The Sweet Spot, 2/2
Nov. 11th, 2008 12:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vixaliciousETA: Now on AO3 here
Spencer goes home. He goes home to his empty house and faceplants into bed, grinning stupidly in the dark when he realizes he can still smell Brendon. He feels giddy, he tries to tell himself that it's just because he got laid, but it's also because he might be thinking about what it might be like to come home to a house that isn't empty. Getting so, so far ahead of yourself, he remonstrates himself, and then rolls over and grabs his phone. He texts Travis to let him know he'll be late coming in tomorrow, and he sets his alarm for six AM instead of three before rolling over and going to sleep.
His phone starts vibrating at five-thirty.
Spencer rolls over with a groan, and buries his head under his pillow.
It falls silent and he debates rolling over to check who it was or just going back to sleep, but before he can decide, his phone buzzes with a text. Then another. Then another. And another.
He grabs it up, and flips it open to read.
Travis: whats going on? call store pls
Tosh: sum1 just asked me if the rumrs r tru? if they r, my roomie wants autographed pic!
Ryan: r u ok?
He texts Ryan back immediately, because if Ryan is awake at this time of the morning something must be drastically, drastically wrong. 'im fine why r u up?'
'u r famous on the intrnt. grls txtd me to c if u were ok.'
"Famous what?" Spencer scrubs at his face and tries to wake up. He staggers out of bed and down the hallway to the kitchen and makes himself a cup of coffee while he waits for his laptop to boot up. Then he logs on.
And promptly wishes he hadn't.
'Urie Caught with Hand in the Cookie Jar?'
'Boy Band Gay Scandal'
'Former 'SNAP' Frontman Finds Sugar at Sweet Spot'
Spencer clicks on the last one, trying to figure out what the hell is going on and what it has to do with him and his store. The answer comes pretty quickly as the page opens and Brendon's face stares back at him.
Or not his face exactly. His face looking younger, with added eyeliner, with over-gelled, over-styled hair, surrounded by four other guys just as baby-faced.
Spencer's stomach sinks, because now he knows what this has to do with him, but he reads the article anyway.
"Las Vegas, NV - Photos surfaced this morning of Brendon Urie, the charismatic former lead singer of popular boy-band SNAP, caught in a romantic after-hours embrace with an unidentified man at The Sweet Spot, an independently owned bakery and coffee shop in Urie's hometown of Las Vegas. The Sweet Spot is owned by three siblings, Patricia, Natasha, and Spencer Smith, and is near the studio where Urie, who left SNAP last year to pursue a solo career, is recording. SNAP, an international award-winning success based on Urie's vocal talent and the group's highly choreographed dance moves, often refuted claims that Urie and several other members of the band were in fact homosexual. Urie could not be reached for comment."
The photos are a little grainy, clearly taken from a distance, but Spencer can recognize himself, can recognize Brendon. There's one of them kissing, then one shirtless, Brendon's face hidden in Spencer's neck, and then most damning, one of just Spencer, body hidden by the pass-thru window, one hand gripping the frame tightly while the other is in his lap. You can't see Brendon's head, but just about anyone with a prurient imagination will figure out where it is, Spencer thinks.
Spencer kind of wants to throw up.
And he's still trying to let it all sink in, sitting at his kitchen counter feeling violated, his private life laid open for the entire world to see, when his phone rings again. He checks the caller ID, and it's the store, so he picks up.
"Yo, Spencer," Travis's voice comes down the line, tinny and far away and way, way more serious than Spencer is used to. "Shit's crazy down here, man. There's a crowd of people standing outside with cameras, and I think I saw a news crew or two. People keep calling me asking for comments on 'the situation.' Which from what I can gather involves you butt nekkid on my prep counter."
"Fuck." Spencer tries to think. He needs more caffeine. He needs a shower. He needs there not to be pictures of him getting a blowjob on the internet. "Fuck!"
