Uinuva

Fic: Call It Bingo, Love (Spencer/Brendon, PG-13)

Sat, 17 May 2008 14:58:26 GMT

\o/ Jutta! SEE, I TOTALLY FINISHED IT! What? I only wrote it like, three times. ♥ ♥ ♥ I really hope you'll like it and it will make you feel better!

Call It Bingo, Love.
Brendon/Spencer
Pg-13
~8000 words.
Accountant!au, where Spencer works in an office and needs better lunch company, Brendon's a bingo host, Jon has a cat and Ryan's the worst best friend ever.
This is not true. I own nothing.

Thank you so much alexalgebra and bluejbird for betaing and being amazing. And Becca, I wasn't kidding about the cake. I could totally like, mail it to you. ♥

There’s something vibrating too close to Spencer’s head.

“Ugh,” he grumbles.

It tastes like something died in his mouth. He smacks his dry lips together before mumbling a groggy “hello” into the phone after finally managing to locate it under his pillow.

“Spencer,” a voice says, and it takes a while until Spencer actually recognises that voice as Greta’s.
He tries to peel his eyelids open and grimaces into the pillow when the pain finally registers in his brain. Shit.

“Where the fuck are you?”

Spencer frowns. Greta is only known to curse when she’s royally pissed or in a time of Righteous Anger.

“Huh?” Spencer settles on saying because somehow he’s pretty sure ‘in bed’ is definitely the wrong option here.

Greta sighs into the phone. “The meeting has already started. Pete’s going to kill you.”

Pete isn’t going to kill him, Spencer’s almost certain of that. But then it hits him, what day it is, and- “Holy shit!” He promptly falls out bed, sheets tangled around his legs. He even manages to send the phone skimming across the floor. “Shit shit shit!”

The sheets refuse to let go of his left leg and he’s going to have an impressive bruise on his elbow, but he needs to be at the office, like, now.

He pulls on the nearest shirt from his wardrobe and notices he had actually managed to hang his grey suit last night so it will do. “Fuck,” he says, as he grabs his tie from the floor and hurries out of his room.

Pete is so going to kill him. And probably enjoy it.

***

“I don’t even want to know,” Greta tells him before he has even opened his mouth. She just takes the empty paper cup away from his hands and Spencer’s actually grateful, because he had no time to trim his beard or eat. He even managed to burn his tongue with the take-away coffee he was forced to buy from the café downstairs. And he hates their coffee. Greta knows that.

“All the others are already inside,” she adds, looking at Spencer’s crumpled clothes with arched eyebrows. Spencer frowns, because surely he doesn’t look that bad. She just sighs heavily.

“Here, let me,” she says, stepping closer and redoing his tie.

“Thanks,” Spencer mumbles after she’s done. The only good thing is that he has no time for being nervous before Greta has already handed him his memo and hurried him into the meeting room. The light coming from the big windows makes him squint. Fucking hell does his head hurt.

“Mr. Smith, how nice of you to join us,” Pete says dryly, smiling his big, toothy smile at him.

Spencer sits down at his usual seat, trying his best to look casual, like he belongs.

Next to him, Victoria grins at him, mouths ‘long night?’ and manages to make some quite grotesque impressions with her eyebrows.

Spencer would be impressed if he wasn’t feeling so hung over. He scowls at her and takes a gulp of the too strong coffee that she hands him, trying his best at not to yawn. So long as Pete’s ignoring him, it’s a false sense of security, but he’ll take what he can.

The investors are seated across the table from him and he tries his best to straighten up. After all, Gabe’s always telling him how they can smell fear.

“So,” Pete’s saying , turning to look at Spencer with a smirk. “Now Spencer will explain to us all the prospects for the next couple of months. Please,” Pete’s indicating towards front of the room, and Spencer takes a long breath before standing up. This is just a job, he reminds himself as the investor number two looks him down his nose. Just a stupid job, that he needs to pay the instalments of his student loan. And his bills. And his rent.

Victoria gives him a thumbs up as he stands before them all, trying to ignore how his stomach decides to grumble on that exact moment. “So,” he starts, and Pete grins at him, leaning back on his chair, quirking an eyebrow in a challenge and Spencer hates him a little then. He clears his throat, looks down at his memo and flips trough the papers. What would he give if he could only be back in his bed?

“So,” he starts again focusing solely on Victoria, because she seems the least threatening one of the people staring at him. “We may be having a problem.”

***

Ryan calls him during lunch. “Hey,” he says, sounding bored. “How did today go?”

Spencer’s snort results in Victoria arching her eyebrows across the table.

“What do you think?” Spencer says in his driest tone, taking a sip of his water and ignoring Victoria. Gabe had talked as loud as possible during the end of the meeting, grinning at Spencer the whole time, and when Ray, the traitor, had started to whistle, Spencer had been ready for murder. The investors had both only grinned at him, like they were in on the joke, as Pete had finally guided them out of the office.

At least they had managed to agree on the budget for the next quarter. That had been such a relief. Spencer had feared he would be kicked out of the office, indefinitely, when he had to tell them that they would have to do some cutting.

“Fine,” he says to Ryan after it’s clear Ryan’s not going to take the blame for Spencer’s current headache. Ryan, who, Spencer’s pretty sure about it, is drinking coffee while reading the morning paper. The bastard.

“Can you come and pick me up from work later?” he asks, and Spencer closes his eyes, because really, Ryan doesn’t even have to ask.

“Yeah, sure. Talk to you later.”

He stuffs his cell back in his pocket and finishes his pasta. Victoria plays with her fork while tapping her red fingernails against the table in a steady rhythm.

“What did Ryan want? Don’t tell me you broke up again?”

Spencer scowls at her. “Shut up. It isn’t like that. You know it isn’t like that.”

Victoria’s smile is almost predatory. “Sure it isn’t, lover boy.”

Spencer hates how Victoria has become totally immune to his glare. Sometimes Spencer hates the whole world, like on a day like this, when nothing seems to go as it’s supposed to.

“Fuck off,” he mumbles, flipping her off after she bursts into loud laughter. Spencer might hate her, actually, and thinks he really should find better lunch company.

“Come on,” Victoria says, standing up. “I need a smoke before going back.” Spencer follows her, even though that’s such a bullshit reason, because Spencer knows Victoria hangs out with Frank most of the time on the balcony, gossiping and smoking, talking shit about bands they have just seen.

“You’re buying me coffee,” Spencer tells Victoria’s back, and she only flips him off over her shoulder, which means that she totally will buy him his latte and hand it over without any complaints.

***

Spencer’s certain that the only good thing about today is that it’s Friday. Friday means that Spencer can leave early thanks to all the extra hours he does during the week. After one final look at his office he flicks the lights off and closes the door behind him.

“So, I’m off,” he tells Greta who’s sitting behind her desk surrounded by a dubious amount of colourful post-its and posters.

She looks up spinning a long blond curl around her finger absentmindedly. “Okay. Have any big plans?”

He smiles back at her. “Not really. Might go and check out this one gig though.” He braces himself, leans a little against the closed door. “You?”

There’s really no other word to describe Greta’s smile than luminous and Spencer isn’t jealous. Not really. Not anymore.

“Oh, you know. Me and Bob, we’re still quite busy with the house, but we’re going out on Saturday anyway.”

Spencer’s almost certain there’s a real smile on his lips. “Good.” He can feel the corner of his mouth tugging. “That’s good.”

He stands there a moment, swallowing down the bad taste in his mouth. “Well, you know you can always---“

“--- reach your cell.” She smiles at him. “I know Spencer. Have a good weekend.”

This time the whole smiling business works much better. “You too. Tell Bob I said hi.”

When he steps out of the elevator on the first floor he almost closes his eyes. “Tell Bob I said ‘hi’? What the fuck?” he grumbles, and wants to bang his head against the wall. Hard. The doorman wishes him a good weekend and it’s the first time Spencer doesn’t feel like an asshole when he opens the door for him, because then Spencer’s standing on the sidewalk, the sun’s shining down a him, and it’s the weekend. He can do whatever he wants for two and a half days. The very first thing he does is loosen up his tie, then heads down the street.

“Idiot,” he mumbles, when he turns at the corner and an old lady gives him a stern look. “Tell Bob I said ‘hi’? What the fuck,” he says as he steps over a puddle of mud. The sign for the record store flickers and Spencer thinks he deserves something good, maybe even some seventies stuff, because at least that would make him feel better about things.

***

“That’s a really cool album.”

Spencer blinks. “Huh?” He looks at the guy with messy dark hair and red glasses standing next to him. He’s looking a bit high-strung, like he’s trying not to fidget, while he pushes his glasses higher up on his nose.

“Okay,” Spencer says a bit slowly, trying to convey that he really does not need any help.

“Yeah,” the guy bounces a bit on his heels. “I mean, the second album is even better, but it’s like, a collector’s piece, so.”

Spencer narrows his eyes. “So,” he says after a while when the guy still hasn’t gone away, and Spencer’s aware that he’s being rude and even Ryan would probably disapprove, but Ryan isn’t here and Spencer isn’t feeling like talking to strangers.

The guy actually beams at him and Spencer blinks, because there must be something wrong with either one of their social skills. “So, you should listen to it. It’s a total waste that the band is so underground, you know. Because they’re the shit.”

Spencer tilts his head, probably tilts his hips as well because that’s not something he even has to think about these days. “Oh really?”

The guy’s biting down at his bottom lip hard, leaving a red mark there, and Spencer watches as he licks it, apparently being totally oblivious to what he’s doing. Spencer hastily looks back up.

“Yeah. The shit, dude. You’ll understand after you listen to that record.” He grins at him and Spencer isn’t sure why the guy is standing so close to him. It isn’t like the record store is packed.

Spencer leans away a little. “Um.” He’s feeling quite uncomfortable suddenly for some reason. “Okay, sure.” Whatever dude, he tries to tell the guy with looking away, but apparently for nothing.

“I’m Brendon,” the guy –Brendon- tells him and actually holds out his hand for Spencer to take.

Spencer curses his mom for ever teaching him good manners. “Spencer,” Spencer says and Brendon’s hand is warm and a little sweaty, but not annoyingly so, the grip firm, and Spencer can actually feel himself blushing. He bites a little too hard onto his tongue and straightens up, feeling annoyed with himself.

“Cool.” Brendon beams at him again. “So, I actually happen to have the second album, so if you ever---“ But Spencer never finds out what Brendon’s about to say because Brendon gets interrupted by his cell. The ring tone is ‘A Whole New World’, if Spencer isn’t totally mistaken, and Spencer cannot believe this guy is for real. Ryan will never believe this.

“Shit,” Brendon says, but doesn’t answer the phone. “Um. I need to go. Band practice. But wait---“ he manages to shuffle his wallet out of his skinny jeans and pulls a card out.

“Here. Just. Call me, okay?” Brendon’s eyes have gone big and hopeful and Spencer hates how he can feel his resolve melting.

“Uh,” Spencer says but takes the card anyway. “Okay?”

“Cool.”

And okay, Spencer has to admit that Brendon does have a pretty smile when he looks like that, face earnest and hopeful at the same time.

“Okay, see ya!” And then Brendon practically runs out of the store leaving Spencer standing in the middle of the aisle, holding the card on his other hand and the record on the other.

“Well fuck,” he says and looks down at the card.

Spencer takes his phone out of his pocket and hits speed dial number one.

“I think I was just asked out,” he says as soon as Ryan picks up. “By a, uh,” he holds the card higher, and continues in his driest voice: “by a bingo host.”

Ryan has a weird laugh. Spencer still feels smug when he’s the reason behind it even after all these years. Especially when Ryan isn’t laughing at him. Well, not directly at him, anyway.

***

“Are you sure you weren’t like, punked or something?”

Spencer glares at Ryan who just continues to eat, paying neither Spencer nor his glare any attention.

“Yes. I’m not really a celebrity you know.”

Ryan hums, and Spencer just knows he’s finding this all fucking hilarious.

“I think you should call him.”

Spencer stares at the half-eaten chicken tikka masala in front of him. “I’m not calling him.”

“But,” and Spencer’s going to kill Ryan because he’s so enjoying this. “A bingo host? How often does that happen? This could be your only chance to ever date one.”

Spencer pushes his takeaway box away from him. He’s not feeling that hungry anyway. “Shut the fuck up.”

On the TV, Uma Thurman is on a killing spree and Spencer finds no hardship in thinking of different ways to torture Ryan. He’s so not going to call Brendon regardless of what Ryan tells him to do. He’s still not forgotten the things that Ryan kept saying about Bob, and look how that turned out.

“Maybe he’s really good in bed,” Ryan says. “Yelling ‘bingo’ when he gets, um, a homerun.”

Spencer has no idea why Ryan’s his best friend, seriously. Surely Joe, or even Gabe, would do better.

“Don’t mess with sports terms you don’t understand. You clearly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Ryan folds his long legs in front of him. “Maybe the bingo host is just a cover for another job. You have to call him now to assuage my curiosity, Spence. He could be a gangster. Or in a witness protection program with a secret identity.”

Spencer thinks about the red glasses and Brendon’s smile and snorts out loud.

“Or,” Ryan adds in his monotone. “He could be a bingo host.”

Spencer flips him off. “Mind your own fucking business. I don’t tell you who to date.”

Ryan’s totally smiling. “That’s because I don’t need any help.”

Spencer doesn’t pout. On the screen Uma is having her revenge. Good girl, Spencer thinks and takes a gulp of his beer. He doesn’t need Ryan’s help because he doesn’t intend calling anyone. He’s doing just fine by himself.

***

The thing is, Spencer actually dreams of the card Brendon gave him. He’s in some huge bingo hall, with twirling lights, where Brendon’s voice keeps telling – no! - singing him numbers and the lights are twinkling and when he finally wakes up he’s feeling a bit nauseous, but also realises that he has somehow memorised Brendon’s phone number.

“Well fuck,” he says and hides his face into his pillow.

***

At two pm Spencer finally gives in and picks up his phone. He knows he shouldn’t – Victoria had actually made him rules about dating and apparently you don’t want to appear too needy- but he seems unable to concentrate on anything else so. It’s just a call, anyway.

“Please don’t pick up, please don’t pick up,” he mumbles, but there’s no god listening to him today, and a sleepy voice says: “Wha?” It sounds annoyed.

Spencer blinks. He hadn’t actually thought about this far.

“Um.” Shit. Apparently he’s being as suave as ever. “Hi, it’s Spencer?” Spencer swallows thickly.

“From yesterday?” And why does he sound so uncertain? He closes his eyes, because seriously. It’s not like he hasn’t called anyone before.

There’s a long pause and Spencer can’t breathe, because maybe he had somehow misunderstood, again, and he’s going to kill Ryan for ever---

“Spencer, right.” And there’s warmth in that voice that makes Spencer let out a long breathe. “I’ll just find Brendon. Wait a sec.”

“Okay,” and then Spencer can here footsteps and a distant yell. “Bren! Your phone!”

There’s a silence and Spencer wishes he could just hang up because his heart is racing in his chest like crazy and he’s seriously afraid he’ll past out. And Ryan would never let him forget about that.

Finally he can hear a door opening, and Brendon’s voice asks, still muffled. “Shane?”

A laugh, and the guy who answered the phone says: “No. It’s Spencer.”

“Oh,” and Spencer tries really hard to believe that the voice doesn’t sound disappointed.

After couple of seconds Brendon says to the phone, “Hi. You called,” and he does sound pleased and Spencer can breathe more freely again.

He clears his throat, rubbing his sweaty palm against his thigh. “Yeah. You said I should.” And because he doesn’t want to sound like he’s accusing Brendon or anything, he adds quickly: “About the album you mentioned.”

A silence follows and Spencer cannot help but to think that he’s an idiot for ever assuming anything, because this is all going so wrong and Spencer’s going to throw up soon.

“Yeah,” Brendon finally says. “Okay, cool. Do you wanna come over or meet somewhere?”

“Um.” Meeting somewhere sounds like a date but coming over—

“I could just pick it up, maybe? If that’s okay.”

“Yeah totally. If you turn out to be an axe-murderer I have Jon and Dylan here to protect me.”

Brendon laughs and Spencer relaxes against the couch.

“Okay. So. When shall I come?” Spencer tries really hard not to think about who the fuck is Dylan? Or Jon? This is why Spencer hates this whole dating-business. It only confuses him. Maybe he should call Vicky, just to make sure he isn’t missing any important signs.

“Anytime you want. Well, I need to go work later though, so anytime before six that is.”

“Yeah right, that’s cool.” Spencer scribbles the address on the back of the card.

“I’ll be around in a couple of hours, I think.”

Spencer can practically hear Brendon’s smile and that does make him feel a little better. “Cool.”

***

Spencer might be having a mild panic-attack. He’s clutching the steering wheel and staring at the building in front of him and he’s afraid he’s having a stroke. This was such a bad idea.

“Just breathe,” he tells himself and makes himself to let go of the wheel. His hands are sweaty. Brendon’s apartment is in a nice neighbourhood and there are actually plants bordering the parking lot.

“No big deal,” Spencer mumbles, locking the car and walking to the right door. Inside it’s a lot darker, gloomier, than Spencer first thought, and okay, maybe it isn’t such a nice building after all. Someone has written ‘Skanky whore’ in red letters next to the letterboxes. “Huh,” Spencer says and climbs hastily to the second floor.

He knocks on the door and waits. “Act cool,” he tells himself, but as soon as that thought crosses his mind, he realises that if he actually were cool, he would not think about being it.

“Fuck,” he says exactly the same time the door opens.

Brendon stands in the doorway in a purple hoodie and blinks.

“Um,” Spencer says, because lets talk about bad karma.

Fortunately Brendon just smiles. “Happy to see me?” he asks and grins. He has a grey cat under his arm who stares at Spencer looking slightly suspicious. Spencer wishes he could hiss at her.

“Come on in,” Brendon says and Spencer follows him into the apartment.

“Just, wait a sec, I have the CD in my room,” Brendon says and disappears again. “Make yourself at home!” He yells from his room.

Right, Spencer thinks and looks around the living room. There are a couple of guitars leaning against the wall and there seems to be records and DVDs on every available surface. Spencer hasn’t taken a step before Brendon’s already back, only he has lost the cat somewhere.

“Here,” Brendon says and hands him the CD. “You have to tell me what you think about it, though. That’s my only condition.”

Spencer can deal with that. “Sure.” He nods.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Brendon’s biting his bottom lip, again, and Spencer really need to make Brendon stop doing that because it’s getting distracting.

“Um.” He swallows. “Yeah, sure.”

“Cool,” Brendon smiles. “I think we have beer and orange juice. And water. What to do you want?”

“Uh, juice would be fine, thanks.” Spencer follows Brendon into the light kitchen. There’s a bag of chips and a lonely apple on the table.

Spencer tries to look at the photo on the fridge’s door when Brendon opens it without looking suspicious. Some guy has his arm around Brendon’s shoulders but Spencer can’t tell who the guy in the picture is.

“So, here you go,” Brendon says, handing him the glass and Spencer can feel himself blushing a bit.

He settles for staring at the glass. “Thanks.”

Brendon’s humming, just under his breath while Spencer sips his juice looking around in the tiny kitchen. “I was wondering if you would like to come to a gig next Wednesday,” Brendon asks suddenly and Spencer almost spits out the orange juice.

“Wednesday?” he parrots back, and looks at Brendon, tries to read his face.

“Yeah,” Brendon says, bouncing a little on his heels. “I’m in this band and we sorta have a gig. So I’m supposed to advertise around and all.”

