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Just Like Sunny Days

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Brendon's been playing for hours when he looks up and sees Spencer leaning against the door to the practice room, watching him. He hasn't been practicing anything in particular, just playing around, and he's relaxed and feeling silly, so he grins at Spencer and plays a few bars of "Crash Into Me."

Spencer does a really hilarious Dave Matthews impersonation, and he indulges Brendon and sings softly for him, barely pronouncing any consonants and exaggerating the slide over vowels just to make Brendon laugh. He never sings for long, though, so after a minute it's just Brendon and his guitar again. He keeps strumming, enjoying the simplicity of the chord progression. He's thinking about writing something similar, playing around with two or three different chords and seeing if he can write something complex around such a simple base.

Spencer says, "So, um, when we were talking about maybe bringing somebody else in to play with us, were you serious?"

Brendon stops playing and looks up at Spencer quickly. "Right now?" he asks softly. Spencer springs things on him sometimes, and he fucking loves it, but there's always an initial rush of terror, of not knowing what's going on.

Spencer shakes his head and says, "No."

Brendon nods and lets out a deep breath. "Not now, but...?"

"There's somebody," Spencer tells him. "If you want to, there's a guy that would be really good, and he's willing to do it, um, more than willing, he's really into the idea. It's actually--"

Brendon says, "Don't tell me."

Spencer looks at him, quirking a smile.

Brendon says, "I kind of." He lets out a shaky laugh, and he's already thinking about it, already feeling the anticipation and arousal building in his gut. He says, "I like the idea of not knowing who he is until it's, you know. Happening."

"So you were serious when we were talking about it?"

Brendon nods, says, "Yeah. I. Yeah."

Spencer sits down on one of Brendon's amps and says. "So, okay, let's talk about it."

Brendon shakes his head. He hates talking about it. He just wants it to happen.

Spencer says, "This isn't just you and me fucking around. And he's, he needs to know your limits."

Brendon says, "You know my limits. You can tell him."

Spencer nods and scratches his palm. "So, they're the same as they are with me?"

"Will you be there? Or will it just...will it just be him and me?"

"I'll be there," Spencer says. "What we talked about, he kind of. He's new to it, just figuring it out, and we talked about him and me both hurting you so I'd be there to show him how to do it right. He, um, how much do you want to know about the stuff he's into?"

Brendon sighs and thinks about it. He hates talking about it, but sometimes the waiting, the not know is worse. He says, "You can. Anything you think I should know."

"He's bi," Spencer says. "Sort of. He's mostly straight with, like, occasional forays into guys.. And he's spanked a few girlfriends, tried a couple of things but never really seriously because, well. He's never felt comfortable, like, going to a bar or a play party or anything. We were. I went over to his place and he showed me the toys he's got. He likes straps a lot, belts, he's got this awesome fucking quirt that just looks...vicious."

Brendon shivers, thinking about the bite and sting. Spencer's never hit him with a quirt before.

"He has one pair of cuffs, but they're not the best quality. I told him we had our own. He's really into bondage, too, so I want to make sure you're okay with that. I know sometimes it freaks you out."

Brendon says, "Not a gag. Or earplugs."

Spencer says, "Okay. Blindfold?"

Brendon takes a deep breath. If he can talk, if he can hear, he thinks a blindfold will be okay. "Yeah. If you want to, you can. And you can tie me up however you want."

"You sure?"

He nods. "Does he want, like, leather cuffs? Or handcuffs? Or rope?"

"The cuffs he has are leather. I'll talk to him about what his ideal restraints would be. Probably, we'll just use ours."

Brendon says, "Is he going to fuck me?"

"He's not really into that. Not you personally, just. Dudes aren't usually his scene and he thinks he'll be more comfortable if there's no sex."

Brendon closes his eyes and he can feel himself blushing. He's holding his guitar tight against his lap, like it can protect him. He says, "I don't know if. If he's not into it, then I don't--" He sighs and shakes his head.

Spencer says, "Hey, come on, let's go sit on the couch, okay?"

Brendon nods. Talking things through is uncomfortable even when he wants to, but he can do it easier when he's curled up in Spencer's arms.

They snuggle up on the couch, Brendon's legs over Spencer's lap, leaning against him with his face pressed to Spencer's neck. When Spencer pulls a blanket over them, he feels perfect, protected and safe.

"You want him to fuck you?" Spencer asks.

Brendon says, "Would you be mad?"

Spencer scratches the back of Brendon's neck and says, "Mad at what?"

"At me. If I wanted you to watch another guy fuck me. Would you be disappointed in me?"

Spencer says, "No. Not if it's not a secret. It's the secret that would hurt me, not the sex."

Brendon nods, because he feels the same way. He says, "If you ever. I know you want girls sometimes."

Spencer says, "You know it's not like some sort of hardship, being with you. You know I don't feel like I was giving anything up, being with a man instead of a woman."

Brendon says, "I know." Because he does. Spencer's shown him in so many ways how happy he is that they're together, how much Brendon is loved. He smiles and squeezes Spencer tight and feels so fucking lucky. "But if you ever wanted. I mean, if you wanted to bring in a girl to, like, I don't even know. I don't know if you'd want to hurt her or if you'd just want to have sex but, like. As long as I'm a part of it and we talk about it first, I'm down. Okay?"

Spencer says, "Yeah. Okay."

"But I've never. I don't know if I can do it when it's not sex, you know? I don't know how I'd, like. Satisfy him."

Spencer kisses Brendon's temple and says, "I could be totally satisfied by you even if we never fucked again."

Brendon says, "Really?"

"Don't get me wrong. I'm really, really into sex with you, but that's not all I like. I like just, you know. Chilling right here with you. And playing music with you. And I like hurting you on a level that's not even about sex. Like, fine, it's always sexy, but sometimes what I'm feeling most is pride."

"At a really well-aimed stripe of the cane?" Brendon asks.

