BBB ;; Void & Null [Part Four]
Jun. 13th, 2011 10:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bootsonPart Three
[Part Four]
Spencer lost track of time once they were safely closed up in Brendon and Spencer’s room. It was late enough in the evening that the sky was too dark to use its color as any type of guide. He could always track down the pocket watch Travie had given him when he’d been there a month, but Bob was already sighing every time Spencer paced across the room to stare out the window. The only reason he knew any time had passed at all was because Bill and Travis stopped by to say they were back, and Ray came to say the girls didn’t know anything.
There was nothing left for anyone to do, nothing Spencer could do, and it was driving him crazy. He’d already changed into a worn pair of work trousers and the first comfortable shirt he pulled out of his drawers. The entire room had been straightened even though it didn’t need it. The fire was roaring, hotter than necessary, but stoking it ate up a minute or so.
Bob shoved up from his seat at the end of Brendon’s bed and grabbed Spencer by the shoulders. “Stop pacing. You’re making me dizzy.”
“Sorry,” Spencer muttered. He wasn’t, but he was polite enough to say it.
“Let’s just sit by the window, okay?” Bob suggested. He led Spencer to the armchair and, more gently than Spencer expected, turned Spencer and pushed him into the chair. Bob stepped up behind the chair and turned it so Spencer could see out the window without sitting sideways. “Okay?”
Spencer slumped back and fixed his eyes on what he thought might be the lane, but the shadows were really too dark to know for sure. He tried not to fidget, but he couldn’t stop bouncing his heels or crossing then re-crossing his legs.
“Spence, you’re kind of a mess,” Bob told him from his place behind the chair.
“Well, I’m sorry,” Spencer snapped, as nastily as he knew how. “But my best friend or...whatever Brendon is. He’s out there somewhere and anything could have happened or he could have gone anywhere. I might never fucking see him again. I’m allowed to be a mess.”
Bob inhaled sharply, but Spencer didn’t hear him let the breath out. Suddenly, Bob was kneeling in front of him. He rested his hands on Spencer’s knees, stilling the bouncing. Spencer tried not to look at him, but it was too hard. Bob was half obstructing the window, the only place Spencer wanted to look, and his eyes were such a vibrant blue. The room was dim - Spencer had refused to light the lamps - but Bob’s eyes were still ridiculously bright. It was kind of like staring at a really blond cat.
Spencer was maybe getting a little hysterical.
“Spencer. Do you think Brendon left you on purpose?”
“What?” Spencer whispered. He shook his head and tried to lean further away. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“That wasn’t an answer,” Bob pointed out. “Do you think Brendon would leave you?”
“He’s free. He could. If he wanted,” Spencer forced out. He wasn’t sure if the words sounded as strangled as they felt.
“Do you think he’d want to?”
Spencer didn’t answer, couldn’t. Because it didn’t matter. He might not think Brendon wanted to leave, might doubt Brendon would abandon him without even saying goodbye, but none of that mattered. Brendon was free. If he took his papers and he really wanted to just... disappear, no one could stop him.
“Fuck,” Bob breathed. Then, suddenly, he was leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Spencer’s waist. Spencer made a small noise in the back of his throat and brought his arms up instinctively. “Don’t think that. Brendon was fucking desolate without you. When Tom brought him here, once Brendon figured out we weren’t going to punish him for talking, he didn’t shut up about you. He talked about the other two, sometimes, but most of it was you. Always things like Spencer always said and Spencer would do this instead of that or Spencer is the greatest at doing that thing you’re trying to do. Then when he saw you...”
Spencer squeezed his eyes shut. He shouldn’t ask, but no one would talk about what happened the night after Brendon had seen Spencer in that cage. There had been at least twelve hours between the time Brendon saw him and when Beckett and Travis had come to collect him. Something had happened; Brendon had done something to get Beckett to come out, but no one ever actually told Spencer what that was. They would hedge around it, get sad looks and tell him to ask Brendon; Brendon blushed and changed the subject.
Spencer opened his eyes and asked anyway. “What? What happened after he found me?”
“He lost it. He’d just been to see Sarah - she was sick - and Siska lost sight of him for a few minutes. “ Bob rolled his eyes. Spencer decided Brendon was never again allowed to hang out with Siska alone. “When he found him, Brendon was more pale than Gerard. He wouldn’t say a word until they got back. When he did... as soon as they were through the fucking door, Brendon was on his knees. Bill didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but Brendon was babbling. He kept asking if Bill would do just this one thing for him. He promised anything. He offered to give Bill all his tutoring money, to let Bill sell him in exchange. He said...he was going to let them have him; aristocrats like their bed slaves, right, even if Bill had Travie. Brendon promised he’d learn quick, be exactly what they wanted.” Bob sounded as choked as Spencer felt.
“He wouldn’t...” But Spencer knew he would. He’d always known Brendon must have offered up everything he had or could pull together. Somehow, he’d never let himself think of this exact offer, though. “Bill, did he...”
“Bill cried,” Bob told him, solemn. “Travie took him away before Brendon noticed and I practically carried Brendon upstairs. We thought he was adjusting pretty well before that, but... Anyway.” Bob cleared his throat, eyelashes fluttering against Spencer’s hair as he blinked a few times. “Brendon really just needed someone to hold him still for awhile.” Sometimes Brendon needed to cling; Spencer knew this. “As soon as he told me about you and that damned cage, I got Ray to tell Bill and the next day you were here.”
“Oh. Um...”
“Spencer, he was terrified the first month you were here. He fucking freaked out when you were out of his sight for too long, worried you’d run without him and try to find Ryan. He was writing letters to Tom every three days to see if he knew anything new.”
Anger rushed through Spencer, hot and sudden. “How could he be so stupid? I’d never... It’s Ryan, yeah, but... Brendon. Fucking idiot.”
Bob nodded. He was almost smiling when he pulled back to look Spencer in the eye. “He’s not going anywhere without you, okay? Tonight, whatever the fuck’s going on, he didn’t try to leave you behind.”
It should have been a relief, but it really wasn’t. Spencer was at a loss, too wrapped up in missing Brendon so much it hurt and wanting to hit him for having so little faith in Spencer. He also kind of wanted to punch himself for not noticing Brendon had been so worried.
He opened his mouth to say something, not knowing what that was yet, when he saw two tiny pinpricks of light over Bob’s shoulder. He held his breath, blinking to make sure. The light got closer until Spencer could make out the outline of a carriage.
“Brendon!”
Spencer would feel bad, later, about the way he shoved Bob back and practically climbed over the chair arm in his haste to get to the door. He also may or may not have kicked Bob in the shoulder, but he didn’t have the time to stop and check. Spencer tripped all over himself trying to get downstairs, be the first thing Brendon saw.
As soon as he rounded the corner into the kitchen from the foyer, Brendon looked up with a small smile. He seemed shy in a way Spencer didn’t get to see often, but Spencer couldn’t even focus on that. Before Brendon could get anything other than an inarticulate sound out, Spencer was across the room and practically pulling him off his stool.
Something a little scalding hit his shoulder, probably tea since Bill was at the stove instead of Gerard. The burn was secondary, easy to ignore in contrast to the blinding fucking relief that spread through Spencer.
“Where were you? What happened? Are you okay?”
“Spence,” Brendon whispered. His arm wrapped around Spencer’s waist, free hand tangling in his hair. “Hey, hey, I’m fine. I just. I was looking for the cave. There was this dog. One of Mark’s, from the last litter?”
What? Wait… “What?”
“I think a raccoon got ahold of her. Those fuckers are vicious and Mark said they’d had issues with them attacking his chickens lately.” Brendon was rambling, talking fast, trying to get everything out quickly. He was always doing that, trying to make up for lost time; Spencer usually appreciated it more. “I don’t know how long she was out there, but she wasn’t doing well. I couldn’t just…she was right there and she looked so sad.”
“You. Brendon, you stayed with a god damned dog?” Fucking hell.
Brendon huffed. “No. I took her as far as I could, but those dogs of his are fucking huge, man. So I had to drop her off and go get Mark on foot. I stayed to help him with her. She was apparently going to be for breeding, so. We tried to save her but…”
“Fucking hell, Urie,” Bob muttered from somewhere behind Spencer. Spencer hadn’t even heard him come downstairs.
Pulling back, Spencer reached up to frame Brendon’s face with his hands, make Brendon look at him. “If you ever fucking do that again... You can’t just. Don’t, okay?”
Fighting the desperation was getting difficult. Everyone was going to hear how fucking…how bad Brendon being gone for less than a day was dragging him down. They probably already knew.
“Spence. Spencer Smith.” Brendon must have set his cup aside at some point, because both hands were gripping Spencer’s shoulders, wrinkling the fabric of the teal work shirt that may have once been Bob’s. Slowly, Brendon leaned in until their foreheads were touching. “Spence. I’m sorry I scared you. I just didn’t think… I should have had someone come by. I’m sorry, okay? I won’t, not anymore.”
“Yeah,” Spencer whispered. Even the single word shook so much that Spencer could hardly stand himself.
Frank cleared his throat, loud and obnoxious. “Tell us about your adventure through the woods, Bden,” he prodded. He shoved a stool up beside Brendon’s and waited for Spencer to let go enough to take his seat.
