."

"Uh-huh," Spencer says, sleepily, and does.



"This is so stupid," Spencer says, rolling his eyes.

"No it's not," Brendon says, bouncing on the balls of his feet and craning up to see the top shelves.

They're at the pet store, looking for something for Indie's birthday. ("Are you fucking kidding me?" Spencer had said, and Brendon had looked at him like he was stupid.

"It's cute," Brendon had said, "and it's fun. Shane and Regan and Dylan and Indie are sweet."

"Okay," Spencer had said, rolling his eyes, "Let's get it over and done with. Let's go to the pet store.")

"You think Bogart would like this?" Brendon asks, waving a stuffed duck in Spencer's direction.

"It's a duck," Spencer says, thinking secretly that Bogart would probably love it. Their dog is kind of lame.

"It's a mallard," Brendon corrects, reading the label. "You don't think Bogart would like it?"

"I think Bogart would probably think it was the most awesome thing he'd ever seen," Spencer admits, "but I thought we were here to buy something for Indie."

"Bogart would feel unloved if we didn't buy him something," Brendon says, airily. "You think Jon would like it if we bought something for Dylan and Clover, too? We could mail it up."

Spencer shrugs. "I guess," he says. They haven't seen Jon for a while, and while they're still friends, things aren't back to the way they were. Spencer misses him, and Ryan too. It's weird, trying to figure out a life without the two of them in it. "We could get something for Marley, as well."

"Awesome," Brendon says, and Spencer knows Brendon misses them just as much as he does, regardless of how much better they fit together musically now. "You pick something for Marley, I'll go and look at the cat toys."

When he walks past Spencer, he slides his hand around Spencer's waist for a moment, fingertips pressing in. Spencer lets out a breath, and smiles. "Sure," he says. "See you in a minute."

Spencer picks out a chew toy with jingly bells inside for Marley. He knows he's supposed to be looking for stuff for Indie and probably Dylan, too, but he finds himself over by the dog accessories rather than the toys. There's row after row of collars - plain black leather ones with buckles, pink ones, blue ones, ones with studs and different fastenings, and thick material ones like Bogart's.

Spencer finds himself staring, and there's a weird feeling in his chest. His heartbeat is loud in his ears, a too-fast thump-thump drowning out the pet store tannoy. He keeps going back to the black ones, and before he knows what he's doing, he's leaning in, his thumb rubbing slowly across the leather.

He jumps when Brendon hooks his chin over Spencer's shoulder. "Indie's already got a collar, dude," he says, "and those ones are way too big, anyway."

"I know," Spencer says, quickly, dropping the collar like it's hot. His skin flushes pink, and he turns away so that Brendon won't see, shrugging him away. "What did you pick for Dylan and Clover?"

"Awesome catnip stuff," Brendon says, and even though Spencer's not looking at him and he's pretending to be really interested in the dog beds, Spencer knows that Brendon's watching him carefully. "They'll go crazy, it'll be hilarious. And these octopus toys for Indie and Dylan."

"Awesome," Spencer echoes, and wishes he knew what the fuck was going on inside his head. Fucking collars.

"Yeah," Brendon says, but he doesn't say anything else. There's a guy coming down the aisle with his two kids, and Brendon presses his hand to the hollow of Spencer's spine, moving him out of the way so the guy can get his stroller through.

"Thanks," Spencer says, awkwardly.

Brendon just sneaks his fingers into Spencer's. "Come on," he says. "We can pick up subs and take Bogart to the dog beach."

"Yeah," Spencer says, and tries to forget what it felt like to imagine wearing one of those collars for Brendon.




"Brendon?" Spencer calls, dropping his car keys on the hall table and toeing off his flip-flops.

"Up here," Brendon yells back, from upstairs.

"I bought smoothies," Spencer says. "You want yours up there?"

"Dude," Brendon calls. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

"My manly good looks, I thought," Spencer says, climbing the stairs with two almost-cold smoothies and pushing open the door to their bedroom. "Fuck, Brendon, this room stinks of fucking come."

Brendon is sprawled across their bed, his underwear pushed down to his knees, showing his junk off. He rolls his shoulders proudly, and pushes a couple of used Kleenex off the bed with his foot. "That's because, Spence, I have just jacked off. Twice."

Spencer blinks, puts the smoothies down on the nightstand, and goes over to open the window to let a breeze through. They're spending a good proportion of their time naked or nearly naked at the moment, but Spencer seems to be the only one of them who ever gets bothered by the lingering smell of sex and come and sweat afterwards. Brendon never thinks to open the window or switch the a/c up. "I was only gone an hour, B, you could have waited." He would have had sex with Brendon if he'd waited.

"No," Brendon says decisively, shaking his head. He kicks off his underwear and crawls across the bed. "I couldn't."

"What?" Spencer asks, his hand stilling, the window part-way pushed open.

"Come here," Brendon says, softly. His voice sounds different, a little darker, and while Spencer could say no, it barely crosses his mind that that's even a possibility. If there's one thing he's figured out over the past few weeks, it's that he likes doing what Brendon tells him when it comes to sex, and that responding to what Brendon asks of him is part of what gets him off.

Spencer lets go of the window and goes over to the bed, to where Brendon's waiting, kneeling at the edge of the mattress. Brendon doesn't say get on the bed, so Spencer stands in front of him and waits. He's already letting himself focus down to just him and Brendon, just the here and now. When Brendon first touches him, it's curiously centering, and Spencer lets out a long breath as Brendon rubs his thumb across Spencer's shirt.

"I want you to be really still for me," Brendon says, "except for when I ask you to move."

Spencer swallows and stares straight ahead, fixing his gaze on a print Brendon's tacked to the closet door. It takes him a moment to try and push everything else he's been thinking about out of his mind, but he's gotten better at it recently. It's hard, trying to keep a hold of what Brendon's asking him at the same time as letting everything else go.

He lets out a breath, and meets Brendon's gaze.

Brendon wraps his arms around Spencer's waist, rubbing his nose against Spencer's shirt. He tugs Spencer down so that he's bending over, on a level with Brendon's mouth, and then Brendon leans in and kisses him, hard and dirty. "I want to watch you jerk off," Brendon whispers, sliding his tongue along Spencer's bottom lip, his fingers still curled in Spencer's shirt.

"Here?" Spencer asks. He's been hard since he first walked into the room and saw Brendon sprawled across the bed. His erection is pressing up against his fly at the thought of jerking off with Brendon watching. Putting on a show for Brendon to watch isn't something they've done before, and he likes the thought of it.

Brendon smiles, and starts to push Spencer's t-shirt up, the palm of his hand flat against Spencer's belly. Spencer really likes the way that feels, but he waits until Brendon motions him to lift his arms up before he lets himself move.

Brendon tugs Spencer's shirt up and over his head, dropping it on the floor before running his hands all across Spencer's chest, stopping down by his belly button to undo Spencer's fly. Brendon pushes Spencer's pants and underwear down, freeing his cock. It feels weird and strangely hot to be standing in front of Brendon like this, not moving, his pants pooling around his ankles. It makes him breathless to be this open.

"Lift your foot," Brendon says, ducking his head so he can run his tongue across Spencer's nipple. Spencer kicks off his pants. "The other foot too. Naked, Spence." He's nuzzling Spencer's chest, hands stroking, touching. Spencer's skin is starting to feel like it's too sensitive, prickling at every ghost of a touch.

Brendon noses at Spencer's chest for a long moment and then sits back on his heels. He pushes the covers off the end of the bed, and sweeps an arc across the sheet with one hand.

"Here," Brendon says, "on the bed, Spence."

Spencer's dick is uncomfortably tight, all of a sudden, and he makes an abortive attempt to circle his fist around his erection, before he remembers just in time Brendon asking him not to move, and freezes. Brendon bats his hand away.

"I thought I told you to keep still?" he says, but he sounds amused rather than angry, although the effect on Spencer is just the same; disappointment in himself. "You're not jacking off yet. Get on the bed, Spence. Here, in the middle."

Spencer tries to make his movements slow and deliberate, almost as if that will please Brendon more; it's stupid, but he thinks about how to lay down in as few a movements as possible.

Brendon brushes his hand across Spencer's stomach. "Good," he says, nodding, and that's enough for pride to buzz across Spencer's skin, lightning fast and hot. Brendon smiles, slowly, and leans over to the nightstand, all without moving his hand from Spencer's stomach.

When Brendon sits back on his heels, he's holding a pair of black leather wrist cuffs, different to the pair they've been using before. These aren't cloth and velcro, for a start; they're leather and Spencer can see where they fasten by a buckle on each cuff. "I'm going to cuff you to the headboard," he says. "Just one hand. You're going to jerk off for me with your other hand."

He doesn't ask Spencer if that's okay, Spencer notices, but he doesn't make a move, either. He waits, and gives Spencer enough time to think about it, just as if it were a question. Spencer waits too, but he doesn't move.

When Brendon leans in, it's to slowly buckle the cuff around Spencer's wrist, and then attach the other cuff to the headboard. He waits a breath, tells Spencer to pull a little on the restraint to see how much give there is, and then he leans in to press a kiss to Spencer's mouth. "Good," he breathes, "so good. You're doing so well."

Spencer breathes out, his breath catching awkwardly in his throat as Brendon runs his hand down Spencer's chest. The leather cuff feels different to the softer, velcro one he's gotten used to wearing. This one scratches a little, where the buckle rivets show through the leather, but it feels better.

"I want you to jerk yourself off now," Brendon says, after a moment. His hand rests in the curve of Spencer's thigh, in the hollow of his pelvis. It's close enough that Spencer can almost feel Brendon's fingertips against his cock, and far too far away all at the same time.

Spencer wants to nod. He doesn't. "Can I?" he asks. There's a beat, then, "Please?"

"This is what I jerked off to," Brendon says, softly. "Just now, thinking about this. About you, doing this."

"Yeah?" Spencer asks. His hand rests by his side, waiting. He's really fucking hard now, with Brendon sitting next to him, naked, his hand on Spencer's hip.

"About how much I love cuffing you to the fucking bed," Brendon tells him, matter of factly. His fingertips are stroking a tiny pattern across Spencer's hip, each movement an intense reminder of how turned on Spencer is. His cock is hard and glistening wet across the tip. "About how much I love it when you stay still for me, when you do what I ask. How good you are at it."

"Brendon," Spencer says, his breath catching in his throat. He needs to touch himself, or he needs Brendon to do it. It almost hurts, trying to keep so still when he's so turned on, when each of Brendon's touches is like a tiny swirl of fire sweeping across his skin. "Please, Brendon. Can I -" he stumbles over the words. "Can I jerk off?"

Brendon's fingers tighten for a moment before he's nodding, and Spencer doesn't even wait for a breath before he's closing his fist around his erection and jacking himself off. It feels like there's too much going on, too much stimuli. He can't forget the fact he's cuffed to the bed, or that the cuffs are leather and black and buckle, just like the collars he saw in the pet store. He can't ignore the way the leather rubs against his skin, or how little give there is in the restraint. He can't stop thinking about Brendon jerking off to the idea of Spencer doing this for him, or that Brendon's kneeling up next to him, watching him and chewing on his lip, his eyes dark. He can't forget that Brendon's hand is still splayed across his hip, burning indelible fingerprints into Spencer's skin. Spencer swallows back a groan.

"I want to hear you," Brendon tells him, stroking his thumb across Spencer's hip. "All those noises, Spence, I want to hear them. Hear you."

Spencer stops biting at his lip and fucking whines. He's trying so hard not to move, to stay as still as possible even though he's desperate to curl his toes and shift on the sheets and roll over so that he can press himself even closer to Brendon. He's panting breaths and fisting his cock so fucking hard it hurts. He prefers to jerk off wet because he comes too soon dry, but Brendon hasn't proffered lube and he doesn't want to ask. The friction makes it harder for him to hold back and he's pretty sure that this is going to be the quickest masturbatory show anyone's ever gotten, but he can't help himself.

The afternoon sunshine is coming in through the open window and Brendon's skin is bathed in sunlight, highlighting the sheen of sweat across his shoulders and in the curve of his belly. Spencer wants to touch him, to press his mouth to his skin and taste him; he pulls at the handcuffs but there's no give, and Brendon's too far away.

"You look so good like this," Brendon tells him, his hand pressing against Spencer's hip, "just like I imagined. I fucking love how hard you try, how well you do, how good you are."

Spencer keens. He's so close to coming, but he wants to hold off that bit longer though, just to see if he can. He wants to show Brendon he can. He tries to slow down a little, ride out another few moments, but it's getting harder and harder to stop himself from tumbling over the edge.

"I could watch you like this all day, you look so hot," Brendon goes on, but then the tips of his fingers brush Spencer's balls and it's too much. Spencer cries out and comes, unable to help himself any longer. It feels amazing, and he tips his head back on the pillow and tries to remember how to breathe, his vision sparking out at the peripheries. He can still feel Brendon's hand on his hip, the whole of Spencer's remaining focus concentrated on his touch.

Dazed and breathless, it's a minute before he feels Brendon move, and he realizes that Brendon's reaching for the headboard, moving to unbuckle Spencer's cuff, the game they were playing over.

"No," Spencer says, stopping Brendon with his other hand. "I mean -" he trails off. He's still coming down from his orgasm, tiny sparks of pleasure winding their way across his skin. "I'd rather." He stops. "You can leave it," he says, finally, when Brendon just looks at him quizzically.

"You sure?" Brendon asks. He's careful again, like Spencer's something that might break. Spencer appreciates the consideration, but he's starting to realize what it is that he likes and staying cuffed is something he wants, and something he can ask for.

"Yeah," Spencer says. "I want to stay like this, at least for a while."

"Okay," Brendon says, and then he sits back on his heels and reaches for the box of tissues on the nightstand, taking a handful and wiping at Spencer's stomach and his cock. He drops them on the floor, and then climbs over to Spencer's other side, seemingly just so he can bug Spencer into wrapping his arm around Brendon's shoulders. "You just need to say, and I'll uncuff you," he says.

"I know," Spencer says. He really does. "You going to kiss me any time soon?" he asks. He feels kind of grounded, like he can breathe a little freer, even though he's hot and sweaty and so oversensitive that every brush of his skin against Brendon's makes him twitch against him.

Brendon smiles, tucks himself even closer into Spencer's side, and leans in for a kiss. "Yeah," he says, and does.



"Are you sure we can't just drive ourselves?" Spencer asks, coming into the kitchen with his phone and almost tripping over Brendon, who's sitting on the floor playing some kind of weird peek-a-boo game with Bogart. He rolls his eyes and steps over the two of them.

Zack huffs a laugh from the other end of the phone line. "No," he says, firmly. "The radio station's been trailing your interview, you think you'll be able to just drive up and walk up to the front door without kids trying to mob you? Wait for the driver, stop complaining, and I'll meet the car when you get here."

"We could still drive," Spencer says, peering out of the window and into the yard.

"No, you can't," Zack says. "What's gotten into you, Spence? You know that's a stupid idea."

Spencer shrugs. "Nothing," he says, but it's a lie. He feels wound up and tense, like there's something coiling in his belly, a spring tightened up and ready to let go. He still isn't sleeping well and he feels uncomfortable in his own skin, like he wants to break free but doesn't know how.

"Yeah," Zack says. He sounds like he believes Spencer as much as Spencer does, which isn't much. "Just sit tight and wait for the car, Spence."

"Okay," Spencer says, and hangs up. He leans over the sink and takes a deep breath.

When he turns around, Brendon's watching him, Bogart running around them both in circles. "Spence -" Brendon starts, but Spencer isn't in the mood for talking.

"I'm gonna go wait on the stoop," he says, and he avoids Brendon's eye as he heads out to the front door, "and have a cigarette or whatever."

Brendon joins him a while later, just before the car's due to pick them up and take them to the radio station. Brendon bums a cigarette off Spencer, and ducks down to catch the light Spencer's holding out.

He inhales obnoxiously and loudly, bumping his knee against Spencer's.

Spencer bumps back, but he feels frustrated, like he's angry. He is angry, angry at himself for not knowing how to stop himself feeling this wound up. "Where's Bogart?" he asks.

"Inside," Brendon says, and he leans over and covers Spencer's knee with his hand.

Spencer lets out a deep breath. He isn't Brendon, he isn't moving too much or jiggling his leg uncontrollably or throwing his arms around, he doesn't need someone to still him. He's just tense. He just needs a break, needs to sprawl out in front of the TV or something. Nevermind that he's been doing that all week.

"I'm okay," he says, tightly.

"Yeah," Brendon nods, but doesn't take his hand away. He stares off across the yard, and doesn't say anything. His backpack is by his feet.

"I said, I'm okay."

"And I said, yeah." Brendon rolls his eyes. "The car's here, come on."

The car is a glorified mini van with blacked out windows and a screen between the driver and the rear seats; Spencer climbs in first and takes the seat by the opposite window.

Brendon climbs in and sits too close; Spencer feels so uncomfortable in his body right now that he doesn't want to be near to anyone, and he shifts so he's right up against the window. Brendon doesn't act like he notices, but Spencer's aware that Brendon notices a hell of a lot more than he appears to.

Brendon waits until the driver pulls away, and then he unzips his back pack and pulls out a scarf. It's gray and long and looks like it might be silk; it has to be vintage.

Spencer's interest is piqued, because Brendon makes no move to put it on. It wouldn't even go with what he's wearing, not that that's stopped Brendon before, but Brendon's wearing a Threadless t-shirt that's so old and so worn that nothing can disguise the old sweat stains under the arms. He's got a jacket to wear into the studio, though, so it shouldn't matter.

Brendon runs the scarf through his fingers.

"What -" Spencer starts, but then Brendon's leaning over and wrapping it around Spencer's neck.

"Move over," Brendon says, softly, and even though he feels frustrated and uncomfortable, Spencer shifts over on the seat, away from the window, closer to Brendon. "Good," Brendon says, "that's good."

"What are you doing?" Spencer asks, his mouth dry. They're in the back of a fucking mini-van.

Brendon loops the scarf around Spencer's neck a second time, keeping a careful hold of each end. "Nothing," he says. "Just relax."

The scarf isn't tight, not even close, but Spencer's breath hitches as Brendon winds the ends of the scarf loosely around his hands, the fringe dripping down and over Brendon's wrists.

Spencer's skin burns, because it must be clear to Brendon what sort of reaction Spencer's having to having a scarf wrapped around his neck, and it's not normal. It's weird. He ducks his head.

Brendon leans over and strokes at Spencer's cheek with his thumb. The silk fringe brushes Spencer's jaw, and his skin tingles.

"Spencer," Brendon says, softly.

Spencer can't meet his eyes, because he's feeling like he did back in the pet store when he was looking at the collars, and that's just weird. He doesn't want Brendon to know just how weird he is. That when he was imagining wearing a collar, he wasn't just imagining wearing it for sex. He knows that this is just a scarf, but it's somehow very similar to what he'd been imagining.

Brendon touches his chin. "Spencer," he says, and his voice sounds a little different. "Look at me."

Spencer swallows, and picks at the denim of his jeans. It's difficult to look up and meet Brendon's eye. Brendon's waiting, though, and so Spencer takes a deep breath and looks up.

Brendon rubs his thumb across Spencer's cheekbone, across his lip. "This is what you wanted, right?"

Spencer wants to say, not like this. Not here, but he doesn't. He doesn't know how Brendon figured it out, but he doesn't look weirded out, and he doesn't look freaked. He just looks—he looks careful, and a little like he's holding his breath. Spencer nods.

Brendon lets out a sigh and tips sideways, hiding his face in the curve of Spencer's neck. He kisses Spencer under his ear before sitting up again. "You've been so tense," Brendon says, letting the scarf fringe trail between his fingers. "You should try to relax. Just breathe for me, okay?"

Spencer nods, and he concentrates on the way the scarf feels around his neck, and the way the ends are wrapped around Brendon's hands, just resting in Brendon's lap. Brendon doesn't move, and he doesn't say anything, either. He's pressed to Spencer's side, though, from knee to hip to shoulder, and Spencer returns the pressure, leaning in. He closes his eyes and breathes in.

The tightness in his chest dissipates a little, and by the time they reach the radio station, he's breathing easier.



"I'm going to fuck you when we get home," Brendon whispers as they come out of the movie theater, hooking his chin over Spencer's shoulder and ghosting a breath across Spencer's skin.

Spencer shivers, and presses back against Brendon's chest. He shoots a glance around the foyer, just in case anyone heard what Brendon had said, but apparently not many people want to come see stupid dude bro movies in the middle of the night on a Tuesday, and aside from a guy desultorily running a vacuum cleaner across the carpet by the popcorn stand and the couple of guys heading out of the doors who'd been in the same theater as them, there isn't anyone else around. "Yeah," he says, "okay," and Brendon laughs against Spencer's ear and slides his hand into the front pocket of Spencer's jeans.

"We need to make a stop," Brendon goes on, nudging Spencer out of the doors of the movie theater. "I think we're out of condoms."

"No," Spencer says, trying to concentrate on remembering where they'd parked the car, "we don't. I bought more. Which is good, because it's the middle of the fucking night and I want to go home."

Brendon nibbles on his ear. There's nothing helpful about the way he's clinging on to Spencer. Walking across the parking lot is taking about three times as long as it would if Brendon wasn't hanging off Spencer's neck. "You're totally the best boyfriend," Brendon tells him, and Spencer rolls his eyes.

"And you're the worst," Spencer says. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Saving my energy for later," Brendon says, primly, and launches himself onto Spencer's back for a piggy back ride. "To the car, Spencer Smith."

"Yeah, and then I'll be out of energy," Spencer tells him, rolling his eyes. He doesn't make Brendon get down, though. "What happens then?"

"Then," Brendon says, pressing his mouth to Spencer's cheek, "then you lay there and keep still, and let me do the hard work."

Spencer shivers. He's half-hard already. "Oh yeah?" he says, and tries not to drop Brendon as a car drives in front of them, and he has to step back on to the sidewalk.

"Oh yeah," Brendon says, "and also, you should totally let me drive."

"Yeah," Spencer says, "no."

"I'll make it worth your while," Brendon says, hopping down off Spencer's back and curling into his side. "Come on. Let me drive, I'll fuck you really hard."

Spencer blinks. "This is not my life," he says, and gives Brendon the keys to his car.

"Awesome," Brendon says, smacking Spencer's ass and dancing his way around to the driver's side.

"The things I do to make you happy," Spencer says, to cover up how much he likes it when Brendon does that.

"Yeah, yeah," Brendon says, tossing his jacket onto Spencer's lap. "And later on we'll talk about how I'm pretty sure you want me to spank you as much as I want to do it to you."