"Well, sometimes. But mostly I'm proud of you. And so fucking impressed at how much you can take. And kind of awed that I get to do this with you. So there's a lot that's not about sex for me."

Brendon nods and thinks about that, but his feelings for Spencer are so jumbled up together he doesn't think he could separate the way Spencer hurts him from the way Spencer takes care of him from the way Spencer turns him on. He says, "I don't think I could be happy if we stopped having sex."

Spencer touches their foreheads together and says, "That's a relief."

They make out lazily, until Bogart starts whining at the back door to go out. Brendon lets him out, goes out with him and tips his face up to the sun. It's warm, even though the winter air is cool. He smiles when Spencer comes up behind him, leans back into Spencer's embrace and laughs when Spencer's beard tickles at his neck.

"You want to go out tonight?" Spencer asks.

"Like, club out or bar out or food out?"

"Food out. Why, do you want to dance?"

Brendon shakes his head. He loves to dance, but he's not feeling any particular urge to at the moment. He says, "What about that Italian place right on the PCH?"

"The Sage Room?"


Spencer kisses the back of his neck and says, "I'll go make reservations."

Brendon gets pumpkin ravioli in a butter and sage sauce and groans around the first bite. He shares it with Spencer, though, since Spencer shares his black truffle and brie veal scaloppini. They drink red wine and let their feet bump together under the table and Brendon looks at Spencer and tries to remember the time before, when they weren't in love, but he can't. He doesn't mind. He likes feeling like they've been in love forever.

When they get home, they cuddle together on the couch watching TV, kissing during the commercials and feeling each other up. They're both breathless, late night talk show forgotten, when Spencer says, "Bed. Want you to fuck me." And, oh, hell yes.

Brendon presses into him slow, smiles and kisses Spencer's mouth when he groans and winds one leg around Brendon's hips to pull him in further. Brendon says, "Hi, there," once he's all the way inside.

Spencer says, "You can actually, you know. Fuck me."

Brendon rolls his hips, feels Spencer clench around him, and groans. He starts to thrust slowly, because they so rarely do this. It's not that either one of them is opposed to it. Brendon loves fucking Spencer, and Spencer makes the prettiest, neediest noises when Brendon's inside of him. They just...usually do other things, is all.

He starts slow, but it feels so good and Spencer's moaning softly and urging him on, saying, "Come on," and, "I need it," and, "More." He kisses Spencer, needy and breathless, and Spencer kisses back and twists his fingers hard in Brendon's hair and tugs just right.

Spencer comes pulling on Brendon's hair, jerking himself off and whimpering and gasping out, "Love you, fuck, Brendon." And he shudders and holds on as Brendon fucks into him harder, says, "Do it, want to feel it, do it."

He yanks Brendon's hair again and Brendon gasps and his hips stutter and he kisses Spencer as he comes even though it's really their open mouths pressed together.

They sleep for a while, then Brendon lets Spencer urge him up and into the shower where they make out and laugh and soap each other up way more than what's required to get them clean.

Once they're out and drying off, Spencer sinks to his knees on the cotton bathmat and Brendon clings to the edge of the counter and lets his head fall back as he fucks into Spencer's mouth.

In the morning, he wakes up warm curled against Spencer's chest. He kisses Spencer's sharp collarbones, bites and licks at them until Spencer stirs and his palm strokes gentle down Brendon's back.

"Wanna spend the whole day in bed?" Brendon asks as he straddles Spencer's hips. "Wanna see how many times we can make each other come?"

Spencer laughs and strokes Brendon's hair and says, "Fuck, I wish."

"Why not?" Brendon asks. He reaches down and takes both their cocks in his hand. He can't reach all the away around them, but the friction is still good.

"Because we have to go to the bank and then see our accountants and sign more papers for the label and finalize when we're going to do those acoustic shows and and interview that guitarist and--"

Brendon says, "Screw that guy. I like Ian."

"We said we'd talk to him," Spencer says. "The label really likes him. Even if we're not looking forward to it, it would be shitty to leave him hanging without even giving him a chance."

Brendon says, "Being responsible sucks."

Spencer says, "I wanna watch you jerk yourself off while you ride my cock."

Brendon collapses on the bed, after, sucks his come off his fingers and watches Spencer get up through sleepy, half-open eyes. "Today is totally the best day to stay in bed," he says.

"Mmm-hmm," says Spencer. He comes back into their room a moment later with a warm washcloth and wipes Brendon down. Brendon's cock is still sensitive, and he whimpers when Spencer drags the cloth over it, then bites his lip hard when he sees the amused glint in Spencer's eyes.

"Bed," Brendon says again, smiling as Spencer palms his cock. It's slick with lube, not their usual kind but something almost a little oily. "Totally bed all day, right?"

Spencer's amused grin turns evil, and he shakes his head. "Nope."

And then Brendon sees the molded silicone in Spencer's hand. He knows exactly what it is. He'd been the one to ask for it, after all, had been the one to tell Spencer what he wanted. What he thought he'd wanted. He says, "No, no, please."

Spencer hums softly and kneels between Brendon's legs, quickly and gently slides his cock into the chastity device and locks it securely behind his balls.

Brendon's stomach drops and he looks down at his cock, now securely locked up in a translucent cage. He thinks about Spencer taking him out to dinner, offering to take him dancing. He thinks about making out with Spencer on the couch and three orgasms in less than twelve hours and he says, "You set me up."

Spencer says, "This was your idea."

"But," Brendon huffs. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to safeword, and he had really wanted to try it, has wanted to try it for years. "I'm, I can't just, like, go to the fucking accountant like this."

"Of course you can," Spencer tells him. "I did my research. It's the least noticeable and most comfortable chastity device on the market, so, you're welcome."

Brendon whimpers and rolls his hips and he's angry and frustrated and he can't catch his breath. "Please," he says, shaking his head. He wants to come, he needs to, even though just moments before he'd been too sensitive to even touch. "Fuck, Spencer, I can't. I can't do this. We'll do it some other time, okay? Please."