Mikey set a cup of tea in front of Spencer and took Brendon’s to be refilled while Brendon talked about getting lost on his way to Hoppus’ place. It was probably a pretty funny story, but Spencer was more preoccupied with Brendon’s voice to bother with the words. He ignored his tea in order to hold Brendon’s hand between both of his.
Spencer watched Bob step up behind them and lean his forehead against Brendon’s crown. Brendon reached up to pet at Bob’s hair and Spencer had to look away.
He normally didn’t begrudge Bob and Brendon’s... Bob and Brendon-ness, but Spencer wanted to be selfish and keep Brendon to himself for a while. He didn’t want to sit here and listen to a story that could wait until morning, or watch Brendon hold onto someone that wasn’t him.
Mikey’s not-smirk said Spencer wasn’t hiding the pouting well. Mikey could go fuck himself; he pouted every single time Pete brought Patrick over.
**********
Brendon must have been picking up on Spencer’s nervous energy. He cut his late dinner short to usher Spencer upstairs. Bob walked them all the way to the door, and Spencer couldn’t help glaring at him, narrowing his eyes until Bob rolled his.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Bob muttered, pulling Brendon into a hug. It was awkward since Spencer absolutely refused to release Brendon’s hand. Bob pulled away and let out a slow breath. He shoved a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Goodnight.”
Brendon watched until Bob rounded the corner of the stairs before turning to Spencer. Spencer hadn’t even pulled him all the way into the room before he was tugging Brendon up for a kiss. Brendon teetered a little, stretching up on his toes too far to get at Spencer’s mouth.
“Spence,” Brendon breathed, pulling away so he could kick the door shut.
Spencer was on him again almost immediately. Gripping his hips, Spencer pushed Brendon back against the door. Brendon laughed a little, surprised. He threaded his fingers together behind Spencer’s neck, pulling him down and biting at his lips. Spencer whined into the kiss, stepping closer to press their bodies flush together. Brendon gasped, the sound going straight through Spencer’s body.
He knew he was desperate, but fuck. He couldn’t help it. He’d lost Brendon once; thinking he’d lost Brendon again made him a little crazy. Brendon was right there with him, arching to thrust their hips together.
The heat was already building, making Spencer practically itch with the need to get closer, feel skin. Brendon rocked his hips up in this perfectly lewd grind that had Spencer panting. Spencer was half hard, but it was secondary, because, Brendon. Spencer leaned back enough to slip his hands under Brendon’s shirt. He slid his hands up, pulling the shirt with him until Brendon let go of Spencer’s neck to raise his arms.
Spencer threw the shirt somewhere over his shoulder and set his lips to Brendon’s skin. He kissed down Brendon’s shoulder, dragging his tongue in a restless pattern that ended at Brendon’s nipples. Spencer sealed his lips, flicking his tongue out quickly. Brendon’s hips jerked and he whined low in his throat as he dropped his head back against the door.
There was a low thud, but Spencer didn’t think anyone would hear; he didn’t care if they did.
Brendon threaded his fingers through Spencer’s hair, not pulling but just holding on. Spencer glanced up, watching the blush that rose up Brendon’s chest. It made him bolder; Spencer slid a hand down Brendon’s body, cupping his growing erection and kneading lightly. Brendon moaned, the sound muffled by the way he was biting his lip, and squirmed.
Spencer didn’t have the slightest idea what he was doing, except in theory, as he dropped to his knees.
“Fuck, Spence. You don’t - “ Brendon cut himself off with a gasp when Spencer kissed his stomach and pressed his thumbs into the soft skin above Brendon’s hips. “-have to,” Brendon panted.
Spencer shook his head, beard dragging along Brendon’s skin. Brendon half-laughed, half-whined, and Spencer groaned at how it tickled his face. He traced his fingers along Brendon’s waistband, trying to ignore the slight shaking as he worked on the button-fly of Brendon’s trousers. He fumbled a little; seriously, buttons sucked.
When he slid Brendon’s pants and underwear down, Brendon groaned and rocked his hips a little in search of contact. It was more than a little intimidating but, fuck, Spencer couldn’t remember ever wanting something so much. He pressed a kiss just above the coarse hair, circling his hand around Brendon’s cock, testing the feel of touching someone else.
He pulled back and took a deep breath, darting his tongue out to taste the precome already beading at the head. Brendon hissed and reached down to grip Spencer’s shoulder, his hold a little tight and just enough to distract Spencer for the way he was starting to panic, just a little.
Spencer stared up the line of Brendon’s body. He was amazed at how long Brendon looked. Gone was the scrawny body Spencer remembered from before, when they hadn't had enough to eat and Spencer could count Brendon's ribs when they hugged. No, now Brendon was filling out; there was more definition to every part of him, the hard and soft parts of him in perfect juxtaposition. Spencer could die just staring at him.
He accidentally met Brendon’s eyes. They seemed darker than usual, desire clear in his expression. Spencer took a deep breath, moving his hand in a slow stroke, reveling in the way Brendon shifted into the touch.
“You have to tell me if I do anything wrong... I don’t actually know what I’m doing down here.”
Brendon laughed, but it wasn’t at him. He moved his hand from Spencer’s shoulder to stroke his cheek. “Short of biting, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be too picky.” He sounded breathless in the best possible way.
That was all the encouragement Spencer needed to lean in and lick from base to tip. Brendon shuddered and twitched when Spencer sealed his lips over the head, sucking experimentally. Spencer kept one hand wrapped around Brendon, the other gripping his hip to hold him still.
It was slow going for a minute as Spencer inched slowly down Brendon’s length, taking as much as he could and fighting his gag reflex the whole way. It couldn’t be very good, but Spencer flattened his tongue along the underside and sucked.
Brendon writhed, muttering words too softly for Spencer to understand.
Spencer moved slowly, working his way up to a rhythm of twisting his hand and sucking every time he took Brendon’s cock further into his mouth, tonguing under the head when he pulled back. His jaw was starting to ache, and he was drooling all over the place; he expected to have to give up when he let go of Brendon’s hip to slide his hand lower, cup Brendon’s balls just as he sucked particularly hard.
Brendon thrust his hips hard enough to choke Spencer if his hand hadn’t been in the way. “Spence. Spence, you’ve got to... I’m going to...” He pushed at Spencer’s shoulder, shoving him back just far enough that when Brendon came it was in warm lines up his neck and chin.
If he thought about it, that was probably weird. And really fucking hot.
Spencer was panting, staring up at the almost dazed look on Brendon’s face, hand still lightly stroking along Brendon’s cock until Brendon started to shy away and make these tiny whining sounds in his throat. The sound sparked a shock down Spencer’s body, reminding him just how hard he was, how he was almost shaking with it.
He palmed himself through his pants, pressing shamelessly into his own hand. He fought with the fucking buttons, barely getting his hand in before Brendon was on his knees in front of him.
“Wait, hold on,” Brendon whispered, voice rough. “Just... here.”
He reached out, shoving Spencer’s clothes down to his thighs. Brendon licked his palm and grabbed Spencer with this completely unforgiving and absolutely perfect pressure. Spencer whined, but Brendon slammed their mouths together, taking the sound. The kiss was sloppy, unfocused; Brendon was more focused on stroking Spencer’s cock, fast and glorious, and Spencer was just along for the ride.
The sounds spilling from his lips were completely embarrassing, but he didn’t care. He rocked in time with Brendon’s hand, pulling his mouth away to gasp. Brendon didn’t let him go far, leaning in to lick and suck over Spencer’s chin and down his neck. It took Spencer longer than he was proud of to realize Brendon was licking his own come off Spencer’s skin. The thought shot through him, heat building and cresting so fast he didn’t even expect it.
Spencer moaned, loud and rough sounding. He buried his face against Brendon’s neck, thrusting against Brendon one more time before losing it and spilling over Brendon’s hand.
They were both panting, gasping for air, leaning on each other. Spencer didn’t know how long they stayed like that: Brendon slumped back against the door with Spencer mostly on top of him. When he regained the ability to move his limbs, Spencer sat back on his heels, clothes all askew and limiting his movement.
Brendon blinked, looking completely blissed out. “God. Tell me we can do that again?”
Spencer blinked back then cracked, laughing, feeling so fucking content. It was like the whole stressful-as-hell day never happened. He didn’t even mind when Brendon not-so-surreptitiously wiped his hand on Spencer’s shirt.
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Spencer giggled a little, honestly giggled as he tried to stand.
It was Brendon’s turn to laugh. He used the doorknob to pull himself up, then reached down to help Spencer.
“Bed. We are getting on your bed,” Brendon ordered, throwing in waggled eyebrows as punctuation. “And I am going to rock your fucking world.”
Spencer didn’t bother to tell him he already had.
**********
The next morning got off to a rough start. For the first time in a long time, Spencer woke up alone with no idea of where Brendon had disappeared to. He wasn’t hogging the blankets and sprawling over Spencer’s chest, or lying face down on his bed and wallowing in the way the sunlight felt coming through the window.
Spencer nearly panicked, but he forced himself to concentrate, to breathe and actually think before he reacted. There was a time he could do that so easily, but Brendon made him lose touch with things like rationality.
He finally forced himself out of bed and into whatever clothes were closest. His hands felt clumsy and he fumbled with the button fly of his work pants a few times before forcing the buttons into submission. He wiped his sweaty palms against his trousers and worked out a plan.
All he had to do was slow down and check Brendon’s favorite spots: the music room, the dining room, the lounge. If those all turned up empty, Spencer would let himself have a fit, or find Bob and let Bob talk him out of having a fit. It was perfect.