Spencer takes a large gulp of his juice trying to calm his heart. Stupid, he tells himself, because he doesn’t want to do this again. Hoping gets you nowhere. “Yeah, I’m not sure if I have that day free, but I’ll check when I get home.”

They stand there in the awkward silence and after a while Spencer clumsily hands back the empty glass.

“So I better go then, so you can get to work---“

“No,” Brendon takes the glass back but doesn’t seem to know what to do with it. ”I mean, um, I’m in no hurry.”

Spencer watches as Brendon tugs at the hem of his T-shirt. “Thanks for the CD, though. I’m sure I’ll like it.”

Brendon’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Okay, man. I hope to see you on Wednesday.”

“Right,” and then Spencer’s already standing in the empty hallway, the light flicking on and off and he takes a long breathe.

“Everything’s fine,” he tells himself when he drives back home in silence, the CD mocking him on the passenger’s seat. “Everything’s fucking perfect.”

***

“I need a hobby,” Spencer says passing the joint to Ryan. He rubs his bare feet against the rug. It’s soft and it makes something warm go through his whole body.

“Hmm,” Ryan says, taking a long drag, holding the smoke in. “What did you have in your mind?”

Spencer ponders that, stares hard at the ceiling. “I used to like drumming.”

Ryan snorts, exhaling the smoke in a puff. “Yeah, like in high-school.”

Spencer frowns. “Hey, I was good. Even Mrs Hendrickson said so.” He pushes himself a little more upwards. “Hand me the chips.”

Ryan gives him the Pringles-tube while making the sound on the TV louder. They watch as the woman in tiny clothes and fake tits tries to sell them some gadget that would make their life Different and Better.

“I need a hobby,” Spencer says again and pops a Pringles into his mouth.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, exhales a cloud of smoke. “What did you have in your mind?”

“Maybe I could try cooking?” Spencer wonders, and Ryan’s the worst friend ever when he starts laughing. It sounds like he’s hiccupping.

“Asshole,” Spencer tells him munching a chip. “I would be a fantastic cook.”

“I have no doubt,” Ryan says handing him the joint back. “You could start by making us something to eat.”

“Fuckhead,” Spencer says without much conviction and search his phone. “Lets order pizza. To celebrate Sunday.” He finds his phone between the cushions.

“Yeah. Extra cheese,” Ryan mumbles, as the woman in the TV bends in some ridiculous position smiling wide all the while. “No olives.”

***

It’s pelting rain outside. The rain makes all the lights outside blur together. It’s like watching a movie in slow-motion. Spencer hates Chicago in springtime. Sometimes he wishes Ryan’s plan would have taken them elsewhere. Somewhere warmer. Somewhere where Brent would have perhaps stayed a little longer.

Spencer’s late, and the bottoms of his trousers are absolutely soaked, but Greta isn’t behind her desk so she can’t say anything about it to him. Instead, there’s a twinkling chat box waiting for him as soon as he signs into his email.

youre late, the box tells him.

Spencer rolls his eyes. Yes. thanks for informing me.

asshole. lunch at one?

Bitch. Sure. See u at the elevators, Spencer types and takes his jacket off.

Ok. did u hear Gerard from graphic has a hickey on his neck??

Spencer rolls his eyes. You have been hanging at the copy machine again.

There’s a pause before a very guilty ‘maybe’ appears on the screen and Spencer snorts. He flips his books open. After all, he got some serious accounting to do. Plus he has to hunt down Pete and try to make him understand that even though things he bought are gifts for Patrick it doesn’t mean the company will pay for them.

***

On Tuesday, Spencer goes grocery shopping. He forgets to buy laundry detergent even though it’s the first item on his list.

“Shit,” he says, and as he walks right out of the door he’s not looking at the CD that has been lying on the coffee table ever since Saturday.

Just, he has been very busy. Ryan’s so wrong with his theories of Spencer’s relationships issues. Spencer is making a career after all. It isn’t like he has time to sit around and ponder other people’s love-lives like Ryan apparently has in his dusty little book store.

Perhaps it’s Ryan who’s in the need of a hobby.

***

On Wednesday evening just as Spencer gets home, Ryan calls him.

“I hope you’re ready to leave,” he says.

“Um.” Spencer walks into his kitchen, drops his tie onto the stool and takes a beer from the fridge. “Aren’t you at work?” he asks, but Ryan isn’t that easily fooled.

“You’re going even if I have to drag your sorry ass over there.”

Spencer closes his eyes. “Ry, I thought about it, and I really think it’s better if---“

“No. It’s time. You have been thinking about him since Saturday.” There’s a pause, and when Ryan continues, his voice is quieter, softer around the edges. “He’s not Brent, you know. He’s not leaving anywhere. And it’s not like with Bob.”

Spencer swallows, squeezes his eyes tightly close. He can’t help it if his voice still sounds somehow hollow when he says: “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Ryan sighs heavily. “Spencer, you should give him a chance. That’s not too much to ask. Besides, when’s the last time you went out?”

Spencer hates Ryan. Really, really hates him. “Alright, I’m going. But you’re coming with me.”

Ryan snorts. “As a chaperone? How very maidenly of you.”

“Oh shut up,” Spencer says and ends the call.

***

The club isn’t crowded when they get there, but there are surprisingly plenty of people for a Wednesday night. They aren’t exactly late, but it took a long time for Spencer to decide what to wear. The opening act is already playing.

“Do you see him?” he says, looking over the crowd. He’s actually nervous, and has a stupid expectant feeling fluttering in the pit of his stomach.

Spencer knows Ryan’s trying his best at not to roll his eyes. “No, but I’m sure he’s here. I think his band would miss him otherwise.”

Spencer doesn’t even bother to answer. He can see Victoria with Gabe and he guides Ryan away from their sight. Just in case.

“Maybe their band sucks,” he says as he waits for the bartender to notice him. He orders two beers and they go and hang at the back of the room, where they can watch people in peace.

“Nah, I’m sure he’s great,” Ryan says managing not to sound actually excited over it.

Spencer drinks his beer and tries to relax against the wall, look like he belongs there. When Brendon’s band gets on stage something twitches inside his chest and a surprised ‘oh’ escapes his mouth without his permission. Ryan actually smirks at him.

Brendon’s good, Spencer can tell. And the crowd loves him. He sings from his heart, and he’s sweaty and he bounces and he clings over their bassist, who doesn’t seem to care, just smiles at Brendon, and Spencer can feel something like jealousy wake in his chest.

“You were a great crowd!” Brendon yells, before they are gone, and the gig is over. Spencer realises he’s sort of holding his breath.

“They were really good,” he says, and he knows he sounds a little awed, but he can’t help it.

“Yeah,” Ryan says looking over the crowd, not sounding impressed at all.

“I need to—“ and he indicates at the door to the back stage with his almost empty beer bottle.

Ryan smiles a little, Spencer can tell thanks to all the years he has known him. “Yeah, go and find your boy. Call me tomorrow,” Ryan says and actually pats him to his arm.

“Yeah,” Spencer mumbles and breathes hard, watching Ryan disappear into the crowd.

The club is almost empty when Brendon finally emerges, laughing, out of the door. Spencer steps forward, but suddenly he really doesn’t know what to say. For his luck, Brendon notices him straight away. He beams. “Hi.”

Spencer can’t help but to smile back. “Hi,” he says. “You were great,” he adds, after a pause during which they had just been grinning stupidly at each other.

“Thanks,” Brendon’s biting his bottom lip, and only when someone clears his throat nearby does the spell break and Spencer blinks.

“Oh, right. This is Jon. Our bassist and my roommate. Well, sort of a roommate, anyway. I’m camping in his guest room at the moment.”

“Yeah, You’re Spencer, right?” Jon says, easily, and Spencer shakes his hand, smiles back at him.

“Yeah, I think we talked in the phone the other day.”

Jon grins at him. “True. So, kids, I will leave you to it. I’m staying at Tom’s, if someone misses me.”

“Yeah, okay,” Brendon says, but he’s staring at Spencer, making the hair at the back of Spencer’s neck stand up. Jon laughs as he walks away.

“So,” Brendon says, bouncing on his heels. “Do you want coffee?”

Spencer grins. “I would love some coffee right now.”

***

They go to the diner in the next block. Brendon’s bangs are glued to his forehead, probably after his shower, and Spencer wants to mess his hair up, wants to touch Brendon so bad his fingers twitch. He distracts himself by taking a big gulp of his coffee. It burns in his throat a bit, but in a good way.

He looks at how Brendon’s fingers are wrapped protectively around his mug and clears his throat. “So, you’re a bingo-host?”

Brendon blinks, tilts his head to the right. “A what?”

“Um,” Spencer says, perplexed. “A bingo-host. The card you gave me---“ and Spencer fishes it out of his own wallet. “It says—“ but Brendon’s already reaching over the table, taking the card out of his hand.

Brendon looks down at it. “Oh.” He looks up and he’s smiling so wide and genuinely it makes something catch in Spencer’s throat.

“Oh that! It isn’t real!” Brendon laughs, and when Spencer frowns, he hastily continues, trying his best to suffocate his laugh down. “I mean, it was real for a short while, a really short while, but Bill sorta thinks those kinds of things are funny so he made me a bunch for my birthday. You’re the first one who actually thought it was real.”

“Oh,” Spencer says, trying not to feel stupid. He will so kick Ryan’s ass for this. The waitress comes and refills his cup and Spencer smiles gratefully at her.

“So,” he says after a pause. “Not a bingo host then?”

Brendon’s laugh is kind of bubbly and Spencer thinks he will never get tired of hearing it. “No! But I was an awesome bingo host, I can tell you that. You would have been amazed.” He grins a bit wildly.

Somehow Spencer has no problem believing that. “Yeah,” he says, smiling a little “So you’re in a band, then.”

Brendon’s looking at him, all intent, biting down at his bottom lip. “Yeah. Music is kinda what I do.”

Spencer nods, because he gets that. “You guys were pretty awesome.”

Brendon beams. “Just pretty awesome? Not, mind-blowing, or, like, incredibly talented and pretty?” Brendon actually flutters his eyelashes at that, and it would look stupid if it wasn’t so endearing.

Spencer kisses him then, reaches over the table, and it’s clumsy, but the intent is there, the promise , and he thinks, that yes, this is something he needs to do again, more. When he pulls back, Brendon traces his own bottom lip with his tongue, his eyes dark.

“What,” he says, “was that for?”

Spencer shrugs. “Thanks for the coffee,” he says, and smiles, feeling reckless, a bit wild.

“Oh,” Brendon takes a gulp of his own coffee he seemed to have forgotten. “Wanna come over and listen to music?”

“Yes,” Spencer says, because there really isn’t any other answer.

***

They make out in front of the diner, then in the car. Through the whole drive Brendon keeps fidgeting on the passenger’s seat. When they stop in front of his building he practically climbs on Spencer’s lap.

“Hi,” he pants, and kisses Spencer hard, almost desperately.

“Okay, inside,” Spencer manages, after they are both panting heavily and he has his hands against Brendon’s skin, his warm and smooth skin, and holy fuck Brendon’s unzipping his trousers. He will not have sex in the parking lot in a car. He’s not sixteen anymore. He puts a hand on top of Brendon’s, stops him. “Brendon, inside.”

Brendon makes a keening sound deep in his throat, but he climbs off of Spencer. He almost bounces to the door. “Come on,” he says, holds the door open for him. Spencer wants to laugh, except that Brendon’s pulling him to him, kissing him again, and Spencer isn’t able to think about anything else but how good Brendon feels against him.

“Fuck,” Spencer mumbles after a while against Brendon’s neck, and he knows he’s holding too tightly onto Brendon, but he doesn’t think he can let go.

“Okay, we need to get to the apartment,” Brendon says. “Now.”

***

Inside, Brendon says “okay, wait a minute,” and disappears. Spencer sits down on the couch and after a while turns on the TV. There’s some scifi-movie on, and he starts to watch it.

Brendon finally comes back, curls against Spencer, warm and languid.

“Spence, Spencer, you’re supposed to make out with me,” he murmurs and Spencer grins as Brendon kisses the spot just under his ear.

“I am?” he says, and then he actually feels how Brendon yawns against his neck. He puts his hand around Brendon, soothes it up and down his back.

“Hey,” he says, murmurs against Brendon’s hair, and Brendon nuzzles against him. “Long day?” he asks.

Brendon yawns again, nuzzles even closer. “Soft,” he murmurs sleepily and nuzzles his cheek against Spencer’s beard.

Spencer hums, strokes Brendon’s hair with his other hand. “Yeah?” he says, feeling warm and tingly inside, but Brendon’s quiet, his head resting against his shoulder.

On TV a man kills a weird looking alien and runs over a desert to his spaceship. “Yeah, soft,” Spencer whispers, and rests his head against Brendon’s.

***

Spencer wakes up alone on the couch. His neck is stiff and he blinks drowsily at the black TV screen. He can hear the shower running and he’s pretty sure that’s where Brendon disappeared to. The light coming out of the windows tell him it’s still early, and he probably won’t even be late from work if he’s really fast on his trip to home to change his clothes.

He sits up, stretching, and that’s when he notices the cat. She’s sitting in front of him, tail whisking in a slow, elegant manner. And she’s totally staring at Spencer.

“Uh,” he says, and blinks.

Finally the cat seems satisfied with him and walks away, tail high, swinging from left to right, and Spencer watches her go.

The showers stops then, and Spencer grins to the empty room as he can hear Brendon singing Britney. He walks to the kitchen and pours himself water and drinks it. He runs his tongue over his teeth and grimaces. He really needs to brush his teeth. That’s when he notices the picture from Brendon with that guy isn’t on the fridge’s door anymore. He runs his fingers over the spot and frowns a little.

He has just come back to the living room when Brendon comes out of the bathroom, wearing only a pair of pyjama trousers. Spencer’s mouth is too dry, again, and he licks his dry lips.

Brendon grins broadly, walking straight to him.

“Hi,” he says, murmurs against his neck, and Spencer breathes in, smelling Brendon and soap, and it shouldn’t make him feel as content, as happy, as it does.

“Hi,” he murmurs back.

“Sorry about falling asleep on you yesterday,” Brendon says, against the corner of his mouth, and Spencer can feel the smile on his lips. He pulls Brendon closer to him, tracks his hands on Brendon’s back, where his skin is still damp from the shower.

“Thanks for staying,” Brendon says and kisses him, slow but intent, and Spencer’s arms tightens around him.

The phone rings, but Brendon doesn’t seem to care, just presses closer, entangles his fingers in Spencer’s hair, pulling a bit, making Spencer groan low in his throat.

The call goes into voicemail.

“Um. Bren?” a tinny voice asks, cracking a bit, and Spencer can feel Brendon stiffen under his touch. Spencer blinks, looks at Brendon, looks at his red, swollen lips.

Brendon’s eyes skirt to the right, to the phone, but then they are back, focusing on Spencer again, challenging him to say anything, and Spencer realises that it was him who has stepped away.

“Hey, man, Bren.” There’s a pause, and the only sound in the room is their loud breathing, and Spencer wants to look away, step back from Brendon, but he cannot, will not, move even further away.

“I’m just calling to ask about the rest of your stuff. I packed it, so, you know, you could pick it up and--- Look man, I’m sorry. So fucking sorry. I miss you, okay? I wish you would pick up.” There’s pause, and a hopeful “Bren?” and Spencer really wants to throw the phone into the wall. A loud sigh seems to echo in the room for an eternity and Spencer has difficulties to breathe. Brendon’s still holding his gaze, not looking apoplectic at all. He’s looking untouchable, somehow, even when he’s standing there half-naked.

“You changed your number,” the voice says, accusingly, and Brendon’s eyes are dark, but he’s not looking away, maybe holding his chin a bit higher, and Spencer isn’t going to be the first to back off.

But after the call ends in a ‘call me’, it’s fair game, and Spencer just can’t.

“I need to go,” Spencer says and is a little surprised how steady his voice is. He’s clenching his jaw shut, too tight, and his lungs hurt and when he’s finally in the hallway, he punches the wall, hard, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. The pain in his knuckles only makes him angrier.

“Fucker,” he swears, doesn’t know does he mean himself or Brendon or that guy on the fucking phone. He runs the stairs down two at a time. “Fucking asshole idiot,” he tells the empty corridor, and thinks about how Brendon didn’t try to stop him. Thinks how Brendon felt against him. He isn’t sure if it makes things easier or worse.

And suddenly it’s Brent all over again. And apparently couple of years doesn’t change anything, and he’s just as stupid for ever believing.

***

Brendon doesn’t call him in three days, and when he finally does, Spencer doesn’t pick up.

“You’re a fucking coward,” Ryan tells him when they are sitting at his backyard, and Spencer has nothing to add. The beer tastes foul in his mouth and he hates the sun that makes everything too bright, too illuminating.

“Yeah,” he says, and closes his eyes against the sun. He can still feel the warmth on his face, the grass against his hand and he breathes, long and steady, tries not to think of anything.

“Yeah,” he says again, just to say something, to make the silence go away.

***

Spencer’s not having a good day.

“You look like you need a hug,” Victoria tells him. “Or a shave” she adds, sitting on the stool in front of his desk.

Spencer glares at her. “Do you need something? I have actual work to do.” The truth is Spencer feels like shit. He hasn’t slept enough, and he smoked too much pot during the weekend with Ryan and his friends and he just. His chest feels too tight, and he has been thinking about Brent, and he’s just so fucking angry he doesn’t know what to do.

Victoria just looks at him. “So,” she says after a tense pause. “Jon tells me you’re being an ass.”

Spencer tries to intensify his glare but Victoria doesn’t budge. How come everyone knows everyone in this stupid city anyway?

“He does?” he finally says when it’s pretty clear Victoria isn’t backing off.

She squints. “Yes.”

Finally Spencer gives up, leans back in his chair and looks out of his window. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits quietly, hates how whiny he sounds, doesn’t even understand how the words came out of his mouth in the first place. He’s just so fucking exhausted.

“You should maybe call him. That would be a good start.” Victoria says softly and Spencer closes his eyes.

“But he—“ Spencer doesn’t know how to finish. Could have someone else? Someone better? Could break his heart.

“He left for a reason, you know,” Victoria says and Spencer opens his eyes.

“What?” he asks, because seriously, what?

Victoria rolls her eyes. “Don’t you guys ever talk?”

When Spencer only continues to stare, she adds, exaggerated: “Left Vegas? Came to Chicago?”

“Huh,” Spencer says, eyes wide.

Victoria gives him one final look before standing up. “Yes. So call him you asshole, or we will kick your ass. And we can, trust me.” At that she walks out of the room.
After a while Spencer picks up his cell and hits number one on his speed dial. “So, I may have fucked up,” he says, and Ryan just snorts, and somehow the sound manages to convey ‘I told you so’ better than words ever could and Spencer has a crazy urge to tell Ryan to never to leave him.

“Yeah,” he says as a tiny bird flies past his window. “So how do I fix this?”

***

Spencer’s hands aren’t shaking.

“Are you trying to bribe me with caffeine?” is the first thing Brendon says when he opens the door.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says fast, the words blurring together a bit, but his lungs are hurting and Brendon’s looking so damn good and he doesn’t understand how he forgot. Brendon’s standing so close and Spencer can’t touch him and it makes Spencer’s chest hurt, ache, and he holds his breath, waits. I’m sorry, he thinks, repeats it inside his head like it’s some kind of secret mantra; repeats it over and over.

Brendon’s eyes are dark, and he eyes him cautiously, leaning against the doorframe.

“How sorry are you?” Brendon asks after a while when Spencer has already lost all hope.