Spencer strokes his hair and shushes him, whispers soft words and kisses him gently. "It's okay," he says. "It'll be okay. Three days will pass like nothing. You'll see."

"Three days?" Brendon asks. He doesn't know if he's gone three days without coming since his first wet dream.

Spencer says, "It's so soft and flexible, you won't even remember you're wearing it."

"Then you wear it," Brendon says grumpily.

Spencer grins and nips at his chin. "I already did. How do you think I know how comfortable it is?" He sits up and rolls off the bed, comes back with a pair of lacy, pale blue, boy cut panties. He says, "Put these on."

Brendon whimpers again. Spencer knows how dirty and hot Brendon feels in panties. He knows how much it turns Brendon on, and he knows Brendon can't even get hard with the fucking silicone cage on his cock, and it's not fair.

Spencer's voice is firm and his eyes are dark when he says, "Put them on, Brendon. Now."

Brendon scrambles to pull them up, shivers at the way the lace feels over his ass and on his balls.

Spencer smiles at him, slides his hand up Brendon's thigh and over his hip, rubbing at the lace right over the jut of his hipbone. "Knew you'd look fucking hot in these," he says. "Now get dressed. Wear something professional. We're leaving in fifteen minutes."

Brendon wears black pants and a bulky cream sweater that Spencer likes because he says it makes Brendon look innocent. He runs his fingers through his hair and uses a little water and gel to make it mostly behave, forgoes his contacts in favor of his black-rimmed glasses, and within ten minutes, they're in the car heading towards the bank.

They meet with the label's favorite guitarist next, hang out at his apartment and talk about music and influences and he's a cool guy, but he and Brendon and Spencer all come to the same conclusion, which is that he's totally not the guitarist for them.

They head to the label's offices after that, and Brendon really has forgotten that he's wearing panties and a cock cage under his clothes until he sees Spencer smirking at him. Then he flushes and looks down and wonders if people can tell, if they're looking at him and thinking he's dirty and depraved and if they're going to talk about it once he's gone.

Their accountant's office is halfway to Pasadena, and when they're still twenty minutes away, Spencer says, "Pull your pants down. I want to see your panties while I drive."

Brendon takes a deep breath, because, yeah, Spencer's windows are tinted, but it's the middle of the day and they're on the fucking Santa Monica Freeway.

Spencer's so fucking calm when he says, "Let me see your panties, Brendon. Now."

Brendon unfastens his pants and lifts his hips so he can pull them down to mid-thigh.

Spencer says, "Pull the sweater up."

If Brendon could get hard, he'd be so fucking hard. As it is, he's turned on in a way that's making him a little dizzy, turned on all over, every inch of his skin as sensitive and needy as his cock usually is.

Spencer says, "Your panties are so fucking pretty, baby."

Brendon says, "Thank you," and whimpers and closes his eyes. Spencer lets him pull his pants back up before they get off the freeway, but Brendon's still shaky and he needs....something.

Spencer says, "I think Earl already knows you’re a pervert. Do you think he wants to see that pretty lace over your ass?"

Earl is their accountant, and he's everything Brendon ever imagined an accountant to be. He's middle aged and bland and kind of boring and he's really, really good with money. He wears short-sleeved button-ups and clip on ties and he's got a picture of his wife and his kids and his dog on his desk. Brendon can't imagine anyone more vanilla.

"Do you want me to make you show Earl your panties?" Spencer asks as he pulls into the parking garage just across the street from Earl's office building.

"No," Brendon whispers, shaking his head. The very idea is making shame curl through him that's terrible and wonderful and he doesn't know what to do.

"But if I told you to show Earl your panties, what would you do?"

Brendon closes his eyes and whispers, "I'd show him."

Spencer hum is approving, and Brendon feels proud.

Spencer doesn't make Brendon show Earl his panties, of course. Brendon knew he wouldn't, even as the thought of it terrified him. Spencer is nothing but professional and polite. He asks all the smart questions, and Brendon can tell that Earl likes Spencer best. He doesn't take it personally. He's not irresponsible with his money, but talking about investment strategies and tax shelters doesn't excite him the way it does Spencer.

They have a late lunch at a little Thai place in Santa Monica and Brendon's earlier nerves and dizziness have turned into an endorphin rush that makes him mellow. He smiles lazily at Spencer over his delicious iced coffee, then laughs a little bit after eating a dumpling, saying, "Heh. It's made with ginger."

Spencer grins back at him. "You doing okay?"

Brendon nods. "Yeah. I'm." He looks around to make sure no one's listening in. He says, "My skin's just. Tingling all over." He has to fight the urge to giggle for no reason.

Spencer says, "You look like you're a little high."

Brendon grins and nods and says, "A little bit. It's a trip. I'm. I can do three days. I'm sure I can. I'm sorry I was so resistant this morning."

Spencer says, "You don't have to apologize for that. And you know what to say if you want to stop it."

Brendon nods and eats another dumpling and says, "It's cool. I'm good." And he is.


It's weird waking up without morning wood, without being able to jerk off first thing. It's especially weird since Spencer's cock is pressing hard against his hip, since Spencer presses him onto his belly and works him open with lubed fingers and fucks him slow and sleep-lazy.

He's so much more aware of the way his nipples drag across the sheets, the feeling of Spencer's breath on the back of his neck, the stretch and slide of Spencer's cock inside him. Spencer comes with a low moan, and when he pulls out and drops back down onto the mattress, Brendon can feel how sated he is, his entire body relaxed.

Brendon feels twitchy again, almost ready to crawl out of his skin. He'd started to get hard but the cage had held tight, making it painful and impossible to even get halfway aroused. He needs something, needs more, and he whispers, "Spence, come on, hurt me at least. I need you to, fuck. The cane? If I can't come, will you at least hurt me?"