Except the music room turned up empty and no one was hanging out in the dining room, not even Gerard and his piles of haphazard party planning. He had to concentrate on keeping his mind on track as he tried the lounge.
When he glanced inside, he didn’t see Brendon’s ridiculous hair or hear his laugh. Spencer gripped the doorknob a little harder and blinked to clear out his vision. There were other places he could go. Brendon had grown fond of the attic, and Bob was helping him work on reorganizing the library for reasons no one actually understood. The estate was huge and there were a dozen people running around, someone would know something. Brendon wouldn’t run off, not without telling Spencer first. Not again.
“He’s visiting Lila.”
Spencer most certainly did not yelp when he turned around. “Fucking shit, Mikey. Wear a bell. Jesus.”
Mikey shrugged and half-smiled from where he was leaning against the wall opposite the lounge entrance. “Sorry. You looked like you were having a crisis. Brendon usually helps with that. Figured you’d rather find him than listen to me.”
“You’re a smart man,” Spencer nodded. He was already heading back the way he’d come. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Spencer didn’t doubt Mikey’s information. Somehow, Mikey Way knew everything about everyone on the estate; he was either magic or a ridiculously accurate gossip, possibly both. Instead of asking pointless questions, Spencer just took Mikey’s word on good faith and headed out toward the stables and Siska’s very pregnant guard dog.
Lila would have to be having puppies any day; it made sense that Brendon was there. Not only was he overexcited about the pups, but he loved Lila to bits. Spencer always wondered how Brendon could stand dogs anymore, not that he was ever going to ask. If Brendon could hold onto that, Spencer wasn’t going to judge him.
The doors to the stable were already open. Siska and Frank always had the horses out and in training or working by mid-morning, and it was already getting on noon. Spencer started scanning over the stall doors, not sure where Lila was nesting this week. He was halfway through and still hadn’t seen a thing when he heard voices.
Spencer slowed his steps and strained his ears. There were definitely two voices, and Spence had spent more than enough time listening to Brendon’s “quiet voice” to recognize it. He also knew Bob got even more grumbly when he was speaking softly. It’s not like it was a surprise when Spencer got to the last two stalls and saw the back of Brendon’s head.
Brendon and Bob were both standing in the stall, leaning against the far wall. Brendon had his forehead against the wood and Bob was standing behind him, hands kneading at Brendon’s shoulders. Bob said something Spencer didn’t catch, and Brendon laughed.
There was no reason for Spencer to stop moving, to lean against the post he knew didn’t squeak and just watch. Still, he did it. There seemed to be something going on in that stall, and he knew he’d be interrupting.
“I’m sorry,” Brendon said a little louder. He turned, facing Bob, and Spencer pressed closer to the wall. “I didn’t realize everyone was going to...” His volume dropped again.
Bob was shaking his head. “...worried, Bren. So fucking...”
Spencer had to fight to hear Bob, but he figured out where it was going pretty quickly.
“Shouldn’t have...” Brendon started.
Brendon leaned back, head making a soft thump sound when it hit the wall. Bob pressed closer, boxing Brendon in with a hand against the wall on either side of his shoulders.
“Scared half to fucking death,” Bob said, suddenly fierce. “Spencer was...”
Spencer never figured out what he was. A second later, Brendon pushed against Bob’s chest. He shook his head and started to turn, but Bob was faster. He cupped Brendon’s cheek with one hand and turned him right into a kiss. Spencer imagined he heard the soft gasp Brendon always made when he was pleasantly surprised, definitely heard the little whimper when Bob closed the last little bit of distance and pressed close to Brendon’s body. Brendon was completely obscured at that point, but Spencer saw the hand he had wrapped in Bob’s hair and the other one holding onto the neck of Bob’s shirt.
He didn’t know how long he stared, but there were hooves crunching the straw outside the stable, and Spencer snapped out of the trance he had going. He forced his fists to unclench and didn’t run. He didn’t run, but he did walk quickly, quietly back into the sunshine.
It might as well have been snowing for all the warmth Spencer could actually feel.
There were people everywhere on this fucking estate. He hadn’t seen anyone when he needed them, and now that he didn’t want to talk to people, they all kept calling to him or waving.
Spencer nodded back, but couldn’t seem to make his throat work as he crossed the front lawn. He didn’t stop, not for anything, until he was safely inside the fieldhouse: the stupid fucking fieldhouse he was trying so damn hard to fix so Brendon would be happy, so they could have something all their own.
Brendon didn’t need Spencer and his stupid house. Brendon could move in with Bob. Ray and Mikey could have this one. Spencer didn’t really need this much space, these few rooms, if he was going to be on his own.
Spencer slammed the door as hard as he could with the frame still warped. He stomped over to the pile of materials he had so carefully sorted the day before. He stared down, looking at the page of notes sticking out from under a box of hinges. It was the most annoying thing he’d seen all day. The most annoying, not the most painful.
But it didn’t matter. Brendon hadn’t ever really been Spencer’s, right?
“Stupid,” Spencer whispered. “So fucking stupid. What, you think you’re something, Smith? Brendon’s your friend. Stop making shit up. God. Your head is such a fucked up place.” He kept up a soft litany against himself for a while, until his throat was dry with it.
Spencer kept talking and started gathering the things he needed for the door. He probably wasn’t going to need it now, but whatever. Maybe he could give it to Brendon and Bob. Mikey had been angling to move out of Frank and Gerard’s house anyway; he’d appreciate the open space turning up in Ray’s.
Nothing about this situation pointed to anything good for Spencer, but he couldn’t begrudge anyone, especially Brendon, for it. He’d just...wait it out, see what happened. Spencer was such a fucking nice person. He hated himself for it.
*********
Surprisingly, feeling like one of the horses had kicked him in the chest actually increased Spencer’s productivity and organization skills. He also tapped into some of the defense mechanisms he’d honed over years and years of servitude.
Avoidance was number one on the list, and it was surprisingly easy once he worked out his schedule.
When the sun broke through the oppressive darkness of night, lightening the curtains from the outside, Spencer woke. He’d been up late the night before, forcing Gerard and Frank to make task lists for Brendon’s party, but he was still awake when the first birds started calling.
Brendon wasn’t too far behind him, but Spencer kept his eyes carefully closed and breathed as deep and evenly as he knew how. This was the hard part since Brendon tended to wallow in bed for a good ten minutes in the morning. He spent some time cuddling up to Spencer’s back, hiding from the morning. That turned into halfhearted grumbles and stretching. By the time Brendon actually rolled out of bed, Spencer was trying not to smile at how completely adorable the whole process was.
Brendon tried to be quiet, which was a losing battle, but Spencer didn’t acknowledge it. He rolled a little, waving a hand vaguely in Brendon’s direction.
“Sorry,” Brendon laughed. He crossed the room and leaned over to kiss the tip of Spencer’s nose. Spencer fought the urge to sneeze, even though he’d expected it, and Brendon laughed again. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you for lunch? Maybe?”
Spencer had taken to regularly skipping lunches and knew it worried Brendon, even though Spencer had gone much longer without meals before. Not being able to stand how unsure Brendon sounded, he grumbled and nodded into the pillow. “Mm Hmm. Come get me, ‘kay?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Brendon’s grin was in his voice, and it made the hollow spot in Spencer’s chest throb. “I’m going to be late for Cassadee.” His hand went through Spencer’s hair, catching on a few tangles, before he was gone.
Spencer listened to the door click shut. He strained to hear footsteps on the carpet, but settled for the fading humming of Brendon in a good mood. When there was nothing left to hear – other than the occasional raised voice of someone starting their day – Spencer crawled out of bed.
He washed his face, combed his hair, did a little minor beard grooming. Then he got dressed in something that started out immaculate but would probably be dusty before dinner. He killed time straightening things: sorting out Brendon’s clothes from the night before, making the bed, general tidying that wasn’t necessary, cleaning around the their tiny fireplace.
By the time it was safe to head downstairs, breakfast was mostly finished. Spencer grabbed some toast and cold fried ham from the place that had been set for him. Everything else had been cleared from the table, so Spencer took his plate with him to the kitchen.
Ray was sorting out the dishes while Carden put the leftover food away. For a second, Ray studied him with this infuriatingly knowing look, but Ray wasn’t the type to press unless it was one of his boys, so Spencer ignored it and made some tea.
“Bob was looking for you,” Ray pointed out, not looking away from the washing basin. “Said to send you out to the stable if you weren’t busy.”
Spencer busied himself with chewing excessively and washing the bites down with tiny sips of scalding tea. He wasn’t going anywhere near that fucking stable or Bob, if he could help it. “I’m helping the Butcher rearrange Bill’s office and the back sitting room.”
“Why are you rearranging a room no one uses?” Carden asked, halfway out the door.
Spencer shrugged but appreciated that Carden latched onto weird shit. “The mess with Bill’s head?”
Ray shook his head, hair bouncing in a hilarious way, and Carden snorted. “That’ll be fun. Move that vase of his Great Aunt Maysel. He’ll lose his head. It’ll be awesome.”
Spencer raised his eyebrows; that much was a given. Carden winked, which was a little creepy, and headed out to do… whatever it was he did. Spencer hadn’t actually worked that out, yet. Ray was quiet while Spencer finished eating, but it was a loaded silence. Spencer rushed to get out of there.