His eyes feel hot behind his closed eyelids and he inhales deeply, tries to calm the fuck down.

“Very, very sorry. Do you want me to beg?” He wishes he wouldn’t have brought the coffee because now he feels like he needs to do something with his hands but he can’t and---

“Maybe,” Brendon says, and his voice isn’t light, but it isn’t as bad as it could be. As hard as Spencer probably deserves.

Spencer swallows, forces the words out of his mouth. “Well I can make it up to you. I will do anything.”

“Anything?” Brendon asks and Spencer realizes it’s too late to add any clauses. He maybe grimaces a little.

“Yes?” And okay, he’s sounding wary, but no one would blame him, because ‘anything’ covers a wide spectrum of things.

Brendon takes the coffee and beams at him over the rim of the cup. “Good,” he says, sounding pleased and happy. “Also, I’m sorry too.”

“Huh,” Spencer blinks. After a while he adds “Okay” just to be on the safe side.

“Good,” Brendon’s sounding a little like a cat purring. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Huh,” Spencer says again when Brendon closes the door at his face.

***

Spencer will never again go and let Brendon drive him anywhere.

“Oh my god. I’m so happy to be alive!” he says as soon as Brendon has parked the van.

“What?” Brendon says, pouting a little, but Spencer’s too busy clutching at his chest to feel guilty.

“I will, never, ever let you drive again.” He says, slowly, breathing through his nose.

Brendon takes the key from the ignition. “It wasn’t that bad!”

“Ha!” Is all Spencer manages before he climbs out of the purple van, and seriously, he’s just so happy to be alive that he wants to kneel down and kiss the ground or something equally stupid.

“Hey! I have gotten so much better. Even Jon says so.” Spencer doesn’t even want to think about how badly Brendon must have driven before. Hell, he doesn’t even understand how Brendon got out of Nevada alive.

“Whatever,” he says instead and steals the keys from Brendon when he emerges from behind the van. “I’m driving us back.”

Brendon’s pout isn’t as convincing because of the grin that’s trying to break free.

“Whatever. Like you can do better.” Then Brendon entangles their fingers as he steps next to him, measuring his steps to Spencer’s. They walk together towards the restaurant.

“I can assure you I’m an excellent driver.” Spencer tries really hard not to grin stupidly because Brendon’s hand is warm against his, and he could totally get used to holding it.

He can hear the smile in Brendon’s voice. “Whatever dude. You’re buying me dinner either way.”

Spencer can so deal with that.

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Mon, 28 Apr 2008 20:49:23 GMT

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Mon, 21 Apr 2008 18:00:22 GMT

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fic: Mr. Smith, Every Inch a Gentleman; Ryan/Spencer; R; [1/2]

Fri, 14 Dec 2007 11:58:01 GMT

Title: Mr. Smith, Every Inch a Gentleman
Pairing: Spencer/Ryan, (Jon/Brendon, Frank/Gerard, mentions of others)
POV: Third
Rating: R
Word count: ~10,400
Summary: Jane Austen AU. There’s a wedding, heartache and matchmaking, and it all happens in the 19th century England. It all made perfect sense in my head.
Disclaimer: Not real. Don't own.
Author Notes: The story is lightly based on the novel Emma as you will probably notice. I borrowed couple of lines. This is my interpretation of the original story.
Many, many thanks to joanses and alexalgebra for the beta. And startupcrash for listening me whine about this for months. ♥

The real evils indeed of Ryan’s situation were the power of having rather too much his own way and a disposition to think a little too well of himself; these were the disadvantages which threatened to alloy him many enjoyments. The danger, however, was at present so unperceived that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with him.

Spencer's letter arrives on a Tuesday. It takes Ryan by surprise; he's been accustomed to wait until the second and fourth Thursday of the month to receive a letter from him. He hurries upstairs to his own room and closes the door firmly. He sits at his desk and lays the letter there.

The handwriting on the envelope is neat like it always is. Ryan runs his fingers along his name. He doesn't really feel like opening the letter. Recently the letters have become shorter and Ryan doesn't really recognise all the people Spencer mentions in them. It's like having a conversation with a total stranger and Ryan loathes that.
He stares at the letter and he can't help the bitter feeling that fills up his stomach. He doesn't regret his decision to stay - how could he? - he had no real choice.
He can't lie about the fact that he does miss Spencer. While Spencer is gone to London to study to become an attorney at law, Ryan is still there in Hartsfield at his father's house, surrounded by the vast garden and the raspberry bushes. He takes a long breath and cuts the envelope open.

~~~

Before going downstairs to dine with his father, Ryan makes sure his outfit is impeccable. It is all a part of his new wardrobe he has allowed himself. The seamstress had done pretty decent job; it was all according to the latest fashion. It didn't have any lace in it, a fact that Ryan did find rather a pity. His breeches were longer than he had been accustomed to, his new boots were calf high and his cravat is tied in a new manner around his neck which had literally took Ryan hours to master.
Ryan bets that the people up in London who Spencer would meet in all the social occasions would not dress any better. The thought makes Ryan smile at his reflection and it does indeed fool him. It’s fine, it says. And it is.

Hannah has already made the table and his father is already seated when he arrives at the dining room. It still feels strange that they are left to dine alone, without a third to cheer a long evening. It doesn't feel like Gerard has been gone that long.
His father sighs as he pours more dressing onto his plate. "Gerard loved this dressing," he says, and Ryan hardly can keep himself from rolling his eyes. "I hope they will keep good care of him there over at Highbury," his father says with pity in his voice. His father has always seemed older than his years. He is no real company to Ryan who is witty and bright, but Ryan does love his father even when it feels like they have nothing in common. "Oh Papa, you know they will. Frank absolutely adores him. And you know his brother lives nearby. He will be happy there and we will be able to visit. Highbury is only a half a mile away."
His father only shakes his head again, like the words could not fool him, but Ryan lets it be. After all, he does understand. He does miss Gerard as well.
He must learn to bear the change. Now that his beloved friend is gone, he has to find others to keep him company. Having Spencer gone as well, the task does feel rather overwhelming. He sighs, can't help that his shoulders slump down a bit. He does know that Gerard will be happy. Mr. Iero is a man of unexceptionable character, suitable age, and pleasant manners. And he appears to truly care about Gerard. As it was, it was Ryan himself who had first wished that marriage. He still remembers how he had introduced Gerard to Mr. Iero, and how he had thought to himself that it would be a great match indeed.
He had been right.

After the dinner, Ryan plays a game of backgammon with his father. Soon his father's eyes start to stay more closed than open. Ryan excuses himself and climbs the stairs up, retiring to the comforting tranquillity of his room.
He has to think.
He sits at his desk. Now that Mr. Iero is married, the only unmarried man in town is Mr. Beckett. Poor Mr. Beckett, Ryan thinks. He must find a husband soon. And as he has good fortune, good manners and had only just moved into the town, he would surely benefit from Ryan's help. Ryan was sure of that. As Ryan himself was destined to stay alone, he would devote his life to help others. He takes a note from the top drawer to invite Mr. Beckett, William, Ryan writes, to tea. Wednesday would suit perfectly.

~~~

Hartsfield does not afford Ryan any equals. Everyone in town looks up to the Rosses. How could he ever find anyone who could replace Gerard? Gerard who he has known his whole life, who had lived with them ever since Ryan was ten, who had taken care of him when he was sick. Ryan sighs. It is an impossible task since Gerard is simply indispensable.

Ryan is sitting by the fire when Victoria comes in. "Vicky T," Ryan says, putting his book down. "My darling, how are you?" Victoria Asher is a sensible girl and she is a frequent visitor and always welcome. Their families were bound through a distant marriage but Ryan does indeed enjoy her company. This time she is more than welcome as usual as coming directly from their mutual connection in London.
"Ryan," she says smiling, eyes sparkling. "You will not believe the news I have!"

Ryan smiles back at her and beckons her to sit with him. Vicky's crimson dress shimmers in the light. To the infinite mortification of her parents, she spends too much of her time with the shop owner Mr. Gabe. There are many rumours circling, but Ryan and she never discussed about that matter. And he favors it to stay that way, as he wishes nothing to ever come between their friendship.
"Are you ready?" She asks, and Ryan thinks he has never seen her as impatient.
"Yes, tell me the news."
Victoria is actually biting her lip but Ryan will look past that seen as she is so excited.
"Spencer is getting married!"
Ryan can feel the color escaping his face, and he can barely breathe. It feels like someone just punched him straight into his gut. "What?" he says, fingers clutching the arm rests.

"Spencer," Vicky repeats, "is getting married! Isn't it fabulous?"
Say something, Ryan thinks but his mind is blank. "That's wonderful," he finally manages, and then he has to sit there as she rambles on how Spencer's fiancé is apparently this really good mannered and handsome aristocrat. "Can you believe that?" She finally inquires.
Ryan forces a smile. "He deserves it," he says in a surprisingly steady voice.
"Ah well, look at the time. I better go. I have matters in town I had to take care of," Victoria says cheerily standing up, smoothing the non-existing crinkles from her dress. Gabe, Ryan vaguely thinks, but doesn't say anything. It's not her fault after all.

As she leaves Ryan thinks about the letter he last received from Spencer. Urgent matters, he thinks. Need to talk with you.
Ryan takes a long breath.
He doesn't come down that evening to dine with his father, saying he doesn't feel that well.
He reads Spencer's letter over and over again. There's no secret code telling him that he's getting married.
When he finally fells asleep that night, he dreams of an ocean he has never seen.

~~~

Ryan forces Spencer out of his mind. He does write back though, writes about the things that have lately happened in Hartsfield, writes about Gerard's and Frank's wedding.
He goes to town to post the letter and to visit Mrs. Bates. She is a widow, living in this large, tile house at the end of the Hazel Road. Ryan doesn't really enjoy her company all that much but socializing is important, he reminds himself.

Brendon opens the door for him. Brendon bows his head slightly, asks smiling him to come inside, brown eyes twinkling. Ryan likes Brendon, but so does everybody in town. Brendon comes and sits in the room as Ryan drinks his tea and listens endless stories about Mrs Bates' cats. Brendon is sewing something, looks like he’s actually patching up a shirt. He laughs every time Mrs Bates tells something that's supposed to be funny, the laughter bubbling out of him and filling the room. Ryan is quite mesmerised by it.
Ryan knows very little of Brendon. He was not born there, but somewhere near Bath. He was from a good home, Ryan has heard; his father was an attorney and her mother is apparently from the mainland. But as they had too many children, Brendon had been sent away quite young, to be a servant at his aunt's house.
Ryan eyes go big as he has the most brilliant idea. Ryan could teach him! He would help Brendon to become a real gentleman. And, Ryan thinks while tapping his fingers absentmindedly against the table, Mr. Beckett would surely love Brendon, would fall in love and find his match. Ryan is contented with his plan. He sees no flaw in it as he carefully ponders it as Mrs. Bates tells him a rumour so old, Ryan has heard it a dozen times before.

As Ryan walks out of the hall he asks Brendon to come and visit the next day. The invitation sends sparkles to Brendon's eyes and he agrees, too hastily, but it's not something they could not work with.
As Ryan walks back home he's quite pleased with himself. He even catches himself from almost whistling out loud.

~~~

"You have a piano?" Brendon asks in such an enthusiastic voice Ryan cannot but to smile. "Would you like to play something? I'm not so talented, but I would be happy to catch up with my correspondence in the mean time," Ryan says.
Brendon's smile is illuminating. "It would be a pleasure."
Brendon's fingers are quick and soon he's playing some of the time's most popular songs. Ryan reminds himself to make sure that William will hear Brendon's playing at some occasion. Maybe at a party. And he remembers the ball Gerard mentioned. Perfect, Ryan thinks.
"Brendon," he says as Brendon takes a break between songs. "The Iero's are having a dinner party in a fortnight in Saturday. It will be the event of the month and, as it is that my father feels rather bored at those kinds of events, I was wondering, if you would be my companion that night," Ryan says and Brendon beams at him.
"The Iero's dinner party?" he asks eyes wide. "Oh, I would love to!"
"Good," Ryan says, turning his attention back to the letter in front of him. "You can borrow some of my clothes so you will not stand out." If the look in Brendon's face falters at that, Ryan does not notice.

~~~

“Jon, I mean, Mr. Walker, the new teacher in town,” Brendon starts almost as soon he has sat down, still pulling the gloves out of his hands. “I ran into him yesterday, when I was on my way home, and he said he had read the book I mentioned last time I saw him, that he even liked it, and I almost felt ashamed, because I’m quite sure that he had read a lot more than me, but…”
“Brendon,” Ryan cuts in as he realises that otherwise Brendon can easily continue until the end of time. “What book was it?”
“Waverley, by Walter Scott, and I thought that surely he would had read it, but he said that he hadn’t had the time but if I would recommend it, he surely would read it, and now he had! He even walked me home!” Brendon sits there, opposite to Ryan in the drawing room, upright, a smile capturing his whole face.
“Hmm,” Ryan said, slightly frowning. “So he had not read the book before you mentioned it?”
“No, but I’m sure…”
“I would have thought, if he’s as cultivated we all have perhaps falsely believed, that he would have read that novel, seen as its success has been quite notable.”
Brendon looks at him, brows furrowing, head tilted to the side.
“And,” Ryan continued, brushing the non-existing crumbs from his trousers, “it’s a very good thing he read the book you mentioned, but I have heard that Mr. Walker has been socialising with a rather questionable people.”
After a little while Brendon nods, voice quiet and low. “Yes, you may be right.”
“Of course, but I’m only watching out for you. Now,” Ryan says standing up. “I believe we were going to practice archery today.”

~~~

The summer is almost over, the days becoming shorter. It’s still green outside and Ryan cannot believe it has been only a month since Gerard has moved out.
Ryan and Brendon are walking in the garden. "You met Mr. Beckett yet, Brendon?"
Brendon hums, like he's thinking. "I think I saw him at the church one Sunday. Why?"
Ryan thinks how to best place his words. "He's a real gentleman, that Mr. Beckett. Has gone to schools in London and all."
"In London?" Brendon asks, like that is the most special place in this world.
"Yes. He's such a nice man with most decent manners. I'm sure you will just love him."
Brendon smiles, looking at the two chaffinches flying ahead of them. "If you say so."

~~~

They go to the shop to buy some lace. Mr. Walker in his brown jacket and brown trousers is there as well. He bows his head, "Mr. Ross, Mr. Urie." Ryan nods but he cannot bear to watch as Brendon blushes, his cheekbones turning rosy. They would have to talk about this later.

When Ryan is at the counter placing his order, Brendon discusses with Jon. Ryan hears Brendon ask about the kids, about the school in general. He can hear how Jon laughs about something, making Brendon laugh as well. Too loud, Ryan notices, and it feels like he has taught nothing to that boy.
"Come on, Brendon," he says when he's ready and Gabe has already walked to the backroom to write down his order.

"Mr. Walker." Jon bows his head again and to Ryan's utter horror, Brendon blushes again. And he's actually biting his lower lip!
Ryan walks out of the shop and Brendon has to take couple of running steps to catch up with him. "I hope you realize that you cannot socialise with Mr. Walker anymore," Ryan says and Brendon almost stops middle-step.
"He's an educated man!" Brendon argues.
"You will give the wrong impression to people," Ryan says. "You don't want that, do you?"
After couple of seconds Brendon answers, rather quietly, kicking at the ground on the head of his boot. "No, of course not."
Ryan inhales. "Now that was what I thought. Come on. Mr. Beckett is coming over to tea. I hope he will teach you to draw a portrait today."
After couple of minutes Brendon is excited again. Ryan can tell by the way Brendon's step has its normal happy rhythm back in it. "Oh, that would be fantastic. I have always wished to know how to paint!"
Ryan sighs. "Yes."

~~~

Ryan models to Brendon. He would not have agreed but at least he's able to read his book at the same time. Besides, Mr. Beckett was very decisive about Ryan modelling. William is wearing light grey trousers and he has bound his long hair into his neck.
As Brendon is painting, William is, well, William is just standing behind Brendon the whole time and tells Brendon to be careful so that Brendon really can capture Ryan's delicate features.
They continue the next day, and finally when Brendon finishes the painting, William is charmed. "Wonderful job, Brendon," he tells him eying the painting carefully. "I wonder if I can have this picture? As a reminder," he says, and Ryan is happy because his plan seems to work as he had wished.
"Of course," Brendon says to William, smiling.
William carefully wraps the painting and as he leaves, he nods his head. "Good night to you both."
"Ah, he's such a gentleman!" Brendon says happily, and Ryan smiles at him.

The three of them meet again after that, after two days. They walk around in the sunny garden, surrounded by singing birds and flowers. William tells them stories about his past life in London, about the London society.
Brendon is astonished, and William seems to be pleased to have such a good audience.
He even picks a flower and gives it to Brendon who blushes. It is rather sweet, Ryan thinks. Brendon pins the flower to his coat. A purple flower against dark blue velvet. It's a rather nice touch.

~~~

When Brendon comes two hours before they are meant to leave for the ball at Highbury, Ryan is putting his plan in full action. He talks about William while handing Brendon a pair of his old trousers and a white shirt; talks about how well mannered and kind he is, what a good husband he will be to someone.
Brendon agrees to everything and smiles widely.
"And, I'm sure you have noticed that he absolutely adores you," Ryan finally says.
Brendon's eyes are wider than normally when he looks up at him and he looks surprised.

A smile tugs at the corner of Ryan’s mouth. "Brendon, don't tell me you haven't noticed how he looks at you?"
"Well yes but..."
"I think he really has fallen for you, my friend. And why would he not? You're such a sweet soul!"
Brendon laughs, smiles happily as he buttons up the vest he's borrowing from Ryan. And Ryan has to admit, that the clothes make Brendon look rather handsome. He only hopes he would have thought about shortening the trousers and making them fit Brendon’s figure better.
He steps closer and knots the cravat himself, making Brendon lift his chin up. "There you go," he says stepping back. Brendon turns and looks at his reflection.
"This is just like in a dream!" Brendon whispers, eyes wide. Then he actually turns and hugs Ryan.

“There, there,” Ryan says and awkwardly pats Brendon’s back.

~~~

"Mr. Beckett," Ryan says as William enters the main hall at Highbury, "How delightful!"

Ryan is in agony. William won't leave his side. When Ryan finally manages to get Brendon to play the piano, the poor boy is so nervous he makes couple of mistakes already in the first part. "Oh, he will learn," William says to Ryan's relief.
"How could he not, when he has such a great teacher!"
When Ryan realizes that William thinks that it had been him who had taught Brendon to play it's already too late. William is gone, walked out of the room and the song is not even finished!
Ryan doesn't understand. When Brendon finishes and comes to sit next to him, Ryan doesn't know what to say.
"Where's William?" Brendon asks, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. For Ryan's luck, Frank saves him.
"That was brilliant!" Frank says, sitting next to Brendon. "How long have you played?"
Ryan sighs in relief. He stands up to find William leaving Brendon to talk about music with Frank because that kind of behaviour is not okay. It is not tolerable to treat your future fiancé like that.