Spencer rubs Brendon's back lazily and murmurs, "Later," before he falls back to sleep.

Brendon can't sleep, so he gets up and showers, spends a couple of minutes in the shower soaping up his cock and seeing if he can get it to slip free from it's prison. He can't, and he laughs, frustrated, and rests his forehead against the wall and shoves his fingers up his ass to see if it helps at all. It doesn't, really, and he's just as on edge when he gives up as he was when he began.

He picks up the living room, because Spencer likes it when he picks up after himself, and if he makes Spencer happy, maybe Spencer won't make him wait the full three days. He makes everything as neat as he can, then he makes pancakes and coffee and cuts up fruit and carries everything upstairs on a tray to where Spencer's still asleep.

"Breakfast in bed, huh?" Spencer asks, wiping the sleep out of his eyes as he sits up. He picks up the large wooden spoon and looks at for a moment, then grins at Brendon. "The better to eat my pancakes with?" he asks.

Brendon says, "No. Just. If you wanted to, um. Punish me. I thought I'd make it easy for you."

Spencer says, "Punish, or reward?"

Brendon shrugs and eats a slice of cantaloupe with his fingers and looks away.

Spencer says, "Top drawer on the right. The black ones."

Brendon pads over to their dresser and pulls open the top drawer. On the left is their usual jumble of socks, but on the right there are half a dozen different pairs of panties and assorted other frilly things. There's a black pair on top, boycut again, cotton with tiny white polka dots and white lace trim around the legs. He says, "These?"

Spencer pours syrup over his pancakes and nods.

Brendon pulls them on, and they're soft and they fit perfectly. They fit like...he blushes when he realizes that Spencer hadn't just gone to Victoria's Secret. The panties are cut for his body, for a man's body. Spencer had taken the time to find someplace that sold panties just for men, and that somehow makes it feel even dirtier.

Spencer says, "There's a camisole that goes with it."

Brendon looks in the drawer and pulls it out. It could almost just be a tank top, but the straps are thin and delicate and there's lace on the hem and a tiny white bow in the middle of the chest. He pulls it on, too, and looks back at Spencer. The dark look in Spencer's eyes makes him thrill, makes him think there's no way Spencer will be able to resist at least turning Brendon over his knee and giving him a good spanking.

He climbs back into bed, and he and Spencer eat pancakes and try not to get syrup or coffee on their sheets, though with all the kissing they do between bites, it's inevitable that they'll fail.

Brendon says, "Can we, God, can we play the school game again? Like, I'm sent to you because I got caught wearing panties under my uniform, and you make me show you and I'm so turned on and embarrassed and you just, you spank me and then you make me suck your cock and--"

Spencer kisses him hard and says. "Hold that thought. I'm going to shower."

Brendon takes a deep breath when Spencer leaves, then when he hears the shower running, he takes their breakfast tray back down to the kitchen and even rinses the dishes before he puts them in the dishwasher. He totally listens when Spencer complains about crusty food on their plates, he just usually doesn't care.

He goes back upstairs and looks through his closet, trying to find something that looks like it might be a school uniform. He puts on khakis and a white button-down shirt and his navy v-neck sweater.

Spencer comes back from the shower while Brendon's tugging the cuffs of his button-down out past the cuffs of his sweater, and he says, "Cool, you're dressed. Dog park today?"

Brendon looks at him with wide eyes and says, "Are you fucking kidding me? Dog park what the fuck?"

Spencer smiles at him and says, "We haven't taken Bogart to the dog park in forever. You know how much he loves it."

Brendon boggles, and he doesn't even know what to say after Spencer's dressed and heading downstairs. He follows after a moment and calls, "Seriously, what the fuck?"

Spencer calls back up the stairs, "Dog park, and then shopping. We need food."

Brendon whines and he might even stomp his foot, but nobody's there to see him do it, so he's just going to pretend it never happened.

On the way to the dog park, Spencer says, "You're going to show somebody your panties today. You don't have a choice about that. Only, you do get to choose who you show. So I want you to think about that, look at everybody and take your time and figure out who gets to see what a dirty little boy you are."

Brendon whimpers high enough in his throat that it makes Bogart jerk to attention in his lap. He says, "Spencer. No. Please."

Spencer says, "Sometimes it's really hard being the only person in the world who knows you're a pervert. Today, I'm going to share that burden with someone, okay? So when we're at the dog park, you pick somebody out." His voice goes low when he says, "You don't want me to have to pick someone for you."

When the get to the dog park, Bogart barks happily and wiggles in Brendon's lap and in his arms and tugs and tugs on his leash until they're finally inside the fence and Brendon can unhook his leash and let him run free.

Spencer lobs a tennis ball and Bogart chases after it, rolls with it in the grass before racing back and dropping the ball at Spencer's feet. Spencer lobs it again, then again. His arm never seems to get tired, and Brendon suspects that Bogart would chase tennis balls every minute of his life if he could.

Spencer says, "You see anybody, yet?"

There's a young woman with a toddler and a cocker spaniel off to their left. A couple in their fifties with two greyhounds. A woman in her thirties with her hair in braided pigtails and some sort of German shepherd mix. An older guy with a Chihuahua. Brendon doesn't know. He takes a deep breath and tries to concentrate on how happy Bogart is, the way he yips and spins around while waiting for Spencer to lob the tennis ball once more.

After half an hour or so, Bogart drops the sobbery ball at Spencer's feet and lays down next to it, panting happily, tail wagging. Spencer says, "You've got five minutes."

Brendon looks at everyone at the dog park. The guy who Brendon thinks is probably on one of the nighttime soap operas he and Spencer make fun of. The blonde who's definitely been in at least one movie he's seen before. The guy who's obviously a tourist since he's wearing a t-shirt when it's barely 60 degrees out.

Spencer says, "Well?"

Brendon tips his head towards the woman in pigtails. "Her," he whispers. "If I have to...I think. Her."