He started to nudge Ray out of the way to wash his own dishes, but Ray waved him off.
“Go see what Bob wants or something. Or Brendon might be finished. I think Cassadee was doing half a lesson today.”
She was, Spencer knew, but he didn’t want to be faced with Brendon’s excitement or Bob’s easy banter right now. Spencer shrugged and made a noncommittal sound. He wiped down the counter just to watch the way Ray tried to look irritated but obviously appreciated the help.
Then Spencer went to find Butcher. Butcher was already straightening the sitting room. Spencer took over dusting all the heirlooms. They snatched up the aforementioned vase, a malfunctioning desk clock, and some aged tintypes.
“So Sisky moved the fucking foot locker from the main bedroom into ours, and we had the thing for three months before Bill started looking for his good suspenders or some shit. Didn’t even notice he’d been wearing Travie’s shoes the whole time,” Butcher explained with a laugh.
For some reason, it had become a game after that.
Spencer was mostly distracted, though, only half-listening, since Butcher usually didn’t actually need Spencer to give him any sort of input when he was telling stories. He cleared his throat after an awkwardly long pause - those usually meant he was supposed to respond.
“Three dinner clean-ups it takes him four to find the vase.” Spencer forced a grin and handed it over. “Keep your paintbrushes in it and he’ll think you’ve been using it the whole time.”
“I’ll keep it in the fucking lounge,” Butcher chuckled.
“He’ll see it every day.” Spencer actually felt a real smirk covering the faked expression. “Clock’s going in his office.”
“By the umbrella stand?”
“Where else?”
Butcher clapped Spencer on the shoulder. “You’re an evil genius, Smith. Give the tintypes to Gerard. He’ll decorate with them. It’ll be three weeks before Bill catches on.”
Spencer shook his head and didn’t doubt it. Butcher headed for the office, and Spencer followed just to help with dusting the random unnecessary decorations and to drop off the clock.
As soon as Butcher headed for the library, Spencer took his leave. He stopped by for lunch, quickly, just long enough to ruffle Brendon’s hair.
“We have pie!” Brendon promised, wide-eyed and imploring. “It’s your favorite. Made with the last of the apples.”
Spencer wasn’t hungry, didn’t want something so sweet, but no one was paying them any attention and Bob either wasn’t coming in for lunch or had already left. Spencer shrugged.
“I’m kind of busy…” Spencer hedged until Brendon gave him the look, complete with pouty bottom lip. Biting his own lip to tone down the grin, Spencer dropped into the open seat between Brendon and Mikey. “Okay, one piece. But only if Frank didn’t make it.”
“I made it myself,” Brendon promised. He pushed a plate toward Spencer, and Spencer tried not to notice how closely Brendon was watching him as Spencer took his first bite.
The crust was crumbly and the apples were a little dry, but Spencer managed to look impressed anyway. “You’re sort of amazing, Brendon Urie.” The pie wasn’t, but Brendon was; Spencer didn’t even have to force the awe into his voice.
Brendon knocked their shoulders together and pressed a sticky kiss to Spencer’s cheek. “Anything to keep you happy.”
Spencer didn’t wonder what Brendon was doing to keep Bob happy. His stomach swam a little sickly, but he ate the pie just to keep the smile on Brendon’s face.
When Bill started asking Brendon about a menu for his party, Spencer managed to sneak out. Brendon didn’t look too thrilled about it, but Spencer tried to pretend he didn’t catch that look as he slipped around the door.
He didn’t think about Brendon just wanting to be close to him while he set a brisk pace across the front lawn. As soon as he got to the fieldhouse, Spencer jumped into his mending and didn’t picture Brendon’s questioning expressions. He tried his best to focus on what he was doing, but he was running out of tasks.
Things were shaping up quickly, and there just wasn’t much left for Spencer to do. Somehow, he managed to spend all afternoon hiding, though. A good portion of it was just re-measuring things, but whatever. No one needed to know that.
No one came to collect him for dinner, which Spencer was grateful for. Sometime after the third day when Spencer refused to follow Brendon or let Bob lead him back to the main house, they stopped coming down. Maybe pulling himself away wasn’t going to be such a problem, after all.
Spencer took a deep breath and forced his mind to blank. He crossed the blackness of the front lawn carefully, using only the crescent moon and lights from the main house as a guide.
When he slipped into the dining room, the only people left were Gerard and Frank. They had, once again, taken over a whole half of the table to spread out supplies. Tonight it looked like more invitations: folded sheets, addresses, wax for seals, endless ink wells. Spencer grabbed the plate someone – undoubtedly Brendon – had left for him and started reaching for their supplies.
“How many are left?” Spencer asked, mouth full.
Gerard rubbed black stained fingers over the bridge of his nose. “All of them?” He gave Spencer a wide, faux-innocent grin.
Spencer coughed. “How long have you been working on these?”
“Just a couple days,” Frank nodded. “But Ray says you can’t read them when I do it, and if Gerard keeps drawing shit everyone’s going to think it’s a masquerade.”
“Is it too late for-“ Gerard started right when Spencer said, “Too late!”
Gerard grumbled and stole half a roll off Spencer’s plate. “You’re no fun, Smith.”
“Not at all,” Spencer agreed. He snatched the pen from Gerard’s hand. “Give them here. I’ll do addresses if you sort them by district.”
Frank snorted. “He’s like mini-Ray. All organized and shit.”
“Someone has to keep you guys in line,” Spencer told them off-handedly and started splitting his attention. He could just take bites between address lines.
So engrossed in trying to remember names, trying to figure out if he had met this family yet, Spencer almost missed Frank’s muttered “slave driver.”
“Learned from the best,” Spencer threw in without missing a beat.
This was part of what he liked about spending so much time with Frank and Gerard lately. They didn’t try to pretend Spencer wasn’t a slave. Having been there themselves, even though Spencer hadn’t ever heard their whole stories, meant they could just say things. They could make light of what had happened to them, and that? That meant Spencer could do it, or at least try to. It was a work in progress.
Frank and Gerard didn’t act surprised by Spencer’s quip, just laughed and lapsed into conversation about strange surnames and the group of invitations they had to set aside because Bill wanted to send them personally. Spencer tried not to think about why he might be doing something like that.
Instead, Spencer ate and wrote until his stomach hurt and his hand was practically numb. His writing was getting progressively sloppier when Brendon stumbled in.
“What ‘re you doin’?” Brendon mumbled. He was blinking slowly, hair askew on one side as if he’d been lying on it for a while.
Spencer bit his lip and turned back to the envelope he was working on. “Making your Freedom Party happen. They’re useless.”
“Fucker,” Frank muttered without any heat. He sounded as tired as Brendon looked.
“Well, stop,” Brendon whined. Shuffling over, he leaned heavily against Spencer’s shoulders and buried his face in Spencer’s hair. “Come to bed. It’s cold.”
“Just a second,” Spencer promised. He reached up to pet Brendon’s hair, scratching his scalp before pulling his hand away to finish this one.
Finishing the last ‘y’ with a flourish, Spencer shoved an invitation inside and slid it to Gerard and his wax seals. He rolled his shoulders and looked up. Brendon whined at being displaced and stood up to rub his eyes.
“Bed now? Please?” Brendon sounded so pitiful that Spencer couldn’t put it off any longer.
Chuckling softly, Spencer let Brendon pull him to his feet. As soon as they were standing, Brendon wedged himself under Spencer’s arm, cuddling close even as they walked.
“Night,” Spencer muttered, distracted.
“Goodnight,” Gerard returned.
“Sleep well,” Frank added.
Spencer didn’t have the heart to move Brendon away enough to hit them. Instead, he focused on getting them through doorways and up the stairs without pushing Brendon away. Brendon seemed reluctant to let go, always tended to cling when he was tired, and Spencer reveled in that level of need directed at him.
When they got to their room, Spencer settled Brendon onto Spencer’s bed, the one they had taken to sharing. He went about getting ready, throwing clothes over the chair arm. He’d normally straighten up before bed, but that would keep him up longer and give him less to do in the morning.
Plus, Brendon was pouting and making tiny whining noises every time Spencer started a new task.
Spencer couldn’t help laughing as he fell into bed, kicking under the blankets while Brendon tried to climb on top of him.
“You stay up too late,” Brendon complained.
“Sorry,” Spencer murmured through a yawn.
Brendon hummed and nuzzled against Spencer’s throat. Wrapping his arms tight around Brendon’s back, Spencer turned enough to catch Brendon’s lips in a soft kiss. So long as Spencer didn’t think about who else was allowed to kiss Brendon like this, Spencer could just enjoy the comfort and the heat that always started spreading out from every point of contact. It was calming, mostly, and Spencer could almost always fall asleep like that, trading kisses until they couldn’t do more than share breath.
Most days went generally the same, but Spencer had learned to thrive on monotony. He was busy, and it was amazing. There were never any empty moments that needed to be filled with Bob’s dry humor or Brendon’s stories. So what if Spencer still wanted both?
And so what if he got a little desperate at night, sometimes, when he was wrapped up and alone with Brendon. Maybe he held on a little too tight and kissed a little too hard, but Brendon didn’t seem to mind. He just met all of Spencer’s urgency and begged until Spencer touched him. Spencer could have told him he didn’t need to go to all the trouble, but he liked knowing Brendon wanted, needed, him enough to gasp his name out and writhe in the most obscene way possible. Until Brendon told him no or Bob got territorial, Spencer wasn’t giving this up.
