BBB ;; Void & Null [Part Two]
Jun. 13th, 2011 10:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bootsonPart One
[Part Two]
Everyone was still giddy the next day. Normally, Spencer would have been greatly annoyed by the shock the early morning energy always had on his half-awake brain, but. But when he’d spent half the night poking at Bob, having a minor battle of wits with Butcher about what sort of song was situation appropriate, and cuddling with Brendon, trading kisses just because they could now; after all that, Spencer found it difficult to be bothered by much.
Lunch was closer than breakfast by the time Spencer went in search of Gerard’s “special” brand of coffee, but mostly everyone was still there. Struggling to fix a cup of coffee with extra sugar to offset the tar-like consistency and to straighten his slightly faded deep blue vest all at the same time, Spencer almost missed the disarray happening at the other end of the room.
One end of the dining table was covered in packets of papers and drawings of room layouts. This was sort of normal, considering Brendon was forever trying to find secret passageways in the manor, but these looked different.
Brendon had run to meet Ashlee for her vocal lessons, but even without the buffer, Spencer felt compelled to speak. To say something instead of hiding.
“What’s going on?”
Gerard looked up, feather from fuck-knows-where behind his ear and pen in hand, ink smeared across his nose. “We’re planning Brendon’s freedom party! Do you know if he likes flowers? I mean, we don’t actually need flowers but Bill wants flowers. I’m thinking a lot of candles, except Carden wants streamers and that is probably going to be a problem. Bill’s going to be really fucking pissed if we burn this shit to the- Hey! Fireworks, can we get those? They have those, right? We could get a fucking rocket.”
He was writing again before Spencer even caught up.
“Bill’s throwing a party?” Spencer almost choked when he realized that this was the first time in over six months that he had used Beckett’s first name. It felt weird, didn’t quite roll of his tongue the way such a short name should.
“Hell yeah, man,” Ray nodded. He didn’t stay, dragging a chair someone - no one would take the blame - had broken in the commotion the night before out toward his makeshift workshop.
“Which isn’t fucking fair, right? None of us got a party,” Frank pouted. “Well, Mikey. But that was Pete. Pete gives Mikey all sorts of shit none of us get.” Gerard made a disgruntled noise and Frank started backtracking.
“It’s because of you, you know?”
Spencer spun around a little too quickly, sloshing coffee over the rim of his cup. How in the hell did Travis always manage to sneak up on people? The guy was a thousand feet tall and somehow managed to move with the precision and stealth of a cat. Or a mountain lion maybe. Brendon’s explanation was just that he was “Travie motherfucking McCoy. Don’t question his awesome, Spencer.”
“Brendon’s getting a Freedom Party and that’s all about me?” Spencer raised an eyebrow, because what the fuck? If he didn’t sound like a pretentious brat, he would be shocked. “Right. I’m just narcissistic enough to believe that.”
Travis laughed. “Look, it’s for Brendon, and we love the kid, you get that.” Shoving off the wall, Travis dropped into a chair, leaning back enough to kick his heels up on the table. “But this is Bill’s surprisingly subtle way of getting you to like him.”
Raised eyebrows were the only response Spencer had for that.
“All right, look. You’re fucking scared of Bill, which is weird. Guy isn’t really threatening, right? But he sees it and he’s trying his level best to fix it.”
“He gets the point where he... owns me? Because, damn, it’s not like that’s important.”
“Smith,” Travis sighed. “Man, look. He’s working on emancipating you. It’s this huge ass process, but we’re working on it. Started the week after you got here. I was all for telling you, but you see how Bill is about surprises.”
“He derives a sick sort of pleasure out of making people squirm in anticipation?” Spencer scoffed.
A weird sort of smile crossed Travis’ face, more of a smirk but with softer eyes. It was weird and, not that Spencer had a fuck-ton of experience with it or anything, but he thought maybe there was more to Travis and Beckett’s... Bill’s relationship than the strictly professional.
“He does. But yeah, we all caught on about five minutes after you started talking that keeping Brendon happy keeps you happy. It’s not a fucking hardship or anything, since we like him better when he’s not depressed and giving those damned kicked puppy eyes...”
Spencer tried not to flinch at the terminology, but couldn’t hold back. Trite phrases shouldn’t sting so much at this point. He tried to cover his reaction, a few seconds too late, when Travis dropped his feet to the floor and forced himself to his feet, stretching out in the process.
“Beckett wants me to like him so he’s buying my affection through Brendon?”
Travis shrugged. “Basically. Fuck, it’s working for Bob, right?”
Maybe Spencer gaped a little at that; it couldn’t be helped. Giving him a wink, Travis headed for the door. He paused just long enough to steal the feather from behind Gerard’s ear and flick Frank in the back of the head. Part of Spencer wanted to follow Travis and knee him in the god-damned balls just to see if that would make him stop being the most chill motherfucker Spencer had ever come across.
It probably wouldn’t.
“Man, he’s right, though,” Frank said suddenly.
“What?” Spencer asked, jumping enough to spill more of his forgotten, tepid coffee onto his hand. He was so not awake enough for this shit.
Gerard waved a hand. “Brendon being the key to your happiness. You’d have run Bob off before now if he didn’t fucking pander to everything Brendon wants. It’s about damn adorable.”
“Bob doesn’t exactly seem like the type to scare easily.” Seriously, what was Spencer’s fucking life.
Frank giggle-cackled; it was sort of cute, in a way. “Yeah, but you scare the shit out of him. Go ask.”
“Bob is going to kick your ass then feed you to the poltergeists,” Spencer muttered. Dealing with this nonsense was harshing the high Spencer had been riding from waking up with his lips still slightly swollen and Brendon’s weirdly high body temperature practically burning Spencer’s skin even through two layers of clothes.
“There aren’t any fucking poltergeists!” Frank yelled. “Right, Gerard? Gee? Fucker, stop drawing Brendon with a...is that a daisy crown? Can I get one of those?”
In spite of himself, Spencer laughed, chest a little lighter than the situation probably should have allowed. Even if he should have been freaking out, Spencer tried to hang onto that airy feeling.
He pushed the weird conversation with Travis and Frank’s random, hopefully irrelevant as usual interjections out of his mind. Instead, he headed back to his fieldhouse to work on what he had the materials to fix.
*********
Two hours later and Spencer’s mind was wandering. The only things he could actually work on involved patching up cracks in the floorboards and surveying the ceiling for any internal water damage.
Basically, he was doing mindless jobs that he didn’t actually have to focus too much attention on. Because that resolution he’d made to not think about what Travis was implying? It was a thing of the past. At this point, Spencer had been through it a dozen or so times.