"This is not my life," Spencer says, dazedly, and Brendon sticks his tongue out.



When they get back to the house, Brendon doesn't even wait until the front door's closed behind them before backing Spencer up against the wall and kissing him. "Been wanting to do that for hours," he says, as Bogart skids sleepily out of the kitchen and jumps up against Spencer's knee.

"Yeah," Spencer says, as Brendon kisses him again. "Me too."

Bogart whines, and Spencer laughs into Brendon's kiss. "Want to toss a coin?" he says. "For who takes him out?"

Brendon rubs his nose against Spencer's. "No," he says. "I've got a much better idea. You're going to stay right the fuck here and take your clothes off, and I'm going to take Bogart out."

"Okay," Spencer says, doubtfully, since he seems to have gotten the better end of the deal. Late nights hanging around in the garden getting cold while Bogart nosed around the yard instead of peeing was their least favorite part of being Bogart's people.

"And then," Brendon says, running his hand down Spencer's chest, slowly, "you're going to stand here with your hands above your head, like this -" he slides his hands down Spencer's arms, circling his fingers around Spencer's wrists and bringing them up above his head, pressing them against the wall. Spencer's breath catches and he stifles a gasp; there was still nothing they'd discovered that turned Spencer on more than having his wrists pinned above his head. "You're going to stand here, just like this, and keep real still and wait for me, okay?"

Spencer nods quickly. "Yeah," he says, already breathless. "Yeah, okay."

"Good," Brendon says, his eyes dark. He's clearly hard, and he ducks in for another kiss before stepping back and rearranging himself, palming his cock. Bogart runs around his feet, and Brendon picks him up and lets Bogart lick his face. "Hey kid," he says, and Bogart barks, licking his chin.

Spencer loves their stupid dog.

Brendon leans in for a quick kiss to Spencer's mouth before heading down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Spencer undresses quickly, leaving his jacket and his shirt in a messy pile on the floor, toeing off his shoes and adding his socks and his jeans to the pile. His underwear comes off last, and it's kind of a surprise how weird it feels, being naked in his hallway. It's his house, he's been naked here a thousand times, but never like this. Never naked here, in the hallway by the front door, next to the table with the bowl where they toss their car keys and their wallets when they come in the house. Their wallpaper feels weird against his ass, and he has to take a deep breath before he holds his hands up above his head and crosses his wrists, waiting.

He can hear Brendon talking to Bogart out on the stoop, laughing as Bogart presumably does something lame and ridiculous. Their dog is kind of wonderful. Spencer concentrates on Brendon's voice, the way he croons some pretty stupid song to the tune of a Sinatra song as Bogart heads inside, his nails tapping against the kitchen floor.

"On your bed," he hears Brendon say, "come on, kid, bedtime. On your bed, Bogart."

Spencer closes his eyes and lets his head tip back against the wall, listening to Brendon humming down the hall. It's a minute before he hears Brendon coming back down the hall, and another couple of seconds before he opens his eyes again. Brendon's standing in front of him, barefoot and shirtless, still in his jeans. He runs his hands down Spencer's chest and leans in so he can press his mouth to the underside of Spencer's jaw.

Spencer hisses in a breath, because he's really sensitive there, and Brendon knows it. Brendon mouths at his throat, running his tongue across Spencer's skin. "Brendon," Spencer gasps, already breathless.

"Fuck, Spence, you're so amazing," Brendon says, pressing himself to Spencer's chest. "You're fucking gorgeous."

"You too," Spencer manages, because there's something about the way that Brendon's looking at him that makes Spencer feel hot right down to his toes.

Brendon brushes the compliment away, just like always, shaking his head and kissing the corner of Spencer's mouth. He's running his hands across Spencer's chest again, and Spencer feels like Brendon's making sure he's real.

"You're so good," Brendon goes on, because Brendon talks a lot. Spencer feels very, very proud, even more so when Brendon runs his hands up Spencer's arms and closes his fingers around Spencer's wrists. "You don't even need me to restrain you, do you?"

Spencer shakes his head, mutely, because he doesn't know what else to do. He's fast coming to the conclusion that he'll do whatever it is that Brendon asks of him, but he's not so sure that Brendon knows that, yet. Spencer doesn't know if he'd prefer it if Brendon cuff him or not, but when Brendon presses closer and rubs his crotch against Spencer's, Spencer tips his head back and bites back a groan. The denim is too much, it's too much sensation against his naked cock, especially when Brendon's holding Spencer's wrists like that.

"You could come just like this," Brendon says, his mouth grazing Spencer's jaw. "I know you can, I've seen you."

Spencer remembers that time in the hotel room, the surprise and the shock of coming so quickly, so intensely. He nods.

"But you won't," Brendon says, softly. "You won't, because I'm going to ask you not to."

Spencer makes a sound in his throat. It's not like that time in the hotel room, he's not about to shoot his load unexpectedly, but suddenly things are harder. He's harder.

"I want you to hold off," Brendon says, his mouth pressed to the curve of Spencer's throat. "See how long you can last. See how well you can do."

It's stupid—stupid—how much Spencer buys into this. It's not like he's been a sucker for approval his whole life, or anything, it's just this. It's the way Brendon makes him feel, like he's special and incredible and it's the way Brendon really seems to believe he can always do better, stretch himself a little further, last a little longer. It's the way Brendon looks at him when he tells Spencer he's done well, the way it makes Spencer feel like he's walking on fucking air.

He nods, and Brendon bites at his ear. "I'm going to restrain you now," he whispers, "and lead you upstairs. And then I'm going to fuck you, and you're going to hold off as long as you can, and then you're going to ask permission before you come, okay?"

Spencer can't find his breath, and he doesn't know which part of what Brendon's just said was the part that tipped him over the edge. He babbles, "Brendon, Brendon, Brendon -" and he tries to reach for him, but he can't, his wrists pinned to the wall by Brendon's hand.

"Shh," Brendon says, crowding him even further back against the wall, his knees either side of Spencer's. He catches Spencer's mouth in a kiss that Spencer takes a moment to respond to. He's breathless, panting against Brendon's mouth as Brendon produces the leather cuffs and carefully attaches them to each of Spencer's wrists in turn.

It might be the way the leather feels against his skin, but Spencer feels different. Just like every other time, he's caught unawares by the way things shift when he's wearing the cuffs. It's a curious feeling in his chest, an unwinding of something tight. He's pretty sure that he shouldn't be relaxing into the restraints, that that's the wrong way around, but he can't help it.

He thinks Brendon might have said his name a couple of times before he remembers to look up.

Brendon grins, and touches his mouth to Spencer's. "I love how much you get off on this," he says, and Spencer can't help the ripple of pleasure that pulses through him.

"Get off on you," Spencer tells him.

"Yeah," Brendon says, rubbing his thumb across Spencer's wrists. "Me and some kick-ass handcuffs."

Spencer bites back a groan and tips his head back against the wall as Brendon continues to touch at his wrists.

"Come on," Brendon says, after a minute. He brings Spencer's hands down in front of him, and crooks a finger into the chain between the cuffs. "I'm going to take you upstairs."

Spencer can't take his eyes off Brendon's fingers, curled into the chain.

"Careful," Brendon says. It's stupid, because Spencer's climbed their stairs a thousand times, and he's done it drunk and fucked-up and in the morning before he's had caffeine, but Brendon's right to warn him this time. Spencer stumbles over nothing, and Brendon's left catching his elbow. "Careful, Spence," he says again, and Spencer tries to nod.

It's difficult to concentrate on anything but Brendon's fingers, and getting up the stairs is a slow process, one step at a time. Then Brendon's leading him into the bedroom and Spencer can't help but think back to the pet store, back to standing in front of the collars and the leashes. He knows it's completely fucking weird but this is going someway to satisfying that strange, unsettling urge he'd felt back in front of the dog collars, the momentary desire to have Brendon buckle a collar around his neck and lead him around.

Brendon nudges him backwards until he's bumping into the bed, and then Brendon wraps a hand around Spencer's neck and kisses him, Spencer's bound wrists trapped between them. Brendon kisses him urgently, and Spencer kisses back just as hard, lost in how it feels to be so dependent on Brendon.

"Love you," Brendon says, in between kisses. Spencer swallows down a groan and hides his face in Brendon's neck, rocking a little as he tries to balance. Brendon says I love you more than Spencer does.

"Yeah," Spencer manages, but Brendon's not waiting for an answer.

"Sit down," he says, and he cups Spencer's elbow as Spencer sits on the edge of the bed. "Scoot back," Brendon says, but Spencer discovers that's easier said than done when his hands are bound in his lap. It's undignified, definitely, the means he has to resort to to lie down in the middle of their bed.

Brendon laughs against Spencer's skin, and it tickles, little ripples of pleasure all across his body.

"Shut up," Spencer tries for, but then Brendon's peeling off his jeans and kicking them across the floor, and kneeling on the bed next to Spencer. His cock is hard and red and glistening wet. Spencer unconsciously licks his lips, and Brendon pokes him in the shoulder.

"I'm going to fuck you," he says, "don't start wishing for blow jobs instead."

"Never," Spencer says, thickly, because Brendon's unclipping the restraint from Spencer's cuff and circling it through the gap in the headboard before reattaching it to Spencer's wrist.

"How's that?" Brendon asks, leaning over Spencer and running his hand down the inside of Spencer's arm. Spencer bites back a gasp.

"Good," he manages, because Brendon is fucking crawling down the bed, resting on his knees at Spencer's feet, hands curled around Spencer's ankles.

"Knees up," Brendon says, and sometimes Brendon asks him to do something and Spencer does it because he likes the way responding to what Brendon asks of him makes him feel, and sometimes his response is so automatic, so ingrained that responding is instinctive. This is one of the instinctive times. "Further apart," Brendon goes on, and his voice is darker, a little heavier. "I want to see you, properly."

Spencer's skin burns, because Brendon is just looking at him, kneeling in between Spencer's legs and looking. Spencer's cock is flat against his belly, leaking a glistening trail across Spencer's skin, and it's weird but Spencer can feel himself get even more turned on with every second Brendon sits and waits and watches. They're not touching, not at all, but Spencer is constantly aware of the cuffs and in a way he feels even more connected to Brendon than if Brendon was touching him all over.

It feels like Brendon's in his head.

"Fuck," Brendon says, and his voice wobbles. "You're so beautiful."

Beautiful isn't a word that Brendon throws around; it's not a word that either of them use that much. Spencer shivers. He feels beautiful, and he's not even sure he's ever felt like this before. Brendon's looking at him with reverence, like he's something to be appreciated, and Spencer can't help it. He begs.

"Brendon, please," he manages, the words catching in his throat. "Please, I need you to touch me, please."

Brendon circles his fingers around Spencer's ankle for a moment. "You need to ask me if you want to come," he reminds Spencer, and Spencer nods, over and over.

He'll do anything if it means Brendon's going to touch him any sooner.

"I will," Spencer says, nodding again. Brendon strokes his hands up Spencer's calves, and Spencer swears. All this sensation is too much. His cock throbs, and he wants some friction, someone to touch him, someone to hold his dick and kiss him and jack him off until he comes.

"You should hold off as long as you can," Brendon tells him. He kisses the inside of Spencer's knee, first one, and then the other, and Spencer can't help the shudder of appreciation that runs through him at Brendon's touch. "How are you holding up?"

Spencer grits his teeth. "So turned on," he says. He sounds hoarse. "Brendon, fuck. So fucking turned on."

Brendon wraps an arm around Spencer's knee, and reaches over to the nightstand. "You're doing so well," he says, uncapping the lube. "So incredibly well, Spence."

"Please," Spencer begs. He twists on the sheets, trying to get some friction from somewhere. He tugs at the headboard. "Touch me."

Brendon wraps slippery fingers around Spencer's cock, and Spencer's hips buck and he cries out, but Brendon just smiles, and strokes his fingertips down the underside of Spencer's cock before cupping Spencer's balls in the palm of his hand.

This is too much. Spencer can't process the sensations anymore, and by the time Brendon's moved on, the tips of his fingers brushing over his ass, circling his hole, Spencer can't bite back the noises anymore.

Brendon slides one finger in, then another, but Spencer's babbling, a wave of sound he can barely process. He has no idea how long Brendon fingers him for, but it feels like hours. It isn't, he knows it isn't, but it's all he can do to hold off from coming. Brendon has three fingers in Spencer's ass when Spencer begs him to stop.

"Please," Spencer says. "Stop, just stop for a minute, I can't -"

"Okay," Brendon says, sliding his fingers out of Spencer's ass. He's red-faced and sweating, his own erection bumping against his stomach as he kneels in between Spencer's legs. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Spencer bites out. "I just. I want to come when you're inside me. Give me a minute."

Spencer tries not to think about how he's cuffed to the headboard, or about the eyeful that Brendon must be getting right about now. He counts backwards from ten, instead, three times, and then he nods and shifts a little so he can touch Brendon's foot with his heel.

"I'm okay," he says, "You can, uh."

"Touch you again?" Brendon fills in. He smiles, wide and bright, and he ducks his head so he can kiss Spencer's hip. "Fuck, I thought I was going to come too," he says, reaching over for a condom. "You should hear what you sound like, seriously, Spencer, it's the fucking hottest thing I've ever heard."

Spencer groans and his hips press up against Brendon's hand.

"You like that?" Brendon asks, his hand ghosting across Spencer's thigh and back in between his legs, fingertips brushing his ass.

Spencer whines.

"I'll take that as a yes," Brendon grins, but he doesn't sound as if he's in total control of himself, either. He shifts, and then his cock is in between Spencer's legs and he's pushing up against Spencer's ass, and Spencer's pressing back.

Having Brendon inside of him is never going to grow old, he thinks. He loves the way it feels, loves how full he feels, how satisfying it is even before Brendon shifts and brushes his prostate.

"Fuck," Spencer manages, as Brendon presses him down into the sheets, holding him there with his hand on Spencer's hip.

Spencer cries out, and Brendon's head tips back and Spencer can't hold on very much longer.

"I can't -" Spencer starts, but that's not asking for permission. That's not what Brendon wanted. "Please," he says. "Please, Brendon, I want to come. Can I?"

Brendon lets out a whine, and his fingers tighten on Spencer's hips. "Fuck," he says. "You can come," he says, and Spencer grabs the headboard, desperate for purchase.

He comes crying Brendon's name, Brendon's hand around his cock. It feels incredible.

Afterwards, Brendon unclips the restraint binding Spencer to the headboard, and presses himself to Spencer's side, rubbing slow circles into Spencer's palms.

Spencer, drowsy and sated and still riding the crest of his orgasm, doesn't complain. His shoulders ache and they'll be sore in the morning, but right now he doesn't care. Brendon wipes at Spencer's stomach with a wet wipe, and drops it in the trash can after the condom, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the corner of Spencer's mouth.

Spencer groans, sleepily. "How'd I do?" he asks.

"Pretty damn amazing," Brendon says, pressing even closer. "Totally hot."

Spencer skin turns a little pinker. "Uh-huh," he manages, and drops a kiss to the top of Brendon's head. "I love you," he says.

Brendon burrows a little closer, licking the underside of Spencer's jaw. "Well, of course," he says, half-asleep.

"Lamer," Spencer says, softly.



Spencer wakes up to find Brendon kneeling over him, and brushing Spencer's hair away from his forehead. It's not a bad way to wake up, in that waking up near Brendon pretty much constitutes a win, but it's still a little weird, and Spencer can't help but make a sort of embarrassing squeaky kind of noise when he first opens his eyes and sees Brendon right there.

"Morning," Brendon says, brightly.

Spencer glances at the clock. "It's afternoon," he says, which, well. Really? They must have tired themselves out the night before. He lifts his head when Brendon tells him to, and then settles himself back down on the pillow. The room smells like stale spunk and a little like sweat. He wrinkles his nose.

Then, "Brendon, hang on, what are you doing?"

Brendon hums, and bends down to kiss the corner of Spencer's mouth. "Lie there and stop complaining, okay?"

Brendon is very carefully—and very slowly—knotting a gray and white striped tie around Spencer's neck.

"I'm naked," Spencer says, because normally ties come with button down shirts. His heart is beating faster already.

"Yes," Brendon nods. "You are."

Spencer tries to sound like Brendon knotting a tie around his neck is having no effect at all, but he can't. He remembers Brendon tying a scarf around his neck in the back of the car to the radio station, and he remembers the aisle in the pet store with the dog collars. It's stupid to pretend otherwise, but he tries anyway. "You normally wear clothes with a tie," he says.

"Sure you do," Brendon slides two fingers between the tie and Spencer's neck. The knot is resting on Spencer's collar bone. "How's that feel?"

"Uh," Spencer manages. "Good." He's half-hard already, but he's blaming that on Brendon straddling him, even though he comes complete with slightly stale morning breath. His dick's brushing up against Spencer's stomach, and Spencer can't help but be affected by that. "It feels good."

"Awesome," Brendon says, and takes a hold of the long end of the tie. He laces it through his fingers, weaving it over and under. He pulls on it, just a little, just enough for Spencer to feel it around his neck.

Spencer grabs on to Brendon's waist.

"Okay?" Brendon asks.

Spencer bites his lip and lets his hand rest in the curve of Brendon's spine. "It's good," he says again, because it is. "It feels good."

"Good," Brendon echoes, keeping the tie just taut enough that it doesn't pull on the knot. "You want to keep it on?"

"You mean -" Spencer trails off, trying to concentrate on something other than the way it feels to have Brendon holding him here, like he's on a fucking leash.

"I mean," Brendon says, "we put some pants on, have lunch, watch some TV, let our stupid dog hang out with us. And we leave it on."

Spencer tries to breathe, but he can't. His chest feels tight. "But -" he starts. He wants to say, it's like a fucking leash, but he can't. "What does it mean?" he asks, finally.

Brendon shrugs. He loops the tie loosely around his wrist, letting the end trail against his palm. "I like having you close," he says, after a while. "And I'm pretty sure you like it just as much."

Spencer's mouth is really dry. He swallows. "Are you, uh. Are you going to keep a hold of the end?"

Brendon watches him for a moment. "Some of the time," he says. "I'd keep hold of it all the time, but I'm pretty sure that we shouldn't be using a fucking tie if that's what we want to do."

Spencer really can't breathe, and it's not because of the tie around his neck. "And is it?" he asks, even though talking about this was not on his to-do list. Now, or ever.

Brendon leans down to press his mouth to Spencer's skin. "I think you'd look pretty fucking amazing in a collar," he says, ghosting his tongue down Spencer's throat. "I'm pretty sure I'm totally fucking hot for the idea of you on a leash."

Spencer makes a noise he barely recognizes.

"I think about it all the time," Brendon tells him, mouthing at Spencer's nipple. He bites, just for a moment, enough for Spencer to hiss out his appreciation. "Ever since I saw you in the store looking at those collars for Indie. I wanted to be picking one out for you, instead."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Spencer manages, as Brendon takes Spencer's other nipple between his teeth. "Brendon, fuck. I wasn't looking for Indie."

Brendon cups Spencer's face in his hands, the soft silk of the tie brushing Spencer's cheek. "I know that now," Brendon says, softly, and kisses him.

He tastes sleepy and a little stale, but Spencer can't help but kiss back, arching up into Brendon's mouth. It's such an odd ache, needing this from Brendon, wanting this from anyone. These vaguely formed ideas he's had about collars and leashes, they mean something to him, something important he's pretty sure he doesn't understand yet, but these are tentative steps they're making towards this idea that Spencer has in his head.

They make out for ages, until Spencer's lips are sore and Brendon's breathless, and then they pull on shorts and go downstairs and call out for pizza. Spencer sits next to Brendon on the couch and Bogart runs around their feet, and Brendon wraps his fingers around the end of Spencer's tie and keeps holding on.



"Here," Brendon says, clambering over the back of the couch and sinking down next to Spencer. He dumps his laptop on Spencer's knee, and Spencer huffs a sigh and pauses Mario Kart.

"What's this?" Spencer asks, shoving Brendon's feet out of the way.

"Just look," Brendon says.

It's a website selling collars, proper collars, collars for guys like Spencer.

"I want to get you one," Brendon says, hooking his chin over Spencer's shoulder. "If you'd like. I thought we could pick one out."

Spencer doesn't say anything. He's not sure he can.

"You can say no," Brendon says, after a minute. "That's okay too."

"No -" Spencer starts. He still doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to say, this is how I want it to be. "I want one," he says, finally. His breath comes out all in a whoosh.

Brendon's hand tightens on Spencer's arm. "That's good," he says. "You want to pick one out?"

Spencer dumps the laptop on the coffee table and tilts Brendon's chin toward him. "You're totally fucking amazing," he says, before kissing him.

"And you're going to be totally fucking hot in a collar," Brendon says, grinning against Spencer's mouth. "Stop making out with me and pick one. We're totally paying extra for this shit to be fed-ex'd right the fuck now. We've got to pick out a leash to match, too, hurry up."

Spencer comes perilously close to coming in his pants right there and then.

"A-ha," Brendon beams. "You're so fucking hot for this. Awesome."

"Shut up," Spencer says, and lets Brendon fold into his side as he reaches for the laptop. "Like you're not."

Brendon licks his ear, and grins.



Spencer is tense and agitated waiting for the package to arrive. He's not the only one; Brendon is pent up and on edge too, playing games with Bogart out in the yard for the whole morning, coming inside sticky and worn out. He slides down next to Spencer on the couch and touches at Spencer's neck with his fingertips.

Spencer bats him away, because Brendon touching him like that is doing nothing to stop his dick from twitching. This half-formed series of fantasies that have been plaguing him for such a long time suddenly seem halfway to coming true, and he's been turned on and half-hard ever since they'd clicked through the pictures of the different collars and leashes on the website the previous afternoon. After they'd completed the order, Brendon had climbed into Spencer's lap and kissed him with one hand down his pants, and it hadn't taken long for Spencer to come all over Brendon's fist.

Now he's just tense. Brendon sits back and watches him for a moment, and then he takes Spencer's hand and leads him into the laundry room, cuffing him to the hook for the clothes line again.

Spencer whines, and Brendon drops to his knees and starts mouthing at Spencer's cock through his underwear. He doesn't stop even when Spencer begs him to just let him come, and when he finally tugs Spencer's underwear down, leaving it pooled around one ankle, he takes Spencer into his mouth and sucks gently on the head, so softly that Spencer cries out and begs for more.

When he finally comes, Brendon doesn't stop, and he keeps Spencer's dick in his mouth right through until Spencer's soft and trembling, shaking with Brendon's every lick. Then Brendon sits back on his haunches and starts jerking himself off, not taking his eyes off Spencer's face the whole time.