Part Five
Spencer lost track of time once they were safely closed up in Brendon and Spencer’s room. It was late enough in the evening that the sky was too dark to use its color as any type of guide. He could always track down the pocket watch Travie had given him when he’d been there a month, but Bob was already sighing every time Spencer paced across the room to stare out the window. The only reason he knew any time had passed at all was because Bill and Travis stopped by to say they were back, and Ray came to say the girls didn’t know anything.
There was nothing left for anyone to do, nothing Spencer could do, and it was driving him crazy. He’d already changed into a worn pair of work trousers and the first comfortable shirt he pulled out of his drawers. The entire room had been straightened even though it didn’t need it. The fire was roaring, hotter than necessary, but stoking it ate up a minute or so.
Bob shoved up from his seat at the end of Brendon’s bed and grabbed Spencer by the shoulders. “Stop pacing. You’re making me dizzy.”
“Sorry,” Spencer muttered. He wasn’t, but he was polite enough to say it.
“Let’s just sit by the window, okay?” Bob suggested. He led Spencer to the armchair and, more gently than Spencer expected, turned Spencer and pushed him into the chair. Bob stepped up behind the chair and turned it so Spencer could see out the window without sitting sideways. “Okay?”
Spencer slumped back and fixed his eyes on what he thought might be the lane, but the shadows were really too dark to know for sure. He tried not to fidget, but he couldn’t stop bouncing his heels or crossing then re-crossing his legs.
“Spence, you’re kind of a mess,” Bob told him from his place behind the chair.
“Well, I’m sorry,” Spencer snapped, as nastily as he knew how. “But my best friend or...whatever Brendon is. He’s out there somewhere and anything could have happened or he could have gone anywhere. I might never fucking see him again. I’m allowed to be a mess.”
Bob inhaled sharply, but Spencer didn’t hear him let the breath out. Suddenly, Bob was kneeling in front of him. He rested his hands on Spencer’s knees, stilling the bouncing. Spencer tried not to look at him, but it was too hard. Bob was half obstructing the window, the only place Spencer wanted to look, and his eyes were such a vibrant blue. The room was dim - Spencer had refused to light the lamps - but Bob’s eyes were still ridiculously bright. It was kind of like staring at a really blond cat.
Spencer was maybe getting a little hysterical.
“Spencer. Do you think Brendon left you on purpose?”
“What?” Spencer whispered. He shook his head and tried to lean further away. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“That wasn’t an answer,” Bob pointed out. “Do you think Brendon would leave you?”
“He’s free. He could. If he wanted,” Spencer forced out. He wasn’t sure if the words sounded as strangled as they felt.
“Do you think he’d want to?”
Spencer didn’t answer, couldn’t. Because it didn’t matter. He might not think Brendon wanted to leave, might doubt Brendon would abandon him without even saying goodbye, but none of that mattered. Brendon was free. If he took his papers and he really wanted to just... disappear, no one could stop him.
“Fuck,” Bob breathed. Then, suddenly, he was leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Spencer’s waist. Spencer made a small noise in the back of his throat and brought his arms up instinctively. “Don’t think that. Brendon was fucking desolate without you. When Tom brought him here, once Brendon figured out we weren’t going to punish him for talking, he didn’t shut up about you. He talked about the other two, sometimes, but most of it was you. Always things like Spencer always said and Spencer would do this instead of that or Spencer is the greatest at doing that thing you’re trying to do. Then when he saw you...”
Spencer squeezed his eyes shut. He shouldn’t ask, but no one would talk about what happened the night after Brendon had seen Spencer in that cage. There had been at least twelve hours between the time Brendon saw him and when Beckett and Travis had come to collect him. Something had happened; Brendon had done something to get Beckett to come out, but no one ever actually told Spencer what that was. They would hedge around it, get sad looks and tell him to ask Brendon; Brendon blushed and changed the subject.
Spencer opened his eyes and asked anyway. “What? What happened after he found me?”
“He lost it. He’d just been to see Sarah - she was sick - and Siska lost sight of him for a few minutes. “ Bob rolled his eyes. Spencer decided Brendon was never again allowed to hang out with Siska alone. “When he found him, Brendon was more pale than Gerard. He wouldn’t say a word until they got back. When he did... as soon as they were through the fucking door, Brendon was on his knees. Bill didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but Brendon was babbling. He kept asking if Bill would do just this one thing for him. He promised anything. He offered to give Bill all his tutoring money, to let Bill sell him in exchange. He said...he was going to let them have him; aristocrats like their bed slaves, right, even if Bill had Travie. Brendon promised he’d learn quick, be exactly what they wanted.” Bob sounded as choked as Spencer felt.
“He wouldn’t...” But Spencer knew he would. He’d always known Brendon must have offered up everything he had or could pull together. Somehow, he’d never let himself think of this exact offer, though. “Bill, did he...”
“Bill cried,” Bob told him, solemn. “Travie took him away before Brendon noticed and I practically carried Brendon upstairs. We thought he was adjusting pretty well before that, but... Anyway.” Bob cleared his throat, eyelashes fluttering against Spencer’s hair as he blinked a few times. “Brendon really just needed someone to hold him still for awhile.” Sometimes Brendon needed to cling; Spencer knew this. “As soon as he told me about you and that damned cage, I got Ray to tell Bill and the next day you were here.”
“Oh. Um...”
“Spencer, he was terrified the first month you were here. He fucking freaked out when you were out of his sight for too long, worried you’d run without him and try to find Ryan. He was writing letters to Tom every three days to see if he knew anything new.”
Anger rushed through Spencer, hot and sudden. “How could he be so stupid? I’d never... It’s Ryan, yeah, but... Brendon. Fucking idiot.”
Bob nodded. He was almost smiling when he pulled back to look Spencer in the eye. “He’s not going anywhere without you, okay? Tonight, whatever the fuck’s going on, he didn’t try to leave you behind.”
It should have been a relief, but it really wasn’t. Spencer was at a loss, too wrapped up in missing Brendon so much it hurt and wanting to hit him for having so little faith in Spencer. He also kind of wanted to punch himself for not noticing Brendon had been so worried.
He opened his mouth to say something, not knowing what that was yet, when he saw two tiny pinpricks of light over Bob’s shoulder. He held his breath, blinking to make sure. The light got closer until Spencer could make out the outline of a carriage.
“Brendon!”
Spencer would feel bad, later, about the way he shoved Bob back and practically climbed over the chair arm in his haste to get to the door. He also may or may not have kicked Bob in the shoulder, but he didn’t have the time to stop and check. Spencer tripped all over himself trying to get downstairs, be the first thing Brendon saw.
As soon as he rounded the corner into the kitchen from the foyer, Brendon looked up with a small smile. He seemed shy in a way Spencer didn’t get to see often, but Spencer couldn’t even focus on that. Before Brendon could get anything other than an inarticulate sound out, Spencer was across the room and practically pulling him off his stool.
Something a little scalding hit his shoulder, probably tea since Bill was at the stove instead of Gerard. The burn was secondary, easy to ignore in contrast to the blinding fucking relief that spread through Spencer.
“Where were you? What happened? Are you okay?”
“Spence,” Brendon whispered. His arm wrapped around Spencer’s waist, free hand tangling in his hair. “Hey, hey, I’m fine. I just. I was looking for the cave. There was this dog. One of Mark’s, from the last litter?”
What? Wait… “What?”
“I think a raccoon got ahold of her. Those fuckers are vicious and Mark said they’d had issues with them attacking his chickens lately.” Brendon was rambling, talking fast, trying to get everything out quickly. He was always doing that, trying to make up for lost time; Spencer usually appreciated it more. “I don’t know how long she was out there, but she wasn’t doing well. I couldn’t just…she was right there and she looked so sad.”
“You. Brendon, you stayed with a god damned dog?” Fucking hell.
Brendon huffed. “No. I took her as far as I could, but those dogs of his are fucking huge, man. So I had to drop her off and go get Mark on foot. I stayed to help him with her. She was apparently going to be for breeding, so. We tried to save her but…”
“Fucking hell, Urie,” Bob muttered from somewhere behind Spencer. Spencer hadn’t even heard him come downstairs.
Pulling back, Spencer reached up to frame Brendon’s face with his hands, make Brendon look at him. “If you ever fucking do that again... You can’t just. Don’t, okay?”
Fighting the desperation was getting difficult. Everyone was going to hear how fucking…how bad Brendon being gone for less than a day was dragging him down. They probably already knew.
“Spence. Spencer Smith.” Brendon must have set his cup aside at some point, because both hands were gripping Spencer’s shoulders, wrinkling the fabric of the teal work shirt that may have once been Bob’s. Slowly, Brendon leaned in until their foreheads were touching. “Spence. I’m sorry I scared you. I just didn’t think… I should have had someone come by. I’m sorry, okay? I won’t, not anymore.”
“Yeah,” Spencer whispered. Even the single word shook so much that Spencer could hardly stand himself.
Frank cleared his throat, loud and obnoxious. “Tell us about your adventure through the woods, Bden,” he prodded. He shoved a stool up beside Brendon’s and waited for Spencer to let go enough to take his seat.
Mikey set a cup of tea in front of Spencer and took Brendon’s to be refilled while Brendon talked about getting lost on his way to Hoppus’ place. It was probably a pretty funny story, but Spencer was more preoccupied with Brendon’s voice to bother with the words. He ignored his tea in order to hold Brendon’s hand between both of his.