Becke- Bill trying to get Spencer to like him did make a sort of sense. He’d freed Brendon and promised Spencer he was working on giving Spencer the same thing. In retrospect, that all made sense. And, admittedly, Spencer knew he was an easy target when Brendon was involved. It was nearly impossible for Spencer to even remotely dislike anything that made Brendon happy.
Being free, that was the first step in Brendon’s unending happiness. As big as that was, Bill was still trying to do little things, tiny inconsequential things that would make Brendon happy. Like a party and continued free reign over the music room, even if he wasn’t living in the house.
Okay, that made sense, but Bob? Why did Bob need Spencer to like him? There was no reason behind it. Bob could be Brendon’s friend or Spencer’s or both or neither. Bob wasn’t the type of guy to make decisions for anyone else, didn’t need any sort of approval from anywhere outside himself.
Plus, he’d been giving Brendon special attention since before Spencer even showed up. The first time Spencer had met Bob, Brendon had given his approval by practically climbing the other man. Bob was already letting Brendon follow, hang off of, and chatter at him. Spencer hadn’t had anything to do with that.
Which was a good damn thing because Spencer would have absolutely lost his shit if anyone, especially Bob, was using Brendon like that, using Spencer in a way that could potentially hurt Brendon. That would be such utter fucking bullshit and the worst stab in the back anyone on this estate could dole out to Spencer.
Which brought up another semi-fear. What if Spencer only liked spending time with Bob because of Brendon? What if Spencer didn’t actually like him for himself? Spencer wouldn’t use people like that. He couldn’t do that, wouldn’t.
Shit.
Spencer stopped staring at the remarkably well-kept ceiling and contemplated banging his head against the wall a few times. This weird headspace Spencer always managed to fall into was getting old. Intense introspection wasn’t always Spencer’s default setting, never used to be. Somewhere around the time Ryan and Jon were bought, though, Spencer started over-analyzing every little fucking thing.
It needed to just stop.
He sighed, dropping the scrap pages he’d been marking on and the charcoal he’d begged off Gerard onto the ever growing pile of stockpiled nonsense he’d been keeping. Most of it wasn’t even set aside for any particular purpose, was just in there in case he could use it. Wasting things just wasn’t an option.
Spencer sighed and rubbed at his temples. He needed... something. Socialization. Brendon.
It wasn’t too late in the day, but Spencer knew Brendon was finished with lessons, had been for probably an hour or so at this point.
Stepping out into the still bright but quickly dimming sunlight, Spencer shut the door to the house as best as he could on the warped frame. He took a minute to just close his eyes and soak up to feel. It was a little thing, but he could do it now and no one would yell at him for slacking. No one was going to hit him with a studded paddle because he didn’t finish things faster than humanly possible.
Some things at Beckett’s, more than just Brendon, were plain awesome.
Shaking himself, Spencer started for the house. As always, the music room was the first place Spencer thought to go. Mikey found him before he even cleared the steps.
Mikey was a lot quieter than most of the others on the estate, especially when compared to his brother. Still, Spencer liked him. He was...calm. In a very Ryan way that was reassuring and bothersome in turn.
“Hey,” Spencer waved.
Pausing, Mikey quirked a smirk-ish thing. It was strange. “Bob or Brendon?”
“Um.” Spencer took a moment to consider when Bob became an automatic thought when Spencer looked like he was on a mission. “Bren.”
“They’re up in the attic on the west wing,” Mikey gave him a wry look.
Spencer almost asked why Mikey’d asked which one if they were together. Somehow, he knew he wouldn’t get an answer, though. A nod and half-assed wave later, Spencer headed for the back of the house.
There was a faded door nearly obscured by shrubbery between the West and South wings. Hardly anyone used it except Siska and Frank since it was the closest door to the stables. When Spencer pushed his way through the entrance, he tried to rush through. The corridor was especially narrow, doors close together and some half open.
The disused and aged slave quarters were actually nice, for slave quarters. There was even a bathroom at the end of the hall with a tub and a small but serviceable sitting room near the middle of the hall.
Nonetheless, Spencer rushed through and up the narrow work staircase, passed the landings for each floor until he hit the ceiling. The door was already pulled down from the ceiling, so Spencer climbed up the ladder.
Sheet-covered furniture and piles of miscellaneous antique paraphernalia filled the space nearly from wall to wall. The path toward the center of the house was clear, though.
The closer Spencer got the more sounds he heard. The low buzzing of conversation that started by the gold framed mirror turned into snickering at the redwood chest of drawers. Whispering took over at the asymmetrical bicycle and became a low-voiced conversation at the piles of discarded clothing two decades out of date.
“Think I could wear this? Go out and battle... something. I bet Bill has a sword he’d give me,” Brendon laughed.
Bob’s hum of assent was quieter, but there was this weird echo happening in the attic. Frank needed to be forced up here at some point. Maybe they could get some of Gerard’s creep-tastic paintings to put up there. Spencer made a mental note to tell Brendon and Bob about that later.
He would have done it immediately, but when he rounded a covered thing that may or may not have been a functional rocking chair at some point, he was hit with one of the strangest sights imaginable.
Bob was sprawled on the floor under a dust-covered window and Brendon... Brendon was standing across the room with various pieces from a suit of armor covering him. The helmet was on and flipped open in the front. The arm guards were pulled haphazardly into place and one shin cover was slipping down over Brendon’s scuffed up, red-tipped shoes. Every piece was too big, fitted for someone much more bulky than Brendon could probably ever want to be.
Spencer took a moment to appreciate the scene, followed by at least five minutes of hysterical laughter. He thought they might have been surprised by his sudden appearance, but by the time he started to calm down, Brendon was leaning against the wall, laughing just as much. Even Bob had pushed up onto his elbows and was smirking at them.
“What the hell are you doing?” Spencer finally gasped out.
“Brendon wants to start a tournament,” Bob chuckled.
For his part, Brendon was nodding. “Spence, would you come watch me kick Butcher’s ass in a sword fight?”
“No,” Spencer raised an eyebrow. “Absolutely not. Someone will die. And I’m not cleaning up the blood.”
“I wouldn’t kill him. Just maybe take off an arm.”
Bob struggled up to his feet and moved to start helping pull the fitted metal from Brendon’s arms. Spencer was mildly fascinated by how carefully Bob removed the pieces. He flipped the faceplate down over Brendon’s face, startling another laugh out of him before Bob pulled it gently off his head.
“Please don’t deglove any of Bill’s staff.”
“Deglove?” Spencer asked, not hiding the curiosity in his voice.
“When someone loses fingers, sometimes a hand. Usually in a work accident. And because they’re fucking stupid.” Bob rolled his eyes and knelt down to get at the shin cover.