"What d'you want me to do? Should I open up? 'Cuz I don't think they're here for the muffins, dude. Oh, and some guy called and said he was from the health department and he wants to talk to you."
"He- What- But I disinfected everything! I threw out the-" Spencer stops mid-sentence, horrified.
Travis starts laughing, hard and loud in Spencer's ear. "The what? Oh, you are finishing that sentence. I have to explain to everyone I know that I work at the Sex Bakery now, I get the deets, man."
"The, uh. Crisco?" Spencer knows he's at least eighteen shades of red. He rests his forehead on the cool countertop and sort of wishes he could die. Or time travel. Time travel would be awesome right about now, he could go back and tell himself not to fool around with Brendon. Even if the thought of missing out on last night makes him kind of sad.
Travis actually makes a hooting sound. Spencer doesn't think he's ever heard anyone actually hoot before in his life, but this is apparently the level of hilarity he's living at now, Travis is hooting. He finally gets it together enough to wheeze, "Classy."
"Oh, fuck you." Spencer can't help but laugh a little. It's either that or cry.
"Keep your food kink away from me, dude," Travis teases. "And note how I'm refraining from making fisting jokes."
Spencer groans against the countertop. "Saying you're refraining is not the same as actually refraining, you do get that, right?"
"Close enough," Travis replies cheerfully. "Your kinky secrets are safe with me."
~*~
The store opens on time, with Travis serving up donuts and lies to reporters. Spencer knows this, because when he gets out of the shower he has texts about the best of the best - 'i told them it was me-flash lights up the fro, u no?' and 'if any1 asks, store is haunted by sex addict ghosts' are Spencer's favorites. He also has five texts from Brendon:
06:12: ppl r wrong on the internet recommend 2 stay away
06:17: k worse than i thought. they have ur name from the store. prob paps there, recc stay home.
06:20: pls dont b mad, im sorry
06:25: i can xplain. will call asap. sorry sorry sorry. :'( Jon says pls dont talk to press.
06:30: pls dont hate me. sorry.
Spencer sighs, running one hand through wet hair. There's also a missed call, and as he presses the button to call Brendon back, it crosses his mind that he never thought when they were exchanging numbers last night that these would be the circumstances under which he'd be calling Brendon for the first time.
Brendon picks up almost immediately. "Spencer?"
"Hey," Spencer exhales softly. Now that he's called, he isn't sure what he's supposed to say. "So how's your day going?"
"Oh, Jesus," Brendon laughs sharply, almost bitterly. "I've had better. I am so, so sorry about this, Spencer. Really, I am. I should have told you, I was going to tell you, I just..."
"I feel like I should have known. Hell, my sisters were into SNAP, I think Tosh had a poster," Spencer sits down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard.
"I liked that you didn't know," Brendon admits softly, and Spencer closes his eyes. "I... I could be myself with you. I know it sounds stupid and egotistical, but it was nice to just be me, to know that you didn't have any preconceived notions of who I was. I know I should have told you, but I just hated to give that up."
There's silence over the line for a moment, and then Brendon adds, "Obviously, I should have taken into account the press stepping in, and realized I should've told you and given you the choice about spreading your personal life in the fucking tabloids. I am so sorry, and I totally get it if you hate me and you never want to talk to me again."
"I don't hate you, Brendon," Spencer frowns, picking at the fabric of his bedspread. "I... it's just a lot to take in. Last night was awesome. I just didn't expect to wake up to the whole world knowing about it, or to have photographers camped out at the store-"
"Oh, god, the store!" Brendon groans. "I didn't even think- I'm ruining your whole life, aren't I?"
"Not ruining, just-"
"Oh, shit, hang on a second, Spencer," Brendon interrupts, and Spencer can hear him having a muffled conversation with someone. He thinks they're almost arguing, but he can't make out what they're saying. Brendon sounds annoyed and frustrated and a little embarrassed when he comes back on the line. "Sorry, that was Jon. You know... um, well, you probably don't, but he's sort of my manager? And he wants to know if you've talked to anyone?"