When he finally finds William in the great hall he makes Ryan dance three dances with him. Ryan's almost sweating when they finish.
"You're a natural dancer!" William says and really, Ryan likes flattery as much as the next boy, but he has too left feet.
"You should ask Brendon, he's much better than..." but William cuts in. "Brendon is a sweet kid, but why would I want to dance with him?"
Ryan blinks. "I thought he was the reason you came to visit me," he says blatantly, because he comes up with nothing else.
William actually looks appalled, his beautiful features becoming distorted. "Brendon!" he says too loudly and Ryan worries that someone will hear. He fights the urge to hush at William.
"But surely you didn't think I would fall for a servant!"
"But," Ryan starts again but is again disrupted by William.
"I came because of you!" William says, emphasising his words by tightening his grip around Ryan’s and Ryan gasps in utter horror.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Ryan says in a cold tone, chin up, and takes his hands away from William's grip.
William's cheeks are burning. "I have never been humiliated this much my entire life!" he hisses at Ryan through gritted teeth and Ryan actually leans backwards in shock.
William storms out of the hall, manages to barge into Gabe in the doorway, who just laughs.
Ryan flees the hall as well, but walks into other direction. He is aghast. How could have he been so wrong? But surely William must know that in fortune and consequence Ryan was greatly his superior. He must know that the Rosses had been settled for several generations at Hartsfield, the younger branch of a very ancient family – and that the Becketts were nobody.
Months later, when he hears that William is getting married to some Mr. McCoy, who, apparently, has some estates in America, Ryan will only feel relieved.
Now, he thinks, how can I ever bear to tell the awful truth to Brendon?

~~~

"Patrick never stops to amaze me!" Mr. Wentz is saying in a most earnest manner, eyes glinting happily when Ryan sits down. Pete’s statement actually makes Patrick blush. "I don't believe that anyone would come to hear my sermons if it wasn't for him playing the organs. He's so talented! I always say that he should go to London to play with a real orchestra, have concerts and all that glorious business, but he just says he's happy here with me!" At that he actually lays his hand on Patrick's thigh, but if anyone else notices, they don't mention it.
"Mr. Vicar!" Ryan turns his head. It's Victoria, and she is looking astonishing, her light blue dress emphasising her pale skin and her dark hair in curls over her forehead and ears, with the longer back hair drawn up into loose buns. "You have to come and tell Gabe the story you told me earlier! He won't believe me otherwise!"
"Everyone wants me today," Mr. Wentz says looking at Patrick in a manner that Ryan would not describe anything other than tender while standing up. He walks with Victoria to the next room.
"Where's William?" Brendon asks and Ryan almost squirms in his seat.
"I saw him leave earlier. Perhaps he did not feel that well," Patrick says.
"Oh," Brendon almost whispers, looking at his hands. Ryan wants to close his eyes.

Later Mr. Stump, the organist, and the vicar leave together. Ryan and Brendon stay quite late and Gerard even tries to keep them there over the night, but Ryan says no. "You know my father, he will worry," he says and Gerard sighs.
"You must come and visit more often. Gerard speaks so highly of you," Frank says as he comes into the hall. He easily slips his hand around Gerard's waist, the movement so easy and familiar it fills Ryan's chest with jealousy.
"I promise," he says as his driver comes to the front of the house with the carriage.
"It was such a lovely event!" Brendon says, and Ryan can tell that Gerard already loves him. Perhaps he's relieved that Ryan has found some company besides his father. Gerard even hugs Brendon before he climbs to the carriage.

On their way back Brendon falls asleep, head resting against the rear panel. The evening didn't go as Ryan had hoped but at least it was a success by other means. He would have hated if the first event that his beloved Gerard would have organised would have not gone as planned.
Ryan has to wake Brendon up as they reach Mrs Bates' house at the end of the Hazel Road. Brendon yawns while stepping down from the carriage. He promises to bring the clothes back tomorrow.
"Good night, Brendon," Ryan wishes as the driver urges the horses forward.

~~~

The next day Ryan sends a message to Brendon that he has the most tremendous headache, asks, if they could postpone their meeting for the next day.
Brendon sends the borrowed clothes back with a message: What ever time suits Ryan the best, would be good with him.
Now when Ryan can't actually leave the house, he comes up with bunch of things he should take care of in the town. Finally he settles for writing Spencer, telling him about Brendon and the whole misfortune with William.

Such a shame, he writes, since Brendon is such a sweet boy with good nature and reputation. I don't understand how I could have been mistaken as such a way.

~~~

Brendon comes by the next day at tea time. He is still excited about the party at Highbury.
Ryan can barely look Brendon in the eye when he starts to talk about William, how handsome he had looked in that dark blue coat.
There's a quiet knock in the door and Hannah steps in. She doesn’t quite meet Ryan’s eyes.
"Yes?" Ryan says and is only glad of the interruption.
"Mr. Beckett sent a note with this painting," Hannah says and lays them on the table by the door.
It's the painting of Ryan that Brendon had worked so hard upon.
"Oh," Brendon only says.
Ryan walks over and opens the note with trembling fingers.
He reads the note. "William has gone to a holiday," Ryan says, almost whispers, out loud.
Brendon looks miserable, like his heart is truly broken.
Brendon stands up. "I think I better go as well, leave you to have dinner with you father" he says, tries to smile at Ryan, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

~~~

Brendon doesn't come by the next day but Ryan only feels relieved. He reads and even plays some piano which he has not done since he heard Brendon play the first time.
By Sunday they haven't met even once. When Ryan walks to the church with his father Jon walks past them. "Mr. Ross," he says, nodding his head to them both while passing them.
"Such a nice man," Ryan's father says to Ryan and he hums in agreement. Something is different in Jon's features. Ryan just isn't able to put his finger on it.

The sermon is as entertaining as it always is. Pete talks about charity, the importance of it. In adequate places Patrick plays a hymn.
Ryan watches the people present. He doesn't see Brendon there among the crowd. There's only Mrs. Bates sitting with Greta. Jon is sitting couple or rows ahead of Ryan and Ryan notices how he too keeps on glancing on Mrs. Bates' direction. Ryan blinks.
"Bloody hell," he mumbles out loud and receives a punch to his arm from Vicky T, who is sitting next to him. "Shh!" she hushes quite loudly.

~~~

By Monday afternoon, Ryan is bored out of his mind. He realizes that in a sort of odd way, he actually misses Brendon's company.
Ryan closes the book in a loud thump, sending a cloud of dust into the air, and walks to the hall. He takes his overcoat from the rack and pulls it over his white, double-breasted waistcoat. He puts his gloves and his tall hat on and takes his cane from the stand.
"Hannah" he informs in a loud voice, "I'm going outside. Tell father that I might be late for dinner!" He does not wait for an answer before hurrying outside from the house.
Brendon has caught a cold. This Ryan learns from Patrick who has heard it from Greta. Greta comes by quite often, Patrick tells him, to sing with him. Ryan doesn't stay at the vicarage, but leaves after what he thinks is appropriate and hurries to the widow's place. Greta lets him in, wearing a dark grey dress. "Come in," she says but doesn't sound very welcoming. There are dark circles under her eyes.

Brendon is pale. His room is modest and he is lying in his bed, the covers up to his chin.
He tries to smile at Ryan, when he recognises him, but that only starts a set of coughs that are so loud and drastic that Ryan himself can feel the pain in his lungs.
"Soup," he says to Greta taking the gloves off his hands and laying them with his hat on the table by the window. Greta is standing at the doorway, hands behind her back. "He needs soup," Ryan says again. Greta nods and leaves the room.

~~~

"You are a true friend," Brendon tells him in a grave voice after Ryan had feed him all of four spoonfuls of chicken soup. Then Brendon falls asleep, head tilted to the side, mouth slightly open.
Ryan takes a long breath and swipes the bangs away from Brendon's sweaty forehead.
"I didn't think you would come," Greta says to him behind him and Ryan almost jumps because he had not heard her coming in. Greta is looking at him, eyes serious and her mouth is a straight, thin line.
Ryan blinks as he stands up. "Why of course I came! He's my friend!"
While Greta takes the bowl of soup away from Ryan's hands, she does not say anything.
"Be quiet when you go out. You don't want to wake him up, I imagine."
Ryan feels strange when he walks out of the house, putting his gloves back on. He can't leave the strange feeling behind him even when walking along the Hazel Road towards his own house.
"Of course I came," he mumbles by himself. The roads are muddy from the rain and Ryan wishes that they would have stone paths like in Bath. Now he has to clean his shoes when he comes home.

~~~

Ryan sits on his bed. He misses Spencer. He feels like no one in Hartsfield understands him any more. He sits there and thinks how Spencer will probably stay in London after he has married that, that person, instead of coming home and living near to him.
"You should come home," Ryan whispers to the dimly room even when he knows Spencer will not hear.
Ryan blows the candle out and goes to bed, pulls the blanket to his chest.
He feels utterly alone.

The next day Ryan receives a letter from Spencer. "Thursday," Ryan mumbles and he cannot believe he forgot about the letter! He hurries inside, to his room and rips the envelope open.
Tears sting in his eyes when he reads the awful words.
There's not a single word about Spencer's wedding or even about the rumoured engagement. Instead he tells what a heedless idiot Ryan had been. Matchmaking! His Ryan would never try to intervene in such a childish manner.
Ryan's cheeks are burning with shame.
He crumbles the letter up and tosses it into the fire. He wishes he had never read it in the first place.

~~~

Next day Ryan is up before sunrise. Hannah almost screams in surprise when he comes downstairs and almost collides with her at the bottom of the stairs.
"Sorry," Ryan mumbles. He hasn't been up this early since his childhood. He just couldn’t sleep with all the thoughts circling in his head.
"Hannah," he says. "Can you tell me about Mr. Walker?"
Hannah looks intently at him, blond hair in a perfect bun in her neck. "Jon? What do you want to know?"
Hannah is almost like a family to them. She has couple of years on Ryan but they have always been pretty informal as long as he can remember.