Looking down, Brendon dropped a hand on Bob’s shoulder. It was obviously for balance, but Spencer’s breath still stuttered for a moment. Just. The way Bob half-smiled when he looked up at Brendon and how Brendon didn’t even seem to notice he was playing with the ends of Bob’s hair...
Fuck. Spencer needed to not think about this right now. Fucking Travis.
Spencer cleared his throat. “You see that happen a lot?”
“Enough,” Bob told them. He sounded so final that Spencer didn’t push. What was one more piece of mystery to add to the overall enigma that was Bob Bryar?
It would be really fucking annoying if it didn’t just serve to fuel Spencer’s curiosity.
All the armor was set aside, a neat line of protective gear on what might have been a buffet table at some point. Brendon was alternating sideways glances at Bob with fiddling with a piece of chain mail.
“I sort of just want to wear this around. Over all my shirts.” He lifted the piece up, holding it to his chest. Spencer watched the way his forearms flexed with effort; no one worked rolled up sleeves like Brendon. “That brown corduroy vest would look awesome with it, right?”
Spencer and Bob snorted simultaneously.
“Might need to work on that upper body strength first, Bren,” Spencer said.
“Probably want to work on finding one that’s not three sizes too big, too,” Bob added.
Predictably, Brendon pouted. “You guys ruin all my fun.”
“That’s our goal in life,” Spencer rolled his eyes. “I was going to see what’s going on with Siska’s puppies.” It was a lie, but only a little one. Spencer actually had no idea what was happening with the dog Siska had taken in and realized was pregnant about a week later.
Brendon perked up almost instantly. “Has Lila had her puppies yet? I’m stealing one to bring to our new house, by the way. And you can’t stop me. I’d like to see you fucking try!”
Spencer laughed as Brendon started back through the disarray Spencer had already passed. Brendon paused long enough to press a quick kiss to Spencer’s cheek; it barely cut into the monologue he was working on.
Rolling his eyes, Spencer shrugged and let Brendon ramble. Things were generally more fun when Brendon just said whatever was running through his head at any given moment.
“He has no censor,” Bob muttered, but he sounded cheerful about it.
“He’s Brendon,” Spencer pointed out. He gave Bob a small smile, ducking his head and turning to follow Brendon as soon as he felt his cheeks start to heat up.
And great, wonderful. Now, he was blushing like a little girl. Fan-fucking-tastic. Spencer sighed and tried to retreat without looking like he was fleeing.
**********
Somehow, after dinner, nearly everyone ended up in the main lounge. From the looks of the walls, it had once been a library before it was converted to a sitting room. Spencer figured that had to do with the huge fireplace that took up most of one whole wall.
There were two sofas, a long one meant for three and a short one for two. Both were an emerald green that matched the accents in the burgundy rug covering the slightly scuffed hardwood floor. An ivory chaise lounge bridged the gap between the two sofas, and a matching armchair completed the misshapen rectangle from the other side of the large, round, glass-covered table in the center. Admittedly, Spencer was a little in love with this room, for reasons that didn’t only include the fireplace’s heat to offset the rapidly dropping evening temperatures.
Siska had taken up residence at the bar, which occupied the wall opposite the fireplace, while the rest of them largely lounged about. Brendon, being Brendon, had managed to wedge himself onto the two-person sofa between Bob and Spencer.
It was a tight fit, but no one seemed to mind. Ray was sprawled across the chaise, randomly kicking Frank in the shoulder when he got too close, while Butcher, Carden, and Mikey were playing some complicated card game on the sofa. It made Spencer’s head hurt to try to follow; he’d stopped paying attention to them fifteen minutes in.
Beckett was rambling about Brendon’s party, Gerard taking down what might have been notes but was probably a diagram of skeleton chandeliers or something from his place in the floor in front of Bill’s chair.
“Here’s what I’m thinking. What I’m thinking is- Are you ready for it?”
Travie stretched out a little more on the arm of Bill’s chair. Somehow, he managed to maintain his precariously perched position while hitting Beckett in the side of the head. “Get on with it.”
“We invite everyone. We make this the fucking social event of the motherfucking season. Brendon’s girls can be the entertainment-”
Brendon choked on his drink, leaning up to set it on the table. Bob slapped his back, jarring the words Brendon was trying to get out. “Uh. Bill, you know they’re not prostitutes, right?”
Beckett waved a hand in dismissal. “They can sing and play shit. That’s what I mean. And we get Greta to cater because our asses can’t pull that off. Pete’s going to have a field day getting everyone outfitted.” He paused, seemingly for his usual dramatic effect. “Biggest. Event. Until New Year’s. Yeah, Brendon?”
“Yeah,” Brendon agreed. His whole face was lit up like he didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, touched, excited, or some combination thereof. “We can make it an all night thing? Dinner, dancing, cards, the whole fucking shebang, right?”
There was a legitimate question in that. Slouching down, Spencer tugged at Brendon until Brendon turned his body into Spencer’s. Bob dropped his hand off the back of the sofa and onto Spencer’s shoulder, trapping Brendon between them.
“Hell yeah!” Beckett promised, excitement rising. “We’ll start talking to everyone as soon as you pick a date. Gerard and Frank have to go into town to start looking at what they can make into decorations anyway.”
Butcher yawned, loud and obnoxious. “I’ve got to go out for more equipment, try to get the land ready so winter doesn’t fuck it up. They can go with me.”
With Brendon’s ankle hooked around his and Bob’s thumb tapping a simple rhythm against Spencer’s throat... somehow, with that going on, Spencer managed to build up some courage, just a bit. It was enough to force out a simple request.
“I’ve, um, a list. For the house, I mean. I should probably go get that stuff so I can finish it before it starts snowing or raining again.” He bit his lip, fresh out of grit.
Brendon, always more perceptive than most people gave him credit for, slipped a hand into Spencer’s, leaning his forehead to Spencer’s temple.
“Sure!” Beckett didn’t miss a beat. “Whenever you want to go. We’ll send the cart or the carriage with you. I’ll get you a line out with Pedicone and he’ll get you whatever you want.”
“Um. Thanks... Bill.”
When Spencer looked up to offer a smile or something resembling one, Bill was grinning. His entire face was occupied with the expression, and for maybe the first time, Spencer saw why everyone trusted him so much. His expression was so bright and open that Spencer almost felt guilty for being so cautious.
Each day made it more difficult to remember that he had not been given emancipation papers just yet. And that he was the only slave on the estate. Except for how it was always in the back of his mind, reminding him when things started to feel... nice.
“When did you want to go? This week?” Travis asked.