Spencer watched Bob step up behind them and lean his forehead against Brendon’s crown. Brendon reached up to pet at Bob’s hair and Spencer had to look away.
He normally didn’t begrudge Bob and Brendon’s... Bob and Brendon-ness, but Spencer wanted to be selfish and keep Brendon to himself for a while. He didn’t want to sit here and listen to a story that could wait until morning, or watch Brendon hold onto someone that wasn’t him.
Mikey’s not-smirk said Spencer wasn’t hiding the pouting well. Mikey could go fuck himself; he pouted every single time Pete brought Patrick over.
Brendon must have been picking up on Spencer’s nervous energy. He cut his late dinner short to usher Spencer upstairs. Bob walked them all the way to the door, and Spencer couldn’t help glaring at him, narrowing his eyes until Bob rolled his.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Bob muttered, pulling Brendon into a hug. It was awkward since Spencer absolutely refused to release Brendon’s hand. Bob pulled away and let out a slow breath. He shoved a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Goodnight.”
Brendon watched until Bob rounded the corner of the stairs before turning to Spencer. Spencer hadn’t even pulled him all the way into the room before he was tugging Brendon up for a kiss. Brendon teetered a little, stretching up on his toes too far to get at Spencer’s mouth.
“Spence,” Brendon breathed, pulling away so he could kick the door shut.
Spencer was on him again almost immediately. Gripping his hips, Spencer pushed Brendon back against the door. Brendon laughed a little, surprised. He threaded his fingers together behind Spencer’s neck, pulling him down and biting at his lips. Spencer whined into the kiss, stepping closer to press their bodies flush together. Brendon gasped, the sound going straight through Spencer’s body.
He knew he was desperate, but fuck. He couldn’t help it. He’d lost Brendon once; thinking he’d lost Brendon again made him a little crazy. Brendon was right there with him, arching to thrust their hips together.
The heat was already building, making Spencer practically itch with the need to get closer, feel skin. Brendon rocked his hips up in this perfectly lewd grind that had Spencer panting. Spencer was half hard, but it was secondary, because, Brendon. Spencer leaned back enough to slip his hands under Brendon’s shirt. He slid his hands up, pulling the shirt with him until Brendon let go of Spencer’s neck to raise his arms.
Spencer threw the shirt somewhere over his shoulder and set his lips to Brendon’s skin. He kissed down Brendon’s shoulder, dragging his tongue in a restless pattern that ended at Brendon’s nipples. Spencer sealed his lips, flicking his tongue out quickly. Brendon’s hips jerked and he whined low in his throat as he dropped his head back against the door.
There was a low thud, but Spencer didn’t think anyone would hear; he didn’t care if they did.
Brendon threaded his fingers through Spencer’s hair, not pulling but just holding on. Spencer glanced up, watching the blush that rose up Brendon’s chest. It made him bolder; Spencer slid a hand down Brendon’s body, cupping his growing erection and kneading lightly. Brendon moaned, the sound muffled by the way he was biting his lip, and squirmed.
Spencer didn’t have the slightest idea what he was doing, except in theory, as he dropped to his knees.
“Fuck, Spence. You don’t - “ Brendon cut himself off with a gasp when Spencer kissed his stomach and pressed his thumbs into the soft skin above Brendon’s hips. “-have to,” Brendon panted.
Spencer shook his head, beard dragging along Brendon’s skin. Brendon half-laughed, half-whined, and Spencer groaned at how it tickled his face. He traced his fingers along Brendon’s waistband, trying to ignore the slight shaking as he worked on the button-fly of Brendon’s trousers. He fumbled a little; seriously, buttons sucked.
When he slid Brendon’s pants and underwear down, Brendon groaned and rocked his hips a little in search of contact. It was more than a little intimidating but, fuck, Spencer couldn’t remember ever wanting something so much. He pressed a kiss just above the coarse hair, circling his hand around Brendon’s cock, testing the feel of touching someone else.
He pulled back and took a deep breath, darting his tongue out to taste the precome already beading at the head. Brendon hissed and reached down to grip Spencer’s shoulder, his hold a little tight and just enough to distract Spencer for the way he was starting to panic, just a little.
Spencer stared up the line of Brendon’s body. He was amazed at how long Brendon looked. Gone was the scrawny body Spencer remembered from before, when they hadn't had enough to eat and Spencer could count Brendon's ribs when they hugged. No, now Brendon was filling out; there was more definition to every part of him, the hard and soft parts of him in perfect juxtaposition. Spencer could die just staring at him.
He accidentally met Brendon’s eyes. They seemed darker than usual, desire clear in his expression. Spencer took a deep breath, moving his hand in a slow stroke, reveling in the way Brendon shifted into the touch.
“You have to tell me if I do anything wrong... I don’t actually know what I’m doing down here.”
Brendon laughed, but it wasn’t at him. He moved his hand from Spencer’s shoulder to stroke his cheek. “Short of biting, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be too picky.” He sounded breathless in the best possible way.
That was all the encouragement Spencer needed to lean in and lick from base to tip. Brendon shuddered and twitched when Spencer sealed his lips over the head, sucking experimentally. Spencer kept one hand wrapped around Brendon, the other gripping his hip to hold him still.
It was slow going for a minute as Spencer inched slowly down Brendon’s length, taking as much as he could and fighting his gag reflex the whole way. It couldn’t be very good, but Spencer flattened his tongue along the underside and sucked.
Brendon writhed, muttering words too softly for Spencer to understand.
Spencer moved slowly, working his way up to a rhythm of twisting his hand and sucking every time he took Brendon’s cock further into his mouth, tonguing under the head when he pulled back. His jaw was starting to ache, and he was drooling all over the place; he expected to have to give up when he let go of Brendon’s hip to slide his hand lower, cup Brendon’s balls just as he sucked particularly hard.
Brendon thrust his hips hard enough to choke Spencer if his hand hadn’t been in the way. “Spence. Spence, you’ve got to... I’m going to...” He pushed at Spencer’s shoulder, shoving him back just far enough that when Brendon came it was in warm lines up his neck and chin.
If he thought about it, that was probably weird. And really fucking hot.
Spencer was panting, staring up at the almost dazed look on Brendon’s face, hand still lightly stroking along Brendon’s cock until Brendon started to shy away and make these tiny whining sounds in his throat. The sound sparked a shock down Spencer’s body, reminding him just how hard he was, how he was almost shaking with it.
He palmed himself through his pants, pressing shamelessly into his own hand. He fought with the fucking buttons, barely getting his hand in before Brendon was on his knees in front of him.
“Wait, hold on,” Brendon whispered, voice rough. “Just... here.”
He reached out, shoving Spencer’s clothes down to his thighs. Brendon licked his palm and grabbed Spencer with this completely unforgiving and absolutely perfect pressure. Spencer whined, but Brendon slammed their mouths together, taking the sound. The kiss was sloppy, unfocused; Brendon was more focused on stroking Spencer’s cock, fast and glorious, and Spencer was just along for the ride.
The sounds spilling from his lips were completely embarrassing, but he didn’t care. He rocked in time with Brendon’s hand, pulling his mouth away to gasp. Brendon didn’t let him go far, leaning in to lick and suck over Spencer’s chin and down his neck. It took Spencer longer than he was proud of to realize Brendon was licking his own come off Spencer’s skin. The thought shot through him, heat building and cresting so fast he didn’t even expect it.
Spencer moaned, loud and rough sounding. He buried his face against Brendon’s neck, thrusting against Brendon one more time before losing it and spilling over Brendon’s hand.
They were both panting, gasping for air, leaning on each other. Spencer didn’t know how long they stayed like that: Brendon slumped back against the door with Spencer mostly on top of him. When he regained the ability to move his limbs, Spencer sat back on his heels, clothes all askew and limiting his movement.
Brendon blinked, looking completely blissed out. “God. Tell me we can do that again?”
Spencer blinked back then cracked, laughing, feeling so fucking content. It was like the whole stressful-as-hell day never happened. He didn’t even mind when Brendon not-so-surreptitiously wiped his hand on Spencer’s shirt.
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Spencer giggled a little, honestly giggled as he tried to stand.
It was Brendon’s turn to laugh. He used the doorknob to pull himself up, then reached down to help Spencer.
“Bed. We are getting on your bed,” Brendon ordered, throwing in waggled eyebrows as punctuation. “And I am going to rock your fucking world.”
Spencer didn’t bother to tell him he already had.
The next morning got off to a rough start. For the first time in a long time, Spencer woke up alone with no idea of where Brendon had disappeared to. He wasn’t hogging the blankets and sprawling over Spencer’s chest, or lying face down on his bed and wallowing in the way the sunlight felt coming through the window.
Spencer nearly panicked, but he forced himself to concentrate, to breathe and actually think before he reacted. There was a time he could do that so easily, but Brendon made him lose touch with things like rationality.
He finally forced himself out of bed and into whatever clothes were closest. His hands felt clumsy and he fumbled with the button fly of his work pants a few times before forcing the buttons into submission. He wiped his sweaty palms against his trousers and worked out a plan.
All he had to do was slow down and check Brendon’s favorite spots: the music room, the dining room, the lounge. If those all turned up empty, Spencer would let himself have a fit, or find Bob and let Bob talk him out of having a fit. It was perfect.
