It's late and they're both tipsy. Ryan kept sneaking them drinks at the bar, and no one was bothering to police who he was giving them to. Brendon likes to give haughty speeches when he's drunk, about how in his country he's been legal for two years, and no one cares anyway—his family's served him alcohol since he was thirteen.
Spencer finds it adorable, but Ryan mostly rolls his eyes. (Ryan isn't still entirely convinced that Brendon's actually British. Claims the accent is suspect. He has this theory that Brendon ran away from his crazy religious family in Utah, or something.)
They come stumbling out of the bar and Brendon's driver is there waiting. He's always hanging around, whether he actually drives Brendon anywhere or not. Mostly Spencer tries to ignore it, but sometimes it's a little creepy. When he's asked, Brendon's just hand-waved about his over-protective family keeping an eye on him. Spencer thinks it's a little strange that his family would send him thousands of miles away and still need to keep an eye on him.
“It's only a few blocks, we can walk. I'm spending the night at Spence's,” Brendon tells the guy, which? Okay, Spencer doesn't have a problem with, exactly. It's just, they haven't really talked about it, and also, Spencer isn't entirely comfortable with this dude knowing his business. But the guy just nods and gets back in the car.
Brendon hooks his arm through Spencer's, dragging him along the sidewalk. Ryan's lingering inside with Z and Alex, and Spencer's fairly certain Ryan won't be coming home tonight. Normally he doesn't have an opinion one way or another about Ryan's habit of sleeping over, but right now, he's totally down with it.
“Gonna tell me no again?” Brendon asks, face pushed in Spencer's neck while Spencer unlocks the apartment door.
Spencer pauses to turn his head, catching Brendon's mouth in a slow kiss. “No,” he says.
Brendon follows him inside and stands by the door, hands thrust in his hoodie pockets. He looks uncertain, like he hadn't been expecting Spencer to agree. “Spence,” he says. “I need to tell you. I haven't been entirely honest.”
Spencer tosses his jacket over the back of the couch and pulls Brendon close by the hips. Brendon's arms automatically come up around Spencer's shoulders. “Oh?” Spencer asks, his tone teasing.
But Brendon looks uncomfortable, and he's holding himself stiff. “What is it?” Spencer asks, concerned.
“I don't want this to be some fling,” Brendon says, sudden and fierce. “I can't do that.”
Spencer shakes his head. “I didn't think that,” he says. He waits, can tell that Brendon has more to say, but Brendon is struggling with it, opening and closing his mouth twice before he stops. “You can tell me,” Spencer says.
“I know,” Brendon says. “I think I—I know I love you, Spencer.”
Spencer can hardly breathe around his heart stuck in his throat, but he finds himself smiling in relief. “Is that it?” Brendon draws a breath to answer, but Spencer says, “I love you too, Brendon,” first. He leans in, tilting Brendon's head back with a hand in his hair, and kisses him.
Spencer honestly doesn't remember the trip to the bedroom. He sort of wishes he hadn't had that last drink at the bar, because what he does remember is hazy. Brendon's fingers trembling as they undid the buttons on Spencer's shirt, Brendon's mouth hot and slick on Spencer's throat. He remembers how perfect Brendon's skin looked in the light from the streetlamp, and how Brendon arched off the mattress whenever Spencer touched him just right.
He remembers Brendon's gasp when Spencer finally wrapped his hand around Brendon's cock, how Brendon shuddered into to it, clinging to Spencer and kissing him like he never wanted it to end. Brendon came with this sort of desperate cry that Spencer can't forget when they're lying together after. Brendon pressed close, skin sweat-damp against Spencer's, and it should have been uncomfortable—it was uncomfortable—but Spencer didn't ever want to move.
Fill: The Prince and Me (Spencer/Brendon) 3/?
Spencer finds it adorable, but Ryan mostly rolls his eyes. (Ryan isn't still entirely convinced that Brendon's actually British. Claims the accent is suspect. He has this theory that Brendon ran away from his crazy religious family in Utah, or something.)
They come stumbling out of the bar and Brendon's driver is there waiting. He's always hanging around, whether he actually drives Brendon anywhere or not. Mostly Spencer tries to ignore it, but sometimes it's a little creepy. When he's asked, Brendon's just hand-waved about his over-protective family keeping an eye on him. Spencer thinks it's a little strange that his family would send him thousands of miles away and still need to keep an eye on him.
“It's only a few blocks, we can walk. I'm spending the night at Spence's,” Brendon tells the guy, which? Okay, Spencer doesn't have a problem with, exactly. It's just, they haven't really talked about it, and also, Spencer isn't entirely comfortable with this dude knowing his business. But the guy just nods and gets back in the car.
Brendon hooks his arm through Spencer's, dragging him along the sidewalk. Ryan's lingering inside with Z and Alex, and Spencer's fairly certain Ryan won't be coming home tonight. Normally he doesn't have an opinion one way or another about Ryan's habit of sleeping over, but right now, he's totally down with it.
“Gonna tell me no again?” Brendon asks, face pushed in Spencer's neck while Spencer unlocks the apartment door.
Spencer pauses to turn his head, catching Brendon's mouth in a slow kiss. “No,” he says.
Brendon follows him inside and stands by the door, hands thrust in his hoodie pockets. He looks uncertain, like he hadn't been expecting Spencer to agree. “Spence,” he says. “I need to tell you. I haven't been entirely honest.”
Spencer tosses his jacket over the back of the couch and pulls Brendon close by the hips. Brendon's arms automatically come up around Spencer's shoulders. “Oh?” Spencer asks, his tone teasing.
But Brendon looks uncomfortable, and he's holding himself stiff. “What is it?” Spencer asks, concerned.
“I don't want this to be some fling,” Brendon says, sudden and fierce. “I can't do that.”
Spencer shakes his head. “I didn't think that,” he says. He waits, can tell that Brendon has more to say, but Brendon is struggling with it, opening and closing his mouth twice before he stops. “You can tell me,” Spencer says.
“I know,” Brendon says. “I think I—I know I love you, Spencer.”
Spencer can hardly breathe around his heart stuck in his throat, but he finds himself smiling in relief. “Is that it?” Brendon draws a breath to answer, but Spencer says, “I love you too, Brendon,” first. He leans in, tilting Brendon's head back with a hand in his hair, and kisses him.
Spencer honestly doesn't remember the trip to the bedroom. He sort of wishes he hadn't had that last drink at the bar, because what he does remember is hazy. Brendon's fingers trembling as they undid the buttons on Spencer's shirt, Brendon's mouth hot and slick on Spencer's throat. He remembers how perfect Brendon's skin looked in the light from the streetlamp, and how Brendon arched off the mattress whenever Spencer touched him just right.
He remembers Brendon's gasp when Spencer finally wrapped his hand around Brendon's cock, how Brendon shuddered into to it, clinging to Spencer and kissing him like he never wanted it to end. Brendon came with this sort of desperate cry that Spencer can't forget when they're lying together after. Brendon pressed close, skin sweat-damp against Spencer's, and it should have been uncomfortable—it was uncomfortable—but Spencer didn't ever want to move.