Spencer shrugged, turning to look at Brendon, even if he had to cross his eyes to meet Brendon’s. “Do you have a -” Spencer stopped to edit out the word free. “Do you have an open day this week?”
Brendon rolled his eyes up to think, tapping his fingers against Spencer’s hand like he was counting. Pulling back a bit, leaning into Bob, Brendon shook his head; his frown deepened.
“I have next Saturday, but I promised Adam we’d look for the cave again.”
Siska started to say something, but Frank was already talking about wanting to see Pedicone because they were plotting so he could stand to go twice. Bob cut over them both.
“I’ll go with him. I need shit anyway.”
A hush fell. For normal crowds, it might not be so obvious, but a quiet moment was hard to find among this bunch.
Ray snorted. and that seemed to be the cue. Frank positively cackled and Gerard nearly knocked over his inkwell when he started waving his hands, words coming out too choppy under his laughter to be identified as belonging to any language. Even Mikey was startled into a laugh, giving Bob a significant look that matched the one Travie threw at Spencer when their eyes accidentally locked.
There was way too much going on, and Spencer had been thinking entirely too much all day. Instead of playing into their games, he slouched down a bit and rested his head against Brendon’s shoulder.
“You need shit,” Frank snorted. “You need to grow some balls.”
“It’s sort of sweet,” Gerard snickered. “It’s like watching awkward puppies. Really vicious, awkward puppies. Stop fucking growling at me, Bryar.”
“He’s making a noble sacrifice. A prince among fucking men,” Ray threw in.
“Bob’s trying to kill us with the power of his mind,” Mikey added.
Butcher wasn’t about to miss this, apparently. “When his eyes start flashing red, we run. Give it a few minutes.”
“Maybe Gerard’s been painting prophecies,” Mikey suggested.
“Not fucking true,” Frank mumbled.
“Shut up, assholes,” Bob finally said. His fingers twitched on Spencer’s shoulder, the beat he’d been tapping faltering before picking up speed.
Something fluttered low in Spencer’s stomach, warm and curling. Spencer pressed closer to Brendon. Beckett and Siska were starting to get in on the teasing, and it was harshing Spencer’s mellow mood.
“Thanks, Bryar,” he said through a yawn. “Told you I’d make you go with me. Ray’d be more boring anyway.”
“Of course you say that,” Ray laughed.
For his part, Bob didn’t say anything, just slowed the rhythm of his tapping and threw in something like a caress on the offbeats. Spencer sighed and settled more firmly against Brendon, who laughed but braced himself under the added weight.
Interest in Bob’s offer tapered off as everyone started bickering amongst themselves. Siska wandered over and sat on the table, even though Spencer heard Brendon throw something at him. Spencer just closed his eyes and used his free hand to cover a yawn.
Brendon and Siska were talking about their many woodsman-style adventures which couldn’t hold Spencer’s interest. He’d already heard all their stories and plans a dozen times; at least it kept the boys entertained.
They were in the middle of their continued debate about the fork in the main path when Spencer started to fade out. Their voices grew fuzzier, turning to general white noise as they talked. Siska was pushing for the clear path first, wanting to get it out of the way. Brendon kept up his argument that it was boring and the cave was this weird mystery on the estate so obviously no one had been there. Besides, he didn’t mind working for it if he got to see something fucking interesting at the end.
Spencer thought about laughing, feeling like Brendon was accidentally talking about something else entirely. Unsure of what that innuendo even was, Spencer switched his attention to Bob’s fingers and the sound of his voice, low and deep as he discussed something with Ray. It was mind-numbing and oddly centering, even enough that when Spencer counted the beats in his head he couldn’t hold on the wakefulness much longer.
**********
Every once in a while, someone would say something - Bill’s voice jumping in volume, or Frank giggling at Gerard - just loud enough for Spencer to catch it. Someone kept shushing everyone every time Spencer stirred or made some noise. Before Spencer could force himself into wakefulness, everything would slip back into the soft drone of multiple voice cadences merging into one.
At some point, he was distantly aware of slipping sideways.
“Bren?” Spencer managed to mutter in a sleep roughened voice.
“Right here,” Brendon huffed a soft laugh.
“Go back to sleep, Spencer.” That voice was lower, more serious. Bob.
Spencer was too drained to do more than hum in assent and settle more firmly into the back of the sofa.
Later, when the fire was burning low and the lamps were no longer casting a glow on the face of the grandfather clock, Spencer stirred. He wasn’t sure why at first, sleep disorientation making everything more hazy than usual. There were a few seconds where he didn’t recognize the surroundings and nearly panicked at not being safe in his bed in Brendon and his room.
But Brendon was right there, hand lax around Spencer’s wrist, holding Spencer’s arm around his waist. Instinctively, Spencer tightened his arm to pull Brendon further back on the sofa.
It must have been Brendon’s ridiculously high body heat and the surprisingly heavy quilt holding all that warmth in that woke him. He shimmied a little, wiggling to move the blanket down some. He flexed his toes to get the feeling back from where his feet were hanging off the edge of the short sofa.
He was too tall for this, his legs too long to stay in this position. Regardless, Spencer was comfortable. The cushions were over-stuffed and wrapped perfectly around his body, and Brendon was right there. Yawning, Spencer squinted into the darkness to look down at Brendon.
Brendon looked good like this, calm in sleep in a way he never was during the day. Natural exuberance and nervous energy kept him moving and chattering at rates that sometimes made Spencer’s head spin. He liked when Brendon was like this, still and innocent-looking.
He was damn near perfect.
Soft snores, ones that Spencer knew from experience didn’t belong to Brendon, finally caught Spencer’s attention. His eyes were adjusted just enough to the darkness that he could make out another person stretched out in the chaise lounge they always made fun of Bill for keeping.
Bob, surprisingly, looked completely tame when he slept. Gone were the sharp lines around his mouth and the tense crinkles at the edges of his eyes. A barely-there smile crossed his lips and Spencer had to force himself to look away. Glancing down, Spencer saw Brendon’s hand, the one not attached to Spencer, resting on Bob’s thigh. Brendon’s fingers were curved into the material of Bob’s work trousers, still covered in dirt from whatever he’d been working on or dust from when he was playing in the attic with Brendon.
Biting his lip, Spencer tried making his brain work, to analyze the way he couldn’t stop staring at Bob’s face or the casually possessive hold Brendon had on him. But his eyes were already drooping again, the steady tick-tick-tock from the grandfather clock making Spencer drift.
He decided it wasn’t worth obsessing over. Instead, he buried his face against Brendon’s shoulder and willed himself to fall asleep again, dreamless in a way that was still rare enough to be treasured.