He doesn't stop talking the whole time he's jerking off, either, telling Spencer in a low, gruff voice about how he's going to fasten the collar around Spencer's neck and then attach the leash and make him crawl from room to room, how he's going to make Spencer kneel down and drape the leash down across the curve of his spine, trailing down to his ass. How Brendon's going to jerk off and come all across Spencer's back, and how he's going to hold the leash taut and make Spencer crawl at his feet.

Brendon comes hard, and loudly, and he looks so desperate and flushed and turned on that Spencer can't help but realize that he's not the only one in this. He's not the only one of them to have thought about this, to have got turned on by this. He's not the only one to want this.

"Brendon," Spencer manages, although his legs are shaking like he's just run a race, "please." He wants out of the restraints, and when Brendon clambers to his feet and unhooks him, Spencer just wraps his arms around Brendon's shoulders and holds on, Brendon pressing him back against the wall, hot and sweaty and breathing fast.

"You're going to look so hot," Brendon says, pushing his hot, sticky forehead into the curve of Spencer's neck.

"I'm going to feel hot," Spencer admits, and holds on tighter.

"We need a couch in here, or something." Brendon says, after a minute.

"Yeah, because that's going to be easy to explain," Spencer says, "why we have a couch in the laundry room."

Brendon shrugs easily. "We like to sit down while we sort our laundry. What the fuck ever. A collar," he says, in wonder.

"Yeah," Spencer agrees, and wonders where the fucking Fed-ex guy is.



They're out in the back yard throwing a soggy tennis ball for Bogart when they hear someone pull up around the front of the house.

"Fed-ex," Brendon sings, sliding his hand down the back of Spencer's shorts.

Spencer rolls his eyes. "About fucking time," he manages, as Brendon squeezes his ass before heading up the steps and on to the deck.

"Tell me about it," Brendon says, from the back door, Bogart jumping up and scrabbling at Spencer's knees, trying to reach the tennis ball in Spencer's hand. "Even Bogart's excited, see?"

"Please don't tell me our dog is excited because our kinky sex stuff has arrived," Spencer says, following Brendon up the steps but not following him inside, choosing instead to stay outside on the deck, "because that's just fucking weird."

Brendon's answer is just to let the door fall closed behind him.

Spencer lets out a long sigh and tries to remember how to breathe. He drops to his knees and lets Bogart wrestle him for the tennis ball; he can't forget that Brendon's inside, or why Brendon's inside. He can't help it, he's a little freaked out.

Bogart flops exhaustedly onto his back, legs in the air. He looks piteously across at Spencer and wriggles. Spencer knows what to do when Bogart looks like that—he's remarkably similar to Brendon. He rubs at Bogart's belly. "Good doggy," he says, and Bogart barks, rolling onto his side and clambering onto Spencer's lap, paws on his shirt, trying to lick Spencer's jaw.

"Hey," Brendon says, from the doorway. He's waving a package. He looks quieter, less jumpy than earlier. "It's here."

"Awesome," Spencer says, but the same can't be said of him. He feels tense and wound up, his shoulders taut and his chest tight. When he stands up, Bogart scoots inside and Spencer can hear his nails tap-tapping on the kitchen tiles.

"I'm pretty sure you're standing outside when you should be right here next to me," Brendon says, after a moment.

Spencer nods, because he knows Brendon's right, it's just—it's like he's not sure how to close the distance between them, how to put one foot in front of the other and have things still be the same when he gets inside.

"Spence," Brendon says, softly. "Spencer."

Spencer's staring at the package in Brendon's hand. "That's it, right?" He stumbles over saying my collar.

"Pretty sure," Brendon says. "They promise a discreet service, though. It's not like they put a label on saying what's inside." He pauses. "Are you coming over here any time soon?"

Spencer nods, slowly. "Sure," he says, and when he gets inside the door, Brendon crowds him back against the wall and kisses him, over and over, the package bumping against Spencer's arm every time Brendon runs his hands through Spencer's hair. It feels awesome, but Spencer can't relax. It's a cross between how he used to feel at Christmas, excited and anticipatory, but also like he used to feel before a test he hadn't studied for, nervous and unsure and tense.

"Come on," Brendon says, against Spencer's mouth. "We should go upstairs."





Brendon puts the package on the bed and then leans in, kissing Spencer's jaw, and his throat, and all the while sliding his hands under Spencer's shirt and over his stomach and his chest. Spencer isn't relaxing yet, but he tries to concentrate on his breathing as Brendon helps him off with his shirt. He breathes, in, out, in, out as Brendon runs his hands down Spencer's arms, back up and across his shoulders, down to the waistband of his shorts.

He kicks off his flip-flops when Brendon tells him to, and steps out of his shorts. He's in just his boxer shorts, and he waits for Brendon to help him out of those, too, but Brendon doesn't, ridding himself of his pants instead.

Brendon cups Spencer's face in his hands and presses his mouth to the corner of Spencer's, sliding his tongue between Spencer's lips. "I love you so fucking much," he says, after a moment, and Spencer fights back a choked breath.

He wants this so much. His mouth is dry and he sounds hoarse and unsure, even to his own ears. "Love you too," he manages.

Brendon kisses him again, his fingers stroking at Spencer's jaw, then his throat, his neck. "Kneel down," he says, softly.

"But -" Spencer starts. He's still wearing his boxers. "My underwear."

Brendon nudges at Spencer's jaw with his nose. "Kneel down," he says again. "I want to see you on your knees for me."

Spencer swallows. He jerks his head, a tiny nod of agreement, and then he kneels down at Brendon's feet, by the side of their bed. The carpet is rough against his knees already, and his flip-flop is in his way so he has to kick it over towards the closet. He ducks his head for a moment, letting his chin rest against his chest. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

He breathes in, a sharp inhale as Brendon runs his fingers through Spencer's hair, tugging just a little so that Spencer has to tilt his head back to meet Brendon's gaze. Spencer's cock twitches at the hair-pulling, and again he's reminded that there's so much he hasn't figured out yet about what gets him off.

"Just look at me," Brendon says, "look at me and breathe."

Spencer swallows, and tries to match his breaths to Brendon's.

"That's good," Brendon says, "you're doing really well, Spence. You're going to look so good." He leans down so that he can kiss the corner of Spencer's mouth again; it takes Spencer a moment to kiss back and Brendon's already moving back, sitting down on the edge of their bed and pulling off his shirt, dropping it over the end of the bed and pulling the package over to him.

Spencer watches as Brendon opens it, as he pulls out the collar that they'd picked out the day before. It's black, and leather, with a D-ring at the front and the buckle at the side. It looks stiff and unwieldy, but when Brendon undoes the buckle it flops softly across his palm. They'd paid extra for the soft touch leather.

"It's yours," Brendon says, softly, and Spencer's breath catches in his throat. He's hard, his cock tenting his boxers, but he's barely aware of that, staring at the leather collar in Brendon's palm. "It's just for you, Spence."

"Mine," Spencer manages, because it feels like his brain is short-circuiting or something. All his awareness is focusing down on this one thing, on the collar in Brendon's hand. Even his breathing sounds too loud in his head, and everything feels a little fuzzy as Brendon leans in and very slowly wraps the collar around Spencer's neck.

Spencer's so hard it hurts, but even that is only a hazy, periphery awareness. It's Brendon's fingers deftly fastening the collar in place, the slight tightness around his throat—not enough to have an impact on his breathing, but enough that he can't take a breath without being aware that he's wearing it. It's rough against his skin, and he tries swallowing, his mouth dry. When he looks up to meet Brendon's eyes, he's amazed by what he sees there.

Brendon's eyes are so dark they're almost black, his pupils wide. He's cupping Spencer's face in one hand, his other hand on Spencer's shoulder. He shifts so that he's grazing Spencer's throat with his fingertips. When he tries to speak, he sounds hoarse. "Is that too tight?" he asks.

Spencer shakes his head. "No," he says, and he can feel the collar with every breath and every sound he makes. He doesn't want to forget how this feels for the rest of his life.

"Good," Brendon says, and then his hand tightens on Spencer's shoulder. "I want you to take your dick out," he says, "so I can see."

Spencer feels puzzled, but he slides his hand under the waistband of his briefs and pulls his dick out, over the elastic. He moves to shrug off his underwear, but Brendon stops him.

"No," he says. "Leave it there." Spencer's cock is half out of his underwear, trapped up against his stomach. There's already a stripe of pre-come across his skin.

Spencer's skin heats up, because that feels kind of obscene.

"You look -" Brendon starts, but he trails off. "You should see yourself. Fuck, you look amazing."

Spencer doesn't know what to say, especially when Brendon reaches back inside the package and brings out the leash.

Brendon runs it through his fingers and Spencer thinks desperately that this is it, this is what he's been wanting, what he's been building towards.

Brendon leans in and clips it to Spencer's collar, and Spencer's brain whites out.

He blinks, and Brendon's winding the leather around his fingers, over and over, his hand getting closer and closer to Spencer's neck as he runs out of leash to wind.

"You should see yourself," Brendon says, again, but he sounds more in control this time, like he's thinking.

Spencer tries for a nod, but it pulls on the leash and his cock twitches.

"You should crawl over to the mirror," Brendon says. "See what I see."

The mirror is a full-length one fastened to the inside of their closet door. The closet is standing open and it's only a couple of steps away from the bed, but to Spencer it feels like a mile.

Brendon unwinds a length of leash, enough that he can stand up and not be bending over. "I want you to crawl," he says, and Spencer likes being obedient. It makes him feel good, and wearing the collar makes him feel good too, and being on the leash makes him feel amazing, but there's still a mental block he's having to try really hard to get past. His brain is still in control, even when every other part of him is telling him that this is what he wants to do. Making that first hesitant move towards crawling across his bedroom floor is really fucking hard, even when Brendon's stroking his hair.

Crawling is weird. The carpet's rough against his legs, and the leash is taut and his cock feels odd trapped up against his stomach. The distance between the bed and the closet door feels longer than it actually is, and when he kneels in front of the mirror, he can't bring himself to look up.

"You should look," Brendon says, loosening his hold on the leash. "See what I see."

Spencer shakes his head. "I can't," he says, finally, and he knows his cheeks are pink and flushed. He feels hot, and sexy, but he's on a fucking leash and that's weird. He can't look up and see that, he just can't. He shuts his eyes.

Brendon drops to his knees, and kisses Spencer's forehead. "Okay," he says. "How about I show you what I see, instead?"

Spencer ducks his head. He inclines his head a little, just enough for it to count as a nod.

"Knees further apart," Brendon tells him, and even with his eyes closed, Spencer obeys. Brendon's hand is resting on the inside of Spencer's knee, thumb stroking. He grazes his fingertips up Spencer's thigh, and Spencer's breath hitches as he pulls at the cotton of Spencer's underwear. "So fucking hot," he says, against the shell of Spencer's ear. "Your cock hanging out like that," he goes on, and Spencer can't help how his erection twitches. Brendon doesn't make any move to help Spencer off with his underwear, though, just cupping Spencer's balls through the cotton. He rubs, and Spencer gasps out a groan as Brendon's thumb brushes the underside of Spencer's cock. "You really like that, huh?" Brendon says, and he'd sound amused except for how his voice is rough and turned on.

Spencer nods, but doesn't open his eyes. He can feel the weight of the collar around his neck, and he thinks that this is a weight he could get used to, a weight he wants to get used to. Aside from the last minute resistance his brain is putting up, he already feels curiously centered, curiously in control of how he's submitting to Brendon, and it's kind of incredible.

Brendon ghosts the heel of his hand across the head of Spencer's cock, and Spencer's mouth goes suddenly, desperately dry. He whines as Brendon takes his hand away, hips pressing up after Brendon's touch.

"No," Brendon says, and this time he really does smile, a breath of a laugh against Spencer's temple, a kiss. "Not until you look."

Spencer shakes his head again, eyes still closed.

"Okay," Brendon says, and he kisses Spencer's hair, his hand stroking soft circles across Spencer's stomach. He's moving upwards, slowly, and when his thumb brushes Spencer's nipple, Spencer cries out.

Brendon pinches it between his fingers, not hard enough for it to hurt, but enough to have Spencer arching up against him. Brendon presses him back with a hand to Spencer's chest, stroking upwards along his collarbone, his shoulder, back again. So close, and Spencer's aching for his touch, some recognition of the collar he's wearing. Some recognition of what it means, maybe.

Brendon runs his fingers along Spencer's neck, just beneath the collar. Spencer gasps out a breath as Brendon touches it, stroking his fingers against the leather, underneath, against his skin.

"So beautiful, Spence," Brendon says, against his ear. It's the way Brendon sounds, none of his earlier amusement, just something that sounds like reverence, or wonder. His thumb plays with the D-ring, fingertips stroking Spencer's throat, and for the first time, Spencer believes it.

He opens his eyes, and looks at their reflection in the mirror.

Brendon's kneeling beside him, the leash coiled around his fingers, stroking at Spencer's neck with his other hand. His mouth is pressed to Spencer's temple, and Spencer never, ever wants to forget how this feels, how pleased he is that he can make Brendon look and sound like he does, hot and dark and proud.

He looks at himself in the mirror; he's flushed and red and his eyes are dark, darker than he's ever seen them, all pupil and no color. He looks down, and his cock is trapped up against his stomach, the head red and hard against his skin. He looks as obscene as he imagined, and for the first time the realization comes without a hint of shame. The collar is a strip of black against his skin, the leash hanging loosely from the D-ring. He's as turned on as he's ever been, and when Brendon brushes his lips across Spencer's skin and whispers, "So good, Spence, I'm so proud of you -" Spencer keens.

Brendon splays his fingers across Spencer's neck, brushing the collar with his fingertips. He tugs a little on the leash so that Spencer tips his head back, meeting Brendon's eyes, his throat bared.

"Yours, yours, yours," Spencer manages, barely able to catch his breath. He can still see them both in the mirror, Brendon kneeling over him, fingers stroking at Spencer's jaw, thumb under the collar, pressed up against his skin.

"Mine," Brendon agrees, tilting Spencer's chin back so that Spencer's resting his head back against Brendon's shoulder. "Fuck, Spencer, you're so hot. Can you see?"

Spencer tries to see what Brendon sees in the mirror, but he's so caught up in the idea of wearing a collar that he thinks he's missing something. He reaches up and tangles his fingers into Brendon's hair, tugging Brendon even closer. He wants something else, something more, and when Brendon closes the distance between them and kisses him, Spencer whines against his mouth.

He doesn't close his eyes, and neither does Brendon. They both keep one eye on the mirror, and even though Spencer hasn't made out with his eyes open before, not intentionally, it's really kind of amazing. He meets Brendon's eyes in the mirror as they kiss, their tongues sliding against one another. It's wanton and dirty and vaguely obscene and Spencer can't help but palm his dick with the heel of his hand.

"Stop that," Brendon says, even though his erection is pressing into Spencer's side.

Spencer makes a noise against Brendon's mouth, but he obeys, dropping his hand obediently.

"Soon," Brendon promises, in between kisses, and there's a string of saliva joining their lips together. Spencer arches up for another kiss, and Brendon makes him reach for it so that Spencer's stretching up to meet him, tongue sliding along Brendon's lips.

"Are you watching?" Brendon asks, breaking away. He shifts so that he's kneeling behind Spencer, his erection pressing against the curve of Spencer's back. He lets the leash go, and it hangs down over Spencer's chest, against his stomach, the momentum causing the end to brush over the head of Spencer's cock.

Spencer bites his lip. He still has his hand in Brendon's hair, arched up behind him, and he tries tugging Brendon closer. "Fuck," Spencer manages, as Brendon resists Spencer's attempts and grins against his hair. "I can see you, you know."

"Yeah," Brendon says, "and I can see you." He runs his hand down Spencer's chest, following along the line of the leash. When he gets to Spencer's cock, he brushes his fingertips across the head, and then starts palming it through Spencer's underwear.

"Oh, fuck," Spencer grinds out, his hips pressing up.

Brendon curves his fingers around Spencer's balls, squeezing a little before rubbing at the underside of his cock with the heel of his hand.

Spencer cries out, because this is ridiculous. He's watching himself in the mirror and he's so hard for this, so hard. When Brendon ducks his head to run his tongue along the skin beneath his collar, Spencer's hips buck and he squeezes his eyes shut because he can't see himself like this, so turned on, so open.

"Watch," Brendon says, biting down on Spencer's shoulder. He reaches for the leash with his other hand, winding it around his fingers as Spencer watches, helpless. He holds the leash taut and Spencer's forced to shift, following the leash so that he's sitting up straight, Brendon's fingers encircling his cock. "Look in the mirror and see what I see."

"I can't," Spencer says, desperately, because he feels like he's revealing too much of himself, revealing how much he wants this and how he wants this.

"You think I don't know how much you want this?" Brendon says, as if Spencer's spoken out loud. "Watch and see how sexy you are."

"Shut up," Spencer manages, forcing himself to watch in the mirror, because Brendon's masturbating him through the cotton of his underwear with just two fingers, and it's both distracting and very, very hot.

"I'm going to make you crawl all over the house," Brendon tells him, biting Spencer's ear. "And I'm going to fuck you in every room. I'm going to make you crawl into the laundry room, and then I'm going to cuff you to the fucking wall in just your collar."

Spencer can't even form words. He's breathing too hard, gasping out his appreciation as Brendon continues to jerk him off with just two fingers.

"I'm going to sit on the edge of the couch and pull you closer and closer until you're pressed up against my dick," Brendon goes on, and he's sounding breathless too, rutting up against Spencer's back, his erection hot and hard against Spencer's skin. "Get you to suck me off," he says, "hold you there."

"Anything," Spencer manages, and he means it, he honestly means it. Right now he'd do anything that Brendon asked, without condition or codicil. "Anything you want."

"Fuck," Brendon gasps, and he tugs the leash taut.

The collar pulls a little and the pressure is enough for Spencer. He's never seen himself so close to orgasm before, never watched himself come in the mirror, but even now he's not watching himself. He's watching Brendon, and Brendon is sweaty and breathless and turned on and amazing, and he's staring at Spencer. He looks like that because of Spencer, and even though Brendon slides his fist around the head of Spencer's cock, it isn't that that tips Spencer over into orgasm, it's the way Brendon's looking at him in the mirror.

Spencer cries out, and starts to come. He gets jizz all over his stomach, some even hitting his chin. He collapses back against Brendon's chest as he comes, and Brendon wraps his arms around Spencer as he presses his face into Brendon's neck. He wipes at Spencer's chin with his thumb, and Spencer opens his eyes to see Brendon kissing his temple in the mirror.

For that one moment, Brendon isn't aware he's being watched, and the look on his face is soft and sweet as he brushes his lips across Spencer's skin. If Spencer didn't already know that Brendon loved the fuck out of him, he would have figured it out from seeing Brendon in that split second he forgot that Spencer could see him.

Spencer isn't sure he's ever seen Brendon look so open.

Brendon slides his hand in between their bodies, and Spencer realizes that Brendon still hasn't come.

"No," Spencer says, and when Brendon lets out a mewl of protest, Spencer twists around, kneeling on the floor next to Brendon. Spencer shakes his head, and reaches for Brendon's cock. "Let me. Tell me what you want."

Brendon pushes Spencer until he's backed up against the closet door, and then climbs into Spencer's lap. He plasters himself to Spencer's front, and even though Spencer is covered in fucking come, that doesn't stop Brendon from sliding his hands down Spencer's still heaving chest.

"So hot," Brendon says breathlessly, ducking in for a kiss, nipping at Spencer's bottom lip with his teeth.

Spencer's skin is too sensitive for this, it's too close after coming for Brendon to be touching him. He trembles where Brendon strokes him, and he'd try and push him away if it wasn't for the way Brendon's winding his fingers around Spencer's leash and looking at him pleadingly.

"You should jerk me off," Brendon says, sitting back on his haunches. He's still perched in Spencer's lap, one knee either side of Spencer's, and his cock brushes Spencer's stomach when he leans forward. He's pink and sweaty and clearly close to coming; his hips are rocking and his movements are haphazard and awkward.

"Yeah," Spencer says, and he closes his fist around Brendon's erection. The angle is weird and his wrist is a little sore but that doesn't matter. Brendon's skin is burning hot and he jerks forward into Spencer's fist, fucking Spencer's hand.

"Like that," Brendon gasps, and he's clutching the leash in his hand, keeping it tight. "Fuck, Spencer. Tighter."

Spencer grips harder, and Brendon breathlessly squeezes his shoulder, nodding his appreciation. Then he's ducking in and kissing Spencer as Spencer continues to jerk him off, and he's close, Spencer can tell from the sloppy, loud kisses and the way he's gasping for breath. He comes with Spencer's name on his lips, saying, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," as he tips forward and wraps his arms around Spencer's shoulders.

Spencer wipes his hand on his leg, and hugs Brendon back.

It's a while before Brendon starts complaining about needing a shower. The mood's shifted, and Spencer feels relaxed in Brendon's arms, less responsive, lazier. Spencer thinks about the solid, definable weight of the collar around his neck and contrasts that with the way he probably smells, and the dried come in streaks across his chest. "Don't need one," he says, trying to keep a hold of Brendon when he tries to stand up. "Stay here."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "I need one," he says. "And you're covered in come. Stand up."

"Don't want to," Spencer complains. He wants to stay in the collar, and if that means sacrificing smelling less funky, then he's willing to roll with that a little longer.

"Spence," Brendon says, and he leans in and presses his tongue to the underside of Spencer's jaw, running it down to where his skin meets the collar. "There's this thing, we call it getting dressed? We take our clothes off, we shower, and then we get dressed again."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "I know that, because I'm not stupid."

"You sure about that? Because I'm pretty sure that the same thing can be said about collars." Brendon grins against Spencer's skin, and splays his fingers across Spencer's collarbone. "We take your collar off, we shower, and then—if you want to—we put it back on again. It's kind of amazing like that."

"You'd, uh -" Spencer trails off.

Brendon shrugs. "I like you in it," he says, and Spencer feels a shiver of something that feels like more than just pride, a frisson of something that burns along his skin. "And if you like being in it, then." He stops, and rolls his shoulders. "We can put it back on after," he says, "if you want."

"I want," Spencer says, and Brendon leans up and licks at the corner of Spencer's mouth. Spencer feels Brendon's smile, and tilts his chin up, pressing closer. "I want."

"Good," Brendon murmurs, stroking Spencer's jaw. He thumbs at the collar, at the buckle, loosening the catch. "Me too."



"Dude," Brendon says. "Do you want to drive back?"