Spencer nods and says, "Okay. So go tell her you're a dirty boy and you want to show her your panties."

Brendon looks over at him with wide eyes.

Spencer raises one eyebrow and waits.

Brendon says, "Fender. I can't. I'm sorry, Spence. I'm sorry I can't--"

Spencer says, "Fuck, if I could hold you down and make out with you right now, well, I'd scandalize a lot of innocent people. Jesus, baby, I thought you knew I was just fucking with your head."

Brendon shakes his head and says, "I can't. I can't think. I'm turned on even though I can't--" He glances around. "Even though I can't get hard," he whispers. "I'm so fucking turned on and I can't think and just, fuck. I need."

Spencer says, "Let's go drop Bogart off at the house and then hit the store. You up for it? You can stay home, too, if you want."

Brendon says, "I don't know. Can I decide when we get home?"

Spencer says, "Sure."

By the time they get home and he refills Bogart's water dish, Brendon feels steady again, less like he's about to panic. When Spencer twirls his keychain around his fingers, Brendon says, "I'll come to the store with you. I'm good."

Spencer kisses him gently and asks, "You sure?"

Brendon nods.

"Listen to me," Spencer whispers, slipping his hand beneath Brendon's sweater, beneath the camisole so he can stroke his bare spine. "You never, ever have to apologize for using your safeword, okay? I thought you knew I was just fucking with you, but I was wrong, and you did the right thing tapping out like that."

Brendon nods. Logically he knows that's true, but he still feels a little bit like a failure.

Spencer says, "This isn't about you doing whatever I say, no matter what. This is about you and me both getting off on doing weird shit that we both enjoy, all right?"

Brendon nods again.

Spencer says, "Okay. Change of plans. We'll go to the store later. Right now we're going to get into bed and I'm going to kiss you, like, all over. Sound good?"

Brendon sighs happily, because it does.

After he's stripped out of his shirt and sweater and pants, Brendon pulls at the hem of his camisole and says, "Can I leave these on?"

"If you want to," Spencer says. He's completely naked when he slides beneath the covers, scoots over and holds them up so Brendon can climb in next to him. Brendon likes the slide of the smooth cotton against his skin, likes the bite of lace at his thighs and over the bottom curve of his ass. He likes how dirty and slutty it makes him feel, even if he can't get hard.

Spencer kisses his mouth first, kisses him so slow and sweet that Brendon's dizzy with it. He kisses Brendon's jaw and his neck, kisses across his collarbones, spends five minutes kissing his way down Brendon's left arm, kissing each of his fingertips and the palm of his hand.

Brendon whispers, "I don't want you to be disappointed in me."

"That's not possible," Spencer says. He pushes the camisole up and kisses Brendon's stomach. He says, "I'm going a little crazy, too. Not like you are, but. You have no idea how hard it was to keep from flipping you over and spanking you until you cried this morning."

"Why didn't you?" Brendon asks.

"Because I'm saving it. I've got something planned for tomorrow night that's just. I think it's going to be awesome." He pushes the camisole up a little further, kisses Brendon's ribs and his chest. "If I'm wrong, tell me I'm wrong, okay? Do the exact same thing you did today and safeword out of it if you're not as into it as I think you will be. But I think. It's going to be really great."

Brendon nods. Without the distraction of his cock getting hard, Spencer kissing him all over makes him think less about sex and more about how much Spencer loves him, how much he loves Spencer back. He says, "Come up here and kiss me. Just, make out with me, okay?"

Spencer hums happily and pushes up and the way he drapes his body over Brendon's as they kiss feels even better than pain.


The third day, Brendon wakes up before Spencer and stares at him, willing him to stir. He bounces on the bed a little bit, coughs, bounces some more.

Spencer opens one eye and says, "Brendon. What?"

"It's the third day," Brendon tells him. "It's Brendon Gets to Come day. So wake up and do whatever you want to do to me and let me come."

Spencer smiles and reaches out to rub Brendon's arm. He says, "Tonight. Not now. Tonight."

Brendon sighs. "Change of plans?" he asks hopefully. "You changed your plans yesterday, you can change them right now."

"We've got shit to do today," Spencer reminds him.

Brendon says, "No more guitarists. No more accountants. No more--"

"Lunch with Patrick," Spencer says.

Brendon slumps back against his pillows and says. "Oh. Right. Well, we can reschedule, and then--"

"Lunch with Patrick," Spencer says. "Play after."

Brendon crosses his arms over his chest and says, "Fine."

It's not that Brendon doesn't want to have lunch with Patrick, because he does. He freaking loves that dude, and lunch always turns into them talking about music for a million hours or jamming or Patrick playing him some obscure funk band that Brendon falls instantly in love with. So hanging out with Patrick is always a good time, it's just that hanging out with Patrick isn't orgasms.

When Brendon's getting ready, Spencer hands him a pair of black lace panties and says, "Put these on."

Brendon sighs. Going to hang out with Patrick while wearing a chastity device on his cock is weird enough, but panties? He says, "Wearing panties while hanging out with people we know is going to be really weird."

Spencer says, "Maybe I'll have you show Patrick your panties."

Brendon says, "Har, har, very funny," but the thought sends a shiver of pleasurable shame through him. He pulls them on, sheer black lace that stretches obscenely over his cock and pulls just right over his ass. They're higher cut at the hips than the other ones had been, edged in hot pink lace with a pink satin bow on each hip. He feels somehow that he's wearing panties even more than he had been the past two days. It might be the cut, or it might be the bows, but they make him feel dirtier than any other pair he's ever put on.

On the drive, Spencer says, "No, seriously, I think Patrick would like to see you in your panties. I mean, fuck, they look great on you. The way they cling to your ass and the contrast between your abs and that soft lace." He grins wide. "Plus, it would be awesome if he knew what a little slut you were."