It didn’t take long.
Part Three
Everyone was still giddy the next day. Normally, Spencer would have been greatly annoyed by the shock the early morning energy always had on his half-awake brain, but. But when he’d spent half the night poking at Bob, having a minor battle of wits with Butcher about what sort of song was situation appropriate, and cuddling with Brendon, trading kisses just because they could now; after all that, Spencer found it difficult to be bothered by much.
Lunch was closer than breakfast by the time Spencer went in search of Gerard’s “special” brand of coffee, but mostly everyone was still there. Struggling to fix a cup of coffee with extra sugar to offset the tar-like consistency and to straighten his slightly faded deep blue vest all at the same time, Spencer almost missed the disarray happening at the other end of the room.
One end of the dining table was covered in packets of papers and drawings of room layouts. This was sort of normal, considering Brendon was forever trying to find secret passageways in the manor, but these looked different.
Brendon had run to meet Ashlee for her vocal lessons, but even without the buffer, Spencer felt compelled to speak. To say something instead of hiding.
“What’s going on?”
Gerard looked up, feather from fuck-knows-where behind his ear and pen in hand, ink smeared across his nose. “We’re planning Brendon’s freedom party! Do you know if he likes flowers? I mean, we don’t actually need flowers but Bill wants flowers. I’m thinking a lot of candles, except Carden wants streamers and that is probably going to be a problem. Bill’s going to be really fucking pissed if we burn this shit to the- Hey! Fireworks, can we get those? They have those, right? We could get a fucking rocket.”
He was writing again before Spencer even caught up.
“Bill’s throwing a party?” Spencer almost choked when he realized that this was the first time in over six months that he had used Beckett’s first name. It felt weird, didn’t quite roll of his tongue the way such a short name should.
“Hell yeah, man,” Ray nodded. He didn’t stay, dragging a chair someone - no one would take the blame - had broken in the commotion the night before out toward his makeshift workshop.
“Which isn’t fucking fair, right? None of us got a party,” Frank pouted. “Well, Mikey. But that was Pete. Pete gives Mikey all sorts of shit none of us get.” Gerard made a disgruntled noise and Frank started backtracking.
“It’s because of you, you know?”
Spencer spun around a little too quickly, sloshing coffee over the rim of his cup. How in the hell did Travis always manage to sneak up on people? The guy was a thousand feet tall and somehow managed to move with the precision and stealth of a cat. Or a mountain lion maybe. Brendon’s explanation was just that he was “Travie motherfucking McCoy. Don’t question his awesome, Spencer.”
“Brendon’s getting a Freedom Party and that’s all about me?” Spencer raised an eyebrow, because what the fuck? If he didn’t sound like a pretentious brat, he would be shocked. “Right. I’m just narcissistic enough to believe that.”
Travis laughed. “Look, it’s for Brendon, and we love the kid, you get that.” Shoving off the wall, Travis dropped into a chair, leaning back enough to kick his heels up on the table. “But this is Bill’s surprisingly subtle way of getting you to like him.”
Raised eyebrows were the only response Spencer had for that.
“All right, look. You’re fucking scared of Bill, which is weird. Guy isn’t really threatening, right? But he sees it and he’s trying his level best to fix it.”
“He gets the point where he... owns me? Because, damn, it’s not like that’s important.”
“Smith,” Travis sighed. “Man, look. He’s working on emancipating you. It’s this huge ass process, but we’re working on it. Started the week after you got here. I was all for telling you, but you see how Bill is about surprises.”
“He derives a sick sort of pleasure out of making people squirm in anticipation?” Spencer scoffed.
A weird sort of smile crossed Travis’ face, more of a smirk but with softer eyes. It was weird and, not that Spencer had a fuck-ton of experience with it or anything, but he thought maybe there was more to Travis and Beckett’s... Bill’s relationship than the strictly professional.
“He does. But yeah, we all caught on about five minutes after you started talking that keeping Brendon happy keeps you happy. It’s not a fucking hardship or anything, since we like him better when he’s not depressed and giving those damned kicked puppy eyes...”
Spencer tried not to flinch at the terminology, but couldn’t hold back. Trite phrases shouldn’t sting so much at this point. He tried to cover his reaction, a few seconds too late, when Travis dropped his feet to the floor and forced himself to his feet, stretching out in the process.
“Beckett wants me to like him so he’s buying my affection through Brendon?”
Travis shrugged. “Basically. Fuck, it’s working for Bob, right?”
Maybe Spencer gaped a little at that; it couldn’t be helped. Giving him a wink, Travis headed for the door. He paused just long enough to steal the feather from behind Gerard’s ear and flick Frank in the back of the head. Part of Spencer wanted to follow Travis and knee him in the god-damned balls just to see if that would make him stop being the most chill motherfucker Spencer had ever come across.
It probably wouldn’t.
“Man, he’s right, though,” Frank said suddenly.
“What?” Spencer asked, jumping enough to spill more of his forgotten, tepid coffee onto his hand. He was so not awake enough for this shit.
Gerard waved a hand. “Brendon being the key to your happiness. You’d have run Bob off before now if he didn’t fucking pander to everything Brendon wants. It’s about damn adorable.”
“Bob doesn’t exactly seem like the type to scare easily.” Seriously, what was Spencer’s fucking life.
Frank giggle-cackled; it was sort of cute, in a way. “Yeah, but you scare the shit out of him. Go ask.”
“Bob is going to kick your ass then feed you to the poltergeists,” Spencer muttered. Dealing with this nonsense was harshing the high Spencer had been riding from waking up with his lips still slightly swollen and Brendon’s weirdly high body temperature practically burning Spencer’s skin even through two layers of clothes.
“There aren’t any fucking poltergeists!” Frank yelled. “Right, Gerard? Gee? Fucker, stop drawing Brendon with a...is that a daisy crown? Can I get one of those?”
In spite of himself, Spencer laughed, chest a little lighter than the situation probably should have allowed. Even if he should have been freaking out, Spencer tried to hang onto that airy feeling.
He pushed the weird conversation with Travis and Frank’s random, hopefully irrelevant as usual interjections out of his mind. Instead, he headed back to his fieldhouse to work on what he had the materials to fix.
Two hours later and Spencer’s mind was wandering. The only things he could actually work on involved patching up cracks in the floorboards and surveying the ceiling for any internal water damage.
Basically, he was doing mindless jobs that he didn’t actually have to focus too much attention on. Because that resolution he’d made to not think about what Travis was implying? It was a thing of the past. At this point, Spencer had been through it a dozen or so times.