Ryan cannot point a single time they have had a proper chat.
"Anything, Hannah. You can tell me anything you know," Ryan says while sitting down at the dining room.
Hannah smiles. "Okay, young Mr. Ross. I'll bring these back to the kitchen and be right back. I can bring you some tea, if you would like?"
Ryan smiles. "That would be wonderful."

~~~

Ryan has walked past Mr. Walker's house three times. Soon he will just go home, because it is getting rather ridiculous. Ryan has to admit, that it's a nice house. Ryan has never noticed it before, but he remembers the house, how it had looked like mere couple of years ago, before Mr. Walker had bought it; remembers the faded paint and overgrown garden.
Ryan stops at the gate. "Right," he says, and walks determinedly to the door. A man on a mission.
Jon opens the door himself. "Good day, Mr. Ross," he says with a rather surprised look in his face, scratching his beard. He stands there on the doorstep, barefoot, Ryan notices, blinking.

"Would you like to come in?"
"Er," Ryan says, squinting his eyes, like he really hasn’t thought his plan this far. "Yes, that would be a pleasure."

Jon had restored his house himself, little by little, he tells him. The wooden floors are old but clean and he had painted the whole house outside with a light grey colour. The walls were wallpapered with light colors and with modern patterns. It was cosy without being cheap. Perhaps Brendon would indeed be happy there, Ryan thinks, staring at the bookshelf across the room.
Jon brings tea to the salon himself. "I'm sorry but I wasn't really expecting anyone and Margaret is visiting her family in Highbury."
Ryan takes the cup from the tray. "I see. It's a lovely house you have here, Mr. Walker," he says.
Jon smiles at him, the smile real and simple, and Ryan can understand why people are so fond of him. "Jon. Call me Jon, Mr. Ross."
Ryan takes a sip from his tea before laying the cup back on its setting. "Jon," he says, tasting the name, "the reason I came is quite simple: I need to ask you to do me a favour."
Jon's eyebrows are high and he too lays the teacup down on the table. "What kind of a favour, if I may ask?"
Ryan takes a shaky breath. He really hopes he's right. "As you have probably heard, poor Brendon is sick." Jon actually looks surprised and worry spreads across his face. He looks like he's going to stand up so Ryan continues hastily: "Nothing serious, I can assure you! Just a persistent cold. But as the way there is too long for me to make on a daily basis, I was hoping, that perhaps you could visit him on my behalf?"
Jon sits down on his chair and the glance he gives Ryan is exploratory. Ryan looks him straight into the eye. Finally a knowing but happy smile spreads across Jon's face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "It would be my pleasure."
Ryan smiles, letting a long breathe out, and takes another sip from his tea. "That is what I was hoping for."

part two here.

Fic: We Go Together Like Peas And Carrots; Pete/Mikey; NC-17; [1/2]

Sun, 02 Dec 2007 14:41:45 GMT

Title: We go together like peas and carrots
Pairing: Pete/Mikey, (Gerard/Frank, Brendon/Spencer)
POV: Third
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~7,300
Summary: Movie Theater AU! Mikey gets a job. Sometimes all he wants to do is to quit.
Disclaimer: Not real. Don't own.
Author Notes: Thank you megyal and alexalgebra for betaing! You are amazing!

You would assume that Pete lives at the movie theater, considering all the time he spends there. He’s there first thing in the morning, flicking the lights on, turning the popcorn machine on and making sure the film reels, the movies themselves, are in their respective places.

He’s there late at night when the people wander out of the movie hall, some silent and some talking about the film they just saw. He’s there to open the door for them and clean after them, making sure every machine is shut down for the night, and all the lights are off. Finally, he steps outside, locking the front door and walking away in the light of the neon ‘Cinema’ sign, flickering in the night.

In other words, Pete’s the janitor.

Mikey is somewhat nervous. He keeps stepping from foot to foot, kicks the rocks on the ground with the head of his black converse. It’s his first day at work and he stands before the building, waiting for the time to pass because he doesn’t want to appear too eager.

“You Mikey?” a voice says behind him and he can’t help but to jump a little.

“Shit,” he says, turning to face this guy who is giving him the most meritorious bitch-face he has perhaps ever seen.

“I take that as a yes, then,” the boy says, eyebrows quirked up, and walks past Mikey to go inside. He doesn’t wait for Mikey and the door closes behind him.

“Shit,” Mikey says again, taking a long breath before following the boy inside.

Mikey stands in the grand hall. It’s not as big as it’s high. The boy who had gone inside just seconds before him has disappeared somewhere.

“Mikey,” another man says, yells almost, smiling so wide that it’s catching. Mikey nods. The man comes to him, passes the ticket sales booth. He’s short, a lot shorter than Mikey himself and Mikey is not a big guy by any means.

The man extends his hand and Mikey shakes it, tries to smile even a little. “I’m Pete,” the man says and Mikey nods again.

Pete’s hand is warm and a bit sweaty but his grip is tight, secure, and he holds on maybe a second too long. Mikey tugs his hands into his pockets.

Pete just smiles at him. “Let me show you around.”

Mikey is impressed. He got the job through a friend’s friend and it sort of felt more like a favor to his brother than anything else. The theatre is amazing, even though the wall-to-wall-carpeting as well as the seats covered in red velvet have become worn in the long years this place has been running. It smells like cigarettes inside, Mikey notices, and perhaps people were allowed to smoke inside sometime in the seventies and the smell just stayed, impressed into the walls.

And the walls themselves? They are covered in movie posters from all decades and Mikey is in awe. He just keeps thinking how much Gerard would like it there, but Gerard has his own job in the bookstore and it isn’t like this isn’t completely Gerard’s fault in the first place. He was the one who told him to get a job. So Mikey did.

He just never thought he could like it.

Apparently the boy who has the bitch-face has the hips as well. He works in the register and is the official un-official bookkeeper.

“I’m Spencer,” the boy finally says in a tone that implies that you better not fuck with him.

“Mikey,” Mikey says, and the boy nods approvingly, bangs falling down to hide his eyes. He turns his focus back to his work and Mikey backs away from the office.

The theater has been running from the early thirties, Pete informs him. Here was a butcher’s shop before, and there’s a rumor, that at night, you can still hear the pigs squealing.

“It’s the sewer system,” Spencer says, not lifting his eyes from his papers.

Pete seems to be unmoved by this. “The owner said you could practically smell the blood and meat after years!”

Mikey quirks his eyebrow. “Well, that’s nice.”

For some reason Mikey doesn’t understand, Spencer snorts.

“You could be happy here, I could take care of you. I wouldn't let anybody hurt you. We could grow up together, E.T.”

Mikey sells candy, movie posters and popcorn. He’s also pretty sure after couple of hours that the popcorn machine has something against him. Pete laughs and tells him it takes talent, but that he certainly has the right moves. Mikey ducks his head, tries to hide the blush that’s slowly creeping onto his face, but Pete just laughs louder.

Because the audience here is pretty selective, they don’t really sell all that much, except popcorn on the weekends. “So don’t worry too much,” Pete says, punching him onto his shoulder.

Mikey is also the usher and the ticket guy standing at the door. Pete always starts the movies but after that Mikey goes into the small booth and changes the reels when needed.

He likes it, the atmosphere of the small theatre. He almost wishes he could have found it earlier.

“That’s Brendon, Spencer’s boyfriend,” Pete stage-whispers to him so loudly they all hear and Spencer gives Pete a look but Brendon, he just smiles.

Mikey and Pete stand there, watching, as Spencer and Brendon walk out of the door together.

“He used to come every day until Spencer agreed to go out with him.”

Mikey blinks. “Wow, that’s persistent.”

“Tell me about it.” Pete’s standing too close and Mikey can smell him, sweat and cologne mingled together with something that’s just Pete.

Mikey swallows and moves a bit away from Pete, leans against the wall.

"Hey," Pete says turning to look at him while walking across the room. "You know what would be perfect? To have, like, a horror movie marathon at Halloween!"

Mikey nods his head in agreement. "Yeah."

"Seriously! We could show movies through the night. It would be awesome!" Pete pauses and turns to look at him. "Well, are you coming or not? I mean, you can totally spend the night if you want to. I just thought--"

Mikey takes couple of running steps towards the door and cuts in. "Asshole..."

Pete flicks the lights off.

"See you tomorrow," he says, smirking, while locking the front door. Then he turns and starts to walk towards his car.

"Yeah, tomorrow," Mikey answers, and walks down the hill towards the bus stop, the asphalt glistening under the streetlights.

When Mikey gets home the first night, his brother yells somewhere from the basement. “How was it?”

Mikey can’t help but to grin a little. “Okay!” he yells back while taking his jacket off and walking into the kitchen to grab something to eat.

“So they didn’t fire your ass on the first day?”

Mikey jumps at the voice right behind him. “Oh Jesus Christ, Frank!”

Frank laughs as he walks to the kitchen table and sits down. He blows the bangs away from his eyes. “How was it?”

Mikey turns again to the fridge and takes a juice carton out. He thinks about Spencer and his dry humor. And he thinks about Pete.

“Okay,” he says while turning to face Frank. “It was okay.”

On the third day, Mikey is early again, but this time he goes straight inside. Frank gave him a ride after they had dropped Gerard off by the bookstore downtown.

Mikey spends the first couple of hours fastening new movie posters to the walls and just talking about movies with Pete.

“I can’t wait ‘til you meet Patrick! You will love him, man. He’s awesome.” Pete says to him and Mikey blinks. Oh right, he thinks. Of course.

“Right,” he says and he tries to smile.

Later when Pete asks if he needs a ride, Mikey says Gerard is picking him up.

As he sits in the night bus, he closes his eyes and tries to think about nothing.

He doesn’t succeed very well.

Sometimes Pete sits in the nearly empty audience and watches films Mikey thinks he must have seen thousand times before.

But there are only so many times you want to see Casablanca or Citizen Kane. ET and Taxi Driver are movies Pete seems to enjoy, as well as some Japanese movies Mikey doesn’t recognize at all.

Mikey stares out of the little window into the hall and imagines how Pete’s sitting there, legs propped against the seat ahead of him, memorizing the lines. Imagines what it would be like sitting there with him, next to him.

Mikey almost forgets to change the reel.

“I do believe in fairies, I do I do.”

"This is stupid," Mikey tells his reflection in the mirror. He takes a deep breath.

"Stupid," he says again, but his reflection only stares back.

After three seconds he says, "Fuck it," and rushes back into his room to change the shirt he's wearing. He's late for his bus so Frank has to give him a ride.

On the way to the city, Frank doesn't shut up. Mikey thinks if Frank doesn't soon stop bitching about nothing he's going to explode. "Just go and eat lunch with Gerard," Mikey finally says. And Frank does indeed shut his mouth at that.

Mikey rolls his eyes. "Stupid," he mumbles just under his breath but makes sure Frank doesn't hear.
When Frank drops Mikey off at the theater he calls "See you tonight!" and apparently can't drive away fast enough.

Mikey rolls his eyes but walks inside the theater.

They have Woodie Allen week in the theater. They are even advertising in the paper even though Pete trusts more that the word will spread better among the public.

"You have to wear these," Pete says handing him a pair of black-framed glasses.

Mikey looks at the glasses. "You have to be kidding me."

A smile is tugging at the corner of Pete’s mouth, waiting to fully break free. "Nope. No lenses."

Mikey puts the glasses on and gives Pete a glare.

Pete's laugh is obnoxiously loud while he puts his own glasses on, and he looks so ludicrous Mikey can't help but to smile, so they stand there, in the empty hall, too close to each other, smiling idiotically.

Pete leans forward, like he's going to tell a secret and Mikey can't help but to mirror the movement. "Besides, they look so much better on you than on Spencer." And then Pete giggles, seriously, and it really shouldn't make Mikey blush.

“I got a divorce because my ex-wife left me for another woman.”

There are only so many times you can watch Woodie Allen films before the self-hatred starts to rub off on you. Brendon hangs around most nights, waiting for Spencer to get off and Mikey learns to like him. He seems to get excited over everything. And he’s just so tiny that Mikey feels like someone could break him so easily. Too easily.

One night Mikey forgets to take the glasses off when leaving. Gerard and Frank are picking him up again, and Mikey thinks it's no wonder that Pete calls them "parents".

When Frank sees the glasses he starts to giggle uncontrollably and it takes a while to Mikey to figure it out what's so funny. "Shut up," he says when sitting in the car. "It's a part of the uniform." But he takes the glasses off and puts them into his bag.

"You have to look like a nerd to work in a movie theater?" Gerard says, giving him a glance through the rearview-mirror. Mikey frowns.

"No, but Pete thought it would--"

"So when are we going to meet this Pete-guy?" Frank cuts in, but Mikey only rolls his eyes.

"Put some music on," he says, slumping down on his seat. He actually falls asleep on the ride home and is quite startled when he wakes up to Gerard nudging him gently on his shoulder.

"Huh?"

"We’re home," Gerard mumbles while leaning back again. Mikey blinks sleepily before climbing out of the car.

The next day, Pete gives him a ride home but Mikey doesn’t ask him in. Afterwards he sits on his bed and listens to music that’s too loud to be really enjoyable.

Too loud suits him well. He goes downstairs and digs around until he finds a bottle of vodka. Right, he thinks, and takes a bottle of coke from the fridge. After all, he likes it strong but not that strong.

Mikey wakes up. He reaches out a hand and after a couple of misses, shuts off the alarm. It takes him ten more minutes to get out of bed; just when he’s ready to fall asleep again he manages to heave himself up. The morning wood is surprising, seen as how much he drunk yesterday, but he ignores it. After all, it always goes away. He pulls his jeans and a clean t-shirt on. He accidentally kicks the now empty vodka bottle and then burps loudly, resisting the urge to spill his guts out all over the floor. The walk downstairs takes him longer than usual because he has to descend very slowly, hanging onto the banister. His head is pounding and it is tastes like something died in his mouth.

When he finally gets to the kitchen door he blinks, because a shirtless Frank is sitting at the table with the newspaper open.

“Um,” he says.

“You have no food,” the shirtless Frank points out, not lifting his gaze from the paper.

“Why don’t you have a shirt on?” Mikey asks, still standing at the doorway.

“I couldn’t find it.” Frank turns a page.

“Right,” Mikey says, trying to ignore the obvious hickey on Frank’s neck, just next to the scorpion. Instead he walks towards the coffee machine. He's a tad worried whether or not he's able to keep that down when the strong aroma fills his nose, but he tries to make his brain to believe that coffee would be good for him.

He takes couple of shaky steps towards the table before sitting down. He's only happy they've run out of food, because he really couldn't bear the smell of food right now. Actually the mere thought of food makes something twist and turn in his stomach.

"Are you okay, man?" Frank asks him after he had to close his eyes. He shakes his head to sign that he cannot speak right now and Frank seems to take the hint.

"You just look a little green, dude, that's all." Mikey can totally believe that. He feels green. It takes him five minutes until he can finally take a gulp from his coffee. It's already lukewarm by then but he doesn't care. At least it will cover the dead animal taste in his mouth.

Mikey sits back on his chair and stares at Frank who is still reading the paper. “Do you live here or something?” Mikey asks and he’s not pissed, he’s not, but Frank just seems to always be there.

“Maybe,” Frank answers nonchalantly, raising his shoulders and taking a big gulp of his coffee.

Mikey stares, because what kind of answer is that, but gives up and walks out of the kitchen. He needs to shower.

"Garth, marriage is punishment for shoplifting in some countries!"

Pete gives him a ride home one night, and as he’s climbing out of the car, Frank is just leaving, jacket only half on. He jumps down the steps three at a time and hurries to his car.

“Asshole,” he mumbles, sounding angry, pushing the words through gritted teeth, and Mikey freezes. He can hear Pete driving away behind them.

Gerard comes to the door, stepping out onto the porch. “That’s what you said! It was your own words you ignorant prick!” he yells but Frank doesn’t listen, just climbs to his own car and starts the engine.

“Hey!” Gerard yells, moving nearer to the steps, but Frank’s already backing off the driveway. Mikey and Gerard both watch as he drives away, accelerates at the end of the street and they can hear the wheels scream when he has to turn round.

“Fucking fuck!” Gerard curses, so loud that probably the whole street heard. He stands there taking long breaths, biting the inside of his mouth. Finally he goes back inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

After a while, Mikey goes inside as well.

Frank doesn’t come by in two days.

The second day, when Mikey comes home, there’s an empty whisky bottle at the table. Mikey stares at it. “Fucking Gerard,” he mumbles and goes to his room. He puts a CD on the player, and he knows Gerard can easily hear it to the basement. He just doesn't care.

He kicks his shoes off and lies on his bed.

He thinks about quitting his job. Perhaps it would be easier than to be constantly aware of Pete's presence. But Pete's Pete. And Mikey would still know that he exists, somewhere, being happy and sad and having sex and --- Mikey closes his eyes. He's so royally screwed.

While he wraps his hand around his cock he thinks about how he hasn't jerked off this much since high school. "Fucking Pete," he mumbles head turned against his pillow, and he's panting, jacking his hand in sync with the bass line.

"Fuck him and his... ngh!"

He lies there, breathing heavily, while the song ends. Then he kicks his jeans off and walks to the bathroom to clean up. "Fucking Pete."

“I used to think if I died in an evil place then my soul wouldn't make it to heaven. Well, fuck. I don't care where it goes as long it ain't here.”

In the morning when Mikey gets downstairs, Frank’s sitting at the table, swirling the empty whisky bottle around. He’s wearing sunglasses and Mikey just stares at him, standing at the doorway.

“Morning,” he finally mutters, to announce his presence, and Frank turns his head.

“He left me a message, you know,” Frank finally says in a rugged voice, running fingers through his hair. “I should have guessed that it was the booze talking.”

Something is off in Frank’s voice and Mikey goes and sits at the table across from him.

They sit there in silence and the morning sunlight is streaming through the curtains. “Maybe you should talk with him.”

Frank swirls the bottle and doesn't utter a word.

Mikey tries to watch neither Frank nor the bottle. “I’m sure he didn’t mean what he--”

Frank snorts. “Oh, he meant it.” His voice is little too high but the tone is grim. He gives the bottle a final nudge before stopping it with his hand. Mikey stares at the bottle. It's pointing at the door.

Frank sighs heavily before standing up. He pulls a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, putting it on his mouth without lighting it, and walks out of the kitchen. “See ya, kid,” he yells before Mikey can hear the front door slamming shut. He can't help but to wince a little.

“Fucking Gerard,” he says while standing up. He putts the bottle into the sink. He makes coffee and sits alone at the table listening to the purring coming from the fridge. “Fucking Gerard,” he mumbles again.

Frank came by, Mikey writes on a bit of note-paper. He stares at it a while before he goes and picks up the bottle from the sink and puts it next to the note. Then he grabs his jacket and the keys from the table and walks out of the house.

He takes the bus downtown and another to the theatre. He really, really hopes that Pete will give him a ride that night. It takes him a fucking forever to get home otherwise.

On a Tuesday when Mikey gets to the theatre, it’s too silent there. Spencer is not in the office where he usually is at this time of the day. Mikey walks up the stairs and opens the door to the first hall. There they are, both Spencer and Pete, sitting in the middle of the room.

Mikey goes to them and sits next to Spencer.

The only sound is coming from the air-conditioning.

“The owners came by today,” Spencer finally says, like that explains everything, still staring at the white screen ahead of them.

“And?” Mikey asks because he just can’t not, even when he really doesn’t want to hear, because it feels like a funeral in there.

Spencer sighs heavily. “They're thinking about selling this place.”

“Oh.” Mikey tries not to look at Pete, who’s looking absolutely heart-broken.

“We don’t have cup holders,” Pete says in a flat voice, like that’s an explanation.

Spencer shakes his head but the movement is sad, resigned. “It’s the DVDs, man, you know it. No one comes to the movies anymore except the art kids and Pete lets them in free half the time,” he says, not lifting his eyes from the seat ahead of him.

They sit in the silence and it does feel like it is someone's funeral.

They continue like nothing has changed. Pete still comes first thing in the morning and leaves after the last film.

It feels unreal, the whole situation, but Mikey doesn’t mind. He grew up with Gerard after all.

One night when Pete gives Mikey a ride home again, Gerard’s standing outside of the house with a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth.

“So that’s prince charming?” Gerard says and takes a long drag before stomping the cigarette-butt into the ground.

Mikey says nothing, but Gerard, wraps his arm around his shoulders. “Nice car,” he says, and Mikey knows they will be okay.

Mikey gasps and tries to change the image in his head; tries to think anything else but tattooed hands wrapped around his cock, jerking him, anything else but that mouth…

“Fuck!” he says as he comes, hard, all over his stomach, forehead pressed against the cold mirror, other hand clenching the sink for support. He’s breathing heavily, and his heart is beating so fast in his chest. “Fuck,” he says as he stares into his own wide eyes in the mirror, the bathroom light too bright, too illuminating.

Somehow his life has turned upside down and he doesn't know what to do. "Get a grip," he tells his reflection, yearning for to punch something. "Get a fucking grip."

They, he and Gerard, are sitting in the dimly lit kitchen and drink coffee that’s too strong, too dark after sitting in the pot for too long.

“You should call him,” Mikey says before taking a big gulp.

“Who?” Gerard asks not lifting his gaze, turning a page.

Mikey stares at his brother, who seems totally oblivious. “Maybe Frank was right,” he finally says, standing up. Gerard looks at him eyes wide.

“No need to come and pick me up.” He never thought his brother was an idiot, but never before has he wanted to punch him this badly.

Pete’s voice is completely flat. “This one time, at band camp, I stuck a flute in my pussy.”

Mikey stares at Pete.

“That’s so lame, dude!” Brendon shouts from the other room. “Try something more difficult!”

Pete squints his eyes and bites his lip. “Ah, now I know!” He lowers his voice when he says: “Bats frighten me. It's time my enemies share my dread.”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Batman begins, you moron.” Pete laughs and walks away to fix the advert stand.

It’s a fun day at work. Pete’s in a good mood. The whole day he only speaks using lines from all the films he can remember. Whenever he tries it with Spencer, he just gives Pete this look and says in the most monotonous voice: “Luke, I am your father,” and every time Pete laughs.

Mikey thinks it should be sad.

Later, Patrick comes by and Mikey thinks he should stop smiling because Patrick comes by with Bob. Bob, Patrick’s boyfriend, is awesome. Mikey could hang out with him all the time.

Bob. Patrick’s boyfriend.

Pete asks what’s wrong with him but he just smiles in response.

It’s cold and dark outside when Mikey steps out of the theater that night.

“Need a ride?” Pete asks him like he hasn’t driven him home the entire week.

“Yeah.”

The windows cloud over with steam and Pete swears as he tries to adjust the ventilation so that he can see outside. It smells weird in Pete’s car and Mikey doesn’t recognize that scent until later, when he’s sitting on his bed, realizing it’s ginger.

“It smells like Christmas in Pete’s car,” he mumbles to himself and laughs. He laughs so hard he can't even sit straight.

Gerard walks into his room and just stares.

“Are you high?” he asks but that just makes Mikey laugh even harder.

Part 2 here.

Fic: We Go Together Like Peas And Carrots; Pete/Mikey; NC-17; [2/2]

Sun, 02 Dec 2007 14:36:19 GMT

Part 1 here.

“You can't control life. It doesn't wind up perfectly. Only art you can control. Art and masturbation. Two areas in which I am an absolute expert.”

The next morning, when Mikey walks downstairs, there are clothes on the floor. But not just any clothes, Mikey notices; mostly Frank’s clothes.

Sometimes he is happy that he sleeps upstairs, especially in this moment, when a groggy Frank emerges from the basement blinking in the sudden brightness, wearing only grey boxer shorts and a T-shirt Mikey happens to know belongs to Gerard. It doesn’t take long until Gerard comes up as well, hair sticking out in every direction.

There are bite marks on Gerard’s neck and Mikey tries his best not to smirk when Gerard goes and sits too close to Frank, languid and sleepy. He takes a sip from Frank’s coffee mug and Frank nudges at Gerard’s shoulder with his nose.

Mikey blinks, but too much is too much so he finishes his coffee in a big gulp and leaves because he can almost smell the sex. “Just clean up before I get home,” he says, but he doesn’t get an answer because Frank and Gerard are too busy making out.

When Mikey gets to the theatre, Brendon is standing in front of the door, hair tussled and stepping from foot to foot.

"Hey," Mikey says and digs for the keys from his bag. "Spencer not in yet?" he asks while opening the door. When he lets Brendon in and turns the light on he realizes how weird it actually is that Brendon's there in the first place. "Bren, where's Spence?"

Brendon stands in the middle of the hall and looks absolutely miserable. "We may have had a fight."

Mikey doesn't snort. He does quirk one eyebrow though. "You don't know if you had a fight?"

"Well," Brendon says, stepping closer to the office where Spencer usually is, as if it would have some clues pointing to where Spencer is now. "I'm pretty sure it was a fight, yes. I just don't know if it was an end as well."

Mikey blinks. "Oh shit man, I'm sorry--"

Brendon doesn't let him finish; maybe if Mikey actually finishes that sentence it would mean that somehow, whatever Brendon fears will be more real. "But I thought, this is his work place, so he has to talk with me eventually. He can't keep on ignoring me for days, right?"

Mikey nods. He doesn't know what else to do.

Spencer calls in sick. Brendon tries to smile about it, hangs around at the theater for a while longer. When he finally leaves the corner of one eye is twitching lightly but both Pete and Mikey try their best to ignore it. "I have a paper to finish anyway," Brendon picks up his bag from the office. Before he walks out the door he turns and says "If he comes in, would you tell him that..." and then he pauses. The silence fills the room and Mikey catches himself hoping for more people to be around the place, actual customers to distract him.