Spencer yawns, and shakes his head. "You can," he says, and rolls his shoulders. They've been in the studio for the best part of the day, and Spencer feels tense. They didn't get anything finished up, and they'd changed the drum part what had felt like a million times before finally calling it a night, and it still wasn't right.

"You okay?" Brendon asks.

Spencer hums. He's still counting out a 6/8 beat in his head, running over then drum fill in between the final verse and the chorus. "Yeah," he says, finally. "Just tired."

"Yeah," Brendon agrees. "Hungry?"

Spencer shakes his head. They'd had burgers and fries a couple of hours ago and he's still full. "Home," he says. "Unless you want to stop."

Brendon shakes his head. "I'm done," he says. "Home's good."

"Awesome," Spencer says, and leans his head against the window. Brendon leans over and runs his hand across Spencer's knee as they wait at the exit to the parking lot for a gap in the traffic. Spencer smiles, and presses up into Brendon's hand until the traffic lags and Brendon pulls out.

"What d'you want to do when you get home?" Brendon asks, "And the answer had better be sex, because otherwise I'm just going to have to go jerk myself off as soon as we get back, and that's kind of super lame."

Spencer finds himself laughing as Brendon waggles his eyebrows in what Spencer's pretty sure is supposed to be a sexy way.

"You're such a dork," Spencer tells him.

"Just the way you like it, baby," Brendon says, straight-faced, and then he ruins the effect by laughing.

"Dork," Spencer says, affectionately.

"Seriously," Brendon says, but he doesn't sound serious. "You want to fuck?"

Spencer thinks about how tense his shoulders feel, and the way he kind of wants to stretch out and crack his back. He feels coiled up, like a spring, and it's weird. He feels like he's got an itch that needs scratching and a fuck just isn't going to cover it. He clears his throat. "Is now a good time to talk about spanking?" he asks, and he can't help but smirk as Brendon flushes and tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

"You ever think that bringing up stuff that makes me totally fucking hot while I'm trying to get on the fucking freeway is a nuts idea?" Brendon says, changing lanes in a somewhat haphazard manner. "And before you answer that, it is always a good time to talk about spanking. Is that what we're doing when we get home?"

Spencer shrugs. "I'd like -" he starts, and then he trails off. He's tired of overthinking everything, of trying to negotiate shit in his head before he's even brought it to the table. "Yeah," he says, finally.

Brendon nods. "Awesome," he says. "Like, how do you want to do it? You want to just go back, and what, bend over my knee, or what?"

Spencer feels his dick twitch in his pants, which is a rational response to that idea, but it isn't what he's been thinking about. "No," he says. "I was thinking we could make it into a, uh. A thing."

"A thing," Brendon says. "Like a, I don't know what you call it. A scene?"

Spencer shrugs, and feels like he wants to stretch his whole body out until it pops. "Yeah," he says, after a moment. "A scene."

Brendon hums a little, and then nods, one eye on the street signs signaling their exit. "Okay," he says. "You want me to, what, uh, punish you for misbehaving or something?"

Spencer kind of likes the idea of acting up and having Brendon take charge of that situation, but that's not what he's been thinking about, that's not what he wants to do today. "Maybe another time," he says, and Spencer can see Brendon sneaking glances, licking his lips, cheeks flushed. "I was thinking, um. Like, it could be an incentive. For good behavior."

Brendon blinks, and pulls across two lanes of traffic to make their exit. "You want me to spank you as a prize?" he asks, a little bewildered. "Is that what you mean?"

"It sounds stupid when you say it out loud," Spencer says. He picks at the knee of his jeans. He's half-hard.

"No, no," Brendon says. "It totally doesn't sound stupid." He inhales sharply, and then laughs. "Fuck, Spencer, you're totally fucking kinky."

"Like that's news," Spencer grumbles, but he laughs too, and something loosens inside his chest as he starts to tell Brendon what he's been thinking about.



When they get inside, Brendon lets the door close behind them and crowds Spencer back against the wall. The light atmosphere from the car has shifted, leaving behind it something darker, something heavier, something hotter.

Brendon nips at Spencer's bottom lip with his teeth, holding it there for a breath. He lets go and licks at Spencer's lips, one hand pressed to the center of Spencer's chest, holding him against the wall. Spencer presses back, just so he can feel the weight of Brendon's hand against his ribs.

In the kitchen, Bogart yaps and Brendon lets out a long breath, running his thumb along the collar of Spencer's shirt. "Go into the living room," he says, quietly, "and take off your clothes. Kneel down in front of the couch and wait for me."

Spencer nods slowly, once, twice. Just being able to give up responsibility for his actions—just for a while, just to trust enough to hand that responsibility to Brendon—it's a relief. His shoulders feel tense and he still feels heavy and coiled tight, but already he can breathe a little easier. He lets himself lean against Brendon's hand for a moment, and thinks about what he and Brendon talked about on the way home, about how this is going to work. For once, Brendon doesn't relax into him, doesn't press a kiss to the corner of Spencer's mouth. He just waits, and carries on waiting until Spencer's ready to stand back and look at him.

"Okay," Spencer says, and Brendon nods.

"Go and take your clothes off," Brendon says, "and wait for me like I asked. I'll be five minutes."

Spencer watches Brendon go into the kitchen to feed Bogart, and then lets out a long breath, bending over to untie his sneakers.

He folds his clothes carefully, leaving them stacked in a pile on the arm of the arm chair. He moves one of Bogart's chew toys out of the way of the couch, and then kneels down on the rug, back to the TV.

He's uncomfortable, so he shifts a little so that his feet are folded up underneath him, and lets his fingers rest either side of his thighs, flat against the rug. He bows his head and concentrates on breathing, on relaxing into waiting. The first minute is tough, but after that it gets a little easier. He can hear Brendon moving around down the hall, and then he hears him go upstairs, but after that, the house is quiet.

It's almost a surprise when Brendon touches him on the shoulder, and moves to sit in front of him. He's shirtless and barefoot, but still in his jeans. He's holding Spencer's collar in his hand, and he beckons Spencer forward so that he can lean in and fasten it around Spencer's neck, fingers splayed across Spencer's skin.

Spencer swallows a few times to get used to the way the collar feels, pressing against his throat. He likes the restriction, the weight, the way he can duck his head and feel the D-ring press against the underside of his jaw. He feels close to Brendon when he wears it, almost as if Brendon is inside his head in a way he just isn't without the collar. There are half-formed thoughts about ownership and belonging that he can't quite put into words.

When he looks up, Brendon leans in and kisses him, cupping his cheek with one hand. "So," he says. "I want you to jerk off, but slow. I'm going to put the timer on -" he pats the kitchen timer that Spencer hadn't noticed him bringing in. Spencer had bought it so they wouldn't forget to take the pizzas out of the oven, and if he'd known that they were going to be using it for this he would have taken more care picking it out - "I'm going to set it for five minutes," Brendon goes on, mouth so close to Spencer's that he can almost feel Brendon's words against his lips rather than hear them, "and if you can jerk off for five minutes without coming, then I'll spank you five times."

Spencer's already hard. He inhales sharply, even though what Brendon's saying isn't a surprise since they'd figured this out in the car.

"Then we wait," Brendon says, softly. "And we go again. Five more minutes, I'll spank you another five times. And we go again. When you come, that's it, we stop. You understand?"

Spencer nods. He feels like his experience is focusing down and down until it's just this one moment, this one thing, and nothing else matters.

"Tell me, Spence," Brendon says. "Say yes."

Spencer nods again. It feels hard to speak all of a sudden, like his tongue is too thick and his mouth is too dry. He swallows. "Yes," he says, finally. And then, "I'm going to hold out for you. I won't come yet. I'll hold out."

Brendon's hand stills. "Good," he says, a little hoarsely. "That's really good, Spence." He pauses, then says, "You should touch yourself. I'm going to set the timer."

Spencer starts to close his fist loosely around his dick, but Brendon stops him with a hand to Spencer's arm.

"No," he says. "Give me your hand."

Spencer holds his hand out and Brendon ducks his head, licking Spencer's palm.

"There," he says, and Spencer shivers. "Now."

Spencer wraps his hand around his dick and makes an experimental stroke, running his fingertips across the head. It's strange, the way he's having to deliberately slow himself down, deliberately think about how he's going to make himself last, hold himself off.

He tries to concentrate on the ticking of the timer, the seconds going by, a slowly ticking measure of his rhythm. He tries not to play to the hot coil of desire curling in his belly, trying to deliberately slow himself down like he would if they were on stage and he was getting ahead of himself.

Having Brendon just sit there and watch him could feel weird, but it just doesn't. Brendon's sitting the way he does when he's at his piano, his back straight, perched lightly on the edge of the couch. He's playing with Spencer's hair, smoothing it behind Spencer's ear, and Spencer leans his face into Brendon's hand so that Brendon can run his thumb across Spencer's skin.

Spencer lets out a ragged breath and watches as the timer ticks by three minutes, then three minutes thirty, then four. He likes jerking off, he's always liked jerking off as a pastime rather than as a necessity, so five minutes shouldn't even be tough going, but it is. He's sweating and his breath is coming thick and fast and even when he slows his fist down he's fucking up into it, desperate and hard and hot. He's masturbating in front of Brendon so that Brendon will spank him; just the idea is enough to make him have to squeeze down on the base of his cock and gasp back a breath.

He's so close. He can see the timer tick past four minutes and thirty seconds, then forty-five seconds, then he's biting back a groan as the tiny alarm rings out.

Stopping is even harder, and he cries out as Brendon closes his hand around Spencer's wrist, stilling him.

Spencer tips forward and lets his forehead rest against Brendon's knee, desperately trying to catch his breath.

"So good," Brendon says, playing with the hair in the nape of Spencer's neck. He ducks down and presses a kiss to Spencer's shoulder, fingertips brushing at his collar. "You did so well, Spence, I was so proud."

Spencer just makes a sound in his throat, and waits for Brendon to tell him what to do next.

Brendon runs his hand over Spencer's shoulder again. "Stand up," he says, "and go stand over there by the wall. Don't touch yourself again until I say."

Spencer nods, and stands up, slowly. There's a crick in his neck, and he rolls his shoulders, trying to catch it. He feels uncoordinated, and if it weren't for Brendon's hand in the small of his back, a steadying counterweight to his own clumsiness, he's pretty sure he would have stumbled as he crossed the room.

He stands with his toes up against the skirting board, and his hands down by his side.

"Put your hands on the wall," Brendon says, from close to Spencer's ear. His hands are on Spencer's hips, and Spencer shifts his balance a little, putting his hands on the wall by his head. He rests his forehead against his clasped hands, just for a moment. "That's right," Brendon goes on. "That's good. Well done."

Spencer nods again. He's trying to keep his dick from striping pre-come across the wall; he's not exactly thinking about cleaning right now, but even this turned on he's aware that cleaning that up isn't something he wants to be doing in his future. Trying to keep his distance means that he sticks his ass out, just like a duck, and Brendon laughs at him, low and hot.

"You really want this, huh?" Brendon asks, stroking his palm across Spencer's ass.

Spencer might have been trying not to damage the paintwork, but there's no way he can hide how much he wants this. "Yes," he says, and presses back against Brendon's hand. Brendon smacks him gently on the hip.

"Stop wriggling, then."

Spencer stills, his whole focus shifting down to Brendon's fingertips grazing his hip.

"That's better," Brendon says, leaning in and blowing softly against Spencer's ear.

Spencer shivers, and tries to keep still. He can't think about anything but Brendon's fingers.

"I'm going to ask you to count off for me."

Spencer waits a moment before nodding. His forehead is hot and sweaty; he wants to brush his hair off his skin, but he can't. He stays still instead, just waiting.

"Five times," Brendon says, brushing his hand across Spencer's ass. "Then we go back to the couch, and you jerk off for another five minutes if you want me to spank you again. You get that?"

"Yeah," Spencer manages, then, "please, Brendon."

The first hit comes as a surprise, even then. It's hard, and it stings, and Spencer cries out, a muffled fuck as his hips buck forward.

"Count, Spencer," Brendon says. His fingertips trail across Spencer's ass-cheek, just where the flat of his hand had just been.

"One," Spencer manages.

"Good," Brendon tells him, and the next one comes as less of a surprise, a stinging slap that sounds far too loud in the quiet of the room.

Heat flares across his skin, and sweat beads on his forehead. His dick jumps. "Two," he says.

The third one catches the curve of his ass, and he gasps out three.

Brendon waits after four. Spencer starts to worry he's done something wrong. "Four," he says, again, in case he only said it in his head the first time.

"Patience," Brendon says, and if Spencer could think about anything other than how hot his ass feels, then he'd laugh at that. But he can't, and he can't concentrate on anything but how the initial sting of each of Brendon's hits is spreading outwards, an unfamiliar wave of intensity that causes sweat to form on his upper lip and his breath to catch.

The anticipation is terrible, and Spencer knows he's pushing his ass out, and he should be ashamed of how wanton that must look but he doesn't care. "Please," he begs.

"You think you can last out another five minutes, Spencer?" Brendon asks. "You want more of this?"

Spencer's nodding even before Brendon's finished talking. He'll last another five minutes. He wants this so much. He doesn't want this to end. "I'll last," he stumbles over the words, blinking and trying to catch his breath.

"Good," Brendon says, decisively, and then he brings the flat of his hand down on the curve of Spencer's ass, the sting of the slap spreading out in waves across his skin. Spencer's erection pulses.

Spencer manages, "Five," before his knees buckle. Brendon catches him with an arm around the waist, and then presses himself to Spencer's back.

"You did so well," Brendon says, mouth pressed to the skin behind Spencer's ear. "You did so well to deserve that."

Spencer bites back a groan and lets Brendon lead him back across the living room, back to the couch, to begin all over again.

It's harder this time. He's uncomfortable kneeling, and he's pretty sure his ass must be pink from where Brendon hit him. He can't keep his control as easily as he did the previous time; Brendon just spanked him. He can't forget—not only because his ass aches—but because he doesn't want to.

He can't even think about what he must look like, hair plastered to his forehead, red-faced and desperate. He's trying to keep his fist slow on his cock, but it's hard. Spencer doesn't think he has the willpower to keep on to another five minutes. He's panting, and it should be humiliating, losing it like this in front of Brendon, but it isn't.

Brendon strokes at Spencer's hair. "You're doing so well, Spence," he says, his knees bracketing Spencer's sides. "So good. I really want to spank you again, so you should hold off from coming."

Spencer whines, trying to hold himself off. It's hard, knowing Brendon gets off on this as much as Spencer does, that Brendon wants to spank him as much as Spencer wants to be spanked. "Brendon," he gasps out, and Brendon ducks his head and presses his mouth to Spencer's.

Spencer can't kiss back. He can't concentrate on anything but not coming; he can't even concentrate on the ticking of the clock. He has no idea how much longer he has to go on for, and he's not sure if he knew it would make it any easier. He wants to come and soon it's not going to matter how much he tries to slow it down or hold back. Soon he's not going to be able to help himself.

"Brendon," he manages, and he doesn't even know what he's trying to say.

"Spence," Brendon says, and he circles his fingers around Spencer's wrist again. "You can stop jerking off, you did it, you lasted, you can stop."

Spencer doesn't want to stop, he wants to fucking come. He's not sure he can stop. He hadn't even heard the alarm sound.

Brendon tugs on his wrist. "If you come," he warns, "we stop."

"Don't want to come," Spencer pants, but it's a lie. It's all he can think about.

"Then stop," Brendon says, and Spencer can't help but obey, dropping his hand to his side and closing his eyes, trying to get his breath back. His breathing is the loudest thing in the room, sharp and harsh.

"Good," Brendon says. He doesn't sound as if he's entirely in control of himself, either. Spencer drops his chin until it's touching his collar. It's a comforting, reassuring feeling, the way his beard brushes over the leather.

Spencer concentrates on willing his erection down and away, taking deep breaths as Brendon strokes Spencer's hair behind his ear.

"Up," Brendon says, after another minute. He cups Spencer's elbow, and it takes a moment for Spencer to grasp what Brendon's asking him to do.

Spencer gets to his feet, wincing a little at the unfamiliar feeling of a spanked ass. He stretches, feeling the way his body responds, hot little frissons of something that maybe used to be pain darting across his skin.

"How do you feel?" Brendon asks, as he rests his hand lightly on Spencer's hip.

"Good," Spencer says, thickly. "I'm good."

He chooses the same position as he was in the last time, toes up against the skirting board and hands up on the wall by his forehead. He leans against them, and waits.

"I want you to count off for me again," Brendon tells him. His hand is in the small of Spencer's back, fingertips grazing the cleft of his ass. "Okay?"

"Okay," Spencer nods, and he waits.

It stings more, this time. His skin is over-sensitive and sore already, and Brendon's slap revisits the same place he'd hit the first time around.

"Jesus," Spencer manages, his hips rocking. He presses back, unable to help himself, wanting more.

"Count, Spencer."

"Fuck, one." He wriggles his ass, and the next time Brendon's palm connects with his ass, it fucking hurts. Brendon's hitting harder this time. It stings, but there's an underlying heat, a low thrum of anticipation and desire and maybe something else Spencer can't recognize, too. It feels kind of incredible, and he feels proud of himself for lasting out this long, for not giving in and coming when he'd wanted to. "Two."

"Fuck, your ass," Brendon says, in that interminable wait between the second hit and the third.

"Three." Spencer bites down a groan and thinks about what he must look like. He spreads his legs a little more, shifting his position. He feels so open, and his cock is so fucking hard it hurts. He knows he can't last another five minutes jerking off; he's pretty sure that counting Brendon up to five is beyond him right now. He takes a moment to try and breathe through it, but Brendon's palm comes down on his ass again, high up this time, and Spencer can't help but cry out.

"Four," he bites out, squeezing his eyes shut to keep himself from coming. He's so close, and he's pretty sure he's going to come without even touching himself at this rate. It's almost as if Brendon knows how close Spencer is to the edge, because there's barely a breath before Brendon's slapping Spencer's ass for the fifth and last time. "Five," Spencer breathes out, and he barely has a chance to curl his fingers around his cock before he's coming, hot and hard.

Brendon wraps his hand around Spencer's, plastering himself to Spencer's back as he rides out Spencer's orgasm with him, Spencer's head tipped back on Brendon's shoulder.

"That's it," Brendon says, biting at Spencer's shoulder, "you did so well."

Spencer groans, and they stumble over to the couch, Spencer collapsing down onto the cushions, ass in the air. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe, worn out and exhausted.

He hears Brendon tugging off his jeans, and then he feels Brendon clambering onto the couch, straddling Spencer's thighs, and Brendon's hand grazing his ass. He's too tired to move.

"I'm going to jerk off all over your ass," Brendon says.

Spencer's cock barely even twinges, he's so exhausted. He makes a sound in his throat that's supposed to mean yes, do that, please but it ends up sounding like mrrphm. Brendon seems to understand what Spencer means, though, because Spencer can hear when he starts to jack off.

It doesn't take Brendon long to come, and Spencer can't help but groan as Brendon's come stripes his ass, hot against the burning, sensitive skin. Spencer's over-sensitized and he shivers as Brendon cries out, slumping against the couch cushions.

Spencer closes his eyes and figures that at some point this is going to start feeling weird, but it doesn't.

Brendon leans over and strokes at Spencer's ass with his palm.

"You're just rubbing it in," Spencer says, thickly. His voice is muffled by the couch cushion.

"That's the idea," Brendon says. "Fuck, you look so fucking hot. Your fucking ass, Spence." There's a beat, then, "You want me to stop?"

Spencer snorts. "Fuck, no." He can't even move. He wants to stay here forever. He waves a hand, uselessly. "Get over here, Urie," he manages, and he's relieved when Brendon flops down beside him, sliding in between Spencer and the back of the couch. Brendon always has been able to fit into the tiniest of spaces, like he's made of rubber.

"How'd that work for you?" Brendon asks, after a while.

Spencer's halfway to being fast asleep, and speech was beyond him even when he was awake, anyway. "Good," he manages, after a moment, "hot."

"Yeah," Brendon agrees. "You think you can make it three rounds next time we do that?"

Spencer groans. "Yeah," he says, which is probably a lie.

Brendon just smirks and plasters himself to Spencer's side.



Spencer's so tense by the time they get back from the radio studio he wants to punch something. He's felt off all day, stressed out and fraught and tight. His muscles ache and he thinks that if he ever has to play these songs again he's going to scream. He's sick of answering the same stupid, asinine questions and smiling at the same identikit disc jockeys. He is really sick of taking part in those stupid studio games for the entertainment of the listeners. He'd be happy if he never did another interview.

He's in a bad mood.

"I know what'll cheer you up," Brendon says, as they climb out of the car and head inside the house. "Sex."

Uh, Spencer thinks. He doesn't feel like having sex. He feels like taking a shower and eating pizza and watching TV. He feels like wallowing in his bad mood and having an early night. He toes off his shoes instead of answering.

Brendon hums and leans over, running his thumbs along the line of Spencer's shoulders.

Spencer can't help but press back into his hands. Brendon has always been surprisingly good at massages. Even back when they were first recording in Maryland, Brendon had been able to dig his fingers into Spencer's shoulders and goad the muscles into relaxing.

Brendon works at his shoulders, concentrating on one stubborn knot.

"Fuck," Spencer gasps, as Brendon presses in particularly hard.

"That better?" Brendon asks, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the back of Spencer's neck. He doesn't wait for an answer. "Arms in the air, Spence. Reach as high as you can."

Spencer scratches his nose, and sighs. He reaches up, though, and stretches. He wants his shoulders to be looser, and maybe he'll feel better if he feels less like he wants to crawl out of his own skin.

"Hold it," Brendon says, softly, running his hands up Spencer's arms.

Spencer takes a long breath. In, then out.

"Good," Brendon says, pressing himself up against Spencer's back. "That's good. Relax now," he says, and Spencer slowly drops his arms. "Roll your shoulders for me," Brendon goes on, and Spencer does. "Again," Brendon instructs, "and the other way."

Spencer tries to concentrate on his breathing. His shoulders feel a little looser but he still feels weird, like there's an itch somewhere he just can't scratch, like his body is not completely under his control. He hates that.

"Let's go upstairs," Brendon says, kissing the skin behind Spencer's ear. "It's easier to work on your back if you're lying down."

Spencer waits a moment before nodding.



Spencer pulls off his shirt before climbing on to the bed. He leaves his pants and his socks on, still feeling weird. He buries his face in the pillow for a moment, and listens as Brendon takes his socks and his pants off, climbing on to the bed and straddling Spencer's ass in just his underwear.

"Fuck, you're tense," Brendon says, running his hands up Spencer's spine.

Spencer doesn't answer. He's felt off all week, like he's inhabiting someone else's body, even. He stretches his hands above his head, and holds onto the headboard as Brendon runs his hands up Spencer's sides.