Becke- Bill trying to get Spencer to like him did make a sort of sense. He’d freed Brendon and promised Spencer he was working on giving Spencer the same thing. In retrospect, that all made sense. And, admittedly, Spencer knew he was an easy target when Brendon was involved. It was nearly impossible for Spencer to even remotely dislike anything that made Brendon happy.
Being free, that was the first step in Brendon’s unending happiness. As big as that was, Bill was still trying to do little things, tiny inconsequential things that would make Brendon happy. Like a party and continued free reign over the music room, even if he wasn’t living in the house.
Okay, that made sense, but Bob? Why did Bob need Spencer to like him? There was no reason behind it. Bob could be Brendon’s friend or Spencer’s or both or neither. Bob wasn’t the type of guy to make decisions for anyone else, didn’t need any sort of approval from anywhere outside himself.
Plus, he’d been giving Brendon special attention since before Spencer even showed up. The first time Spencer had met Bob, Brendon had given his approval by practically climbing the other man. Bob was already letting Brendon follow, hang off of, and chatter at him. Spencer hadn’t had anything to do with that.
Which was a good damn thing because Spencer would have absolutely lost his shit if anyone, especially Bob, was using Brendon like that, using Spencer in a way that could potentially hurt Brendon. That would be such utter fucking bullshit and the worst stab in the back anyone on this estate could dole out to Spencer.
Which brought up another semi-fear. What if Spencer only liked spending time with Bob because of Brendon? What if Spencer didn’t actually like him for himself? Spencer wouldn’t use people like that. He couldn’t do that, wouldn’t.
Shit.
Spencer stopped staring at the remarkably well-kept ceiling and contemplated banging his head against the wall a few times. This weird headspace Spencer always managed to fall into was getting old. Intense introspection wasn’t always Spencer’s default setting, never used to be. Somewhere around the time Ryan and Jon were bought, though, Spencer started over-analyzing every little fucking thing.
It needed to just stop.
He sighed, dropping the scrap pages he’d been marking on and the charcoal he’d begged off Gerard onto the ever growing pile of stockpiled nonsense he’d been keeping. Most of it wasn’t even set aside for any particular purpose, was just in there in case he could use it. Wasting things just wasn’t an option.
Spencer sighed and rubbed at his temples. He needed... something. Socialization. Brendon.
It wasn’t too late in the day, but Spencer knew Brendon was finished with lessons, had been for probably an hour or so at this point.
Stepping out into the still bright but quickly dimming sunlight, Spencer shut the door to the house as best as he could on the warped frame. He took a minute to just close his eyes and soak up to feel. It was a little thing, but he could do it now and no one would yell at him for slacking. No one was going to hit him with a studded paddle because he didn’t finish things faster than humanly possible.
Some things at Beckett’s, more than just Brendon, were plain awesome.
Shaking himself, Spencer started for the house. As always, the music room was the first place Spencer thought to go. Mikey found him before he even cleared the steps.
Mikey was a lot quieter than most of the others on the estate, especially when compared to his brother. Still, Spencer liked him. He was...calm. In a very Ryan way that was reassuring and bothersome in turn.
“Hey,” Spencer waved.
Pausing, Mikey quirked a smirk-ish thing. It was strange. “Bob or Brendon?”
“Um.” Spencer took a moment to consider when Bob became an automatic thought when Spencer looked like he was on a mission. “Bren.”
“They’re up in the attic on the west wing,” Mikey gave him a wry look.
Spencer almost asked why Mikey’d asked which one if they were together. Somehow, he knew he wouldn’t get an answer, though. A nod and half-assed wave later, Spencer headed for the back of the house.
There was a faded door nearly obscured by shrubbery between the West and South wings. Hardly anyone used it except Siska and Frank since it was the closest door to the stables. When Spencer pushed his way through the entrance, he tried to rush through. The corridor was especially narrow, doors close together and some half open.
The disused and aged slave quarters were actually nice, for slave quarters. There was even a bathroom at the end of the hall with a tub and a small but serviceable sitting room near the middle of the hall.
Nonetheless, Spencer rushed through and up the narrow work staircase, passed the landings for each floor until he hit the ceiling. The door was already pulled down from the ceiling, so Spencer climbed up the ladder.
Sheet-covered furniture and piles of miscellaneous antique paraphernalia filled the space nearly from wall to wall. The path toward the center of the house was clear, though.
The closer Spencer got the more sounds he heard. The low buzzing of conversation that started by the gold framed mirror turned into snickering at the redwood chest of drawers. Whispering took over at the asymmetrical bicycle and became a low-voiced conversation at the piles of discarded clothing two decades out of date.
“Think I could wear this? Go out and battle... something. I bet Bill has a sword he’d give me,” Brendon laughed.
Bob’s hum of assent was quieter, but there was this weird echo happening in the attic. Frank needed to be forced up here at some point. Maybe they could get some of Gerard’s creep-tastic paintings to put up there. Spencer made a mental note to tell Brendon and Bob about that later.
He would have done it immediately, but when he rounded a covered thing that may or may not have been a functional rocking chair at some point, he was hit with one of the strangest sights imaginable.
Bob was sprawled on the floor under a dust-covered window and Brendon... Brendon was standing across the room with various pieces from a suit of armor covering him. The helmet was on and flipped open in the front. The arm guards were pulled haphazardly into place and one shin cover was slipping down over Brendon’s scuffed up, red-tipped shoes. Every piece was too big, fitted for someone much more bulky than Brendon could probably ever want to be.
Spencer took a moment to appreciate the scene, followed by at least five minutes of hysterical laughter. He thought they might have been surprised by his sudden appearance, but by the time he started to calm down, Brendon was leaning against the wall, laughing just as much. Even Bob had pushed up onto his elbows and was smirking at them.
“What the hell are you doing?” Spencer finally gasped out.
“Brendon wants to start a tournament,” Bob chuckled.
For his part, Brendon was nodding. “Spence, would you come watch me kick Butcher’s ass in a sword fight?”
“No,” Spencer raised an eyebrow. “Absolutely not. Someone will die. And I’m not cleaning up the blood.”
“I wouldn’t kill him. Just maybe take off an arm.”
Bob struggled up to his feet and moved to start helping pull the fitted metal from Brendon’s arms. Spencer was mildly fascinated by how carefully Bob removed the pieces. He flipped the faceplate down over Brendon’s face, startling another laugh out of him before Bob pulled it gently off his head.
“Please don’t deglove any of Bill’s staff.”
“Deglove?” Spencer asked, not hiding the curiosity in his voice.
“When someone loses fingers, sometimes a hand. Usually in a work accident. And because they’re fucking stupid.” Bob rolled his eyes and knelt down to get at the shin cover.