Finally Brendon smiles, eyes dark. It's a sad smile, not a Brendon-smile at all. "…tell him that I came by," he finishes. Then he waves and walks out, the bell at the door clanging after him.

"Whoa," Pete says. "And there I was waiting for the wedding bells."

Mikey rolls his eyes. "Jackass," he says to Pete and closes the office door behind him and tries his best to ignore the surprised "what?" he hears before the door is properly closed.

Next day Spencer comes in late. "Not a word about it," he says before the door is even closed behind him. Pete lifts his hands up in mock surrender.

Mikey doesn't say a word to Spencer during the whole day. It isn't like he's picking sides or anything. He just remembers how utterly miserable Brendon had looked the previous day. And he doesn’t even see Spencer all that much; he seems to have barricaded himself into the office.

When Spencer leaves after the last film has begun, they haven't spoken anything the whole day and the "bye," echoes long in the empty hall.

Pete shakes his head and makes a tsking noise. "Ah, young love."

Mikey has to shut his eyes, because how is this guy for real? "Shut up," Mikey tells Pete, and seriously, he cannot be in this room a minute longer. He grabs his bag from the rack and walks out, pulling his jacket on as he makes his way to the door.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Pete yells after him but Mikey doesn't turn, just walks out of the damn theater and he really wishes he would smoke, because it feels like his nerves are killing him and he just wants to kick something, really badly.

"Fuck," he says, and walks couple of bus stops further until he gives in and calls Gerard to pick him up.

"You really need to get your own car," Gerard says but shows up twenty minutes later.

He doesn't ask about work and Mikey is grateful. After all, he really has nothing to say.

Next morning when Mikey walks downstairs Frank is cleaning their kitchen.

"What?" Frank says and he's covered in dust and wearing the ugliest trousers Mikey has seen in his life. They are probably Gerard's.

"You know we can't pay you?" Mikey says but the words only send a smile to Frank's face.

"Oh, your brother's going to pay, trust me."

Mikey gives Frank a glare. "I don't wanna know. What happens in the basement stays in the basement."

Frank laughs. "Yes sir. Do you want coffee? There's still some in the pot."

Mikey is pretty sure Frank may be the best thing that ever happened to them. To Gerard. Ah, you get the point.

"Spencer, I can't find the--" The words die at Mikey's lips as he looks to the office where Pete is standing right next to the desk. It feels like Mikey just walked in between a conversation he was not supposed to hear.

Mikey has never seen somebody looking as guilty as Pete does.

"Um," Mikey says, and they all just stand there in the awkward silence.

"I better go," Pete says and tries to move past Mikey as far as possible and Mikey thinks, okay, so that's how it is.

"I have a boiler, um, a boiler that needs to be looked at," Pete mumbles and hurries towards the door to the basement.

"Yes?" Spencer says to Mikey and it takes him a couple of seconds to figure out what he was there in for in the first place

"Um, the order form. I can't find it."

Spencer’s stare is steady. "Behind the cash register."

"Right." Mikey nods but doesn't move.

Spencer’s brows quirk up. "Something else?"

"You and Brendon..." At that Spencer's eyes squint and Mikey vaguely thinks that now would be the perfect time to stop intervening in other people's love life.

"What's up? I mean, the fight, what was it all about."

Spencer doesn't answer right away, just gives him a hard stare, looking as if he's debating whether or not Mikey is worthy of hearing.

Finally he says, "He doesn't want to meet my family."

Mikey blinks, because, seriously?

"Seriously?" he says out loud.

Spencer's shoulders slump down and he rubs at his eyes. "I just don't see what's the big deal. I mean, it's like he isn't sure about us, or about me and he just totally freaked out and..."

"Isn't Brendon a Mormon?" Mikey asks.

Spencer gives Mikey a questioning look between his fingers. "Yes."

"Well, I mean, maybe meeting the parents would be a huge deal for him."

Spencer blinks.

"I'm just saying, maybe you guys should talk."

Mikey stands there a couple more seconds before he starts to feel very self-conscious. Spencer just keeps staring at him.

"Um. Well I better go and fill in the order form." Then he slowly backs out of the office, closes the door behind him.

As he walks to the other side of the hall where the shop is he curses to himself. He will stop intervening in other people's love lives. Period.

“It was the most fun I ever had without laughing.”

At the end of the week Mikey is doing an inventory in the shop when Pete suddenly emerges behind the counter. "So, movie and a dinner?"

"Uh," Mikey says, standing up.

"It was supposed to be a joke." Pete hits him on his shoulder companionably.

"Right," Mikey says, nodding.

"So," Pete says slowly after a moment of silence, fidgeting a little. "Dinner?"

Mikey blinks. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Pete moves closer. "Tonight? After work?"

"Um,” Mikey says staring Pete straight in the eye. “I can call Gerard and let him know he doesn't have to pick me up."

Pete's smile is illuminating. "That would be great."

"Use protection!" Frank shouts before Gerard hangs up and Mikey grimaces, because seriously?

He is an adult after all.

It smells like snow outside. Mikey wishes he had taken his gloves that morning. Pete locks the door while Mikey tries to shuffle his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Brr, it's freezing," Pete says while turning. He gives Mikey a strange look, and Mikey tries his best not shiver from the cold or from something else.

"Wanna share?" Pete asks, handing him one of his mittens.

Mikey smiles while taking it, putting the warm blue wool over his left hand. Pete's wearing the matching one on his right hand. They start walking to the diner that's around the block and open 24 hours a day.

Somewhere on their way there, Pete takes Mikey's hand in his, so that their ungloved fingers are entangled, and even when they reach the diner he doesn't let go.

It makes Mikey’s heart flutter, a fact he would not admit if someone would ask.

"Hey," Pete says before opening the door, turning to face Mikey and leaning closer, not letting go of Mikey’s hand the whole time. Mikey looks at Pete, dark hair sticking out from under his cap. He cannot help but to think that this doesn’t make sense, this doesn’t make sense at all, but Pete leans closer, and Mikey isn’t sure who kisses whom first: was it Pete who tilted his head up to kiss him or was it Mikey who pressed his mouth against Pete's? What comes as a surprise is how tentative the kiss is at first. It's actually quite frustrating, because Mikey has thought about this a lot, how Pete might kiss, what his kisses would taste like, how his mouth would feel. So he cannot help the satisfied grunt that escapes his mouth when Pete finally lets go of the door handle to step closer.

He cups Mikey's jaw with one hand as the other hand wriggles free from Mikey's grip and moves somewhere near Mikey's hip. Pete's tongue slicks into his mouth and the kiss deepens as Pete's hand slides to cup the back of his head. The kiss gets a lot sloppier and hungrier and they are now standing so close to each other Mikey realizes it's not far from Pete actually climbing on him.

They break the kiss to breathe, foreheads resting against each other and their breaths are mingling in the cold air between them.

"Wow," Pete says. "I was wondering how that would be like, but, wow."

Mikey hits him on the arm, not hard, just to make a point.

Pete laughs, but it isn't his normal laugh. It's rough, raw, and it sends shivers all over Mikey's body.

"Okay, let skip the dinner part," Mikey says. "And like, I'm not usually this kind of guy but--" but Pete doesn't really give him even a chance to finish as he starts dragging him back towards the movie theater.

"Not about to question your morals," he says, and normally Mikey would laugh, but he almost cannot resist the urge to run because oh my fucking god, they really should get naked and fast.

When Pete doesn't stop by his car but walks forward Mikey makes a surprised little sound. "Where--?"

Pete totally ignores him, just continuing to walk forwards. He stops at the entrance door to the theater.

"But..." Mikey tries to say but Pete just kisses him silent, pushes him back against the wall, and the kiss is rough, all teeth and haste. Pete rocks against him, and Mikey arches up to gain more friction.

"Come on," Pete says, fishing the keys somewhere from his pocket and opens the door. Then he actually quite literally hauls Mikey inside and kisses him deep, and Mikey thinks he has never been as thoroughly kissed before in his entire life, but soon after that thought nearly all thinking-processes become too hard of a task.

Their clothes are scattered all over the office floor. Mikey is facing the wall, head turned to the left as he's leaning on to the wall, hands braced against the cold surface. “Aren’t these cameras?" Mikey asks looking straight into one.

“Pay no intention to them," Pete mumbles against Mikey's neck, voice coarse and Mikey moans as Pete's fingers wrap around his cock. Mikey tries not to think about the two other cameras that are in the room.

Pete licks the spot on Mikey's neck that send shivers all over his body and Pete's breath is hot and wet against his skin. Pete pushes Mikey's legs more apart using his leg. "You're so fucking hot right now," he whispers against Mikey’s ear and sucks his earlobe, finger's scraping alongside Mikey’s back, other hand jacking Mikey off.

Mikey tries to breathe, but all his brain cells have died and all he can concentrate on is standing, that his knees don't give in. Pete's pressed against his back, and his skin feels hot all over.

“Lick,” Pete murmurs, as his finger pushes against Mikey’s lower lip. Mikey takes the finger into his mouth, coats it with spit before Pete pulls it out again.

As Pete pushes one finger inside him exactly the same time his thumb goes over the head of Mikey's cock Mikey cannot help the sound he makes. His head bucks backwards as his eyes close.

"So fucking hot," Pete says again and he's grinding against Mikey's thigh. As a second finger pushes in Mikey can't help but to push back.

"Now," he says, and pushes backwards as Pete's fingers curl inside of him.

There's no actual lube, but right now Mikey couldn't care less. As Pete pulls the condom out of his wallet, Mikey tries to breathe. He just wants to lick all over Pete's tattoos, taste them.

"Okay, okay," Pete mumbles, as his hands first move along the curve of Mikey's back, to his ass. Mikey can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. He can hear Pete spitting into his hand, to coat the condom with saliva.

“Okay,” Pete says and pushes in, slowly, and Mikey tries to relax his muscles. Pete moans as Mikey starts to push back. "Oh, fuck," Pete says, forehead pressed against Mikey's back, between Mikey’s shoulder blades.

Pete starts to move, one hand on Mikey's hip, one pressed against the wall, just next to Mikey's.

The rhythm becomes fast and Pete fucks him deep. It's so fucking intense Mikey feels like he's going to come easily without anyone touching his cock. He pushes backwards, matching Pete’s rhythm, groans every time Pete bangs into him, and his fingers are trying to dig their way into the wall. Then Pete's hand snakes around his waist, wraps around his cock and Pete doesn't have to jerk his hand too many times before Mikey comes, head tilted back, Pete’s mouth open against his bare skin.

He's fucking shaking afterwards, and Pete really has to support him or he wouldn’t be able to stand. Luckily Pete doesn't last long after Mikey clenches around him and comes as well, hard, teeth digging into Mikey's shoulder.

Mikey's head is pressed against the wall, his bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead. Pete has wrapped one arm around his chest, hand flat against his skin, other arm wrapped around his waist.

"Shit," Pete grumbles breathlessly.

"Yeah," Mikey mumbles back, and he's happy there's a wall he can lean into, because his knees are giving in.

They sit in Pete's car and Joy Division is playing on the stereo. Somehow it only got awkward there. "Um," Mikey says and regrets it immediately as he hasn't got a clue how to continue, so instead he keeps his eyes clued to the road. Pete drives him home like he has a dozen times before, but when he pulls over he stops the engine. Mikey doesn't step out of the car.

"So," Pete says.

"You can, I mean, you can come in, if you want," Mikey says but Pete shakes his head. "I have trouble sleeping, man. I think I'm going to use my own bed."

"Oh, right," Mikey feels like the girl in that movie where she didn't know she was being dumped until it was too late.

"Well, see you at work tomorrow then," Mikey says and climbs out of the car. "Night."

"Asshole," he mumbles when he walks through the lawn towards their front door and thinks again how he's so going to quit his stupid job.

A car door slams shut behind him and soon he's being stopped by a hand on his shoulder and Pete's hands are cupping his face; he's being kissed so hard there will be probably marks left tomorrow. ”You jump, I jump remember?” Pete murmurs against the corner of Mikey’s mouth.

Mikey quirks an eyebrow; can feel Pete rocking against him. “Stupid is what stupid does,” Mikey answers in a very bad southern accent.

"Ah, I have taught you well," Pete says smirking, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. He kisses Mikey hastily once more before turning and running back to his car. “Night!”

"Asshole," Mikey mumbles again when Pete drives away, stares at the rear lights drawing away in the darkness.

There's a loud whistling sound behind him and he jumps.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Frank!"

Frank laughs. "So that's Pete, huh?"

"Yeah," Mikey answers, and it's so not his fault that he's maybe smiling.

Epilogue.

There's a loud thud.

"Oh my fucking god!" Pete says and runs to the office door and punches it. "You better not be having sex in there!"
It's a loud silence that fills the room.

"Um. We are not?" Brendon's voice finally comes through the door but it's too much like a question to be reassuring and Pete looks a little bit horrified.
Mikey snorts, but he would never admit that.

Quotes from: ET (1982), Peter Pan, Manhattan (1979), Wayne’s World (1992), Apocalypse Now (1979), Stardust Memories (1980), Annie Hall (1977). Also used: Forest Gump, Titanic, American Pie, Batman Begins,

I may have issues, whatever

Wed, 28 Nov 2007 10:54:58 GMT

So, I don't know if this is something that only bugs me. Probably. BUT that is not going to stop me because it makes me so angry and frustrated and I just want to kick something really badly every time I see this happen.

Why do people think that having ADHD means that you are an equal to a five-year old? Seriously. People write fics and say that after someone has practically run towards a wall that "well, he's ADHD" like that explains it. WHAT?

I have read so many fics where it reads that Brendon is ADHD. I don't know if I ever read an actual interview where this has been verified. I might have, it's hard to say after it has been said out so many times as a fact.

I don't have problem with that, I have a problem with the way it has been said. An example:

"Ryan sighed. Brendon had run from the bunks to the lounge and draped him all over Jon. "Joooon," he whined. "I want ice cream." Then he pouted. Ryan sighed again. Sometimes he hated that Brendon was ADHD."

Okay, maybe not the best example, but you get the picture. First he acts like he is five, and then at the end he has sex with Ryan. It's very logical, really.

ADHD does not mean that you are in some way retarded. It does not make you act like you are five. Instead,

*You get excited easily. Your eyes shine and you can't stop talking about the thing you're excited about and you are just so excited over the idea that you feel you're going to combust. And then you forget all about it.

*You get easily distracted. You cannot concentrate because everything is too COLORFUL or too LOUD and you have ten thoughts going through your mind at the same time. It's hard to finish anything because at the middle you get bored or distracted by something else.

*Most people who have ADHD are depressed at some point of their life. It's because it's so frustrating when it so hard to have control over the things going on in your life. It feels like you try and try and try and everything just falls apart. You're restless, you fidget, and you stress about things you should do. Only five percent of those with ADHD will get a college degree compared to twenty seven percent of the general population. (US Census, 2003).

*Strong feelings are hard to deal with. When you get angry you get really angry. When you are sad you are sad. You need to be distracted from the thought causing it. That's why almost every person I know who has ADHD has also panic attacks. It's simply because they cannot deal with the emotions going trough their mind. Many ADHD children are violent.

*You disappoint other people. You forget, get distracted, promise something crazy at some day and forget it the next day. That's why it would be best to tell people you have it. So they understand you are not doing it because you don't care. Especially ADHD parents should watch what they promise to their children.

*You start to talk about subject A, move to subject B and end with topic C. If someone doesn't remind you, you will not end your thought about the topic you started with.

*ADHD is not a synonym for stupid.

*The cause behind ADHD is genetic. My dad has it; my twin has it and I'm ADD. Fun, eh?

*ADD and ADHD are two different things.

Okay, I feel much better now. *breathes* I just needed to vent.

MY BRENDON REC LIST! <3

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 19:27:23 GMT

This rec-list is all about Brendon. I already sent this to some of you, but I made it better. I have not read all stories out there, and I have a strange love towards AUs, as you may have noticed. I don't claim that here are all the great fics that there are, just some of my favourites, and I hope you will enjoy them as well.
There might be other pairings as well, I just used the one with Brendon to sort them out...

Jon/Brendon:

Title: Shoot Down the Stars and On My Own Time, by insunshine
(Jon/Tom, Jon/Brendon)
“I think we should take a road trip,” Jon’s voice is tinny over the line, and wherever he is, Tom can’t remember, because it’s a quarter to five in the morning, and Jon apparently isn’t considerate of things like time differences, but even as he’s scrubbing a hand over his face, Tom’s blood is thumbing in his veins, pulsing with something.

wing!fic: title: you are the veil, by kissingchaos9 :
It’s not something they talk about, really. Ever. He’s able to pull them in enough under his clothing that they’re not even noticeable and sometimes he’s able to forget they’re there.

another wing!fic (I don't know. is like people write jon/brendon and there are wings involved...)
Title: Dust and Feathers, by awakeunafraid

Something was tickling the side of his cheek.

Title: Anatomy, by awakeunafraid, mpreg:

Looking back, the first sign that maybe there was something horribly wrong was when his pants stopped fitting.

Pete/Brendon:

Title: Afraid of Change, Afraid of Staying the Same, by disarm_d

When Brendon is 14, he makes friends with another guy (Tom) who plays percussion in the school band. He and Tom hang out behind the bleachers outside after practice and play cards, until one afternoon Tom leans over and kisses him on the lips.

Ryan/Brendon:

Title: Ryan of Green Gables, by skoosiepants

When Gerard and Mikey Way first lay eyes on Ryan, Ryan knows he isn’t what they were expecting.
“You’ll have to go back,” Mikey says with a frown, but Gerard just smiles and says, “We’ll work something out, okay?” and pulls him into a hug.

Title: Best Laid Plans, by iamtheenemy

Brendon had a three-step plan to make Ryan Ross fall in love with him.

Title: Strange and Beautiful, by lemon_writes

It's cold; a deep chilling cold that reaches his insides. He's scared, scared and alone; but he's determined and stubborn and he had to get out of there, and he's never, never going back.

Title: Bets off, by jzbell

"I want in."
Spencer glanced up at Ryan. "What?"

"I want in," Ryan repeated. "I know you guys are taking bets on me and Brendon, and I want in."

Title: Did you think you were dreaming by softlyforgotten Superpowers AU:

In the shadows, they stand like a set of oddly taken photographs: edges dark and clear cut, faces hazy, shadow-territory. That is the first time Jon sees them. Brent is talking somewhere behind him, and Jon wonders absently where he would fit in should he be there – between Ryan and Spencer and the quiet strength of their friendship, maybe, or breaking apart the slightest whisper of Brendon and Ryan’s fingers touching.

Title: [douse the lights], by airgiodslv;

The voices filter in through the last wisps of dreams, the last clear and intent; Spencer’s. If Ryan were awake he’d be able to tell what it means, the way Spencer says his name, the tightness and inflection and too-even calm.

Title: As close at it gets to home (1/3), by airgiodslv;

“Walker’s here.”
Gerard looks up and sees Frank’s head poking around the corner of the door to his office. He waves him in; not like Frank ever waits for his invitation anyway, but they’re been trying to tread more carefully around each other recently, if only to avoid the upheaval that tends to follow

Title: Ryan Ross: Wedding Planner (What We Do Is Love), by adellyna;

“No.” Ryan Ross doesn’t have time for this. It’s not even on his schedule, actually, and he barely has time for the things that are on it: the doggy spa for his Pomeranian (Pete), a mani/pedi at the people spa next door, eleven minutes at the newsstand picking up his favorites, a dress fitting with Brad Pitt’s cousin, the list goes on and on. Nowhere on it is ‘plan a gay wedding.’

Title: One Summer Last Fall, by provetheworst;

Brendon's a little touchy-feely, and it's starting to creep Ryan out. There's any number of reasons for this; for one, he's not really used to having some dude hanging off of him at all hours of the day and night. Then there's the part where Ryan's grasp of heterosexuality is tenuous at best, and Brendon isn't making his internal dilemmas any easier.

Brendon/Frank:

Title: In the Sound, by ficbyzee;

The envelope with his paycheck is heavy in his pocket, an irregular shape, digging a little into his thigh. Brendon fingers the paper edge, rubs his thumb over the crease between the check and the pay stub.

Brendon/Zack:

Title: just jealous cause we're young and in love, by imogenedisease

It's Brendon's first day of senior year, and already his life has swung dangerously out of balance. "Spencer," he gasps, grasping Spencer's arm. "My life has swung dangerously out of balance."

Brendon/Spencer:

Title: Looking for techniques, by disarm_d

Ryan seems entranced, but Spencer still thinks that The Rime of the Ancient Mariner lasts about three parts too long. Or at least it does with the way that the guy on stage is reading it, pausing at every line break and accentuating the rhyming words.

Title: Hold it Together (with craft paste) (1/2), by madscienceshick Elementary school teacher AU;

Brent breaks his leg in three places in a jetskiing accident, two days before staff training starts.

Title: You Can Get What You Need, by kissingchaos9;

The thing about being in love with your best friend, Brendon thinks, is that after a while, you completely forget what it was like before you were in love with him.

Title: The Way It Is Now, by skoosiepants;

Brendon kind of hates Haley. “I kind of hate Haley,” Brendon says to Ryan, then slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes huge, because he totally hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Title: summer: summer overture, by elleheartsyou;

It was summer. No one could deny that. But strangely enough, the whole summer seems to be cast with an incandescent glow. Whether it be in vibe, or general attitude, or nostalgia for some time not yet passed (some jamais vu). But the war was over. The war had been over. And as such, the men had returned, some more recent than others, and life was finally going back to normal.

Brendon/Andy:

Title: No Tomorrow, by insunshine;

Andy doesn't really hang out with the guys from Panic much.

Brendon/Brandon Flowers:

Title: Unfogging the Future, by one900;

Brandon looks up as some guy - some kid, really - leans against the bar with his hip cocked. In any other situation, Brandon would consider it tacky to respond to someone who looks like they hadn't even been born when Lost Boys came out, but it's a cheesy club, it's cheesy 80s night, it feels fucking good to be home, and thus he feels like being indulgent.

Brendon/Patrick:

Title: Confessions of a Baffled Mind, by circuity;

“I like to wear women’s underwear.”
Brendon looked at him expectantly.
“Um. That’s nice?” Patrick tried, carefully tilting the screen of his laptop.
“No, no, you’re not doing it right,” Brendon said, and whirled around to point at Spencer. “Oi! I like to wear women’s underwear.”

JOE TROHMAN PICSPAM OF DOOOOM!! <3

Tue, 20 Nov 2007 16:47:58 GMT

This is for lizasworld to make her feel better! ILU! AND OMG. DON'T LET ME GET LOST INTO BUZZNET EVER AGAIN. I'M ADD. WHEN I GET INTO SOMETHING, I CAN'T STOP, AND WOOOSH IT WAS NINE THIRTY IN THE MORNING. NOT COOL.

BUT! HERE IT IS!! ENJOY! <3<3

(Sooooo not dial-up friendly!)

This is Joe. Joseph Mark Trohman was born on September the first in 1984.

You would think he's just the average Joe.

WRONG!

He's in this band called Fall Out Boy. You may have heard about them. They are so, so ----

...cool.

My point exactly. *nods*

They are also like a family.

See.
Also:

Brothers, I tell ya.

Except...

They are very close.

And well, Joe is a nice jewish boy.

What? You totally are!

No?
Okay then. What ever you say Joe.

See, Joe is a Rockstar.

grrr.

Okay, so I get it. Fine. Be a Rockstar. Watch if I care.

Hmm. You do have a pretty mouth though.

Nnnngh! GUITAR!!!

---- Fine. I give in.

So young, so cute.

Do you know what I love? GUITARS!!!

NNNNGH!!!

A man with a guitar is like, uh....

porn.

Seriously. *fans self* Is it just me?

Let me show you:

HOW IS HE REAL??

*IS DEAD*

AAAAAHHHH!! THIS IS JUST TOO MUCH! CAN'T. HANDLE.

*IS DEAD*

See, it's porn. I told you.

Do you disagree, Patrick?

ah, Patrick, go away. I cannot handle you two in the same post.

BYE PATRICK!!

So, sometimes I get confused by Joe.

"Hello Jon Walker!" ---- Wait, what?

And then, AHAHAHA, HE WAS JON AT HALLOWEEN! <3

SUCH A PRETTY BOY!! <3

WHAT? YOU'RE NOT SURE?

LET ME SHOW YOU:

Marry me, mr Trohman, please?

You could play me songs, every day.

<3

His smile!! You guys!!

HOW IS HE SO PRETTY??
-sigh-

I have never had any problems with Joe's beard. His hair though?

It has a history:

A very dark history.

I like the curls.

aaaahhhh!!!

heee.

*stares* UM, SO...

DID I MENTION HIS SMILE?? OH MY GOD. IT KILLS ME. EVERY TIME.

AND THIS:

IS THE BEST PIC EVER TAKEN. NO JOKE.

SO IN CONCLUSION, JOE IS MADE OF AWESOME,

AND I LOVE HIM SO. ♥

Fic: To Get Your Heart Broken in Vegas; Spencer/Ryan (Ryan/Brendon); R.

Sun, 18 Nov 2007 11:03:21 GMT

Title: To Get Your Heart Broken in Vegas
Author: uinuva
Rating: R
Pairing: Spencer/Ryan, (Ryan/Brendon)
POV: Third
Word count: ~1,400
Summary: Ryan comes back to Vegas. Spencer picks him up from the airport.
Disclaimer: Not real. Don't own.
Author Notes: This wrote itself as I was being stuck writing my Jane Austen AU. Thanks to alexalgebra for the beta-job. Also, startupcrash, I hope you get well soon, and thank you so, so much for being amazing. <3

Behind the Strip and casinos, neon lights and brothels, Las Vegas is just an ordinary town where ordinary people live.

"Spencer," Ryan mutters to himself when he notices Spencer standing behind a mass of people, wearing a pair of big sunglasses, hip tilted to the side. Ryan hurries to him, past all those people waiting for their loved ones.

"Spencer," Ryan says, like he can't really believe that Spencer is really there; mumbles it against Spencer's neck, skinny arms wrapped tightly around Spencer.

"Ryan," Spencer replies face creased into a smile, hugging Ryan back. Ryan doesn't seem to want to ever let go, and seeing as Ryan hasn't ever really been a hugger, this is kind of surprising.
"Let’s go," Spencer finally says when he has managed to remove Ryan off of him, picking up Ryan's back from the floor. "My car is up front."