Brendon tries not to let any of Spencer's teasing have an effect on him, but he can't help squirming in his seat.

They actually have lunch at Patrick's house, which is a little weird since Patrick cooks about as enthusiastically as Brendon does, which is to say not at all. He makes a mean turkey sandwich, though, and the sodas are cold out of the fridge, and Brendon settles in for an afternoon of music talk and jamming.

Brendon's only eaten half of his sandwich when he notices Patrick falling silent with more and more regularity. He starts answering Brendon's questions in one or two words, and he's looking away or down at his plate, and he doesn't even seem excited when Brendon tells him about the David Bowie bootleg he just got from a show in London in the early 80s.

Brendon says, "You okay, man?"

"Sure," says Patrick. He's not really eating, just picking at his turkey sandwich.

"You seem kind of...down."

Spencer says, "Maybe if you showed him your panties he'd cheer up."

Brendon whips his head up and stares at Spencer.

Spencer smiles at him, a curling, lazy smile filled with heat. He says, "Show Patrick your panties, Brendon."

Brendon looks over at Patrick and he's trying frantically to think of something to say, some way to play it off as a joke or a prank or--

Patrick's looking at Brendon with intense eyes, and his cheeks have gone a little pink. He says, "Let me see them."

Brendon takes a shaky breath and says, "Oh." He pushes back from the table and stands up, swallows hard, and his hands are shaking a little bit as he unbuttons his jeans. He pushes them down to mid-thigh, then looks back up at Patrick.

He's never seen Patrick look at him the way Patrick's looking at him in that moment. He's never seen heat like that in Patrick's eyes. It shoots right through him and, fuck, it would go straight to his cock but it can't so he just feels like he's too big for his skin, like he needs something, somebody to fuck him or slap him or choke him, anything to calm him down.

"All the way off," Patrick says. There's a little waver in his voice, like he's nervous. "Your shirt, too."

Brendon strips down and stands there in front of Spencer and Patrick wearing nothing but black lacy panties. They're both looking at him. Spencer takes another bite of his sandwich and washes it down with a swig of Coke.

Patrick says, "Turn around. Slowly." His voice is steady, now.

Brendon turns, feels them both looking at him and it feels so good.

Patrick says, "Fuck, your ass."

Spencer chuckles softly and says, "I know, right?"

Brendon feels ridiculously proud. He wants them to like looking at him. He wants to please them.

"Did you lock him up like you said you were going to?" Patrick asks.

"Yeah. He hasn't had an orgasm or a spanking in days. He's gagging for it. Well, he's always gagging for it, but now even more than usual." He says, "Pull your panties down so Patrick can see the cage I put on your cock, Brendon."

Brendon turns back to face them, tugs his panties down just to the tops of his thighs.

Patrick says, "Does it really work? It looks like he can get out of it."

"How many times did you try to get out of it?" Spencer asks Brendon.

Brendon flushes and looks down, ashamed. "Once," he whispers.


"I couldn't. I tried...I needed...I thought maybe even if I couldn't get it off, I could get some relief if I fingered myself, but it didn't help."

Spencer says, "Such a dirty boy, Brendon." He stands and digs his keys out of his pocket, tosses them to Patrick. He says, "There's a duffle bag in my truck."

Patrick nods and gets up from the table. Brendon closes his eyes. He hears Spencer's feet on the floor, feels the warmth of Spencer's skin even before they touch.

Spencer strokes his hair and his cheek, down his neck and shoulder, down his arm. He says, "You okay with this?"

Brendon nods. He's shaky and he's got fear cramping his gut the way he always does when he waiting for it to start, when he has to anticipate and imagine what's going to happen instead of just experiencing it, but it's good. He wants it. He thinks about Patrick hitting him with a belt, and he shivers.

Spencer takes his hand and squeezes gently, he says, "Come on," and gives Brendon a little tug.

Brendon follows Spencer into the living room. There's a sheet draped over Patrick's four-thousand dollar modern art armchair, leather cushions and a gleaming walnut frame.

There's a bowl of chocolates, bottles of water, and an assortment of leather impact toys already laid out on Patrick's coffee table. Brendon whimpers and his hands clench into fists because he wants to touch his cock but he can't, wants to get hard but he can already feel the silicone stopping him.

Spencer says, "Kneel on the chair."

Brendon climbs up onto the chair and leans forward resting his arms on the back. He shivers again when he feels Spencer tugging his panties back up.

"Stay there," Spencer tells him. "Keep your eyes closed. Don't move. Don't speak."

Brendon nods and listens to Patrick coming into the room. He hears the sound of the duffle bag hitting the floor, hears the zipper as it's opened. He wonders what Spencer brought with him, but he doesn't look and he doesn't ask.

Spencer says, "Do you want to do it?"

Patrick says, "I don't really. Show me, and I'll just follow your lead."

Then Spencer's fingers are gentle on Brendon's ankle, lifting it up a little bit to get the cuff underneath. Then Patrick's doing the same with his other ankle, and he can tell that Patrick's new to it, can feel how he's hesitating and fumbling with the straps a little bit before he gets the ankle cuff fastened.

"One notch tighter," Spencer says, and Brendon feels Patrick's fingers on his skin again. "But before you do that, rotate it so the notch fits right under the bottom of his fibula."

"His what?"

"Ankle bone," Spencer says. "See how it fits right into that notch?"

Patrick doesn't say anything, but Brendon feels him rotate the cuff and then fasten it a little tighter.

"Now, do like this," Spencer says, and Brendon feels his fingers slip beneath the cuff and run around it, over the skin of his ankle. "You want it secure, but not so tight it cuts off circulation."

Patrick's fingers slip beneath the cuff on his other ankle, and he gives it a quick tug.