Looking down, Brendon dropped a hand on Bob’s shoulder. It was obviously for balance, but Spencer’s breath still stuttered for a moment. Just. The way Bob half-smiled when he looked up at Brendon and how Brendon didn’t even seem to notice he was playing with the ends of Bob’s hair...
Fuck. Spencer needed to not think about this right now. Fucking Travis.
Spencer cleared his throat. “You see that happen a lot?”
“Enough,” Bob told them. He sounded so final that Spencer didn’t push. What was one more piece of mystery to add to the overall enigma that was Bob Bryar?
It would be really fucking annoying if it didn’t just serve to fuel Spencer’s curiosity.
All the armor was set aside, a neat line of protective gear on what might have been a buffet table at some point. Brendon was alternating sideways glances at Bob with fiddling with a piece of chain mail.
“I sort of just want to wear this around. Over all my shirts.” He lifted the piece up, holding it to his chest. Spencer watched the way his forearms flexed with effort; no one worked rolled up sleeves like Brendon. “That brown corduroy vest would look awesome with it, right?”
Spencer and Bob snorted simultaneously.
“Might need to work on that upper body strength first, Bren,” Spencer said.
“Probably want to work on finding one that’s not three sizes too big, too,” Bob added.
Predictably, Brendon pouted. “You guys ruin all my fun.”
“That’s our goal in life,” Spencer rolled his eyes. “I was going to see what’s going on with Siska’s puppies.” It was a lie, but only a little one. Spencer actually had no idea what was happening with the dog Siska had taken in and realized was pregnant about a week later.
Brendon perked up almost instantly. “Has Lila had her puppies yet? I’m stealing one to bring to our new house, by the way. And you can’t stop me. I’d like to see you fucking try!”
Spencer laughed as Brendon started back through the disarray Spencer had already passed. Brendon paused long enough to press a quick kiss to Spencer’s cheek; it barely cut into the monologue he was working on.
Rolling his eyes, Spencer shrugged and let Brendon ramble. Things were generally more fun when Brendon just said whatever was running through his head at any given moment.
“He has no censor,” Bob muttered, but he sounded cheerful about it.
“He’s Brendon,” Spencer pointed out. He gave Bob a small smile, ducking his head and turning to follow Brendon as soon as he felt his cheeks start to heat up.
And great, wonderful. Now, he was blushing like a little girl. Fan-fucking-tastic. Spencer sighed and tried to retreat without looking like he was fleeing.
Somehow, after dinner, nearly everyone ended up in the main lounge. From the looks of the walls, it had once been a library before it was converted to a sitting room. Spencer figured that had to do with the huge fireplace that took up most of one whole wall.
There were two sofas, a long one meant for three and a short one for two. Both were an emerald green that matched the accents in the burgundy rug covering the slightly scuffed hardwood floor. An ivory chaise lounge bridged the gap between the two sofas, and a matching armchair completed the misshapen rectangle from the other side of the large, round, glass-covered table in the center. Admittedly, Spencer was a little in love with this room, for reasons that didn’t only include the fireplace’s heat to offset the rapidly dropping evening temperatures.
Siska had taken up residence at the bar, which occupied the wall opposite the fireplace, while the rest of them largely lounged about. Brendon, being Brendon, had managed to wedge himself onto the two-person sofa between Bob and Spencer.
It was a tight fit, but no one seemed to mind. Ray was sprawled across the chaise, randomly kicking Frank in the shoulder when he got too close, while Butcher, Carden, and Mikey were playing some complicated card game on the sofa. It made Spencer’s head hurt to try to follow; he’d stopped paying attention to them fifteen minutes in.
Beckett was rambling about Brendon’s party, Gerard taking down what might have been notes but was probably a diagram of skeleton chandeliers or something from his place in the floor in front of Bill’s chair.
“Here’s what I’m thinking. What I’m thinking is- Are you ready for it?”
Travie stretched out a little more on the arm of Bill’s chair. Somehow, he managed to maintain his precariously perched position while hitting Beckett in the side of the head. “Get on with it.”
“We invite everyone. We make this the fucking social event of the motherfucking season. Brendon’s girls can be the entertainment-”
Brendon choked on his drink, leaning up to set it on the table. Bob slapped his back, jarring the words Brendon was trying to get out. “Uh. Bill, you know they’re not prostitutes, right?”
Beckett waved a hand in dismissal. “They can sing and play shit. That’s what I mean. And we get Greta to cater because our asses can’t pull that off. Pete’s going to have a field day getting everyone outfitted.” He paused, seemingly for his usual dramatic effect. “Biggest. Event. Until New Year’s. Yeah, Brendon?”
“Yeah,” Brendon agreed. His whole face was lit up like he didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, touched, excited, or some combination thereof. “We can make it an all night thing? Dinner, dancing, cards, the whole fucking shebang, right?”
There was a legitimate question in that. Slouching down, Spencer tugged at Brendon until Brendon turned his body into Spencer’s. Bob dropped his hand off the back of the sofa and onto Spencer’s shoulder, trapping Brendon between them.
“Hell yeah!” Beckett promised, excitement rising. “We’ll start talking to everyone as soon as you pick a date. Gerard and Frank have to go into town to start looking at what they can make into decorations anyway.”
Butcher yawned, loud and obnoxious. “I’ve got to go out for more equipment, try to get the land ready so winter doesn’t fuck it up. They can go with me.”
With Brendon’s ankle hooked around his and Bob’s thumb tapping a simple rhythm against Spencer’s throat... somehow, with that going on, Spencer managed to build up some courage, just a bit. It was enough to force out a simple request.
“I’ve, um, a list. For the house, I mean. I should probably go get that stuff so I can finish it before it starts snowing or raining again.” He bit his lip, fresh out of grit.
Brendon, always more perceptive than most people gave him credit for, slipped a hand into Spencer’s, leaning his forehead to Spencer’s temple.
“Sure!” Beckett didn’t miss a beat. “Whenever you want to go. We’ll send the cart or the carriage with you. I’ll get you a line out with Pedicone and he’ll get you whatever you want.”
“Um. Thanks... Bill.”
When Spencer looked up to offer a smile or something resembling one, Bill was grinning. His entire face was occupied with the expression, and for maybe the first time, Spencer saw why everyone trusted him so much. His expression was so bright and open that Spencer almost felt guilty for being so cautious.
Each day made it more difficult to remember that he had not been given emancipation papers just yet. And that he was the only slave on the estate. Except for how it was always in the back of his mind, reminding him when things started to feel... nice.
“When did you want to go? This week?” Travis asked.