Except the music room turned up empty and no one was hanging out in the dining room, not even Gerard and his piles of haphazard party planning. He had to concentrate on keeping his mind on track as he tried the lounge.
When he glanced inside, he didn’t see Brendon’s ridiculous hair or hear his laugh. Spencer gripped the doorknob a little harder and blinked to clear out his vision. There were other places he could go. Brendon had grown fond of the attic, and Bob was helping him work on reorganizing the library for reasons no one actually understood. The estate was huge and there were a dozen people running around, someone would know something. Brendon wouldn’t run off, not without telling Spencer first. Not again.
“He’s visiting Lila.”
Spencer most certainly did not yelp when he turned around. “Fucking shit, Mikey. Wear a bell. Jesus.”
Mikey shrugged and half-smiled from where he was leaning against the wall opposite the lounge entrance. “Sorry. You looked like you were having a crisis. Brendon usually helps with that. Figured you’d rather find him than listen to me.”
“You’re a smart man,” Spencer nodded. He was already heading back the way he’d come. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Spencer didn’t doubt Mikey’s information. Somehow, Mikey Way knew everything about everyone on the estate; he was either magic or a ridiculously accurate gossip, possibly both. Instead of asking pointless questions, Spencer just took Mikey’s word on good faith and headed out toward the stables and Siska’s very pregnant guard dog.
Lila would have to be having puppies any day; it made sense that Brendon was there. Not only was he overexcited about the pups, but he loved Lila to bits. Spencer always wondered how Brendon could stand dogs anymore, not that he was ever going to ask. If Brendon could hold onto that, Spencer wasn’t going to judge him.
The doors to the stable were already open. Siska and Frank always had the horses out and in training or working by mid-morning, and it was already getting on noon. Spencer started scanning over the stall doors, not sure where Lila was nesting this week. He was halfway through and still hadn’t seen a thing when he heard voices.
Spencer slowed his steps and strained his ears. There were definitely two voices, and Spence had spent more than enough time listening to Brendon’s “quiet voice” to recognize it. He also knew Bob got even more grumbly when he was speaking softly. It’s not like it was a surprise when Spencer got to the last two stalls and saw the back of Brendon’s head.
Brendon and Bob were both standing in the stall, leaning against the far wall. Brendon had his forehead against the wood and Bob was standing behind him, hands kneading at Brendon’s shoulders. Bob said something Spencer didn’t catch, and Brendon laughed.
There was no reason for Spencer to stop moving, to lean against the post he knew didn’t squeak and just watch. Still, he did it. There seemed to be something going on in that stall, and he knew he’d be interrupting.
“I’m sorry,” Brendon said a little louder. He turned, facing Bob, and Spencer pressed closer to the wall. “I didn’t realize everyone was going to...” His volume dropped again.
Bob was shaking his head. “...worried, Bren. So fucking...”
Spencer had to fight to hear Bob, but he figured out where it was going pretty quickly.
“Shouldn’t have...” Brendon started.
Brendon leaned back, head making a soft thump sound when it hit the wall. Bob pressed closer, boxing Brendon in with a hand against the wall on either side of his shoulders.
“Scared half to fucking death,” Bob said, suddenly fierce. “Spencer was...”
Spencer never figured out what he was. A second later, Brendon pushed against Bob’s chest. He shook his head and started to turn, but Bob was faster. He cupped Brendon’s cheek with one hand and turned him right into a kiss. Spencer imagined he heard the soft gasp Brendon always made when he was pleasantly surprised, definitely heard the little whimper when Bob closed the last little bit of distance and pressed close to Brendon’s body. Brendon was completely obscured at that point, but Spencer saw the hand he had wrapped in Bob’s hair and the other one holding onto the neck of Bob’s shirt.
He didn’t know how long he stared, but there were hooves crunching the straw outside the stable, and Spencer snapped out of the trance he had going. He forced his fists to unclench and didn’t run. He didn’t run, but he did walk quickly, quietly back into the sunshine.
It might as well have been snowing for all the warmth Spencer could actually feel.
There were people everywhere on this fucking estate. He hadn’t seen anyone when he needed them, and now that he didn’t want to talk to people, they all kept calling to him or waving.
Spencer nodded back, but couldn’t seem to make his throat work as he crossed the front lawn. He didn’t stop, not for anything, until he was safely inside the fieldhouse: the stupid fucking fieldhouse he was trying so damn hard to fix so Brendon would be happy, so they could have something all their own.
Brendon didn’t need Spencer and his stupid house. Brendon could move in with Bob. Ray and Mikey could have this one. Spencer didn’t really need this much space, these few rooms, if he was going to be on his own.
Spencer slammed the door as hard as he could with the frame still warped. He stomped over to the pile of materials he had so carefully sorted the day before. He stared down, looking at the page of notes sticking out from under a box of hinges. It was the most annoying thing he’d seen all day. The most annoying, not the most painful.
But it didn’t matter. Brendon hadn’t ever really been Spencer’s, right?
“Stupid,” Spencer whispered. “So fucking stupid. What, you think you’re something, Smith? Brendon’s your friend. Stop making shit up. God. Your head is such a fucked up place.” He kept up a soft litany against himself for a while, until his throat was dry with it.
Spencer kept talking and started gathering the things he needed for the door. He probably wasn’t going to need it now, but whatever. Maybe he could give it to Brendon and Bob. Mikey had been angling to move out of Frank and Gerard’s house anyway; he’d appreciate the open space turning up in Ray’s.
Nothing about this situation pointed to anything good for Spencer, but he couldn’t begrudge anyone, especially Brendon, for it. He’d just...wait it out, see what happened. Spencer was such a fucking nice person. He hated himself for it.
Surprisingly, feeling like one of the horses had kicked him in the chest actually increased Spencer’s productivity and organization skills. He also tapped into some of the defense mechanisms he’d honed over years and years of servitude.
Avoidance was number one on the list, and it was surprisingly easy once he worked out his schedule.
When the sun broke through the oppressive darkness of night, lightening the curtains from the outside, Spencer woke. He’d been up late the night before, forcing Gerard and Frank to make task lists for Brendon’s party, but he was still awake when the first birds started calling.
Brendon wasn’t too far behind him, but Spencer kept his eyes carefully closed and breathed as deep and evenly as he knew how. This was the hard part since Brendon tended to wallow in bed for a good ten minutes in the morning. He spent some time cuddling up to Spencer’s back, hiding from the morning. That turned into halfhearted grumbles and stretching. By the time Brendon actually rolled out of bed, Spencer was trying not to smile at how completely adorable the whole process was.
Brendon tried to be quiet, which was a losing battle, but Spencer didn’t acknowledge it. He rolled a little, waving a hand vaguely in Brendon’s direction.
“Sorry,” Brendon laughed. He crossed the room and leaned over to kiss the tip of Spencer’s nose. Spencer fought the urge to sneeze, even though he’d expected it, and Brendon laughed again. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you for lunch? Maybe?”
Spencer had taken to regularly skipping lunches and knew it worried Brendon, even though Spencer had gone much longer without meals before. Not being able to stand how unsure Brendon sounded, he grumbled and nodded into the pillow. “Mm Hmm. Come get me, ‘kay?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Brendon’s grin was in his voice, and it made the hollow spot in Spencer’s chest throb. “I’m going to be late for Cassadee.” His hand went through Spencer’s hair, catching on a few tangles, before he was gone.
Spencer listened to the door click shut. He strained to hear footsteps on the carpet, but settled for the fading humming of Brendon in a good mood. When there was nothing left to hear – other than the occasional raised voice of someone starting their day – Spencer crawled out of bed.
He washed his face, combed his hair, did a little minor beard grooming. Then he got dressed in something that started out immaculate but would probably be dusty before dinner. He killed time straightening things: sorting out Brendon’s clothes from the night before, making the bed, general tidying that wasn’t necessary, cleaning around the their tiny fireplace.
By the time it was safe to head downstairs, breakfast was mostly finished. Spencer grabbed some toast and cold fried ham from the place that had been set for him. Everything else had been cleared from the table, so Spencer took his plate with him to the kitchen.
Ray was sorting out the dishes while Carden put the leftover food away. For a second, Ray studied him with this infuriatingly knowing look, but Ray wasn’t the type to press unless it was one of his boys, so Spencer ignored it and made some tea.
“Bob was looking for you,” Ray pointed out, not looking away from the washing basin. “Said to send you out to the stable if you weren’t busy.”
Spencer busied himself with chewing excessively and washing the bites down with tiny sips of scalding tea. He wasn’t going anywhere near that fucking stable or Bob, if he could help it. “I’m helping the Butcher rearrange Bill’s office and the back sitting room.”
“Why are you rearranging a room no one uses?” Carden asked, halfway out the door.
Spencer shrugged but appreciated that Carden latched onto weird shit. “The mess with Bill’s head?”
Ray shook his head, hair bouncing in a hilarious way, and Carden snorted. “That’ll be fun. Move that vase of his Great Aunt Maysel. He’ll lose his head. It’ll be awesome.”
Spencer raised his eyebrows; that much was a given. Carden winked, which was a little creepy, and headed out to do… whatever it was he did. Spencer hadn’t actually worked that out, yet. Ray was quiet while Spencer finished eating, but it was a loaded silence. Spencer rushed to get out of there.
He started to nudge Ray out of the way to wash his own dishes, but Ray waved him off.