"I'm pretty sure you've just got one knot on top of another knot on top of another one," Brendon tells him, digging his fingers into Spencer's back.

Spencer makes a low noise in his throat. It feels good—really good—but he still can't relax. He pushes back into Brendon's hands, as if Brendon pressing harder will work at easing the tension he can feel inside.

Brendon works slowly down Spencer's back, running his fingers down the curve of Spencer's spine. He's using a massage bar, one of the ones he picked up from Lush back when they were trying to figure out how to make their sex life anything other than a disaster. Spencer tries to pick out the scent, but he can't place it. Some kind of citrus, perhaps. The smell gets under his skin.

"You've got to relax, Spence," Brendon says. "You're really tense."

"I know," Spencer mumbles. His face is half turned into the pillow. "I'm trying."

Brendon's hands dip lower, into the curve of Spencer's spine. He drops a kiss to the skin just above the waistband of Spencer's pants, letting his fingers tug gently at the material. "You should take these off," he says. "Then I can help you relax for real."

Spencer closes his eyes. He's tired. He wants to stop feeling like this, wound-up and on edge. Brendon presses his mouth to Spencer's back again, lapping gently at the skin. Spencer shivers and pushes back, Brendon's hands gripping his sides.

"You like that?" Brendon says, softly. His mouth is so close to Spencer's skin that his breath feels like it's tickling.

Spencer wriggles. He nods, pressing his face into the pillow.

"Pants," Brendon says, rolling off him.

Spencer's half-hard. He tries to undo his fly without turning over, his hand pressed between him and the sheets. Brendon's already helping him off with his pants and his underwear, sliding them down Spencer's thighs, Spencer lifting his hips to help them over his dick. Brendon kicks off his own underwear and drops it over the side of the bed.

"Fuck," Brendon says, leaning over Spencer and reaching for the nightstand. His erection brushes Spencer's ass, and Spencer can't help but press back against him. The tip of Brendon's dick leaves a wet stripe across Spencer's ass. "I bought you something."

Spencer feels really, really tired. He rocks his hips a little, reveling in the way Brendon's dick slides across his skin.

"It's possible I might be the best boyfriend in the whole world," Brendon tells him, sitting up.

Spencer misses having Brendon's dick pressed up against his ass. "You rate pretty highly," he says. He wants to pull the covers up and just sleep for days, but he knows he's too tense to drop off.

Brendon strokes his hand across Spencer's shoulders, and leans in to lick Spencer's ear. "I got you ankle cuffs," he says, and Spencer's dick twitches, digging into the sheets.


"Yeah," Brendon echoes. "They should be really soft," he goes on. "They're down lined, and look, they've got a D-ring so we can attach a spreader bar."

"What the fuck is a spreader bar?" Spencer asks. He rolls his shoulders, trying to relax.

"One of these," Brendon says, producing a metal bar about eighteen inches long, with a loop at either end. "We attach it to the cuffs, and it forces your legs apart." He strokes a hand up Spencer's thigh. "You think you'd like that? If I made you kneel on the bed with your legs forced apart like that? With your ass in the air, just waiting for me?"

Spencer feels torn; on the one hand, what Brendon's suggesting sounds fucking hot, but at the same time, he's not sure he wants to try it now. But Brendon looks so hopeful, and like he's totally into this.

Brendon bites his lip, and grins.

"Yeah," Spencer says. "That sounds hot." He's not lying. It sounds amazing, he's just not exactly in the mood.

"Awesome," Brendon says, and leans in for a kiss, lazy and a little sloppy. "You're going to look so hot."

Spencer just kisses him back, and spreads his legs when Brendon asks him to.



There's something off, something not right, and Spencer can't figure out what it is. Normally having Brendon attach his wrist cuffs and his collar is strangely centering, an invitation for Spencer's focus to shrink inward, for him to breathe easier. It's not working this time, and all Spencer can think is that he feels trapped, and not in a good way.

He concentrates on breathing as Brendon fastens the cuffs around his ankles. His limbs feel heavy, and he's painfully aware of the collar around his neck. He waits for the reassuring, comforting weight of it to kick in, but the odd, ill-at-ease feeling in his belly doesn't dissipate, even when Brendon buckles his collar closed.

"Up," Brendon says, his palm flat against Spencer's spine.

Spencer obeys, crawling onto his knees.

"Legs apart," Brendon continues, and Spencer dutifully shuffles his knees further apart. He's pretty sure this is one of the hottest things that they've done, but it doesn't feel like that right now, even when Brendon's kneeling at the end of the bed and attaching the spreader bar to each of his ankle cuffs.

"Hold on to the bed," Brendon says, hands on Spencer's ankles, forced apart by the rigid bar.

Moving is uncomfortable, and his elbows hurt already, pressed into the sheets.

"I want you to stay still," Brendon tells him, pressing himself to Spencer's back for a moment, kissing the nape of Spencer's neck, "and don't make any noise. Stay quiet for me, Spence. I know you can do it."

Spencer nods. He feels overwhelmed and stretched. All he can think about is how he can't move. He feels trapped.

"I'll be back in five minutes," Brendon says, and he drops another kiss to the back of Spencer's neck before climbing off the bed.

Brendon isn't doing anything that he hasn't done before. Leaving Spencer in his cuffs and collar is usually a good thing. They've even talked about how it helps Spencer to get in the right headspace. He likes waiting, he likes having the time to himself, he likes that he gets to do something to make Brendon proud of him before they even start having sex. But this time is different. It feels wrong. Spencer feels like he's trapped, and even though he can hear Brendon across the other side of the room, that doesn't make it any easier. He feels isolated and uncomfortable.

Five minutes stretches on for what seems like hours. Spencer can't relax. If anything, he gets more tense, more aware of how uncomfortable he is. He gets pins and needles in his elbow and the pressure of trying to keep still even when his arm is dead is enough to have him shutting his eyes tightly.

Even though he can hear Brendon moving around, opening drawers and sounding like he's putting away the piles of laundry they leave all over the floor, Spencer still feels the irrational fear that Brendon's forgotten about him. That he's trapped like this, ass in the air, and there's nothing he can do. He starts to sweat.

His hands start to shake a couple of minutes in, and by the time Brendon comes back over to the bed, he's trembling all over, his skin clammy and flushed.

Brendon walks around to the side of the bed, and Spencer tries desperately to stem the shaking, but he's so relieved by Brendon's presence he just can't control it.

"Spence -" Brendon says, and he sounds a little confused. Spencer tightens his grip on the headboard, his palms sweaty. He squeezes his eyes shut.

Brendon reaches out and strokes at Spencer's spine. "You're shaking," he says, his hand jerking back. "Spencer, you're shaking. Fuck, you're not even hard."

Spencer hadn't even noticed his erection wasn't there anymore.

"Spencer," Brendon says, and this time he sounds urgent. "Fuck. Why didn't you say anything?" Spencer's head feels thick and muffled. Brendon's already tugging at the ankle cuffs, not bothering to unclip the spreader bar, just taking off the cuff with the bar still attached.

"I thought you weren't coming back," he says, and then he bites his lip because Brendon had asked him to be quiet.

"How could you even think that?" Brendon asks, but his voice is panicked, and Spencer can feel how Brendon's fingers shake as he tugs at the other ankle cuff, dropping the whole contraption over the side of the bed with a metallic clank. "I'd never leave you," he goes on, words tumbling over each other as he stumbles up the bed, sliding his hands over Spencer's, clenched tight on the head board. "Spencer, I'd never, ever leave you like this. Let go, Spence, I've got you."

Spencer's fingers don't seem to want to move.

"You don't have to stay still anymore, Spence," Brendon says, after a moment. He sounds like he's about to cry. "You don't have to stay quiet. You can move around and make as much noise as you want. Come on, let go for me. Let me get those cuffs off."

It takes a while for the message to get through from Spencer's brain to his fingertips. As he loosens his grip, Brendon's already undoing the catches and tugging off the cuffs, losing them over the side of the bed.

Spencer buries his face in the pillow, and Brendon leans over and unbuckles his collar. Spencer breathes a little freer once it's gone.

It's only when Brendon starts to move him, carefully nudging him over, that Spencer realizes he's still on his knees with his ass in the air. He slumps down into the mattress, and Brendon tugs him closer, wrapping his arms around Spencer's back and stroking his skin.

He's still shaking, his muscles spasming. He buries his face in Brendon's shoulder and holds on tight, trying to concentrate on Brendon instead of the way he'd felt a minute earlier, scared and trapped and alone.

"Why the fuck didn't you use your safe word?" Brendon asks, a while later, when Spencer's managed to stop shaking. Brendon's still wrapped around him, and he doesn't want Brendon to let go, so he tightens his hold. "We talked about this, Spence. You picked out a safe word. Why didn't you use it?"

It hadn't even crossed Spencer's mind. In his head, a safe word was something that other people used, other couples who liked fucking with electricity and lit candles and blood, couples who were different to him and Brendon. Before this evening he'd never ever contemplated that he might be in a situation with Brendon where he'd feel like he did right now, uncomfortable and scared. "I don't know," he says. "I just -" he trails off. "It seemed stupid."

"It's never stupid," Brendon tells him, fiercely. "You use that fucking safe word whenever the fuck you feel uncomfortable, okay? If you need to go to the fucking bathroom, you use it." He trips over his words, and he sounds really upset.

"Okay," Spencer says. It occurs to him that he'd never really taken the safe word thing seriously, not even after they'd gone and picked one out. He'd never tried to work out when he might want to use it. "Sorry," he says, lamely.

Brendon ignores him. "What was it?" he asks. "Was it the spreader bar? Is that what freaked you out?"

Spencer shrugs. He tries to think of a way of explaining how he'd felt, but he can't. "Nothing felt right," he says, after a while. "It was all wrong. I kept waiting for it to start feeling good, but it didn't. I just couldn't get into it, and then I just." He stops. "I freaked out."

"You should have said something," Brendon says. "You should have said something, Spence."

"I know," Spencer says, pressing closer. "I know, I'm sorry."





When Spencer wakes up in the middle of the night, Brendon isn't there next to him. He waits, to see if Brendon's just gone to the bathroom, but after a few minutes, Brendon still isn't back.

Spencer tugs on a t-shirt and goes to find him.

The lights are on downstairs, and Brendon's sitting at the kitchen table cradling a mug.

"You weren't there," Spencer says, lamely.

Brendon looks up. "I couldn't sleep."

"Come back to bed," Spencer says. "It's kind of cold."

"I'm never cold," Brendon says. It's true.

Spencer tries another tack. "You look really tired. Come on."

Brendon shakes his head. "No," he says. "Not yet."

Spencer takes a deep breath. "Is this about earlier?"

Brendon shrugs. "I fucking trusted you," he says, after a minute. Something painful trips across Spencer's skin at what Brendon's saying. "I trusted you to tell me if things weren't okay."

"Brendon -" Spencer starts. He can feel sweat prickle on his forehead.

"I was hurting you," Brendon says. "I was hurting you and you didn't want it and you let me do it anyway," he goes on. "Tell me how the fuck I'm supposed to sleep after that?"

Spencer feels like he's been punched in the face. He's pretty sure he actually recoils. "It wasn't that bad," he says, stupidly, but Brendon just looks at him incredulously.

"Are you an idiot?" Brendon asks. "It really was that bad. Just. How the fuck am I supposed to trust you after this?" he goes on, angrily. "How can I do any of this stuff with you if I don't know if I'm hurting you because you won't tell me?"

"You weren't hurting me," Spencer says. He wants to persuade Brendon of that, more than anything. How things went down earlier is still a little fuzzy in his head, but he knows that Brendon's blaming himself, which isn't fair, or right. He moves over to the table, leaning over so that he can press his hand to Brendon's shoulder. "I wasn't in the right headspace, or whatever, and I should have told you, but you weren't hurting me. You'd never hurt me."

"You were shaking," Brendon says, but he doesn't push Spencer's hand away. "You were scared I'd fucking left you."

"I should have said I wasn't in the mood," Spencer says, after a moment. "I should have said, and then we could just have hung out, or whatever. And I didn't, and I'm sorry."

Brendon shakes his head. "It doesn't make it better," he says. "I wish it did, but it doesn't."

Spencer kneels down by Brendon's chair and presses his forehead to Brendon's shoulder. "It was a bad judgment call," he says, mouth to Brendon's shirt. "But I promise, I promise I will never, ever let it get that way again."

Brendon doesn't move. "You were so scared, Spence," he says, softly. "I've never seen you like that. You scared me."

Spencer knows. He rubs his nose against Brendon's sleeve. "I'm sorry," he says, again.

"I can't figure out why you didn't tell me," Brendon goes on. "I don't know why you didn't just stop it. I don't know why you let it get so far."

Spencer grips Brendon's shirt in his fists. "I was stupid. I thought it'd get better. Sometimes my brain gets too loud," he says, awkwardly, "and I try to get past it and it doesn't work."

Brendon runs his fingers through Spencer's hair, and Spencer lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His fingers loosen in Brendon's shirt. "You need to tell me this stuff," he says. "I'm not a mind-reader, Spence."

"I know." Spencer does. Sometimes he's just so ashamed of the way his head tries to fuck this stuff up for him, though. Sometimes it's just hard to explain. Brendon's still running his fingers through Spencer's hair, though, and that's nice.

"You're cold," Brendon says, after a moment.

Spencer shrugs. "I've got you," he says, and Brendon's hand stills in Spencer's hair. Spencer waits a moment before sitting back on his heels. "You should come back to bed," he says.

Brendon smiles, but it doesn't meet his eyes. "Okay," he says. "I'll be right up."

Spencer thinks about waiting for him, but Brendon's shooing him out of the door.

He goes upstairs and gets into bed and waits for Brendon to come join him. He's almost asleep when Brendon crawls in next to him. He shuffles closer, and waits for Brendon to wrap his arm around Spencer's shoulders.

He doesn't.



"Hey," Spencer says, leaning against the door jamb. "You hungry yet?"

Brendon wheels around in his office chair, kicking his feet up on the desk and narrowly missing knocking the lamp over. "Not really," he says. "Why, are you?"

Spencer shakes his head, and crosses the room so he can lean against the desk. They'd made one of the bedrooms into an office, if a desk and a lamp and a shelf where they dump the utility bills constitutes an office. Spencer had spent hours picking out chairs, and even though Brendon had laughed his ass off at Spencer spending another two hours in a fucking chair showroom, he'd proclaimed on more than one occasion that they were the most comfortable seats in the world. He also said that they should move them into the living room because they were so amazing, but as they also weighed a fucking ton, and getting them up the stairs the first time had been trouble enough, Spencer had vetoed that idea.

Plus, Spencer kind of likes sharing a couch with Brendon. Rocking back and forth on matching rocking office chairs isn't as much fun as sprawling out across the couch and tangling his feet with Brendon's.

Spencer nudges Brendon's feet over a little, so there's room.

Brendon's just watching him, which is a little weird. Things have been weird for days. They haven't had sex, for a start. They've barely done anything. Spencer curls his fingers around Brendon's ankle, letting his thumb stroke at the pale skin beneath the joint.

Brendon doesn't pull away, and Spencer lets out a breath. He's gotten so used to being able to touch Brendon whenever he wants that the limits they've prescribed for themselves over the past few days have been really difficult to deal with. He misses the touches, the way they held hands or leaned into each other or shared each other's space. He misses how comfortable they'd been with each other. Right now he feels like they're so aware of each other that they're going out of their way to avoid touching. It's tiring, and Spencer hates it.

In bed there's a gap down the middle of the mattress, and even when Spencer wakes up in the morning, the gap is still there. It's horrible. Spencer hadn't realized how much he needed Brendon to touch him, to ground him. How much he'd come to rely on it.

He lets his fingers trail a little further up Brendon's leg, around his calf. Brendon still doesn't say anything, but he's not pushing away, either.

By the time he grazes Brendon's knee with his fingertips, there's a curve of a smile just starting on Brendon's lips.

Spencer can feel himself echoing Brendon's cautious smile. The tightness in his chest is easing a little.

Brendon nudges him with his toes. "You okay?"

Spencer nods slowly. "Yeah," he says. "You?" He lets out another long breath, and holds his hand out. Brendon looks at it for a moment that feels like forever, and then curls his fingers into Spencer's.

Spencer lets out a long breath,and then Brendon's tugging Spencer closer and he's sinking down onto his knees in front of Brendon's chair.

"I'm sorry," Spencer says, and Brendon just nods.

"I know," Brendon says, and breathes out. "I really want to kiss you," he says. "Is that okay?"

Spencer's heart hurts that Brendon even has to ask. "Yes," he says, and then Brendon's leaning in and Spencer's reaching up and curving his hand around Brendon's neck. He tastes like toothpaste, dry and fresh. Spencer licks his way into Brendon's mouth, and Brendon cups Spencer's face in his hands and kisses him back, breathless and sweet.

They kiss for a minute, Spencer's back arched as he stretches up to meet Brendon's mouth. His fingertips brush at the short hair in the nape of Brendon's neck, and Brendon presses closer, kissing him again.

Spencer thinks, yes. He arches up to meet Brendon's mouth again, and slides his fingers into Brendon's hair. He can't get enough of the way Brendon tastes.

"Much as I like being on my knees for you," Spencer asks a few minutes later, "do you want to take this someplace else?"

Brendon's fingers tighten in Spencer's shirt. "Spence -" he says, softly.

Spencer stills. "You, uh. You don't want to?" His skin prickles.

"It's not -," Brendon looks upset. He pulls away. "I do want to, I just, uh. I can't."

Spencer sits back against the desk. "You can't?" he asks, dully. He wants Brendon to explain how he can't because he's got an appointment, or something cooking on the stove, or because he has to return a phone call in the next five minutes. He knows that's not what Brendon's going to say.

"I'm sorry," Brendon says, and he sounds like he's freaking out. "I just—Spencer, I can't."

Spencer fills in the I can't trust you part himself. He can hear that over the buzzing in his ears, at least.

"I want to, but -" Brendon trails off, his voice catching.

Spencer nods. "You didn't hurt me," he manages, just in case Brendon needs to hear it again.

"I know," Brendon says, quietly. "It's not that."

Spencer tries to smile, but he can't. His face aches. "I'd tell you if it didn't feel right," he says, and he knows he sounds desperate. "I promise. You don't have to worry. It won't happen again."

Brendon shakes his head. "No," he says, so softly Spencer can barely hear him. "No, Spence."

Spencer nods. He tries to stand up, but his legs feel a little like jello. "Okay," he says. "I'm going to go make a start on dinner, then."

Brendon looks down and won't meet his eyes.



"What time are we leaving for Pete's?" Brendon asks, from outside on the deck.

Spencer checks his watch. "We said we'd be there for about twenty after five," he says, "so we'd better leave in, what, about ten minutes?"

"Cool," Brendon says, coming inside and shutting the door after him and Bogart. Bogart scampers out into the hallway and then back into the kitchen again, only realizing that Spencer's put food out for him after he's already run past.

"That dog is so stupid," Spencer says. He's emptying the dishwasher, putting plates back in the cupboard and lining clean mugs up along the counter. He moves the handles so they're all lined up straight.

"You love him," Brendon says, leaning over the counter. He elbows Spencer. "Can I?" he asks.

Spencer nods without waiting to find out what Brendon's even asking for.

Brendon pushes back into Spencer's personal space, sliding his hand into Spencer's. "You okay?" he asks.

Spencer shrugs. "No," he says. "Not really." It's been a few days, and it hasn't stopped hurting yet.

Brendon sighs, and squeezes Spencer's hand. Just because he won't have sex with Spencer hasn't meant that he's stopped being affectionate. Spencer isn't sure whether that makes things easier or harder.

"It's my brain this time," Brendon says, softly.

Spencer nods, staring down at the half-empty dishwasher. He thinks, I don't know how to make this better.

"I'm trying," Brendon tells him. His hand is hot in Spencer's.

"I know." Spencer picks at the counter with the tip of his finger. "I want to make us okay again."

Brendon turns one of the mugs around, so it's not lined up with the rest of them. Spencer wants to reach out and shift it back, but he doesn't.

"Can I -" Brendon starts abruptly, "If I kiss you, is that okay?"

"That's it?" Spencer darts a glance at Brendon, only to find him staring intently back at him.

Brendon shrugs. "For now," he says. "You're not the only one who can freak the fuck out."

"It's okay," Spencer says. He wants to say, it's always okay, but it isn't always going to be. Not always. "I'd like that."

Brendon closes the distance between them and presses his mouth to Spencer's. He slides his hands up to cup Spencer's face and Spencer lets himself grab onto Brendon's wrists, keeping him close. Brendon bites at Spencer's lip and Spencer tries not to make a sound but he can't help it, he groans against Brendon's mouth and then flinches, waiting for Brendon to pull away.

Brendon doesn't. He just slows the kiss right down, until it's little more than sharing breath. "I'm trying to make this better," he says, so quietly Spencer can barely hear him.

"I know," Spencer says. He leans in so that his forehead is touching Brendon's. "Me too."

It's time to leave for Pete's place.



"Dude," Pete says, sliding into Brendon's seat after Brendon disappears inside with Ashlee to give Bronx his bath, "What the fuck is going on with you?"

Spencer shrugs his shoulders. "Nothing," he says, tiredly. He's been distracted all evening, angry at himself and too quiet.

Pete looks at him shrewdly, but doesn't say anything.

"We're not breaking up, okay?" Spencer says, fiercely, remembering the fucking book their friends had opened as soon as he and Brendon had gotten together. "I know that you guys all thought we weren't going to last, but it's not true. We're not breaking up."

Pete holds his hands up in surrender. "Dude," he says, "I didn't—we didn't -"

"You did," Spencer says. He's pissed. "I fucking know you did."

"Yeah, well," Pete says, sighing. "Okay, but we all lost money and Brendon won the fucking pot, so, yeah." He leans over and rubs Spencer's shoulder. "You want to tell me what the fuck's going on in your head, instead?"

Spencer hadn't known Brendon had put money on them lasting. He's torn between pride at how much faith Brendon had in them, and how guilty he feels that he's just fucked that all up. He lets out a long breath. "How do you make someone trust you again?" he asks, abruptly. "Because that would be pretty awesome right now."

"Fuck, Spence -" Pete's hand stills.

Spencer shakes his head. "I didn't fucking cheat on him. I just -" he shrugs again. "I fucked everything up. I did something wrong and I never meant to, but I still fucked everything up and now he doesn't trust me." He doesn't look at Pete. "You've fucked up, right? How do you make that better?"

Pete snorts a laugh. "Jeez."