Spencer shrugged, turning to look at Brendon, even if he had to cross his eyes to meet Brendon’s. “Do you have a -” Spencer stopped to edit out the word free. “Do you have an open day this week?”
Brendon rolled his eyes up to think, tapping his fingers against Spencer’s hand like he was counting. Pulling back a bit, leaning into Bob, Brendon shook his head; his frown deepened.
“I have next Saturday, but I promised Adam we’d look for the cave again.”
Siska started to say something, but Frank was already talking about wanting to see Pedicone because they were plotting so he could stand to go twice. Bob cut over them both.
“I’ll go with him. I need shit anyway.”
A hush fell. For normal crowds, it might not be so obvious, but a quiet moment was hard to find among this bunch.
Ray snorted. and that seemed to be the cue. Frank positively cackled and Gerard nearly knocked over his inkwell when he started waving his hands, words coming out too choppy under his laughter to be identified as belonging to any language. Even Mikey was startled into a laugh, giving Bob a significant look that matched the one Travie threw at Spencer when their eyes accidentally locked.
There was way too much going on, and Spencer had been thinking entirely too much all day. Instead of playing into their games, he slouched down a bit and rested his head against Brendon’s shoulder.
“You need shit,” Frank snorted. “You need to grow some balls.”
“It’s sort of sweet,” Gerard snickered. “It’s like watching awkward puppies. Really vicious, awkward puppies. Stop fucking growling at me, Bryar.”
“He’s making a noble sacrifice. A prince among fucking men,” Ray threw in.
“Bob’s trying to kill us with the power of his mind,” Mikey added.
Butcher wasn’t about to miss this, apparently. “When his eyes start flashing red, we run. Give it a few minutes.”
“Maybe Gerard’s been painting prophecies,” Mikey suggested.
“Not fucking true,” Frank mumbled.
“Shut up, assholes,” Bob finally said. His fingers twitched on Spencer’s shoulder, the beat he’d been tapping faltering before picking up speed.
Something fluttered low in Spencer’s stomach, warm and curling. Spencer pressed closer to Brendon. Beckett and Siska were starting to get in on the teasing, and it was harshing Spencer’s mellow mood.
“Thanks, Bryar,” he said through a yawn. “Told you I’d make you go with me. Ray’d be more boring anyway.”
“Of course you say that,” Ray laughed.
For his part, Bob didn’t say anything, just slowed the rhythm of his tapping and threw in something like a caress on the offbeats. Spencer sighed and settled more firmly against Brendon, who laughed but braced himself under the added weight.
Interest in Bob’s offer tapered off as everyone started bickering amongst themselves. Siska wandered over and sat on the table, even though Spencer heard Brendon throw something at him. Spencer just closed his eyes and used his free hand to cover a yawn.
Brendon and Siska were talking about their many woodsman-style adventures which couldn’t hold Spencer’s interest. He’d already heard all their stories and plans a dozen times; at least it kept the boys entertained.
They were in the middle of their continued debate about the fork in the main path when Spencer started to fade out. Their voices grew fuzzier, turning to general white noise as they talked. Siska was pushing for the clear path first, wanting to get it out of the way. Brendon kept up his argument that it was boring and the cave was this weird mystery on the estate so obviously no one had been there. Besides, he didn’t mind working for it if he got to see something fucking interesting at the end.
Spencer thought about laughing, feeling like Brendon was accidentally talking about something else entirely. Unsure of what that innuendo even was, Spencer switched his attention to Bob’s fingers and the sound of his voice, low and deep as he discussed something with Ray. It was mind-numbing and oddly centering, even enough that when Spencer counted the beats in his head he couldn’t hold on the wakefulness much longer.
Every once in a while, someone would say something - Bill’s voice jumping in volume, or Frank giggling at Gerard - just loud enough for Spencer to catch it. Someone kept shushing everyone every time Spencer stirred or made some noise. Before Spencer could force himself into wakefulness, everything would slip back into the soft drone of multiple voice cadences merging into one.
At some point, he was distantly aware of slipping sideways.
“Bren?” Spencer managed to mutter in a sleep roughened voice.
“Right here,” Brendon huffed a soft laugh.
“Go back to sleep, Spencer.” That voice was lower, more serious. Bob.
Spencer was too drained to do more than hum in assent and settle more firmly into the back of the sofa.
Later, when the fire was burning low and the lamps were no longer casting a glow on the face of the grandfather clock, Spencer stirred. He wasn’t sure why at first, sleep disorientation making everything more hazy than usual. There were a few seconds where he didn’t recognize the surroundings and nearly panicked at not being safe in his bed in Brendon and his room.
But Brendon was right there, hand lax around Spencer’s wrist, holding Spencer’s arm around his waist. Instinctively, Spencer tightened his arm to pull Brendon further back on the sofa.
It must have been Brendon’s ridiculously high body heat and the surprisingly heavy quilt holding all that warmth in that woke him. He shimmied a little, wiggling to move the blanket down some. He flexed his toes to get the feeling back from where his feet were hanging off the edge of the short sofa.
He was too tall for this, his legs too long to stay in this position. Regardless, Spencer was comfortable. The cushions were over-stuffed and wrapped perfectly around his body, and Brendon was right there. Yawning, Spencer squinted into the darkness to look down at Brendon.
Brendon looked good like this, calm in sleep in a way he never was during the day. Natural exuberance and nervous energy kept him moving and chattering at rates that sometimes made Spencer’s head spin. He liked when Brendon was like this, still and innocent-looking.
He was damn near perfect.
Soft snores, ones that Spencer knew from experience didn’t belong to Brendon, finally caught Spencer’s attention. His eyes were adjusted just enough to the darkness that he could make out another person stretched out in the chaise lounge they always made fun of Bill for keeping.
Bob, surprisingly, looked completely tame when he slept. Gone were the sharp lines around his mouth and the tense crinkles at the edges of his eyes. A barely-there smile crossed his lips and Spencer had to force himself to look away. Glancing down, Spencer saw Brendon’s hand, the one not attached to Spencer, resting on Bob’s thigh. Brendon’s fingers were curved into the material of Bob’s work trousers, still covered in dirt from whatever he’d been working on or dust from when he was playing in the attic with Brendon.
Biting his lip, Spencer tried making his brain work, to analyze the way he couldn’t stop staring at Bob’s face or the casually possessive hold Brendon had on him. But his eyes were already drooping again, the steady tick-tick-tock from the grandfather clock making Spencer drift.
He decided it wasn’t worth obsessing over. Instead, he buried his face against Brendon’s shoulder and willed himself to fall asleep again, dreamless in a way that was still rare enough to be treasured.
It didn’t take long.
Part Three