"What, like the press?" Spencer's more surprised than he probably should be, but then again it never occurred to him to give interviews or something. He tries not to be pissed off, that Brendon would think he might, that Jon would think so. "No. I talked to Travis, and my best friend. I need to call the girls, they've texted me so they know about it."
"Could you- maybe you could come here first? Jon wants to," Brendon sighs, and Spencer can practically see him rubbing at his face over the phone. "Fuck. Jon wants to talk strategy, to figure out how to spin this, and he wants you involved."
Spencer really doesn't like the sound of that, even if he can appreciate the practicality of it. "What do you want?"
"I want," Brendon huffs out a short laugh. "I want to go back to last night, when things were still awesome and mostly uncomplicated."
"Me too," Spencer admits.
"Failing that... I'd like to see you again," Brendon says earnestly. "Not just strategically. I mean, not just for this. I wanted to see you again before, it's just that we need to deal with this whole mess first-"
"Brendon," Spencer interrupts quietly. "I get it. Where are you?"
It takes Spencer a while to make it to Brendon's suite at the Palms. First, he has to leave his house. That's a trickier proposition than it sounds, because when he peers out the blinds in the living room, he sees five or six reporters milling around his driveway. One of them seems to be going through his neighbors' trash. Spencer spares a moment to hope there are horrible things in there, like used condoms and dirty diapers. The Andersons have four kids under the age of ten, so it seems like one or the other or both ought to be an option.
He puts on a hat and sunglasses and a heavier coat than a sixty-five degree sunny December day in Las Vegas calls for, and heads for the garage. Where he decides, fuck it, and loses it all, because damned if he's going to act like he did anything wrong.
So now there will probably be seventy billion new pictures of him looking pissed off while backing down his driveway on the internet. Awesome. He takes the most circuitous route to the office of the Board of Health, trying to remember all the tricks he's seen in movies to lose a tail. He doesn't even know if he has one, but it seems like a logical thing to do. Unfortunately, there seem to be approximately one billion nondescript white cars in Vegas, and he's really not sure he can tell them apart.
He leaves there an hour later, with the results of the morning's surprise inspection - fucking 97, thank you very much, because he'd cleaned everything after Brendon left last night - and a slap on the wrist to remind him that people weren't so much supposed to be naked, even allegedly naked, in places where food gets made. The guy had actually been kind of decent about it, had subscribed to the 'what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas' theory and hadn't tried to force some sort of confession, or even mentioned Brendon's name.
That alone helps him hold on to his temper through another labyrinthine drive, through heavy traffic on the Strip, and a ten minute wait for Zack to meet him in the casino to escort him past security. It's touch and go though, and his teeth are on edge by the time he walks through the door to be faced with Jon - no, scratch that, Brendon's manager - telling him to go back into the closet and all but barricade the door.
"I think you should deny everything. The pictures are blurry, it's a case of mistaken identity." Jon lays out, not even pausing to acknowledge Spencer's arrival. "You just say, sure, you've been to the bakery before, because I'm sure there's proof out there somewhere, but you don't have any idea who those people are in the photos. It's not you. And then we'll set you up with someone, maybe one of those girls from High School Musical-"
"Ugh, no way!" Brendon grimaces, and then smiles at Spencer, murmurs hello softly before returning his attention to Jon. "They're all like, twelve, and the last one couldn't even carry a conversation. I asked her if she liked Queen, and she said she thought that Helen Mirren was overrated. Do you have any idea how many levels of wrong that is?"
"Epic levels," Spencer puts in, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against a wall. He's not sure where he fits in with this drama yet. "Helen Mirren's awesome."
"Exactly!" Brendon nods.