Spencer shuts his eyes. "Sorry," he says.

"Sometimes," Pete says, "the only thing you can do is hang on in there, and give them time. Time's a fucking winner, trust me."

Somehow Pete sounds too quiet, too old, and when Spencer opens his eyes, Pete's looking deadly serious.

"Pete -" Spencer starts, but Pete just shakes his head.

"You fuck people up when you fucking overdose in a parking lot," Pete says, softly. "You fuck people up."

"I -" Spencer shakes his head. He hadn't even thought. "That's not—I didn't."

"Good," Pete says, fiercely. "I didn't think that. Just. Whatever you did, it wasn't that. And there were people I didn't think I'd ever get back after that, but I did. Eventually."

Spencer picks at the label on his beer bottle. He's never exactly been the kind of guy who talked about his sex life all that much, mostly because he was always really shitty at sex before Brendon came along, unless going down on a girl counted. He doesn't know how to explain to Pete what he did.

Inside, a door bangs and Brendon comes back out on to the terrace, breaking the mood. "Dude," he says to Pete, "your kid is awesome. He knows all the words to Baby Got Back."

"He does not," Pete protests.

"Totally true," Brendon says, waving his hand about in some kind of salute, " I swear to God."

"I gotta get this on camera," Pete laughs, tumbling to his feet. He leans over and squeezes Spencer's shoulder, just for a moment, and then he's clapping Brendon on the back and disappearing inside.

"That's so not true," Spencer says.

"No," Brendon agrees, grinning. "But he knows three of the words to I Wanna Be Like You."

"Which three?" Spencer asks, unable to help himself.

"Shut up," Brendon says, laughing. "You think Pete's figured it out yet?"

Spencer just grins. "Pretty sure," he says. "But you think Pete's going to pass up any chance to tape his kid?"

"No," Brendon agrees. He drags his chair even closer to Spencer's. When he sits down, he puts his feet on the edge of Spencer's seat, and tucks his bare toes under Spencer's thighs. Spencer curls his fingers around Brendon's ankle, and Brendon smiles. "That feels nice," he says, when Spencer's fingertips start to stroke at Brendon's skin.

Spencer doesn't let go, even when Pete and Ashlee come back out after Bronx goes down. He holds on, right until it's time for them to leave and go back home.



Spencer drives home. He pulls out into the traffic and Brendon puts one foot up on the dashboard. He fiddles with the radio, complaining about the broken cable which meant they couldn't just hook up their iPods.

"We have to remember actual Cds," he complains, as if that's any sort of a hardship for either of them. Spencer's pretty sure that there are already at least five CDs floating about in the car somewhere, if either of them could be bothered to look. Brendon settles on a classics station that's playing seventies rock; David Bowie is singing about the man who sold the world.

"Bowie, man," Brendon says, shaking his head in time with the music, clapping his hand against his knee. "Fucking Bowie."

"Yeah," Spencer agrees. He risks a glance across the car when they pull up at an intersection; Brendon's biting his lip and staring out of the window, still humming along. Spencer takes a deep breath. "Brendon -" he stops.

"Yeah?" Brendon's head jerks up. He'd been lost in the music, Spencer could tell.

"Just -" Spencer doesn't know what to say, or rather, how to say what he wants to say. He settles for, "I didn't know you'd put money on us lasting."

Brendon nods. "I figured they wouldn't let me bet because I had insider knowledge," he waves his hands in the air, "but they were all so fucking sure I'd lose."

Spencer would try and be pissed at their friends, only he wouldn't have believed that he and Brendon could make a go of it either, and it wasn't like he hadn't taken part in his own fair share of betting books over the years. He'd opened a few himself, and worked it so he'd made a profit. "How long did you bet?"

"Six fucking months," Brendon says, and Spencer can't tell if he's pissed that nobody else thought they'd last that long, or because he'd had to wait six months for the payout. "Can you believe that? Six fucking months."

"No way," Spencer says. "How much did you take home?"

"Five hundred dollars," Brendon says. "I was going to see if you wanted to go someplace nice for a weekend, or whatever. Celebrate our win."

Spencer's fingers tighten on the steering wheel. "Yeah," he says, "that sounds awesome. We should do that."

"I should look up some places on the internet tomorrow," Brendon says. "You got any plans for the weekend?"

"Next weekend?" Spencer's surprised. He'd been thinking more in terms of later in the year, after their upcoming mini-tour. Some point in their relationship where they weren't actively fucking things up, at least.

Brendon shrugs. "I was going to save it for Christmas, or whatever, but I figured. Now's as good a time as ever. It'd be nice to, you know. Go someplace nice together."

Spencer swallows. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, that would be really cool."

"Awesome," Brendon nods, and the radio station starts playing Marc Bolan. Brendon starts to laugh. "T-fucking-rex, dude," he says, and Spencer can't help but let out a long breath. When Brendon catches his eye at the next intersection, he smiles, shy and tentative, and Spencer can't help but smile back.



The hotel Brendon's picked out promises 'oceanfront opulence' and 'distinctive regional restaurant dining'. Spencer isn't exactly sure what either of those things are, nor is he particularly sure he wants to, either. He's pretty sure that the room cost more than Brendon's winnings, though, especially when Brendon hands him a reservation for a room called the Ocean Surf King.

"See," Brendon says, throwing some shirts in a suitcase and waving the reservation in Spencer's direction, "they knew we were coming. They even named the room after me. Ocean Surf King."

"You're such a loser," Spencer says, laughing. He doesn't know what clothes to pack; if he and Brendon weren't still avoiding most physical contact, he'd say fuck it and just take a change of underwear for the drive home, but right now he's not convinced that they won't be taking advantage of the hotel's full range of amenities. "You think this place has mini-golf?"

Brendon waves a pair of shorts in the air. "You want mini-golf? We'll find mini-golf. We'll make our own, we only need to find a weird five-foot windmill from somewhere and we've got our first hole."

"Dork," Spencer says affectionately, and Brendon grins, dumping the shorts in his case.

"Ocean Surf King," he says, "do you think we could put it on a t-shirt?"

"Sure," Spencer says, and tries to remember where that place was where he and Jon had gotten t-shirts printed for Brendon's birthday. He doesn't think it's on their way out of LA, so he scraps that idea. When he looks up, Brendon's just standing there, looking at him. Spencer feels a little warm at the attention. "Where do you think they get those windmills from, anyway?" he asks, to deflect attention, "You think that's someone's job, building them?"

"That'd be a pretty awesome job," Brendon agrees, but he doesn't look away. "Spence -"

Spencer cuts him off. "Thanks for this," he says, quickly. "For this weekend."

"It's nothing," Brendon says. "I just -" he shrugs. "Six months, Spence. No one else thought we'd do it."

"You did," Spencer says, shrugging his shoulders. He feels too warm.

Brendon shakes his head. "I hoped," he says. "That's not the same."

Spencer shrugs again. He's kind of nervous; it's obvious that he and Brendon are packing to go on some kind of romantic weekend break, but he's pretty sure he and Brendon are the most tentative they've ever been. Brendon is touching Spencer more, sleeping sprawled out next to him, the gap that had been so obvious now reduced to virtually nothing, but it still doesn't change the fact that they're not having sex. They clearly both want to; they're almost taking turns to go into the bathroom and jerk off. But things remain as they were: they're still not having sex. "It feels kind of the same to me," he says, finally, because it does.

Brendon swallows nervously. He makes an abortive move to reach for Spencer, stopping before his fingers graze Spencer's wrist. "Come on," he says, bending over his suitcase to zip it closed. "Pack your shit up, it's time to go."

"Brendon -" Spencer starts. He reaches for Brendon, catching his fingers in Brendon's shirt. He doesn't know what to say. He settles for, "I really want to make this work."

Brendon stares down at Spencer's hand. "Me too," he says, and he closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around Spencer's neck. Spencer hugs him back, pressing his mouth to Brendon's skin. Brendon tugs away, and for a moment Spencer thinks, no, but then Brendon's cupping Spencer's face in his hands and pressing his mouth to Spencer's.



The hotel is less of a hotel and more of a resort. There's valet, so guys in identical stupid uniforms come and help them with their bags. There are two suitcases and a duffel—the latter of which Spencer doesn't remember either packing or putting into the car. When he tries to ask Brendon about it, Brendon busies himself tipping the guy who takes their car keys.

"Dude," Spencer says, while they're waiting for the elevator. "This place is nice."

"Duh," Brendon says, and slips his hand into Spencer's.

Spencer ducks his head and bites his lip to keep from grinning.



"So," Spencer says, after they've tipped the bellboy and poked around in the bathroom and opened the doors to the balcony to check out the ocean view. "You want to go out, take a walk or whatever?"

Brendon sprawls across the bed, face first. "No," he says, decisively.

Spencer can't help the curl of worry that winds its way across his belly. "No?" he says, trying to keep his voice light. "Do you want to get some food, then? The restaurant is supposed to be pretty awesome."

"No," Brendon shakes his head. "I'm pretty sure I just want to stay here."

"Oh," Spencer nods. "You want to watch some TV? That's a pretty cool flat screen. Not as cool as ours, but, you know. Pretty cool for a hotel."

"No," Brendon says for the third time. He rolls on to his back. "I kind of just want to have sex with you. I mean. If you want."

Spencer's mouth is suddenly dry. "Yes," he manages, and it sounds more like a squeak than he would like. He clears his throat. "Yes," he says again. "Please."

Brendon shifts so he's sitting up, his legs over the end of the bed. "Okay then," but he sounds a little unsure of himself. Spencer hates that he's the one who knocked Brendon's confidence and trust in himself like this.

Brendon's legs have fallen open pretty naturally, and there's space there for Spencer to kneel down in between them. It would feel kind of right for him to be there, to be able to arch up and have Brendon lean down to kiss him. It's what Spencer wants, but he's determined that Brendon feel one hundred percent comfortable, so he stops himself from kneeling and sinks down on to the bed next to him instead, resting his palm on Brendon's leg.

"Hey," Spencer says, softly. "Why don't you tell me what you'd like?"

Brendon laughs a little awkwardly. "I'm pretty sure that's what got us into this mess."

Spencer stiffens. He knows that, but he doesn't know how to make it better. "What would you have me do?" he asks, before he can help himself.

Brendon smiles a little sadly, and leans his head on Spencer's shoulder. "I don't know," he says. "How about you tell me what you'd like, instead."

Spencer wishes there was a class he could take in this. Sticking relationships back together 101. He'd be first in line. "I don't know either," he says. There's a long pause. "I'd like -" he stops, not sure how to verbalize what's in his head.

"Go on," Brendon says, and curls his fingers into Spencer's.

"I was thinking," Spencer says, carefully. "Maybe I could ask you for stuff. Like. Stuff I wanted. And you could decide whether you wanted to do it or not."

"What kind of stuff?" Brendon asks, cautiously.

"Um. I could ask your permission," he says, and he's trying to make this sound like something that doesn't turn him on a lot. "For, like, everything. Like, can I kneel down, or whatever. That way, you know I'm comfortable with what we're doing, and you get to direct it so that you're happy too."

Brendon swallows, loudly.

Spencer waits as Brendon thinks it over.

"I, uh." Brendon squeezes his hand. "Yeah," he says. "That."

Spencer nods. "So," he says, "Can I kiss you?"

Brendon doesn't say yes. "With tongue or without?" he asks.

Spencer licks his lips. "Without," he says, and he wants to lean in and close the distance between them, but he doesn't. He waits.

"Yes," Brendon says, and his eyes flutter closed as Spencer leans in. Spencer's heart is hammering in his chest, which is stupid considering that they're talking about closed-mouth kisses, but he can't help it. The kiss is gentle, and slow, and when Spencer pulls away, Brendon's left biting his lip and opening his eyes.

"Can I kiss you again?" Spencer asks. "The same again?"

Brendon nods, not even stopping to think it over like before.

Spencer kisses him again, and then he asks if he can touch Brendon's face.

Brendon nods, and his eyes close as Spencer strokes at his cheek, his jaw, his mouth. It's weirdly intimate, even though they're both fully-clothed and the things Spencer's choosing to ask for are almost chaste. Brendon's mouth falls open as Spencer runs his thumb across Brendon's lip.

"I want to kiss you again," Spencer says, and when Brendon nods, Spencer doesn't move his hand, just kisses Brendon around his thumb.

Spencer isn't the only one whose heart is beating fast. Brendon's pulse skitters away from him, and when Spencer asks if he can touch Brendon's chest, Brendon takes his shirt off with shaking fingers.

Spencer wants to touch him everywhere, wants Brendon to press him down into the mattress and fuck him. He limits himself to what Brendon lets him have, though, chaste kisses and touching. He runs the heel of his hand down Brendon's chest, fingertips grazing at his nipples.

Brendon groans, tipping his head back, exposing his throat. Spencer wants to run his tongue down Brendon's skin. He knows how Brendon tastes, that sweet, familiar mixture of heat and Brendon. His breath catches, and before he's had a chance to think about it, he's saying, "I want to kneel down, please. Can I? I want to be on my knees for you. Please."

"Fuck," Brendon manages. "Spence, yes."

Spencer doesn't need to be given permission twice. He drops to his knees and shifts so he's in between Brendon's legs. He reaches for Brendon without asking, and then realizes what he's doing and drops his hands.

"Do I get to ask for things too?" Brendon asks, almost nervously. He's already breathing a little haphazardly, leaning back on his elbows.

Spencer swallows. "Yes," he says. He thinks, yes.

"I want to see you. Will you take your shirt off for me?"

Spencer nods, jerkily. He's hard, uncomfortable up against his fly. He tugs his shirt up and over his head, dropping it on the floor next to him.

"Please," Spencer asks. "Please, I want you to kiss me. Will you?"

He waits, his hands fisted in his lap.

"I was going to ask you," Brendon says, and then he ducks his head and takes Spencer's mouth in a kiss.

They make out for what seems like a really long time. Spencer's foot tries to go to sleep and he ends up arching up onto his knees, pressing himself flush against Brendon's chest so he can shift position.

When they break for breath, Spencer wipes his mouth. Brendon's pink-cheeked and breathless, still cupping Spencer's cheek in one hand.

"Can I blow you?" Spencer asks, quickly.

Brendon's hips stutter, and Spencer wants to take that as a yes, but he doesn't. He waits, resting back on his heels, his hands flat against Brendon's thighs.

Brendon nods. "Yes," he says, and he moves to unbutton his fly, but Spencer stops him by leaning in and pressing his mouth to the outline of Brendon's cock through his pants. Above him, Brendon shudders out a breath and his hands tangle in Spencer's hair.

"Spence -" he manages, breathlessly. His hands are still in Spencer's hair. "I want to—can I pull your hair?"

Spencer groans a yes and mouths at Brendon's erection.

Brendon's hands tighten in Spencer's hair, just enough to hold him where he is, mouth pressed to the material.

Spencer's cock jerks, and when Brendon pulls at his hair, just a little, just enough to count, he groans out loud.

He wants to use his hands, but he doesn't want to ask. Not yet. Instead, he presses his mouth along the length of Brendon's erection, waiting for Brendon's fingers to tell him he's gone too far.

He doesn't have to wait for long before Brendon's hands tighten in his hair.

"Spencer," Brendon manages. He pulls a little, nudging Spencer so that's he's pressed up against Brendon's erection, mouth sliding roughly across the material. He licks at Brendon's fly. "Shit, Spencer. I want to see your cock."

Spencer mewls. He scrabbles at his own pants, Brendon's hands keeping his face pressed close to Brendon's cock.

"Just pull your cock out, Spence," Brendon says, breathlessly. He's not phrasing what he's asking like questions, but Spencer knows that they are. There's a hesitancy in the phrasing, a pause at the end of each request where Spencer's pretty sure a question mark would fit well.

Spencer noses under the hem of Brendon's shirt, finding the tiny patch of belly he can reach just by Brendon's waistband. He laps at the skin with his tongue and Brendon groans.

"Your cock, Spencer," Brendon says.

Spencer struggles with his zipper, letting his pants fall open. His erection tents the cotton of his underwear, a damp patch proving just how turned on he is. He knows what Brendon likes, knows what gets him off, and so he sticks his hand into his underwear and tugs his cock halfway out, trapping it up against his belly with the elastic of his waistband. Fuck knows why Brendon finds that so hot, half of Spencer's cock on show, the base of his cock and his balls still outlined through his underwear, but he does.

"Can I sit back and show you?" he asks, and he is embarrassed at what he's asking, but at the same time, he knows that Brendon will want it, and Spencer is desperate for just a shadow of that pride he used to feel.

"Yes," Brendon loosens his grip on Spencer's hair, letting him sit back on his heels.

Spencer's skin feels too warm. He doesn't look down, because he knows what he'll see. Instead, he watches Brendon's face, his flushed skin, his mouth, swollen and wet. The way he jerks forward, reaches for Spencer and lets his hand close around Spencer's shoulder and squeezes.

"Fuck," Brendon manages. He palms his cock with the heel of his other hand. "Will you suck me off?" he asks, undoing his fly.

It's easy for Spencer to say yes.

The way Brendon tastes is so familiar that Spencer can barely remember that it's been too long since they last did this. He licks at the underside of the head, feeling the familiar weight against his tongue, the way his jaw has to stretch in order to take Brendon all the way down. It feels good, and judging by the way Brendon's fingers are tangling in Spencer's hair, he's not the only one who's liking it.

"Spencer -" Brendon shifts, his hips pressing up. He scrabbles at Spencer's shoulders, pushing him back. "I want to fuck your mouth," he says, as Spencer lets the tip of Brendon's cock bump against his lip, spit-wet and red.

Spencer groans his yes, and then Brendon nudges him away so he can stand up. Spencer kneels up so he's at a better angle, the head of his own cock striping wetly across his stomach. Brendon curls his fingers into Spencer's hair, and guides Spencer in.

He takes it slow at first, just letting the underside of his cock rub along Spencer's tongue. It's so wet. There's spit everywhere already, and Spencer's looking up, trying to meet Brendon's eye. Brendon's head is tipped back, though, the line of his throat and the underside of his jaw all that Spencer can see.

Spencer's hands clench into fists by his side. He doesn't know what to do with them; it's a strain not to close them around his own cock, and start jerking off, especially when Brendon ups the tempo a little, pushing further in, his hips rocking. Saliva runs down Spencer's chin, and Brendon's fingers tighten in Spencer's hair.

He doesn't want Brendon to come, not like this. When it looks like Brendon's nearing the edge, when the rhythm of his hips become erratic rather than measured, a syncopated push towards orgasm, Spencer closes his hands around Brendon's wrists.

Brendon releases his grip and Spencer sits back on his heels, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Brendon looks confused.

Spencer squares his shoulders. "Will you -" he stops, and tries to catch his breath. Breathing around Brendon's cock is something he's still learning to do. "Will you come on my face?" he asks, quickly, his face aflame.

Brendon stutters forwards, his hands clenching and unclenching fruitlessly. He ends up cupping Spencer's cheek in his palm. "You, uh, want that?" he asks.

Spencer nods fiercely. "Yes," he says. "I want you to come on my face."

Brendon's hand curls around his erection, and he steps nearer so that he can rub the tip of his cock along Spencer's lips.

Spencer's pretty sure his eyes roll back in his head.

"Yeah?" Brendon says, "you like that?"

Spencer nods, mutely. He presses even closer, sticking his tongue out a little so he can lap at the head.

Brendon groans. "Fuck." He starts to jerk himself off, and Spencer knows that Brendon's got to be pretty close to coming. His cock bumps against Spencer's lips on every up-stroke, and Spencer's fucked if he knows what he looks like. He doesn't care. His own cock is throbbing, twitching with anticipation.

Brendon runs his thumb along Spencer's bottom lip. "Spencer, fuck."

Spencer agrees. His mouth falls open, his jaw loose, and Brendon's hips buck.

When Brendon starts to come it's like everything Spencer imagined, and more. Brendon's come stripes his cheeks, his jaw, his mouth. It's hot, and desperate, and wonderful. He groans Brendon's name, licking his lips. He smears Brendon's come across his face with the heel of his hand, half an attempt to clean himself up, half an attempt to just make it messier. He's not sure he knows which he prefers.

He's reaching down for his own cock before he knows what he's doing, and Brendon's circling Spencer's arm with his fingers to stop him and saying no.

"You didn't ask," Brendon manages, flopping down onto the bed. He slumps backwards onto the covers, his chest moving quickly, his breathing hurried.

Spencer sinks back onto his heels. His own breathing is rushed and desperate. "Please," he says. "Brendon, will you let me jerk off? I want to come, Brendon." He knows he's pleading. He doesn't care.

Brendon doesn't open his eyes. "No," he says.

Spencer doesn't know what to do. His cock twitches. He wants to jerk off. He doesn't know how to ask what to do now. He settles for, "What do you want me to do?"

Brendon's cock is softening against his belly. Even now, Spencer has to stop himself from leaning in and taking it in his mouth.

Brendon lets out a long breath. "Take off your pants," he says, "and leave your underwear on. Then get on the bed next to me."

It doesn't sound like a question and Spencer doesn't want it to. His heart thumps in his chest and his fingers shake as he tugs off his pants. He leaves them in a pile on the floor, and crawls up the bed till he's lying next to Brendon, who's still pink-cheeked and breathing hard, his skin flushed and a little sweaty.

"I mean -" Brendon amends, rolling on to his side. "If you'd like to."

Spencer wants to say, you don't have to ask, but that isn't the deal. "Ask me," he says, impulsively. It can hardly matter, he's laying here next to Brendon anyway, but he knows that's what Brendon needs.

Brendon strokes his fingers across Spencer's cheek. Spencer's aware of how he must look, Brendon's come smeared across his face. He flushes, but Brendon just presses closer. He leans in and presses his mouth to the corner of Spencer's. "Can I jerk you off?" he asks, hardly above a murmur. Spencer can barely hear him. "Can I ask you to stay still? Stay still while I talk dirty to you? Can I?"

Spencer's cock pulses. "Fuck," he breathes, his hips bucking. The way Brendon sounds, utterly wrecked and hot for him, fuck. The way he's asking permission for something Spencer wants him to take. "Yes," he keeps nodding. "Fuck, please, yes, Brendon."

Brendon ducks his head and licks a stripe across Spencer's stomach, his hand creeping downward. Spencer has no idea what's so hot about him with his dick peeking out the top of his underwear like this, but Brendon clearly finds it a turn on. Spencer would never have thought of it himself, but he can't help but be just as into it as Brendon is.

"Look at you," Brendon says, softly. His fingertips stroke at the cotton of Spencer's underwear, across the hip. Spencer looks down, but all he can see is the outline of his balls and his erection through the cotton, the head of his cock pinned to his belly by the elastic waistband.