~~~~

"You bought a house," Ryan says in a surprised tone, making them both realize how long it has been since they last saw each other.
"You cut your hair," Spencer says, in the same tone, and Ryan's smiles a bit, the corners of his mouth rising.
"Yeah, that's exactly the same thing," he says, changing the song in the player.
Spencer's brows crumple. "I thought that's the song Bren..."
"Is that where Aaron used to live?" Ryan asks pointing at a white house they are about to pass, cuts in in a way, that's far from being subtle.
Okay then, Spencer thinks. "Yeah. His mom still does, actually."
"Cool," Ryan says, sunglasses covering his eyes, so Spencer is only left to wonder. The rest of the way they drive in silence.

~~~~

"We are over," Ryan says, mumbles the words around his coffee cup.
So that's why you came, Spencer thinks.
"I made you a bed in the second guest room," he only says out loud, unspoken words replacing the oxygen around them. It's so quiet there, a lot quieter than when Spencer is there alone.
"Thanks," Ryan says, staring into his coffee. Spencer looks at him, and he only now notices the black circles under his eyes.
"There's an extra pillow in the closet," he says into the silence.

~~~~

Spencer wakes up to loud cursing.
"Mmwha?" he says sitting up in his bed, tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes.
There's only silence. "Ryan?" Spencer mumbles, and he's awake already, heart beating in his chest, racing with his mind. He reaches to flick the light on.
Ryan is standing only a couple of feet away from his bed, wearing only a pair of too big pyjama trousers. "Fucking hell!" Spencer says and he even jumps a little.
"Sorry," and Ryan does look like he means it. "I couldn't sleep. But then I hit my toe on the table."
Spencer stares and Ryan actually fidgets, bites his lower lip. "Fine," Spencer says. "Come in," and he lifts the blanket, moves around to make some room to Ryan.
Ryan climbs onto the bed, like he has thousand times before since they were children, and it should mean nothing.
"Shit, you have cold feet!" Spencer says, pulling his own as far from Ryan he can manage.
"You should warm me," Ryan says, and suddenly he has draped himself all over Spencer.
This is surely something Ryan did not used to do, something he has maybe learned from someone. It makes Spencer feel guilty, like this new Ryan who hugs him in airports and sleeps literally almost on top of him, is not his Ryan. This Ryan will leave and Spencer wonders if he lost the other one altogether.
Ryan's hip bones are pressing against Spencer's hip in an odd angle and Spencer shifts, can feel Ryan's long fingers against his skin.
"I can hear your heart," Ryan mumbles against his chest, his breath evening out, and then he falls asleep.
It takes Spencer a long time before he can trust himself to do the same, not to feel overwhelmed about how Ryan feels against his skin; a long time to wait until his heart starts beating normally again.

In the morning, when he wakes up, Ryan's already gone. Spencer can hear the shower from the hallway.
It takes a lot of energy from Spencer not to tuck his boxers below his hips, not to wrap his fingers around his cock. He will not imagine how Ryan is in the shower, so fucking close, water dripping along his spine, head tilted back, probably jerking off, long fingers moving ---
Spencer stands up hastily. He pulls a pair of old jeans on, picks up a t-shirt from the floor and hurries downstairs to make some coffee.

~~~~

The next day they have sex on the kitchen floor. Ryan hits his elbow, hard, against the oven.
Afterwards Ryan sits up, digs around his bag and lights a joint.
Spencer looks at him, sweaty hair curling on his forehead, all pale skin and bruises that don't match Spencer's touch.
When Ryan holds out the joint for him, Spencer sits up as well, back against the counter, and takes the joint. Ryan's fingers brush against his.
Spencer takes a long drag, and when he is ready to exhale the smoke, Ryan reaches forward, and there are Ryan’s lips against his, Ryan's hand against his thigh. When Ryan pulls away, exhales the smoke again in a long puff, his eyes don't leave Spencer's even for a second. Spencer just cannot read what they are telling him.

~~~~

On Wednesday, Spencer goes to open the door only to find Brendon there. He is all smiles and energy, and Spencer cannot say he isn't surprised. "Hi," Brendon says airily walking past him to his apartment, and Spencer can only stare after him; focus on letting go of the door handle.
"I thought I heard this rumour that my..." but the words die at Brendon's lips and Spencer can tell why, when he too walks into the hall.
Ryan is standing middle of the living room wearing Spencer's clothes. There is an ugly bite mark on his neck.
Guilt is written all over his face.
"Oh," Brendon says. It feels like time has stopped, even the dust seems to just swim there in the air, until Brendon backs out of the room, backs out the house.
"Fuck!" Ryan says in a way that's both loud and quiet at the same time.
"Ryan," Spencer says and he cannot help if he sounds demanding.
"I couldn't," Ryan says. "I just couldn't."
Spencer is so fucking angry but Ryan isn't even looking at him. His eyes are focused on the floor where Brendon was standing mere seconds ago.
Later, Spencer isn't sure why it was him that ran after Brendon.

"Hey!" Spencer yells, and Brendon's back stiffens, shoulder blades drawing closer to each other. He's standing on Spencer's lawn in front of his rental car in August in Las Vegas. Nothing has ever felt as absurd.
"Brendon I..." Spencer starts but is disrupted by Brendon's laugh. Dissonance and chatter.
"Bren," Spencer says again, stepping closer. "He didn't..."
Brendon's voice is quiet. "He had always loved you, you know," he says, still staring at his car.
Spencer blinks. "Brendon I..."
"No," Brendon says turning to look at him, eyes burning. "It has always been you. All. The. Fucking. Time."
Spencer has never seen Brendon like this, eyes so dark, earnest and open that it feels like they are cutting holes in Spencer's lungs.
They stand there, on Spencer's driveway, until Brendon climbs back to his car and drives away; drives away in his rental car, drives through the city that used to be his home, the town where he had his first kiss, where his parents kicked him out.
He drives straight to the airport wishing he won't ever need to come back.

Las Vegas is an ordinary town where ordinary people live. People get their hearts broken there just as often as everywhere else.

"Ryan," Spencer says that night, trying to find the words, but Ryan only presses his body harder against his, fingers entangling in Spencer's hair, a leg pulling him closer.
"I don't wanna lose you too," he says, and Spencer lets it go.

i'm so in love with this day

Sat, 17 Nov 2007 13:42:37 GMT

I have a new Life Plan! I'm excited! And scared! But YAY!

Also, I wrote Spencer/Ryan (Ryan/Brendon), 1,100 words, R, and I need someone to beta it for me. Anyone?

I. Hate. Kids. (at least today.)

Fri, 16 Nov 2007 17:31:30 GMT

Remind me next time, that no, I don't wanna become a teacher. Ever.

And it felt so strange to visit my old home town. It's so small. And all those memories come back to me that I have spent ages trying to forget.
But I met my brother. <3
And kids between 12 to 15 years are so fucking strange. It's not even that they are all been busy being teens and figuring everything out, they all also just plain weird.
They are in this place between being adults and kids and just. OMG. I felt OLD. And I actually taught couple of my best friends' younger siblings... It was just so funny, because they used to be tiny.

And Lisa, I FOUND THE MPREG STORY. \o/

It's Jon/Brendon, and I didn't actually read it again. But it's here.

And it's probably, um. FLUFF. So be prepared. <3

me and my head

Tue, 13 Nov 2007 12:27:08 GMT

Why is it, that the moment I finish writing something, I start to hate it?
Then I might start to like it again after a while. Eventually. It's a sad, sad circle I tell ya.

It's exactly like me and buying clothes. I buy something I like, then I take it home and I hate it. It takes me weeks or months that I start to like something. Stupid, is the word to describe me.

But ah well. At least I can now concentrate on writing the Jane Austen thingy. Maybe. I will probably end up rewriting the whole movie theater story first. Bleh.

I'll be watching movies the whole day. I'm neglecting school but I'm sick. Tell me something interesting.

And I have again troubles with sleeping. I hate this. It's hard to tell how late it is when you have slept so little and then I end up napping a lot and it just makes it all worse. And I'm so ADD. I blame the insomnia. It hurts my brain.

tell me a story

Thu, 08 Nov 2007 16:32:36 GMT

So, startupcrash is going to see MCR tonight. I hope she has fantastic time and doesn't get lost and comes back and tells me everything. <3<3<3

Guess what I did today? After my literature class I came home and ate some pea-soup (omg. I'm so broke). Then I watched Rent and that is absolutely the worse movie I have seen in the longest time. Seriously. The songs. *shudders*

I should write the movie theater AU. I should. Or even reed something. But I'm too bored.

I'm still just so tired. I could just sleep all day long. But I have homework. School fails. And I have been trying to find this song I heard earlier, that I know I have heard a thousand times before, but I can't. *kicks internet*

*wanders away to find something to read*

Fic: A Story Told in Five Chapters; Spencer/Brendon; R

Fri, 02 Nov 2007 16:04:43 GMT

Title: A Story Told in Five Chapters or The Story About Spencer's Beard
Author: uinuva
Rating: R
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer (Ryan/Keltie)
POV: Third
Word count: ~2,500
Summary: Another College AU! where Spencer studies Philosophy and Brendon has a plan to save him.
Disclaimer: Not real. Don't own.
Author Notes: Thanks to alexalgebra and thevelvetsun for the beta-work! And thanks to startupcrash and joanses for all the handholding and encouragement. You guys are amazing! <3<3<3

1. The beginning

Brendon has this great plan: he's going to save Spencer from himself. If he manages that and in the process makes Spencer smile again, he will count it as a win.

After all, how hard could it be?

***

Spencer has three similar black shirts laid down on his bed. The clock on the wall ticks with each passing second.

Spencer picks up the one in the middle and pulls it over his head.

Then he picks up his messenger bag beside his table and walks out of his room, closing the door behind him.

He walks through the living room he shares with Ryan, picks up the keys from the table, and sighs heavily before stepping outside of their apartment.

The light in the hallway flickers. It's going to be a long day.

Spencer studies Philosophy. He started to wear only black as the classes started that fall and he is letting his hair grow in addition to his beard. He likes his beard, in spite of what Ryan keeps saying.

It isn't like Ryan can afford being too judgmental seeing the way he dresses himself. Apparently being a Bohemian takes a lot of time and effort, but looking feminine isn't the 'new black'. Spencer thinks Pete must have fooled Ryan somehow. Maybe there was a bet involved somewhere.

Spencer likes the beard, regardless of all the food that gets stuck to it.

He thinks it gives him character.

2. Brendon

It's still warm even though it's late September. Spencer crosses the lawn to cut through to the east wing. The Introduction to Existentialism begins in ten minutes and if he's too late he has to sit in the front and the guy giving the lecture hasn't probably showered in a decade.

"Spence! Wait up!"

Spencer sighs, but he stands still until Brendon catches up with him.

"Hi Spence," he says, a bit breathlessly, smiling widely, black hair sticking in all directions and Spencer almost reaches out to tame it.

Spencer sighs. "Bren, I have a class. Ryan should be in our apartment though. He has classes only in the afternoons."

The look on Brendon's face shifts. "Oh, right."

"See you around," Spencer says, walking ahead.

"See you, Spencer Smith," Brendon says, voice a bit flat, standing alone in the middle of the lawn.

***

Brendon is majoring in music therapy.

"Isn't that boring?" Spencer had asked him the first day of the fall semester, looking skeptical.

Brendon had lifted his chin a bit. "Our music therapy program is approved by the American Music Therapy Association, thank you very much." Then he had run after Jon who was with Pete already at the steps to the auditorium.

Spencer had rolled his eyes. "…sorry," he had said just under his breath, without Brendon ever hearing it.

Ryan had sighed and shook his head.

Spencer had glared at him. "What?"

"Nothing. Lets just get this show on the road."

The two of them followed the others up the stairs.

Already, Spencer had a feeling that this year was not going to end well.

***

Brendon has his own apartment. He just chose not to sleep there. Besides, Jon's couch is much more comfortable. It isn't like he even spends so much time there after all his classes, work, and study time in the library.

Really though, he just doesn't like being alone.

That and his apartment is somewhat creepy.

***

Brendon thinks his plan is the work of a genius. For Spencer's birthday, he bought him a drumming monkey. It drove Spencer crazy, so he took the battery out after ten minutes.

It's still cute, though. Ryan calls it Andrew but don't tell anyone why. It sits on the shelf above Spencer's desk and sometimes Spencer's pretty sure it moves during the night. It reminds him of Brendon.

Ryan tells Spencer he's an idiot.

3. Home

Ryan envies the Beat Generation.

He studies literature, wears scarves and lines his eyes, and forgets to eat regularly when an inspiration hits him hard. He dreams of writing the Next Great American Novel. He has a full scholarship and he doesn't have to work. Sometimes he dreams in words.

He sits in his room and writes. Sometimes Keltie makes him go outside for a walk or makes him take a shower.

It helps if Keltie joins in. On both occasions.

***

It's too early in the morning. Spencer stares at Ryan hard and thinks that it might be more difficult to change who you are when you have known someone your whole life. In the morning when they are both awake, sitting at their kitchen table and drinking coffee, Ryan reminds him of home.

Spencer misses home.

He doesn't remember why he wanted to leave so badly.

***

Two weeks pass and Spencer's beard grows.

***

"I'm worried," Brendon says to Ryan who huffs in response, acknowledging he has heard, but not lifting his eyes from the book he's reading.

"He's starting to be really filthy, you know. And what's with all those black clothes? I want the Spencer back who wore pink t-shirts and..." but then the librarian comes and flicks Brendon with a ruler to his head.

Brendon looks up and smiles apologetically.

The woman sighs. "Brendon, just go out. People try to study here," she says, but mostly just sounds tired.

"But Mary, I'm helping Ryan here with hi..."

"No he's not," Ryan cuts in.

Brendon tries to stare Ryan accusingly but it's sort of pointless, seeing as Ryan is still only paying attention to his book.

The librarian sighs.

"Fine, I'll go. I'll find someone who will appreciate my company," Brendon says, standing up and gathering all his belongings from the floor and exiting the library.

A couple of students applaud mockingly while Brendon walks past them. He ignores them mostly but the smile fades from his face.

"Sorry," Ryan says to the librarian, who smiles back at him with an understanding look, before turning and walking back to his desk.

***

In the hallway Brendon runs into Spencer.

"Oh, hi."

It's awkward how they stand there, neither knowing what to say. Brendon is bouncing a bit on his heels.

"So I was just with Ryan in the library," he finally says and the look in Spencer's face darkens.

"Right," he says.

"So um," Brendon starts but can't finish before Spencer is already walking past him.

"See ya," he says, and Brendon watches as he walks down the dim corridor, shoulders slumped down.

***

When Brendon's home he listens to jazz music. It soothes him.

When he's angry he sings.

When he's frustrated he sings.

Thanks to Spencer, he has been singing a lot lately.

Jon thinks Brendon has issues.

4. Spencer

Spencer wakes up thinking about Brendon, about Brendon's mouth, about his hands.

He lies in his bed staring at the ceiling for a while, until his breathing evens out. Then he stands up, takes the sheets with him and puts them into the laundry basket.

***

Spencer walks to the door munching an apple. Behind the door he finds Brendon, and so it seems, all of Brendon's things. They stare each other until Spencer really needs to swallow the piece down his throat.

"So," Brendon says. "Jon met this girl." Then he picks up his guitar case from the floor and walks past Spencer into the apartment.

It takes a while for Spencer to close the door behind him.

So apparently Jon is in love with Cassie.

"And he kicked you out?" Spencer says, ignoring the death glare Ryan gives him.

Brendon fidgets on the couch. "And he kicked me out." And Jon might not actually be his favorite anymore.

"Well you can always stay here," Ryan says, ignoring the glare Spencer gives him.

Brendon's face lit up. "I can?"

"Sure. Just sleep on the couch and buy your own food."

Spencer walks out of the room at that. As a protest. He does live there after all.

Brendon stares at the closed door. Ryan sighs.

"He will come around. Just… give him a day or two, okay?"

Brendon's mouth is a thin line and his eyes are dark when he nods in response.

***

Spencer might walk into the bathroom while Brendon's jerking off.

It may take him a second too long to shut the door again.

“Sorry,” he mumbles hastily while closing the door.

He might go into his own room and jerk off thinking about the image of Brendon, his flushed face, his flexed muscles and his slightly open mouth. The way he was slightly panting, the way he was bent over the sink, eyes almost closed, his hand wrapped around his cock.

Afterwards, when Spencer has buttoned his jeans back up, he stares at Andrew the drumming monkey. Then he goes and hides it into his dresser behind the socks.

***

When Spencer walks into the living room in the morning, he's only slightly disappointed that Brendon has already left.