When Brendon feels Spencer's hand on his arm, he makes it go limp so Spencer can pull it behind his back. He breathes deeply as Spencer fastens another cuff around his wrist. The cuffs are a deep, rich purple, the color chosen by Spencer because he liked the way it looked against Brendon's skin. The ankle cuffs match. They've also got a collar in the same hue, and Brendon hopes Spencer doesn't put it on him next. The way the collar presses tight against his throat, the way it makes him feel, it's too intimate for anyone else, even Patrick, to see.

Spencer doesn't put the collar on him, and Brendon sighs as instead, Spencer starts talking about how to fasten the cuffs together, all the various possibilities involving straps and snap hooks and metal rings. He tells Patrick about panic snaps and carabiners and Brendon's shaking. He wants to scream at Spencer, tell him to stop fucking talking, tell him to just get on with it already.

He takes another deep breath and says nothing, because he wants to be good. He wants Patrick to be impressed with him. He wants Spencer to be proud.

Spencer fastens the ankle cuffs together with what sounds like a carabiner, and then Patrick fastens the wrist cuff onto Brendon's right wrist and pulls it just tight enough.

Spencer pulls Brendon's arms around the back of the chair, so he's hugging it, and he fastens the cuffs to one of the back slats with a short piece of nylon rope. Then Spencer runs his hand over Brendon's hair and says, "You good?"

Brendon nods. "Yes."

"If this gets uncomfortable, if the angle starts putting pressure on your shoulders, yellow light and I'll fix it, okay?"

Brendon whispers, "Okay."

Then Spencer's gone again, behind him doing something he can't see. He shivers as he hears the whistle of air behind him. He recognizes the sound of Spencer's favorite flogger and his breath quickens as he anticipates its heavy thump.

Spencer doesn't hit him with it though, just slices it through the air a few times. He says, "You want to give it a try?"

"You don't mind?" Patrick asks.

"Not at all."

The flogger whistles through the air again, but it doesn't make contact with Brendon's skin. He hears it hit the couch next to him a couple of times, then hears it hit someone else's skin. Patrick says, "Wow, that's. Heavy."

Spencer says, "He likes it thuddy like that. Don't you, Brendon?"

Brendon says, "Yes." Because he speaks whenever Spencer asks him a direct question.

"I've been practicing with the straps," Patrick says. "I think I'll be more comfortable with one of those."

Brendon startles when someone touches his skin, his spine right above his ass. "So," Spencer says. "You can hit him hard, he likes it hard, wants it to hurt, but you never hit his spine. You don't hit here, where his kidneys are. You don't hit any joints, not elbows or wrists or the backs of his knees. You don't hit his neck, not the back of it and not his throat. You don't hit his face."

Patrick says, "Upper back and ass are kind of what I'm thinking about."

Spencer says, "You want to go first, or should I?"

Patrick says, "Um. I don't really know the etiquette in this situation."

Spencer says, "It's mostly this," and runs his hand along Brendon's spine. "Tell me your safeword."

"Fender," Brendon whispers. He's starting to shake, and he knows Spencer can feel it.

"Tell me what you want, Brendon."

His eyes are already closed, but he squeezes them tighter and whispers, "Hurt me."

"Do you want Patrick to hurt you, too?"

"Yeah," Brendon admits. He wants it so, so much.

Spencer says, "His safeword is Fender. If he says it, we stop. Period. I check in with him periodically even if he doesn't say it, just to make sure."

Patrick says, "Okay."

The first blow comes as a surprise. He doesn't even hear the flogger coming at him through it air, just feels it connecting, heavy and intense over his ass even through the lace. It comes again a moment later, so out of rhythm that he knows it's Spencer hitting him. Spencer always spaces out the blows irregularly so Brendon can't anticipate them. He starts out that way, but even when he tries to fight it, his blows become more regular as time goes on. Brendon groans and rests his head against the back of the chair and tries to sink into the pain.

Then the blows change and they're fiercer, a different strap, a different arm swinging it. Patrick is unrelenting, hitting him over and over again, less than five seconds between blows so Brendon doesn't have a chance to catch his breath.

Then it stops, and Brendon whimpers and breathes hard and waits. He feels strong fingers tugging his panties down, knows it's Spencer by the way he slides his hand possessively over Brendon's thigh. Brendon swallows and his throat feels raw so he must have been crying out, but he doesn't remember.

It's starts again, Patrick's fierce slaps a little lighter across his shoulders and back, but still intense. Brendon tenses his arms and pulls against his bound wrists, grits his teeth and fights the urge to run. He always gets the urge to run, but it's stronger when he's tied up. It's stronger when he knows he can't just break free on his own.

It stops, and he feels Spencer's broad hand stroking over his skin. "How're you doing?" Spencer asks.

Brendon trembles and tries to relax his shoulders, and it takes him a moment to find his voice. He says, "Good."

Then it starts again, Patrick's strap against his ass and thighs, Spencer's flogger heavy and cruel against his back. The strap stings and the flogger slams him forward and it's so much at once, maybe too much, only then the pain crests and all he wants is more, more, more.

They switch, the flogger against his ass, the belt over his shoulders. The heavy blows Spencer lands are delicious, sending sparks up Brendon's spine and straight through to his nipples, overwhelming him, and his eyes roll back as he feels himself sinking.

Each thud reverberates through him, into his bones. Each bite of the belt echoes loud in his ears and stings and burns and he's crying, tears falling freely as he moans and his body floods with pleasure.

He hears Spencer, his voice like an echo, hears him saying, You can do it harder, he can take it. The pride in his voice reverberates into Brendon's bones. He hears Patrick, just as far away and distorted as Spencer, saying, I think I need to, I can't-- and Spencer saying, That's cool. Don't push yourself, just do what feels right.

The blows from the belt stop, but Spencer doesn't stop. Spencer keeps hitting him with the flogger, and Brendon knows the cries he hears are his own, but he can't connect what he's hearing to what he's doing, can't quite understand how he's making those noises.

The dizzying blows from the flogger stop, and he tries to figure out how to protest. He doesn't know how to form the words, can't think of the sounds he'd have to make to get Spencer to keep going, to keep hurting him so good.