He feels dirty, but in the best way possible, sexy and hot. His cock twitches, and Brendon grins.

"You like this too, huh?" Brendon outlines Spencer's balls with his thumb and first finger, and Spencer's hips buck off the bed. It's totally fucking stupid, how much this seems to turn them both on. "Sometimes I think I could get you to walk around all day like this, with your dick hanging out."

Spencer's hips buck again, and Brendon splays his fingers across Spencer's hip, holding him down.

"I'd tell you that you couldn't touch," Brendon goes on, slowly running his fingers over the underside of Spencer's cock. Sweat's beading across Spencer's brow, and he's biting his lip to stop himself from begging Brendon for more. "How would that work for you?" he asks, and he brushes his thumb across the tip of Spencer's cock .

Spencer can't help it, he cries out.

Brendon smiles, and circles Spencer's cock with his thumb and first finger. The cotton feels like far too much of a barrier, and Spencer tries to push up, tries to fuck Brendon's fingers. It doesn't work, and Brendon only slows down, makes his touch softer. "I asked you a question," he says.

Spencer doesn't remember. "What?" he asks, trying to keep himself from jerking up into Brendon's touch. "Sorry."

"How it would work for you if I asked you to walk around all day like this, and not to touch," Brendon says, and he starts to jack Spencer off, very slowly, still using just two fingers.

Spencer can barely concentrate. He both hates it and loves it when Brendon masturbates him like this; two fingers is like an exquisite form of torture, both too much and not enough, all at the same time. "I'd do it," he manages. "Fuck."

"Yeah?" Brendon sounds a little desperate too. "You would?"

"If you asked me to," Spencer says.

Brendon's hand stills on Spencer's cock. "But would you want to?" he asks, and Spencer can hear the insecurity that Brendon's trying to hide.

Spencer grabs Brendon's wrist. He isn't supposed to move, he knows that, he knows he's doing wrong, but he'll take whatever punishment Brendon meters out. "I'd do it because I wanted to," he says, trying his best to concentrate, but Brendon's started to jack him off again, "because it's hot," he manages, but Brendon's thumb is stroking at his slit and he's losing the ability to think, let alone speak. "Because it turns us both on."

Brendon ducks his head and kisses Spencer's hip. "I'd ask you to walk around like that all day and not touch," he says again, tonguing Spencer's hip gently, nipping at the skin with his teeth. "And I'd ask you to wear your collar too."

Spencer's brain whites out. He's trying so hard to keep from coming he can barely get his words out. "Please," he manages. "Can I come, I want to come, please, Brendon, please -"

Brendon bites at his hip, his hand still on Spencer's cock. "You can come," he says, and Spencer does, his orgasm shuddering through him, come striping his chest.

He doesn't know how long he lays there before he realizes Brendon's curled into his side, stroking Spencer's stomach with one hand.

"You okay?" Spencer asks, propping himself up on one elbow. His body feels like it's on fire, pin-pricks of awareness flickering across his skin.

Brendon squeezes Spencer's hand. "Yeah," he says. "You?"

"Yeah," Spencer says. In the distance he can hear the sound of the ocean. "Yeah, I am."

Brendon presses closer, and Spencer shivers, still too close to his orgasm for Brendon's proximity to be entirely comfortable. He wraps his arm around Brendon's shoulder, though, and kisses the top of his head absent-mindedly.

"We should shower," he says, finally. The room smells hot and kind of a lot like spunk. He's pretty sure they smell worse.

"In a minute," Brendon says. "There's no rush. We've got all weekend."

Spencer's stomach rumbles, loudly, and Brendon laughs against Spencer's shoulder.

"Yeah," Spencer says. "About that."

Brendon just grins, and slides his fingers into Spencer's. "Okay," he says. "I give in. Shower time."

Spencer rolls his eyes, and tugs Brendon off the bed and into the bathroom.




"Crap," Brendon says, half way down the hallway outside the hotel room. He pats at his pockets. "I forgot my wallet."

Spencer shakes his head, his stomach rumbling. "Brendon," he complains. He turns and starts heading back down the hallway towards their room.

"No," Brendon stops him with a hand to his arm. "Don't worry, I'm on it. Go press the button for the elevator, I'll be, like, a minute."

"You'd better be," Spencer says, exasperatedly.

Brendon ducks in and presses a kiss to Spencer's beard. "Sixty seconds, Spence, promise."

Spencer rolls his eyes and heads for the elevator.



"So, here's the thing," Brendon says, stopping Spencer with a hand to his chest as they walk back after eating dinner.

Spencer stops. "We're just outside our room," he points out. He reaches out and touches their door, leaning forward just enough that he rocks against Brendon's hand. "You couldn't wait until we were inside?"

Brendon wrinkles his nose. "Uh -" he stops, and shrugs his shoulders. "I guess. Go on."

Spencer feels more than a little confused. "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah," Brendon tells him, nodding quickly. "Totally fine. We should go in."

"Hmmm," Spencer says. "That's reassuring."

Brendon presses himself to Spencer's back. "Open the door, Spence," he says, and he rubs his nose against Spencer's neck.

Spencer raises an eyebrow and fiddles with their keycard. They've spent enough time in hotels over the years for keycards and their foibles to be second nature, and after wiggling the card a little, the light flicks from red to green. Spencer pushes open the door and walks in.

In the center of the hastily made bed, waiting for them, is Spencer's collar. Spencer stops short.

Brendon wraps his arms around Spencer's waist. "I didn't forget my wallet," he says, softly. "I wanted it to be waiting for you when we got back."

"That's my collar," Spencer says, stupidly.

"Yeah," Brendon says, still pressed close to Spencer's back. "I don't know whether you want to wear it again, or anything, after last time. You can say, I don't know, if you want me to put it away, or whatever."

"Is that what was in that bag?" Spencer asks, finally, thinking of the extra bag in the trunk of their car. He remembers how strange it had felt, wearing his collar the last time, and how it had been a relief to have Brendon take it off. It doesn't change how he wants to be wearing it again.

Brendon doesn't waver. "Yes," he says. "Is this okay?"

Spencer swallows down an uneasy breath. "Yes," he says. Barring the last time, which he's pretty sure was an anomaly because he hadn't trusted what his brain had been telling him, he's never felt more centered or more in control of himself than when Brendon puts him in the collar.

"We don't have to have sex, or whatever," Brendon goes on. He sounds a little uncertain, and Spencer isn't sure whether that's for Spencer's benefit or his own. Spencer isn't sure that it matters. He covers Brendon's hand with his own.

"Maybe I could just, I don't know," Spencer shrugs his shoulders, "just wear it." He wants to say, like it's normal, but he doesn't. He takes a deep breath instead.

"We could watch TV," Brendon suggests. "Hang out."

Spencer nods. He wonders if there's anything good on pay-per-view, if Brendon can feel how loud and how fast his heart is beating, if that weird feeling in his chest is just indigestion or actual fear.

He sits on the edge of the bed, and lets Brendon nudge his legs apart, stepping in between them and pressing himself to Spencer's chest. Spencer wraps his arms around Brendon's waist, and rests his cheek against Brendon's belly.

"You can take it off whenever you want," Brendon tells him.

Spencer nods, concentrating on the way his beard rubs against Brendon's shirt.

Brendon runs his fingers through Spencer's hair, stroking down past his ears to his neck, his throat.

Spencer tips his head back, letting his gaze meet Brendon's.

"I want it," he says, his hands resting on Brendon's butt. "The collar. Will you put it on me?"

Brendon waits a split-second too long before bending down to catch Spencer's mouth in a kiss.

Spencer kisses him back, hungrily, and Brendon's fingers splay across his skin.

When Brendon pulls away, it's so he can lean over and reach for the collar. "Sit back," he tells Spencer, and Spencer shifts so he's leaning up against the pillows. He kicks his shoes off, and Brendon kneels up over him, collar in one hand. "Chin up," Brendon says, softly, and Spencer obeys.

The leather is soft against his skin, and if Spencer had been worried about being reminded about what had happened the last time, by the time Brendon buckles it closed, any worries have passed. It feels familiar and safe and he breathes out, then in, then out again. Spencer likes the constant reminder he's wearing it.

Brendon cups Spencer's face in his hands. "Okay?" he asks. Spencer wonders if he's been trying to get his attention for a while.

Spencer nods slowly. "Yeah," he says. Then, "Feels good."

A smile curves across Brendon's face, then he ducks in for a quick kiss. "Good," he says. "I'm glad." He moves off Spencer's lap and settles on the pillows next to him, reaching for the remote. "Now, do you want to pick what we watch, or can I?"

"You," Spencer says, swallowing. He's too mindful of the collar to concentrate on anything much, anyway.

Brendon flicks through until he finds that one of the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movies is showing, and even though it's almost half way through, Brendon doesn't change the channel again. Instead, he just shuffles a little closer to Spencer, and holds out his arm so that Spencer can duck underneath it and rest his head on Brendon's shoulder.

Brendon's fingers curve around Spencer's neck, his thumb stroking at the collar.

Spencer hums his appreciation, and stays still.



Spencer waits until the end of the movie before he goes to the bathroom. He's been thinking about the mirror that runs the whole length of the wall in there, over the counter and the sink and the toilet. The way he can stand and see what he looks like with the collar a black stripe against his skin.

The reality is better than his imagination, even, and he can't stop staring. He's wearing a stupid, well-worn Threadless shirt and a pair of jeans. He looks like he does almost every other day of the week, except this time there's a band of leather buckled around his throat, the D-ring shining silver-bright in the artificial light. He fingers it almost reverently, hooking his thumb through the loop and tugging, just a little, just enough to feel the pull. It goes straight to his dick.

"Hurry up," Brendon says, pushing open the bathroom door. They never bother shutting the door properly if they're just going to pee. "Gremlins is starting."

He stops short when he sees Spencer in front of the mirror, thumb still hooked through the D-ring.

"Oh," he says, and Spencer can feel himself flushing. Then Brendon grins, and crosses the bathroom so he can hook his chin over Spencer's shoulder. "Hot."

Spencer watches them both in the mirror as Brendon wraps one arm around Spencer's waist. His other hand he splays across Spencer's shoulder, fingertips dipping under the collar of Spencer's t-shirt.

"Hot," he says again, and he leans in so that he can lick Spencer's cheek, Brendon's tongue rough against his beard.

Spencer shivers, and then Brendon covers Spencer's hand with his own, curving his fingers through the D-ring. Spencer's so hard it hurts. He swallows, and watches his throat work in the mirror, Brendon's fingers stroking at his skin.

"Can I -" Spencer starts. He stops, and lets Brendon touch at his skin some more. "I want to take my clothes off," he says, finally. "I want to wear just my collar. Please."

Brendon's intake of breath is sharp and loud. "Yeah," he says, after a moment. "Yes." Their eyes meet in the mirror and Spencer bites back a grin. He's happy, and it's echoed in Brendon's face. He wants to laugh.

Spencer takes his clothes off slowly, still watching himself in the mirror. Watching Brendon watch him. It's mesmerizing, the look on Brendon's face.

Spencer drops his shirt on the floor and lets his pants pool around his ankles as he pushes down his underwear.

When he stands up again, he just sees himself in the mirror, naked and hard in just a collar, and Brendon watching him with dark, dark eyes and a smile on his face. When Brendon catches Spencer looking at him he grins, and palms his own cock through his pants.

"I want you naked too," Spencer says, quickly. "Please, will you -"

Brendon's already pulling off his shirt and his pants. He's not wearing underwear, and Spencer wonders how he missed that part earlier.

"Oh yeah," Brendon grins, plastering himself to Spencer's back and staring over Spencer's shoulder into the mirror. "Spencer Smith, I am so fucking hot for you right now."

"Right back at you," Spencer agrees, wriggling a little so that Brendon's erection is pressed right up against his ass. In the mirror, all he can see is his own erection, flushed and red and hot, a little shiny across the tip.

Brendon wraps his hand around Spencer's balls, squeezing gently.

Spencer lets out a groan, his hands sliding behind him to rest on Brendon's hips, tugging him closer. Brendon's dick is a heavy, hard temptation against his skin.

"I want you on the bed," Brendon slides his tongue across the base of Spencer's neck, across his spine. He lets go of Spencer's balls and cups his hand around Spencer's hip instead.

Spencer shivers.

"Come on," Brendon says, and tugs him away from the mirror and the bathroom and into the bedroom. "I want to make out with you."



They make out up on their knees with their cocks pressed up hard between them, in the middle of the bed with the sheets pooled around them. Brendon keeps touching Spencer's collar, splaying his fingers across the leather, cupping Spencer's face and dragging him even closer, nipping his teeth into Spencer's lip. Spencer lets his fingers tangle in Brendon's hair, one hand wrapped around Brendon's back, holding him near.

Spencer isn't sure how long they stay making out for, but when he pulls away, Brendon's lips are red and swollen, his eyes dark. His hair's a mess. Spencer manages a smile, sitting back on his heels. He's sure he looks just as disheveled, just as depraved, but he concentrates on not touching himself. They'd been lazily rutting up against each other, mindful of how hard they were, but concentrating on making out instead. It's only now that they're not kissing any longer that Spencer realizes just how much he needs to come.

It would be easy just to curl his fist around his erection and jerk himself off, but there's an element of pride that comes from being able to deny himself that, so he stays still, clutching at the sheets instead.

Brendon notices, his eyes flitting from Spencer's dick, to his hands, to Spencer's mouth. His mouth curves into a smile. "Good," he says. "That's good, Spence."

Spencer's skin burns. He swallows, and manages a nod. He'd almost forgotten how praise from Brendon makes him feel, and the resulting heat is kind of incredible.

Brendon runs his hands up Spencer's thighs, nudging them apart. He ducks his head and runs his tongue up the inside of Spencer's thigh, breathing across the base of his cock, his tongue darting out and sliding across Spencer's skin, just the once before he sits back up. "I brought your leash," he says, licking his lips.

Spencer's mouth is suddenly dry. "Yeah?" he manages.

"Yeah," Brendon nods, leaning over the edge of the bed and dragging his bag closer with his foot.

"What else is in there?" Spencer asks, hesitantly. He doesn't want to shift the mood, but he's intrigued by what Brendon's brought with him.

Brendon raises an eyebrow. "Stuff," he says, without giving anything else away.

Spencer waits a moment. "Okay," he says. "Please?"

"No," Brendon says, then relents. "It's just, you know. Cuffs and stuff."

Spencer's eyes gleam as he watches Brendon pull out the leash. "Cuffs?"

"Cuffs," Brendon agrees. Spencer's leash lies across his thighs. "You want?"

"I want," Spencer says. He wants it all.

Brendon reaches into the bag and comes out with a handful of cuffs, wrist and ankle. He drops them onto the sheets between them, and then clears his throat, awkwardly. "I'm, uh," he starts. "I'm not comfortable cuffing you to the bed again, or anything." He looks flushed. "Not yet. But if you wanted to wear them, just to, uh, wear them or whatever. I'd put you in them."

Spencer's heart sinks, just for a moment, but then he reminds himself how good it feels just to be in the cuffs, and he nods. "I'd like to wear them for you," he says, softly, and he holds his hands out, wrists up.

Brendon's sharp intake of breath is loud in the quiet of the room. He circles Spencer's wrists with his fingers, and leans in to run his tongue down the vein, right wrist first, then the left. Spencer shivers in anticipation, and he thinks that he doesn't need to be cuffed to the bed. He doesn't need any of that. He just needs Brendon, holding his wrists.

"You like that," Brendon says, softly. It isn't a question, and when he bites down on the pale underside of Spencer's wrist, Spencer stifles a cry.

Brendon mouths at Spencer's wrists until Spencer's tipping his head back, desperately trying to catch his breath. Only then does Brendon stop, wrapping each of Spencer's wrists in the cuffs and strapping them closed.

He kicks the ankle cuffs off the bed, and Spencer understands that that's too close to the last time they did this, so he doesn't say anything, and just nods when Brendon catches his eye.

Then Brendon leans in and attaches the leash to Spencer's collar, and Spencer's brain whites out.

Brendon makes Spencer crawl across the bed, winding the leash around his wrist so that Spencer's forced closer to the sheets, closer to Brendon's hand. He ends up in between Brendon's legs, face a hair's breadth away from Brendon's cock.

Spencer licks his lips, and opens his mouth, but Brendon tugs at the leash.

"Did I say you could suck me off?" he asks, and Spencer's forced to shake his head.

"No," he says, and feels bad.

"How hard are you?" Brendon asks.

Spencer's dick twitches. The position he's in means that his erection is brushing against the sheets, and it's almost too much. He needs more, needs something else, some friction. He's tempted to rub himself off against the sheets, if he wasn't so sure that Brendon would stop him. "Really hard," he says, when it becomes clear that Brendon's waiting for an answer.

"Yeah?" Brendon tugs on his collar a little. "That's all?"

"No," Spencer tries to shake his head, but the leash is keeping him still, crouched between Brendon's legs in the middle of the bed. "So hard," he says, and the part of his brain that isn't completely in love with what he and Brendon are doing tries to tell him that he should feel embarrassed, but he doesn't. He can't. "Fuck, Brendon, I'm so fucking hard."

Brendon hums above him, and then splays his fingers across the back of Spencer's neck. "And how much do you want to come?"

Spencer tries to bite back his whine. "So much," he says. His hips rock, but there's no friction. "Please," he begs, but he doesn't know what he's asking for.

Brendon tugs him down closer, the hand on the back of Spencer's neck and the leash working together. The head of Brendon's cock slides across Spencer's closed mouth, but Spencer knows that Brendon hasn't said he can, so he keeps his mouth closed. The scent of Brendon's arousal is all around him and it's in Spencer's nostrils and it's almost too much. He fights to keep his focus.

"Suck me off," Brendon says, finally, and Spencer groans his approval as he lets his mouth fall open. He laps at the tip, first, because Brendon's holding the leash in such a way that he can't get close enough to take Brendon in fully. He whines, unable to help himself. He wants more.

"Greedy, Spencer," Brendon says, but he sounds amused. He gives Spencer a little slack on the leash though, enough that Spencer can suck at the head of Brendon's cock. He tongues at the underside and above him, Brendon groans, his hand tightening on Spencer's neck.

Brendon doesn't let him move much, and Spencer feels like his skin is on fire; he's utterly aware of how Brendon's holding him here, how he's on his leash again and it feels so good.

"That's enough," Brendon says, after another minute. He isn't holding Spencer there any more, and he pushes at Spencer's shoulder, urging him off his cock.

Spencer makes a complaining noise. He isn't sure he could actually stop someone if they were midway through blowing him, but Brendon's full of hidden strengths.

"Turn around," Brendon tells him, "and sit in front of me."

Spencer shifts, the leash hanging loosely in front of them. He sits in between Brendon's legs, his back pressed up against Brendon's chest. He can feel Brendon's still-wet dick up against his ass.

"Good," Brendon says, nipping at Spencer's ear with his teeth. "No touching."

Spencer nods, and lets his head rest against Brendon's shoulder.

Brendon curls his hand around Spencer's erection. He holds the leash in his other hand, and pulls it taut.

Spencer's hips buck, and Brendon immediately stills. "Don't move," he says.

Spencer turns his head a little so that his mouth is pressed up against Brendon's neck. "I won't," he promises. "I'll stay still."

It's really fucking hard, especially when Brendon starts moving his hand again, jacking him off.

It's even harder when Brendon starts talking, starts telling Spencer about how much he likes it when Spencer stays still for him. About what it does to him, seeing Spencer on a leash, having him crawl for Brendon.

Spencer's skin is flushed and he's breathing fast against Brendon's neck, his eyes closed. He concentrates on not moving, on staying still as Brendon jacks him off.

"I'd have you on your leash all the fucking time if I could," Brendon says, finally, and Spencer bites back a whine. Staying still is the hardest thing he's ever had to do. "Fucking mine, Spencer -"

Spencer whimpers. "I want to come," he says, mouth so close to Brendon's skin he feels like they're a part of one another. "I want to come."

Brendon abruptly lets go of Spencer's cock. "Not yet," he says. He rubs his palm across his thigh. Spencer wants to come. He needs to. "Hold on, Spence, I know you can."

Spencer hides his face in Brendon's neck. His skin's prickling, sweat in the creases of his elbows, across his forehead. He's so close to the edge that pulling back from that is really difficult.

It takes him a while before he can nod and say, "I'm okay. I'm not going to come."

"Good," Brendon says, softly. He strokes Spencer's hair, and Spencer presses closer, desperate for the contact. "You're so good at this, Spencer. You do everything I ask you to."

Spencer feels hot inside, and Brendon shifts a little, half on to his side so he can tilt Spencer's face up and kiss him. He touches at Spencer's cheek with his fingertips; the leash is wound around his palm and the leather brushes at Spencer's face.

"If I asked you to crawl around the room," Brendon asks, "would you want to do that?"

Spencer nods. "Yes," he says.

"What about if you were on the leash? Would you do it then?"

"Yes," Spencer says. He's quick to answer because he doesn't have to think about it; he wants it. He's already thought about it.

Brendon lets the leash unwind itself off his hand until it's hanging loosely down Spencer's chest. He takes the end in his hand, and rubs his nose against Spencer's cheek. "Get off the bed," he says, softly, "and kneel on the floor."

Spencer kneels by the side of the bed, sitting back on his heels.

Brendon stands up in front of him, and Spencer's mouth is on a level with Brendon's cock. It had slipped his mind that Brendon also hadn't come.

"Down on all fours," Brendon tells him, and Spencer obediently drops down onto to his hands and knees. "Now," Brendon says, "crawl."

Spencer knows that he should feel something other than heat and elation as he crawls slowly around the hotel room floor. Brendon is holding the leash so that Spencer has to keep his head up, and his erection throbs with his every movement.

"You look so good on your knees," Brendon says from above him, his voice rough.

Spencer keens, his throat taut, the collar a comforting pressure against his skin. He rocks his hips a little, knowing he's not going to get any friction on his dick, but wanting it anyway.

Brendon smacks him on the ass. It isn't hard, but it stings anyway, and Spencer's hips buck.

"You're so hard," Brendon says, sliding his palm across Spencer's skin, curving around his hip and brushing his fingertips against Spencer's dick.

Spencer wants to drop his head, but he can't. He's breathless, and Brendon's proximity isn't helping. He tries to hold on.

Brendon's fingers circle his balls, and then his thumb brushes the sensitive patch of skin behind them, and Spencer cries out.

"Fuck, Brendon," he gasps. He presses back into Brendon's hand, but Brendon deliberately pulls away, leaving him hanging.