When he comes home that night, Brendon and Ryan are sitting on the couch watching a movie together. Brendon's legs are sprawled all over Ryan. Spencer stays at the doorway, hovering, until he decides to go to his own room.

He closes the door firmly behind him.

5. Keltie

"Why aren't you at your own place?" Spencer asks from Brendon next evening when Brendon's sitting cross-legged on the floor eating cereal.

Brendon blinks.

Spencer stares. "I mean, you have a home, don't you?"

Brendon swallows and tilts his head to the side as he looks up at Spencer standing in his doorway, hips crooked to the side.

"Yes but…"

"Maybe you should visit. To see if everything is still set instead of lavishing other people's oxygen."

He slams the door shut.

Later that day, Brendon has disappeared but his guitar is still leaning against the wall.

***

Ryan thinks that the time for him to intervene has finally come. Keltie kisses him onto his forehead. "Finally," she says as she stands up and picks up her bag from the floor.

Ryan blinks. "But where are you going?"

Keltie laughs. "I have a dance class. Besides, it's not my job to tell Spencer when he's being an idiot. My obligations only reach you."

"Oh," Ryan says, and Keltie reaches down and kisses him again, this time onto his mouth.

"I'll call you after, okay? To hear how it went."

"Well that's reassuring," Ryan says, but doesn't try to stop her.

***

Ryan stares. "Spence, I have a girlfriend."

Spencer blinks. "Yeah but I thought that..." but the words die at his lips.

Ryan stares at him, one eyebrow quirked up, trying not to laugh because Spencer just looks too miserable.

"Well everybody knows that's just a... I mean..." Spencer's sort of lost of words.

"You wear make-up," he finally says.

Now both of Ryan's eyebrows are quirked in a question. "So?"

"And you write poetry."

Ryan actually smirks. "And that automatically makes me gay?"

Spencer signs heavily, slumping down on the sofa. He rubs his eyes. "Well it doesn't help either."

***

The next day at his class Spencer tries to pay attention. The lecturer speaks about Sartre and this might not be the best possible time to think about how we are ultimately alone in this world.

"Hell is other people," Spencer mumbles and closes his eyes.

***

When Brendon comes to pick up his guitar that night, Spencer lets him in. Brendon looks tired, like he hasn't slept all that much since he left two days ago and Spencer feels like shit.

He watches as Brendon packs rest of his stuff into his duffel bag. Neither says anything; it's like all the words swim in the space between them, but Spencer can't really get a grip on them.

"I'll drive you," he says and picks up the car keys before Brendon can utter a word.

When they arrive, Spencer stops the engine and steps out of the car. Brendon gives him a questioning look, but settles to only saying that it might a bit messy inside.

Brendon's apartment is so far from the campus that it might actually take Brendon over an hour to travel to school every morning. And as he works as a city guide in the center that's even further away, Spencer understands why Brendon doesn't really stay in his apartment.

The hallway is cramped and downright filthy. Spencer grimaces.

"It's right down in the back," Brendon tells him, walking ahead. Before opening the door Brendon turns and stares at Spencer right into the eye, earnest and serious, and Spencer has to swallow the imaginary lump down his throat.

"You can give me the guitar now," Brendon says, and Spencer thinks it's a miracle how he's able to shake his head.

Brendon opens the door and lets Spencer in before stepping in after. Brendon's flat is tiny and when Brendon flicks the light on Spencer squints his eyes in the sudden brightness. Then he just feels a bit horrified.

The tap in the kitchenette is leaking, there is almost no furniture at all, and there is something in the ceiling that looks suspiciously like black mould.

It looks like no one lives there. And it's definitely looks like no one's home.

"You are coming with me," Spencer says as he grabs a bag from the floor. Brendon turns to look at him, questioning.

"Ryan would kill me if he knew I let you stay."

And Brendon comes with him but during the entire way back home he doesn't say a word.

Brendon follows him into his room and they end up standing there, in the awkward silence and Spencer ponders when Brendon stopped talking to him. He used to talk to him all the time.

Spencer places Brendon's guitar carefully against the wall.

He looks at Brendon, who's biting his lower lip, and his eyes are so dark Spencer wonders how it took him so long to notice. It's just too much, too much wait and too much I wish and Spencer pushes Brendon against the wall, ignores the surprised gasp Brendon makes and kisses him, hands entangling into a fist in Brendon's shirt, leg pressing between Brendon's and it feels right.

This feels right, Spencer thinks when Brendon kisses him back. He wouldn't want to pull away, ever.

***

Brendon watches as Spencer shaves. He ends up cutting himself, but blames Brendon for it, saying he was being too distracting. Brendon laughs, and Spencer thinks it would be kind of obnoxious if it wouldn't be so endearing.

Spencer looks at him, head tilted to the side until Brendon stops, self-conscious.

"What?" he says.

Spencer might kiss him then.

oh there is so much to read

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 11:48:57 GMT

I'm so overwhelmed because seriously, SO MUCH TO READ.

But I have to rec a story. I love it SO much.

The Holly Golightly Club [1/5] by fluffontop and there is still one part to come. But seriously. Go and read if you haven't already. It's amazing.

this is halloween

Wed, 31 Oct 2007 09:23:32 GMT

Is it sad that I'm a little bit in love with the movie theater AU?

Shirtless Frank is sitting at the table. Mikey blinks.
“Um,” he says.
“You have no food,” the shirtless Frank says.
“Why don’t you have a shirt on?”
“I couldn’t find it,” Frank says turning the page.
“Right,” Mikey says and tries to ignore the obvious hickey on Frank’s neck.

AHAHAHAHAHA. *dies*

And have a happy halloween! (is that what I'm supposed to say? we don't celebrate it, not really.)

ETA: I also finished the Brendon/Spencer college AU! and it's everything but what I expected. *is nervous* I think I'm able to post it later this week.

omg please someone stop my brain

Tue, 30 Oct 2007 10:57:45 GMT

Do you know what would be awesome? A MOVIE THEATER AU!

AND I MIGHT HAVE STARTED TO PLAN FOR IT. MIGHT HAVE. WHICH IS STUPID SEEN AS I'M LIKE SUPER BUSY AND HAVE NO TIME.

It would be Pete/Mikey and they would work in a movie theater. AHAHAAHA. And it would be geeky, but in a good way.

I think I once said I need to be stopped? This may be the time to intervene (BUT PLEASE DON'T. I LIKE IT HERE!).

ETA: I finally made a masterlist! go me! And today is disarm_d birthday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAURA!

haiku for me

Mon, 29 Oct 2007 06:37:16 GMT

So disarm_d had made a haiku for her so, of course i had to try and AHAHAHAHA.

Haiku² for uinuva
might actually explode from stimulation overload and ryan
@

Created by Grahame

I really hope it's not just me who finds that ridiculously funny.

It's so cold outside

Sun, 28 Oct 2007 12:03:53 GMT

You guys, I have done no school work at all. And I have promised to see all my friends next week, and now I have tons of stuff I need to do and they will probably murder me if I cancel. Again.

Also: My Mikey/Pete college!AU is actually Brendon/Spencer. I don't know what happened!!

Also: I really want to turn my Keltie/Haley into a proper fic. SOMEONE PLEASE STOP ME!

Also: I have to sit in a car six hours today. I may die.

Also: My step mom made me vegan chocolate cake! I might love her anyway! <333

ETA: WHY IS NO ONE WRITING ME FOOD!PORN??

sometimes your heart feels too much

Sat, 27 Oct 2007 11:32:56 GMT

We buried our dog today.

He was the most amazing dog ever. In the picture you can see how his other eye looks kind of bad. He was blind and the cancer was underneath.
I miss him.

It feels like my heart just died a little.

i'm so sick, yo and my throat hurts /o\

Fri, 26 Oct 2007 09:21:49 GMT

I'm sick. I have done no school work in three days and I really should have because, hello, no classes and I should maybe try to catch up with everything since I was I absent last week.

And I still haven't post any pictures of Barcelona. Tell me to do that next week, okay?

I'm leaving to visit my dad in the north. I'll be back by Sunday evening, I think.

And my brothers got a record deal!! Did I tell you? I'M SO EXCITED FOR THEM!!!! <33333

Would someone please tell me if I miss something big when I got back. Like I'm going to hate it if Pete and Patrick get married and I wouldn't know for days.
----what?

Okay. Love you guys.

(Pst. Is it a bad idea to start practicing to write femmeslash? I mean, I could work on a genderswap thing after I have finished the college!AU and the Jane Austen AU and the movie!AU... *facepalm* Okay maybe not.)

I should do a masterlist of my fics. Oops. this post is like a to do-list. ehee. You love me. <3333

someone write me a fic!

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 07:49:04 GMT

In addition to food porn! \o/ (WRITE IT! WRITE IT! I KNOW YOU WANT TO!), there should definitely be a Jane Austen AU! I may end up writing it myself but it would be so much better if you would. \o/

OR! A Good Will Hunting movie!AU! You guys! It would be PERFECT! Think about it!

Brendon would be this problematic kid who has a rough past but is in all secrecy a math genius! And Jon would be his buddy, his family. And then Brendon would work as a cleaner at the UNI where Pete (ahahaha) would be this professor guy, and he would answer to the math test, be caught, and Ryan would be Pete's assistant, somewhat jealous to all the attention Brendon gets from Pete, and THEN one day Brendon would be out drinking with Jon and someother guys from the neighborhood, say Gabe and Tom, and he would meet this college student, Spencer, and THEY WOULD FALL IN LOVE!!!

EEEEEEE!!!!

WRITE IT!! <3<3<3 OR I WILL HAVE TO DO IT MYSELF AND I DON'T KNOW IF I HAVE THE TIME!

BUT I STARTED THE COLLEGE AU! AND YOU GUYS! I LOVE BRENDON'S STUPID FACE! <3<3<3<3

Fic: I made you breakfast aka food porn for me!

Wed, 24 Oct 2007 12:36:05 GMT

Title: Honey, I made your breakfast
Author: uinuva
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Spencer
POV: Third
Word count: 1,745
Summary: “You’re pretty,” Jon says against Spencer’s neck, and yes, Spencer is really starting to learn to appreciate the mornings.
Disclaimer: Not real. Don't own.
Author Notes: I wrote this a while ago. This is for lizasworld to welcome her to the bandom!! ILY! <3 Thanks alexalgebra for the beta-work! But even I couldn't write about the pancakes...

Honey, I made you breakfast

Spencer was never much of a morning person until he started staying over at Jon’s house. Jon is awesome in the mornings. People would assume that it would be a bit tiresome being that awesome every second of the day, but no. Spencer’s actually proud of how well Jon is handling all his awesomeness.

And well, Spencer just might love waking up next to Jon.

Jon’s mornings are slow and hazy, like a camera that’s a bit unfocused and can only take dim photos that are a bit blurred, the colors a bit grayish, the light too illuminating.

In their own way, those pictures are fascinating, little snippets of life that usually go by without people really appreciating them. It’s a shame, Jon thinks.

“The mornings are so pretty,” he whispers against Spencer’s skin, mouth still a bit dry from sleep, breath hot against Spencer’s back.

“You’re pretty,” Jon says against Spencer’s neck, and yes, Spencer is really starting to learn to appreciate the mornings.

The coffee is already dripping, the strong aroma filling the air when Spencer walks down into the light kitchen, scratching his head and stretching the sleep out of him. He’s wearing an old T-shirt from Jon that has a grey cat in front of it. It smells like Jon and Spencer just wants to bury his head into it.

Jon turns his head when he hears him coming down the stairs and he smiles at him, the smile open and wide.

Spencer’s more than a little bit in love with Jon’s smile.

“Morning sleepy head,” Jon says in a sing-a-song voice, hair a bit messy from the sleep.

“Morning,” Spencer replies, or tries to anyway before a yawn escapes his mouth making Jon smirk at him before turning to face the stove again.

Spencer sits down at the round little table so that he’s facing Jon’s back.

Jon’s humming just under his breath, low and intimate, but cheerful nevertheless. Spencer is pretty sure it’s actually happiness that lingers in the pit of his stomach, either that or he’s ---

“Is that pancakes I smell?” Spencer asks and Jon turns to face him again, the smile still in his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“You love me the best,” Jon sings to him, but Spencer says nothing. It isn’t like Jon doesn’t already know.

Jon pours him coffee and Spencer reaches his hand to pick up the maple syrup. He can’t prevent the content sigh from coming out of his mouth when he takes the first bite of the pancake.

There’s something happy dancing in Jon’s eyes, a secret he only knows.

“Good?” Jon asks and Spencer nods. Really, really good, he wants to say, but his mouth is full. Jon just laughs and takes a big gulp from his coffee.

After Spencer swallows the lasts bits, he lifts his hand to licks the syrup off of his fingers, but somehow Jon’s hand is much faster than his.

“I,” Spencer starts to say, but Jon shifts closer to him, sitting right next to him instead of opposite, putting two of Spencer’s fingers in his mouth.

Jon licks around his fingers and well, Spencer is sort of speechless.

Spencer thinks it’s a bit bizarre that Jon still has the ability to make him blush. Normally Spencer holds himself up as a person who doesn’t blush easily, but apparently Jon’s an exception to that equation.

“I want to taste you,” Jon whispers to his ear and Spencer doesn’t know if it is the words that send sparks along his spine or how Jon’s breath is hot and ticklish against his skin. Spencer doesn’t have much time to contemplate though, because Jon’s biting his earlobe.
A whine flies free somewhere deep from his throat.

“I,” Spencer says again, voice a bit hoarse. He’s almost certain that he used to be capable of formulating whole sentences. He swallows when Jon kisses him just below his ear, plants a chain of kisses down his neck, one hand resting on the nape of Spencer’s neck, the other squeezing Spencer’s thigh.

“Um,” Spencer says, and Jon lifts his head, eyes sparkling and brows high in question. He’s also biting his bottom lip, like he’s suppressing a laugh, and Spencer has no idea what he was going to say merely a second ago. So he just settles for closing his mouth.

Jon smiles even wider and reaches his hand to take the syrup bottle from the table, pouring some slowly onto his fingers. Spencer’s almost transfixed how the liquid lingers on Jon’s fingers. Just as some of it is about to drip onto the table, Jon turns his fingers and puts the bottle away. Jon turns to look at Spencer.

“Lick,” he says, eyes focusing on Spencer’s mouth.

Spencer blinks, slowly, before opening his mouth and taking them, the two fingers to his mouth, eyes focused on the expression on Jon’s face. The syrup tastes sweet and thick as Spencer’s tongue pushes against Jon’s fingers. A little moan escapes from Jon’s mouth and Spencer is so hard that he could probably come only from hearing that sound again. Unfortunately, Jon’s already pulling his fingers out of Spencer’s mouth, pressing his own mouth against his instead, hard and almost a bit desperate. The kiss is hungry and deep, making Spencer feel a little breathless as he entangles his fingers into Jon’s hair and Jon’s hands cup his face.

When Jon finally pulls away, he licks his now slightly-swollen lips.

“Sweet,” he says, and it takes Spencer a moment to realize that it’s the syrup he’s talking about.

“Come here,” Jon says, standing up and taking Spencer with him, pulling him close and kissing him again, the kiss still tasting like syrup.

Jon makes Spencer back off ahead of him, pulling his shirt off and deepening the kiss after, Jon’s fingers lightly scratching his sides. When Spencer bumps into the counter he can feel Jon smirking into the kiss, breaking it to duck his head down and kiss Spencer on the underside of his jaw.

“Jon,” Spencer says, and it’s better than nothing even though it’s not quite a sentence yet, but maybe after---

Jon’s nibbling his collarbone and Spencer actually hisses, arms now tugging at Jon’s shirt.

“Off,” Spencer says, and he’s suddenly a caveman, only capable of speaking monosyllabic words, but Jon licks his skin one more time before he pulls his own shirt off as well. Spencer pulls him closer, just wanting to feel Jon close to him, skin on skin, but it doesn’t still feel like quite enough.

“Wait,” Jon says, whispering into Spencer’s mouth, kissing him chastely before ducking his head once more, placing warm kisses onto Spencer’s chest. Jon’s thumb is doing little circles around Spencer’s left nipple and Spencer kind of feels that his right one is being neglected until Jon’s tongue is there.

Jon’s tongue is one of the most awesome things there are to Jon Walker. Spencer’s positive about that.

Jon’s hand is pulling his boxers down, and Spencer reaches down to help. Jon hums around his nipple, warm breath tickling, and it makes Spencer gasp.

Jon wraps his fingers around Spencer’s cock and suddenly Jon’s mouth is on his again, tongue invading into his mouth, licking the underside of his lip and finally pulling it a little with his teeth before letting go.

Spencer opens his eyes and Jon’s right there in front of him, eyes warm. Jon pulls a little at Spencer’s cock and Spencer can’t help but buck up, mouth a bit agape.

“You’re the prettiest girl in town,” Jon says, and Spencer’s might hate him a little then, if the content of his brain hadn’t turned into a pot of useless glee.

“I hate you,” he says out loud and it’s a miracle that this is the sentence his brain is actually capable of creating, but it just makes Jon grin even wider.

“You do, don’t you,” Jon says, reaching behind Spencer’s back, for something on the counter. The fingers are being detached from Spencer’s cock, and he hates how needy he sounds, but the loss of the touch makes him moan quietly.

“Hate is too mellow of a word,” he says. Jon laughs at that, the laugh sparkling in the air. This might have been to mislead him because suddenly, Spencer has this very strange feeling on his cock that makes him gasp and look down.

Jon’s pouring honey onto his cock.

Jon’s pouring honey onto his cock while simultaneously licking his lips slowly. The sight of that makes Spencer’s cock twitch.

Jon puts the honey bottle away and is on his knees before Spencer even has time to blink. Spencer moans as Jon’s hands are drawn down as well.

Spencer’s back arches when Jon licks the underside of his cock, one hand on Spencer’s hip, the other fondling Spencer’s balls.

Spencer’s knuckles are white because of how hard he’s clenching at the counter. He thinks he could faint without the support; that his knees would just give in. Jon looks up, the head of Spencer’s cock in his mouth, eyes smirking, and it only makes things worse.

Jon’s tongue is circling the head and Spencer really hates the needy little sounds he’s making. He can’t help it, but his other hand finds it way to Jon’s hair, fingers entangling into it.

Jon doesn’t seem to mind as he takes Spencer in as much he can, adjusting his throat to accommodate the length. He starts bobbing his head, preventing Spencer from bucking with his other hand.

Spencer moans and shit, shit, shit.

“Jon,” he says, but Jon does something amazing with his tongue and Spencer is so very close that---

“Jon,” he says again, warning, fingers pulling a bit at Jon’s hair, but Jon doesn’t move. Instead, he wraps his other hand around Spencer’s cock, jerking it to the same rhythm as his mouth. Gasping for breath, Spencer comes hard into Jon’s mouth. Jon swallows everything, his hand still on Spencer’s hip, drawing soothing circles on it.

“Jon,” Spencer says, a bit breathless still, as Jon stands up. Jon kisses Spencer slowly, lazily, the kiss tasting like honey and semen.

“Good morning,” Spencer says, almost purring, to Jon, eyes flickering shut, and rests his head onto Jon’s shoulder.

Jon places a kiss on the nape of his neck.

“I’m going to make you an honest man, Spencer Smith the fifth,” he says, “just you wait.”

Hola!!

Thu, 11 Oct 2007 14:07:57 GMT

In about twelve hours our plane leaves for Barcelona!! Which is fantastic because it's suddenly winter outside!

Have a nice week without me!

<333