Then there's a sharp snap and he jerks and starts to whimper because it hurts, his asshole hurts, and then another snap and his thighs hurt, and another snap and he starts to cry. He's shaking and clinging to the chair, crying as Spencer hurts him some more. Or maybe Patrick's hurting him. He doesn't know, just keeps crying and when Spencer tells him to spread his legs further apart, he does it.

Patrick says, Wow, he's just. He's pressing back into it, like he wants it, his voice distorted like he's underwater.

Spencer says, "He does. He's totally gone right now. This is a great little slapper, where'd you get it?

Brendon doesn't hear what Patrick's answer is because he's overwhelmed with pain on his ass and on the insides of his thighs, snapping against his balls and Brendon doesn't know if he's crying or screaming or both, thinks maybe the grunts and moans he hears are coming out of his mouth, but he can't be sure. And then the sharp, stinging pain against his ass and thighs and balls is joined by a heavier pain across his shoulders and he's shaking and he's pressing his ass back for more and he can't catch his breath and he feels like he's coming, even though he knows he's not. It's impossible for him to get hard, so it's impossible for him to come, but his body is shaking and everything feels so good and so overwhelming that he thinks he might actually pass out.

He's shaky when it's over. He thinks it's over. Spencer unfastens the cuffs, unsnaps the carabiner holding his ankles together and urges him towards the couch. He curls up and he's shivering and when Spencer tells him to eat, his parts his lips and lets Spencer feed him a piece of milk chocolate. He eats three pieces of chocolate and he drinks the water Spencer presses to his lips and he's still shaking, but it's okay. It's okay because he's got a warm blanket over him and Spencer's voice is tired and pleased and Patrick sounds the same way, sounds like he thinks Brendon did a good job. Brendon's always proud when he's done a good job.

Brendon's not sure what they're talking about, can't drag himself up enough to understand their words, but he likes the melodies their voices make as they take turns, Patrick making sounds, then Spencer. And Spencer's holding Brendon's hand and stroking his hair, and Brendon feels perfect and exhausted and happy to sleep.

He wakes up with his head in Spencer's lap, the television on with the sound down low. He stretches a little and wow, okay, he's going to be sore for days. He's pretty sure he's got welts. He can't wait to get home and look at them in the mirror.

He pushes up and scratches at the side of his face where it had been pressed against Spencer's jeans.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Spencer says.

"Mmph," says Brendon, pulling himself up into a sitting position. He winces. He's definitely got welts. His clothes are folded neatly on the coffee table, and he reaches out for them. The panties are on top, and he slips them on first, still beneath the blanket, aware for the first time that he's naked in Patrick's living room.

He pulls on his jeans, too, but leaves his shirt off. He winds his arms around Spencer's waist and leans against him.

"You okay?" Spencer asks.

Brendon nods and yawns. "Awesome," he says. "Also, you're an asshole."

Spencer laughs and gently scratches the back of Brendon's neck. "You're the one who didn't want to know who our mysterious third person was."

"Yeah, well, I didn't think it would be Patrick."

"You okay with that?"

Brendon leans his head against Spencer's shoulder, closes his eyes and thinks. He knows he can trust Patrick, has known for years what a decent, honest guy he is. And it's not like Patrick hasn't seen him drunk and high and barfing and crying, not like Patrick hasn't seen him be a complete dick and forgiven him for it, not like Patrick isn't a good friend. He says, "Yeah."

"Yeah you're okay with it, or yeah you're just going to say that so you don't have to talk about it?"

"Okay with it," Brendon tells him. "Just. How did the subject even come up?"

"He was over here and he saw my quirt," Patrick says from behind them. "I spent, like, five minutes trying to tell him it was part of a percussion instrument before he just took pity on me and said, 'Patrick, look, I know percussion and I know pain toys, and that has nothing to do with percussion.' So then I admitted that I was maybe, possibly, a little dominant--"

Brendon snorts. Patrick's the most dominant person he's ever met.

Patrick sits in the chair next to the couch, the sheet no longer covering it, and his shoulders are a little tense. "So we talked about it. And talked about it. And had lunch once a week and read books and talked about it some more--"

Brendon pinches Spencer's thigh and says, "Always with the talking. Jesus."

"And when I said I wished I knew somebody I trusted to really try it out with, well..."

"Here we are," says Brendon. He says, "You wanna see my welts?"

Patrick blushes.

Brendon says, "I can't see them, obviously, but they feel awesome."

"They're pretty awesome," Spencer says, tipping his head so he can look down the long line of Brendon's back.

Brendon turns his back to Patrick, and Patrick makes a soft sound and says, "Wow, that's, yeah. Awesome. It doesn't hurt?"

"Of course it hurts," Brendon tells him, turning back around with a grin. "That's the point. Are you freaking out?"

"Aren't I supposed to be asking you that question?" Patrick asks him.

Brendon shrugs. "You can if you want, but I'm not freaking out. So tell me if you are."

Patrick sighs. "Not freaking out, no, but I haven't processed it all yet, either. I know Spence said you're not a huge fan of talking things out, but if you came to lunch with us next time so that I could get your feedback when I'm ready and able to hear it, that would be really cool."

Brendon nods. He doesn't know what kind of feedback Patrick's looking for, but he's pretty sure he'll be able to answer any questions Patrick asks.


Spencer rolls the windows down on the way home, and it's cold but the wind feels good on Brendon's face. His skin is still buzzing, but it's a pleasant, reassuring buzz. It's the promise of a night making out with Spencer and orgasms and falling asleep with their fingers intertwined.

They listen to Phil Collins on the drive, and Brendon watches out of the corner of his eye at three minutes and forty seconds into "In The Air Tonight" to see if Spencer's going hit the air drums, and he totally does. Brendon grins and closes his eyes, reaches out for Spencer's hand and tips his face to the wind.