"Want to finger you until you come," Brendon says, pressing himself to Spencer's back. He splays his hand across Spencer's skin, and kisses the back of Spencer's neck, the leash taut. "Then I want to jerk off all over you."

"Yes, yes, please," Spencer manages, and Brendon slides his fingers into the crease of Spencer's ass, rubbing over his hole. Spencer keens, and then Brendon pushes in, just with the tip of one finger. It's barely anything, but Spencer has learnt to appreciate just how much he gets off on things in his ass, and it's all he can do just to hold on. He's breathless, panting loudly against the collar, and when Brendon pulls out to reach for the lube, he finds himself pleading with Brendon to finger him again.

"You like that," Brendon says, and there's the flick of a cap, then too long a moment before Brendon's fingers are back again, sliding wetly against his hole.

"Yes," Spencer breathes, and then Brendon's palm closes around his dick, and it's the hand with the leash wrapped around it, and there's leather against Spencer's dick, rough and amazing.

It's incredible, because whenever Brendon's hand moves on Spencer's dick, Spencer can feel the weight on his collar, the leash pulling with Brendon's every downstroke. He's babbling his appreciation, he knows he is, but he can't stop. Brendon's talking too, things Spencer can't concentrate on long enough to catch, and he's sliding his fingers into Spencer's ass, and Spencer thinks this is just too much.

His orgasm crashes over him in waves, and he knows he's crying out, but he can't stop. Brendon's rubbing his erection over Spencer's ass, and Spencer can't help but press back, even now he's so oversensitized he's shaking. He wants Brendon even closer, and even though his hips are still rocking through his own orgasm, he begs Brendon to come closer.

Brendon jacks off loudly, his fingertips pressing into Spencer's hip, and it doesn't take long for him to come. Spunk stripes at Spencer's skin, hot and wonderful. Brendon flops back, leaning against the bed, and Spencer joins him a moment later, still breathless.

He draws his knees up and rests his cheek against his leg as Brendon motions him forward, wiping at Spencer's back with one of the hotel towels. The leash dangles down, still loosely wrapped around Brendon's hand. He's a mess, they both are, but he can't be bothered to move.

"Okay?" Spencer asks, after a while.

Brendon nods, leaning forward and hiding his face in Spencer's shoulder. "That was pretty awesome," he says.

"Yeah," Spencer says. He kisses Brendon's cheek, resting his forehead against Brendon's. Brendon makes a sound in his throat that sounds a little like a purr, pressing even closer to Spencer's side. Spencer hums.

"You want to maybe take a walk or something later?" Brendon asks, after a while.

Spencer slides his hand into Brendon's. There's still something a little awkward in the way they are around each other sometimes, like there's an elephant in the corner of the room they're both only tacitly acknowledging. Even when things go well, like just now, the elephant's still there. "Yeah," he says. "Maybe we could go find out if we can rent surfboards, or something. Maybe catch a wave tomorrow."

"Sounds good," Brendon says, biting his lip. "Do you want to shower with me, or wait until I'm done?"

Spencer shakes his head. "With you, dumbass," he says.

Brendon smiles, and scrambles to his feet.



They arrange to hit the waves in the morning, swearing blind that they're competent surfers and not in need of instruction. It's a shame, they both agree, because the surf instructor is seriously hot. He's taller than them both, tan and muscled and with a nice smile. Spencer's pretty sure he could have put up with pretending to be a novice for a couple of hours if it meant working with this guy.

"Dude," Brendon says, as they wander down towards the cocktail bar by the beach. "Dude, did you see him?"

"Yes," Spencer says, risking a backward glance. Seriously, seriously hot.

"You think we could still go back and pretend we don't have a clue about surfing?" Brendon says, elbowing Spencer. "It'd be worth it, right?"

"He's hot," Spencer agrees, nudging Brendon. "But not as hot as you."

Brendon rolls his eyes, but he's grinning, wide and bright. Spencer's stomach clenches and he presses a little closer, his arm brushing Brendon's. The tips of his fingers touch Brendon's, and it's almost like they're holding hands. Touches in public are usually metered out carefully; Spencer isn't particularly concerned with what their fans might think, but he does like having at least some degree of privacy.

The back of Brendon's hand presses against Spencer's, and then they're tangling their fingers together, and Spencer thinks, this is it.

They order outrageous and extravagant cocktails from the bar by the beach, and then pick the seats the farthest away from anyone else, moving their chairs so they're sitting next to each other, rather than opposite.

"We're not okay, are we?" Spencer asks, after a minute.

Brendon shakes his head. "Sorry," he says, softly.

Spencer's heart thumps in his chest. "I'm sorry," he says, because it's the only thing he can think of to say. He wishes things could be different, but they're not, and it isn't as if he can go back in time and change things, use his safeword instead of just hanging on and hoping things got better.

"I know," Brendon nods. He stirs at his cocktail uneasily. "But -" he trails off. "Look. Imagine if it were you. If you'd made me react like that. If you'd come back and I was shaking and freaking out and you'd done that."

Spencer wants to say it wasn't your fault, it was me, but he's pretty sure if he found Brendon like that he'd feel terrible too. "I know," he says, "but it really wasn't your fault. I was the one who should have stopped it."

"Spence," Brendon says. He picks at the fruit in his cocktail. "You trust me, right?"

"Yeah," Spencer says, without even having to think.

"And you trust me to, you know. Do this thing that we do."

"Be in charge," Spencer says, nodding. "I trust you."

"You trust me to do what's best for you," Brendon says. "That's a fuck-load of trust," he goes on, haltingly. "That's, like. That's really fucking scary, sometimes. I keep thinking, what if I read you wrong? What if I screw up and do something that isn't what you want? And I did. That's what I did."

"Brendon -" Spencer starts. He doesn't know what to say. He hadn't thought about how much responsibility he was giving over to Brendon in all of this, or that maybe Brendon didn't know what he was doing, either.

"It's not like I've done this before either," Brendon interrupts his thinking. "It's not like I, like, read the rulebook about fucking collaring your boyfriend or anything before we started all this. Sometimes I think what the fuck kind of person am I that gets off on making you crawl around the floor or cuffing you to the wall." He stops, waiting a minute before saying, "This freaks me the fuck out, sometimes, that's all. How much I like this."

"I don't think we're weird for liking this stuff." Spencer says. "I really don't."

"No -" Brendon stops. "I know. That's not what I'm saying, not really. It's just... it's not just trusting you to tell me if something's wrong, that's all. It's trusting myself with you. You're kind of special, Spence."

"Brendon -" Spencer's mouth is dry.

"Kind of special," Brendon repeats, softly. "And I don't want to get things wrong again."

"You won't," Spencer says. He's trying to figure out a way of saying what he needs to, but the words won't come.

Brendon shrugs his shoulder. "It's not your head this time," he says, after a minute. "It's mine, and I'm trying, I am. I just -" he stops. "It's going to take some time, Spence. Before, I'm, uh. Before I'm comfortable with all this again."

"Okay," Spencer says. "Okay. Time's okay. We've got, like. Tons of that." He waits a moment, taking a sip of his cocktail before nudging Brendon with his knee. "You alright?"

Brendon shrugs. He bites his lip, his shoulders tight. "I don't want to fucking lose you," he says, quickly.

Spencer shakes his head, reaching for Brendon's hand. "You won't," he says, decisively. He twines his fingers with Brendon's, curling their hands into his lap. He doesn't care who's watching them; he wants people to know that he and Brendon are together, that Brendon's his just as much as he's Brendon's. "We've got tour in a couple of weeks, anyway," he says, nudging Brendon with his elbow. "It's not like we can do any of this stuff on a tour bus, unless we want Zack to come after us." Zack is firmly against any kind of sex where he might possibly have to overhear them at it.

"Fuck, no," Brendon says. "Dallon and Ian are drawing up some tour bus rules," he says, and Spencer laughs.

"What, really?"

"Yeah," Brendon nods. "They're emailing them over. Apparently sex on the bus when they're there is totally out."

"What about when they're not there?" Spencer asks. He's not entirely sure he can last a whole month relying on the odd hotel night.

"There's a list," Brendon says. "I'm pretty sure it rules out anywhere they might have to sit, afterwards."

"Huh," Spencer says. He's sure that he and Brendon can come up with some pretty creative ways of breaking Dallon and Ian's tour bus rules, if necessary.

"I was thinking," Brendon says, leaning closer in, "I'm pretty sure they've forgotten to rule out sex in their bunks."

Spencer snorts. "Awesome."

"I know, right?" Brendon grins. He waits a moment, his smile dropping a little. "Sorry," he says. "For, you know. Freaking out over this shit."

Spencer shakes his head. "No," he says. "Don't be." He tries to explain that time stretches away from them, and that he doesn't mind waiting, but the words don't come out right. Brendon looks worried. "I'm not going anywhere," Spencer says, finally.

Brendon lets out a breath. "No," he says, "me neither."



The Rules are taped to the middle of the fridge in the kitchenette, and there are additional copies in Zack's wallet, Ian's back pocket and Dallon's guitar case. Zack had had a copy made for both of them, laminated to protect against wear and tear.

Brendon asked what exact sort of wear and tear did the guys think that their own personal copies of The Rules were going to get, but even Spencer had laughed at that.

So now they each have a copy of The Rules in their wallets, laminated and folded into the money pocket, and highlighted for ease of use.

"You guys suck," Brendon says, miserably.

"We do not," Dallon says, virtuously.

"- And neither do either of you two," Zack finishes, eyeing the pair of them.

Spencer rolls his eyes. Next to him, Brendon tucks his toes under Spencer's thighs and unceremoniously hides behind a music magazine.

Spencer wraps his hand around Brendon's ankle and carries on checking his email on the stupidly slow wifi.



They go bowling somewhere in Kansas, late at night after they've finished up on stage. Zack hangs out in the bar with his laptop, supposedly catching up on his emails. He looks like he's picked a table with both a good view of Brendon and Spencer's lane and an equally good view of the big screen TV, though, and Spencer sees him watching the highlights of the Redskins game when he's not busy on his laptop.

"I'm going to kick your ass," Brendon promises, before he bowls his first ball.

"Yeah, right," Spencer laughs. He risks a hand to the small of Brendon's back; Brendon presses back into it, and grins.

"Totally a date," Brendon tells him. "You're not stealthy."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Busted," he says, dryly. He feels warm, though, warm right down into his stomach and down to his toes. "Does this mean I have to buy you ice cream afterwards?"

"Yes," Brendon says, gleefully. "And a coke with two straws." He grins, lazy and wide. "I might even let you hold my hand if you ask me nicely."

"Hey," Spencer says, flushing a little under Brendon's warm gaze. He wishes they weren't in public. "How about you stop talking, and shoot the fucking ball?"

Brendon just laughs, and bowls.

It's clear within about two minutes of playing that Spencer is hopelessly outclassed.

"I thought you were supposed to be good," Brendon says, when Spencer doesn't even make a spare on his second bowl. He looks far too happy about it for Spencer's liking.

"I am," Spencer says, miserably. "I guess I haven't practiced in a while?"

"The Wii is not practice, dipshit." Brendon tells him. "And there's no way I'm dating a loser, so you'd better get better, quick."

Spencer rolls his eyes, and bowls.



They sneak out and down a staff-only hallway, and make out in between a fire extinguisher and a giant roll of cable.

"Missed this," Brendon tells him, crowding Spencer back against the wall and tangling his fingers in Spencer's hair.

"The hair," Spencer complains, but he doesn't care. There are straightening irons back in the dressing room and they've got time to kill. He'd rather be here, with Brendon licking his way into Spencer's mouth and breathing hard and fast against his skin.

"Want you, you, you," Brendon tells him. "Hate this fucking tour."

"You do not," Spencer says, in between kisses. "You love it."

"Hate not fucking you, though," Brendon says, cupping Spencer's face in his hands. He kisses Spencer slowly, controlling the pace and the intensity until Spencer is whining against his mouth, begging for more. "Miss your fucking collar."

Spencer makes a sound he barely recognizes. "Yeah," he manages, and then his hands are on Brendon's ass, pulling him even closer, and Brendon's kissing him, over and over again.

They've got five minutes alone, and they're not going to waste it.



They have a day off in Maine. After a morning spent wandering around the town, Brendon nudges Spencer in the side and tugs him away from the rest of the crew, who are about to hit up a lobster restaurant for lunch.

"You want to take off?" he asks, curling his fingers around Spencer's elbow. It's strange, because under different circumstances, that would probably make Spencer hard, but Brendon's relaxed and easy, smiling and bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

It's easy for Spencer to say yes.

They eat lunch in a tiny diner where the only table is one right in the back, next to the kitchens. It smells like fried food and hot coffee, and they order so much food it barely fits on the tiny table. They order pancakes and eggs and bacon and toast and hash browns and the biggest mugs of coffee the diner offers, and it all tastes amazing.

When the waitress comes over to refill their coffee mugs, Brendon orders extra sausages and another stack of pancakes.

"I'm hungry," he says, but he doesn't meet Spencer's eyes, concentrating on his pancakes. "And, uh. This. It's on me."

"Okay," Spencer says, softly. Under the table, he bumps his ankle against Brendon's, and Brendon nudges back.

"Yeah," Brendon says, and smiles.



"So," Brendon says, closing the door to the dressing room firmly behind him and crowing Spencer up against the wall. "So, Spence, I've been thinking."

"Oh yeah?" Spencer asks, his head tipping back as Brendon mouths at Spencer's neck. He's sweaty and breathless and his heart's beating fast; the adrenaline's still pumping and they've only been off stage a few minutes. They've got two minutes at best before Dallon and Ian force their way in and demand access to the shower.

"Yeah," Brendon says, deftly unbuttoning Spencer's button fly and sneaking his hand inside Spencer's pants, tugging them down just enough for access. "I've been thinking about tying you to the fucking bed," he goes on, "cuffing you to the bedposts and fingering you and jerking off." He nips at Spencer's ear as he cups Spencer's cock, squeezing a little before jacking him off.

"Fuck," Spencer breathes, his fingers scrabbling at Brendon's hips, pulling him closer. "Fuck, yeah."

"I wouldn't let you come," Brendon carries on, not relaxing his rhythm as Spencer presses up and into his fist. "I wouldn't let you come until I was inside you, until I was fucking you."

Spencer gasps out a breath.

"Fuck," Brendon grinds his own erection against Spencer's thigh. He's sweaty and hot and desperate, a heavy weight against Spencer's chest. Spencer wants him even closer. "I'm going to cuff your wrists and your ankles and put you in your collar and make you crawl."

"Oh," Spencer's voice catches. It's not the first time that Brendon's mentioned the ankle cuffs since the last, fateful time, but it's the first time he's talked about cuffing Spencer to the bed. He catches Brendon's eye, and Brendon grins at him, wide and bright and kind of hopeful. "Brendon -"

Brendon tangles one hand in Spencer's hair and pulls Spencer down to meet his mouth in a kiss. He tastes desperate and hot and Spencer presses even closer, kissing him harder, open-mouthed and loud, and it's almost as if they weren't both grinning madly and trying not to laugh with relief

"Will you spank me if I'm good?" Spencer asks, breathlessly, pulling away.

Brendon whines. "Yes," he says, desperately, rubbing his dick against Spencer's leg. "Fuck, I want you to suck me off."

"Haven't got time," Spencer manages, his hips bucking under Brendon's fist. "The guys -"

"- can fucking wait," Brendon bites out, running his thumb across the tip of Spencer's cock. "Want to fucking hold you there, hands in your hair."

There's a banging on the door. Brendon pulls away long enough to yell, fuck off, and Spencer tips his head back against the wall and follows it up with, "Two minutes, okay?"

"Two minutes?" Brendon runs his tongue along Spencer's lip, still jacking him off. "You're hopeful."

"Fuck off," Spencer says, and nudges Brendon's nose with his own, reaching for a kiss. "We'll be quick."

"Yeah," Brendon manages, and splays his fingers across Spencer's throat.

Spencer groans, loudly. Outside he can hear the guys pacing the hallway, Dallon and Ian and Zack. They haven't got any time.

"Home tomorrow," Brendon tells him, running his fingers across the underside of Spencer's jaw, licking a stripe across his skin.

"Can't fucking wait," Spencer tells him, sincerely. His cock is heavy and hard in Brendon's fist, the beginnings of his orgasm already stirring in his belly as Brendon jacks him. "Going to go down on my knees for you," he says, hot and desperate at the thought. "Wear my fucking collar the whole fucking time. Yours, yours, yours," he gasps, as Brendon bites down on his shoulder and fists him even faster, even tighter.

"You want to crawl, Spence?" Brendon asks. "Want to go on the leash?"

Spencer nods. "Yeah," he manages, "love it." He does. It's not the scary thought it was a few months ago, when they were inching into this whole thing, blind and unaware of what they were getting into. He presses his face into Brendon's neck and then whispers, "Want it all."

Brendon's breath hitches, and then he's tilting Spencer's chin up and staring right at him, saying, "Me too."

Something flares in Spencer's chest, hot and unexpected. His breath stutters, and Brendon slides his thumb across the head of Spencer's cock.

He comes, tipping his head back against the wall. He shuts his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe, even as Brendon jacks him through the comedown.

Someone bangs on the door again.

"Fuck," Brendon manages, his hips still bucking against Spencer's. He yells, "Hang on," and grabs Spencer's hand, dragging him into the tiny bathroom. He's just got the door shut when the door to the dressing room opens.

"Jeez," Zack says, banging on the bathroom door with his fist, "you think the two of you could just keep it in your pants a while longer?"

"No," Brendon calls through the door.

"Don't use all the fucking hot water," Dallon yells back, and Brendon just laughs.

Spencer dazedly pushes open the shower stall, but Brendon stops him with a hand.

"Suck me off?" he asks, and his eyes are warm and bright. He's already undoing his fly hopefully, and loosening his tie.

The floor is probably not all that clean, but Spencer's kind of given up caring. He kneels down on the tiles, and lets Brendon run his fingers through Spencer's hair as he noses at Brendon's cock.

Brendon's hard and leaking and it's easy to take him in, easy to suck at the head while Brendon keens above him, holding him close. Spencer is still a little out of it, still coming down from his orgasm and the adrenaline rush of being on stage earlier. Brendon's a comforting weight against his tongue, and when Brendon slides a hand around the back of Spencer's neck, pulling him closer, Spencer goes gladly. He hums around Brendon's cock, and Brendon whines, pulling at Spencer's hair.

"Spence," Brendon manages. "Fuck, I want to take you home."

Soon, Spencer thinks. He loves being on tour, but he hates the restrictions it puts on the other side of their relationship. It has been kind of good, though, because it's been easier for them to just spend some time together, without the additional pressure of trying to figure out a balance between the sex they want to have with the sex they're comfortable having; the tour has been an opportunity to just hang out and play video games and drink a lot of beer and make out whenever they get five minutes to themselves. They're easier around each other now, and Spencer thinks that maybe he needed time just as much as Brendon did. He's more at ease defining the things that he and Brendon do together now; when he thinks about his collar or the cuffs or the way his heart speeds up whenever Brendon catches his wrists together, he no longer has to fight to relax into it, - it just feels natural.

It's easier to admit what he likes, now, both to himself and to Brendon. It's easier to enjoy it, to talk about what he wants to do and what he doesn't, and everything's better as a result.

Brendon tugs on Spencer's hair, and maybe it's the adrenaline or the promise of being at home at some point in the next day, but his cock twitches in his lap. He hums around Brendon's cock, and he shifts back a little, concentrating on lapping at the slit.

Brendon groans, and Spencer meets his gaze. Brendon's eyes are dark, dark for him, and this is it. This is everything.

He reaches up, not taking his eyes off Brendon, and strokes at Brendon's balls. He slides his hand in between Brendon's thighs, and Brendon's hips buck as Spencer runs his fingertips over the pale skin behind his balls.

"Fuck," Brendon gasps, his hands tightening in Spencer's hair. "Fuck, fuck."

Spencer shifts a little, taking in more of Brendon's cock. He fingers at Brendon's asshole, and above him, Brendon keens.

"Spencer," Brendon manages, "fuck. So fucking good."

It's barely a minute before Brendon's coming, his hands tightening in Spencer's hair. Spencer swallows as much as he can, Brendon's hips still bucking, but then he pulls off and sits back on his heels. Brendon's leaning back against the wall, breathless and red-faced, his cock still half-hard and wet from Spencer's spit.

"Are you two done in there?" Zack calls, thumping on the bathroom door.

"Just coming," Brendon says, grinning. He's still breathless, his hand in Spencer's hair.

Spencer stifles a laugh, and leans into Brendon's hand.

"You better be," Zack tells them. "If I don't hear water running in the next sixty seconds, I'm coming in, don't think I won't."

"We're showering," Spencer yells. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. He knows there's come on his chin.

"Fuck, the two of you couldn't keep it buttoned until tomorrow?"

"Fuck you," Brendon lazily thumps the door with his fist.

Spencer grins, and curls his hand around Brendon's knee. He leans in and presses a kiss to Brendon's hip. His knees are sore but he doesn't care.

Brendon holds him there for a moment, close and still. Then he helps Spencer up onto his feet, and then into the shower stall, grabbing their bag of toiletries as he turns the shower on. The water's lukewarm at first, but it soon heats up. There's barely room for the two of them to move in the tiny stall, but they've showered together enough that they're used to keeping their elbows in and staying pressed close together.

Spencer reaches for the shampoo and holds it out, like a question.

Brendon just grins, which is answer enough. Spencer pours some into his palm and then starts soaping Brendon's hair, running his fingers through the damp strands, massaging his scalp. Brendon groans, his head tipping back.

"Like that, huh?" Spencer asks.

Brendon hits him lazily in the side. "Fuck you," he says. He sounds sleepy and happy. "Here, let me do you."

Spencer shifts, and then Brendon's sliding soap-wet fingers into Spencer's hair, pulling just a little, just enough to have Spencer's fingers stilling in Brendon's hair.

"Don't stop," Brendon says, kind of quietly, only just audible over the patter of the shower.

Spencer leans in and presses his mouth to Brendon's. It's weird and wet, and soap runs down their faces and down onto their shoulders. Brendon moves even closer, and then they're kissing, right there under the water.

Spencer's hands shift until he's cupping Brendon's face. Brendon's hand is in the small of Spencer's back, holding him close, and Brendon hums against his mouth. They kiss until the water starts to run lukewarm again, and Spencer leans over and shuts the shower off.

"Home tomorrow," Brendon says. Water slides down his skin, freckled and wet.

"Yeah," Spencer says, softly.

"Yeah," Brendon echoes. He curls his fingers into Spencer's, and Spencer smiles.