“Go see what Bob wants or something. Or Brendon might be finished. I think Cassadee was doing half a lesson today.”
She was, Spencer knew, but he didn’t want to be faced with Brendon’s excitement or Bob’s easy banter right now. Spencer shrugged and made a noncommittal sound. He wiped down the counter just to watch the way Ray tried to look irritated but obviously appreciated the help.
Then Spencer went to find Butcher. Butcher was already straightening the sitting room. Spencer took over dusting all the heirlooms. They snatched up the aforementioned vase, a malfunctioning desk clock, and some aged tintypes.
“So Sisky moved the fucking foot locker from the main bedroom into ours, and we had the thing for three months before Bill started looking for his good suspenders or some shit. Didn’t even notice he’d been wearing Travie’s shoes the whole time,” Butcher explained with a laugh.
For some reason, it had become a game after that.
Spencer was mostly distracted, though, only half-listening, since Butcher usually didn’t actually need Spencer to give him any sort of input when he was telling stories. He cleared his throat after an awkwardly long pause - those usually meant he was supposed to respond.
“Three dinner clean-ups it takes him four to find the vase.” Spencer forced a grin and handed it over. “Keep your paintbrushes in it and he’ll think you’ve been using it the whole time.”
“I’ll keep it in the fucking lounge,” Butcher chuckled.
“He’ll see it every day.” Spencer actually felt a real smirk covering the faked expression. “Clock’s going in his office.”
“By the umbrella stand?”
“Where else?”
Butcher clapped Spencer on the shoulder. “You’re an evil genius, Smith. Give the tintypes to Gerard. He’ll decorate with them. It’ll be three weeks before Bill catches on.”
Spencer shook his head and didn’t doubt it. Butcher headed for the office, and Spencer followed just to help with dusting the random unnecessary decorations and to drop off the clock.
As soon as Butcher headed for the library, Spencer took his leave. He stopped by for lunch, quickly, just long enough to ruffle Brendon’s hair.
“We have pie!” Brendon promised, wide-eyed and imploring. “It’s your favorite. Made with the last of the apples.”
Spencer wasn’t hungry, didn’t want something so sweet, but no one was paying them any attention and Bob either wasn’t coming in for lunch or had already left. Spencer shrugged.
“I’m kind of busy…” Spencer hedged until Brendon gave him the look, complete with pouty bottom lip. Biting his own lip to tone down the grin, Spencer dropped into the open seat between Brendon and Mikey. “Okay, one piece. But only if Frank didn’t make it.”
“I made it myself,” Brendon promised. He pushed a plate toward Spencer, and Spencer tried not to notice how closely Brendon was watching him as Spencer took his first bite.
The crust was crumbly and the apples were a little dry, but Spencer managed to look impressed anyway. “You’re sort of amazing, Brendon Urie.” The pie wasn’t, but Brendon was; Spencer didn’t even have to force the awe into his voice.
Brendon knocked their shoulders together and pressed a sticky kiss to Spencer’s cheek. “Anything to keep you happy.”
Spencer didn’t wonder what Brendon was doing to keep Bob happy. His stomach swam a little sickly, but he ate the pie just to keep the smile on Brendon’s face.
When Bill started asking Brendon about a menu for his party, Spencer managed to sneak out. Brendon didn’t look too thrilled about it, but Spencer tried to pretend he didn’t catch that look as he slipped around the door.
He didn’t think about Brendon just wanting to be close to him while he set a brisk pace across the front lawn. As soon as he got to the fieldhouse, Spencer jumped into his mending and didn’t picture Brendon’s questioning expressions. He tried his best to focus on what he was doing, but he was running out of tasks.
Things were shaping up quickly, and there just wasn’t much left for Spencer to do. Somehow, he managed to spend all afternoon hiding, though. A good portion of it was just re-measuring things, but whatever. No one needed to know that.
No one came to collect him for dinner, which Spencer was grateful for. Sometime after the third day when Spencer refused to follow Brendon or let Bob lead him back to the main house, they stopped coming down. Maybe pulling himself away wasn’t going to be such a problem, after all.
Spencer took a deep breath and forced his mind to blank. He crossed the blackness of the front lawn carefully, using only the crescent moon and lights from the main house as a guide.
When he slipped into the dining room, the only people left were Gerard and Frank. They had, once again, taken over a whole half of the table to spread out supplies. Tonight it looked like more invitations: folded sheets, addresses, wax for seals, endless ink wells. Spencer grabbed the plate someone – undoubtedly Brendon – had left for him and started reaching for their supplies.
“How many are left?” Spencer asked, mouth full.
Gerard rubbed black stained fingers over the bridge of his nose. “All of them?” He gave Spencer a wide, faux-innocent grin.
Spencer coughed. “How long have you been working on these?”
“Just a couple days,” Frank nodded. “But Ray says you can’t read them when I do it, and if Gerard keeps drawing shit everyone’s going to think it’s a masquerade.”
“Is it too late for-“ Gerard started right when Spencer said, “Too late!”
Gerard grumbled and stole half a roll off Spencer’s plate. “You’re no fun, Smith.”
“Not at all,” Spencer agreed. He snatched the pen from Gerard’s hand. “Give them here. I’ll do addresses if you sort them by district.”
Frank snorted. “He’s like mini-Ray. All organized and shit.”
“Someone has to keep you guys in line,” Spencer told them off-handedly and started splitting his attention. He could just take bites between address lines.
So engrossed in trying to remember names, trying to figure out if he had met this family yet, Spencer almost missed Frank’s muttered “slave driver.”
“Learned from the best,” Spencer threw in without missing a beat.
This was part of what he liked about spending so much time with Frank and Gerard lately. They didn’t try to pretend Spencer wasn’t a slave. Having been there themselves, even though Spencer hadn’t ever heard their whole stories, meant they could just say things. They could make light of what had happened to them, and that? That meant Spencer could do it, or at least try to. It was a work in progress.
Frank and Gerard didn’t act surprised by Spencer’s quip, just laughed and lapsed into conversation about strange surnames and the group of invitations they had to set aside because Bill wanted to send them personally. Spencer tried not to think about why he might be doing something like that.
Instead, Spencer ate and wrote until his stomach hurt and his hand was practically numb. His writing was getting progressively sloppier when Brendon stumbled in.
“What ‘re you doin’?” Brendon mumbled. He was blinking slowly, hair askew on one side as if he’d been lying on it for a while.
Spencer bit his lip and turned back to the envelope he was working on. “Making your Freedom Party happen. They’re useless.”
“Fucker,” Frank muttered without any heat. He sounded as tired as Brendon looked.
“Well, stop,” Brendon whined. Shuffling over, he leaned heavily against Spencer’s shoulders and buried his face in Spencer’s hair. “Come to bed. It’s cold.”
“Just a second,” Spencer promised. He reached up to pet Brendon’s hair, scratching his scalp before pulling his hand away to finish this one.
Finishing the last ‘y’ with a flourish, Spencer shoved an invitation inside and slid it to Gerard and his wax seals. He rolled his shoulders and looked up. Brendon whined at being displaced and stood up to rub his eyes.
“Bed now? Please?” Brendon sounded so pitiful that Spencer couldn’t put it off any longer.
Chuckling softly, Spencer let Brendon pull him to his feet. As soon as they were standing, Brendon wedged himself under Spencer’s arm, cuddling close even as they walked.
“Night,” Spencer muttered, distracted.
“Goodnight,” Gerard returned.
“Sleep well,” Frank added.
Spencer didn’t have the heart to move Brendon away enough to hit them. Instead, he focused on getting them through doorways and up the stairs without pushing Brendon away. Brendon seemed reluctant to let go, always tended to cling when he was tired, and Spencer reveled in that level of need directed at him.
When they got to their room, Spencer settled Brendon onto Spencer’s bed, the one they had taken to sharing. He went about getting ready, throwing clothes over the chair arm. He’d normally straighten up before bed, but that would keep him up longer and give him less to do in the morning.
Plus, Brendon was pouting and making tiny whining noises every time Spencer started a new task.
Spencer couldn’t help laughing as he fell into bed, kicking under the blankets while Brendon tried to climb on top of him.
“You stay up too late,” Brendon complained.
“Sorry,” Spencer murmured through a yawn.
Brendon hummed and nuzzled against Spencer’s throat. Wrapping his arms tight around Brendon’s back, Spencer turned enough to catch Brendon’s lips in a soft kiss. So long as Spencer didn’t think about who else was allowed to kiss Brendon like this, Spencer could just enjoy the comfort and the heat that always started spreading out from every point of contact. It was calming, mostly, and Spencer could almost always fall asleep like that, trading kisses until they couldn’t do more than share breath.
Most days went generally the same, but Spencer had learned to thrive on monotony. He was busy, and it was amazing. There were never any empty moments that needed to be filled with Bob’s dry humor or Brendon’s stories. So what if Spencer still wanted both?
And so what if he got a little desperate at night, sometimes, when he was wrapped up and alone with Brendon. Maybe he held on a little too tight and kissed a little too hard, but Brendon didn’t seem to mind. He just met all of Spencer’s urgency and begged until Spencer touched him. Spencer could have told him he didn’t need to go to all the trouble, but he liked knowing Brendon wanted, needed, him enough to gasp his name out and writhe in the most obscene way possible. Until Brendon told him no or Bob got territorial, Spencer wasn’t giving this up.
Part Five