"Okay, fine, then we find somebody else." Jon runs his hands through his hair in frustration. Spencer's never seen him riled before, would have sworn he was the most easygoing guy on the planet and probably half-stoned most of the time, but apparently not. "We find you a girl, and you say it wasn't you, and Spencer says it wasn't him, and then it wasn't anybody. Everyone's straight and then we go sell lots of records to lots of girls who want to be Mrs. Brendon Urie one day."
"One flaw with that plan," Spencer interjects, crossing his arms. "I'm not straight. Okay, well two flaws, because Brendon isn't either, but let's focus on the first one. You probably have til the end of the day, if that, before someone somewhere puts up a picture of me that disproves that pretty decisively. I'm on the board of the Las Vegas Alliance of Gay and Lesbian Small-Business Owners, my sisters have been vocal members of PFLAG since junior high, and I've helped organize the Gay Pride celebration here for the last five years."
He pauses for a second, then looks Jon in the eye and says with a bitter twist of a smile. "I'm here, I'm queer, get used to it."
"Look, it's not like I want to shove you back in the closet, either of you-" Jon meets Spencer's stare, and Spencer doesn't so much as blink. He turns back to Brendon, speaking earnestly. "But this is a delicate time for your career, Brendon, and I don't want to see you throw it away. You've worked so hard on this album, and I wouldn't being doing my job if I didn't do everything in my power to keep it all from getting fucked up."
Brendon sighs, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. "Jon, I know that. But the whole thing with SNAP, and getting away from that, the point was to be myself. If I'm not doing that, then how honest can my music be?"
Jon says it softly, so softly that Spencer has to strain to hear it. "Will it matter how honest your music is, if no one gets to hear it?"
Spencer's stomach twists, because this is a big deal. He knows what music means to Brendon, from conversations had over countless cups of coffee when he thought Brendon was just an enthusiast like himself. He wants to reach out, reach over and put his hand on Brendon's shoulder, because he looks like he wants to curl in on himself. But before he can, Brendon straightens his spine, gathers himself together visibly. "I can-"
"Brendon?" A head pokes around the corner, a short guy in a golfer hat and a Buzzcocks t-shirt. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need your input - I think the levels are fucked on that last track."
"Shit." Brendon frowns, then looks apologetically at Spencer. "I'm sorry, I have to... I'll be right back."
Spencer shoos him off and he can hear Brendon and the other guy already deep in conversation before the door shuts. And now it's just him and Jon in the room, left staring at each other with a metric fuckton of awkward in between them.
"Look, I'm not trying to be an asshole about this, I swear." Jon scratches at the back of his neck, looking frustrated. "It's just. He's already so far out on this limb, and everyone in the music industry is watching, waiting for him to fail. This is his dream, it's all he's ever wanted."
Spencer defends, "I'm not trying to ruin things for him. I didn't even know-"
"I know, I know. He told me. And look, I get that this can't be easy for you, suddenly having everyone all up in your business." The look Jon gives him is equal parts sympathy and pleading. "It's just. One quick denial, even just you saying it wasn't him... this whole thing could disappear."
Spencer thinks about it for a moment, and Jon senses an advantage and keeps pressing. "Look, I know you like him. And he likes you. But have you really thought about what this is going to mean? For you, for your family, your friends. The press, they're like bloodhounds on a scent, they won't give up until they've found out every slightly scandalous thing about your life and put it in print."
Spencer frowns, thinking about the reporters on his drive this morning. It's only a matter of time before they track down the twins, and he thinks about what it would be like for them, trying to focus on school while being bothered by paparazzi. And it'd only be a matter of time before their parents' accident would be brought up, everyone loves a good tragic story. "I don't know, it's his choice..."
"It's your choice too," Jon argues. "You need to think about what this is going to do to your life too. You didn't ask for this, you didn't ask to be famous."
~*~
It's done. For better or worse, it's done.
Spencer's lying on a bed in a dorm room in Providence, Rhode Island, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling. Trish and Tosh are in the bathroom, getting ready to go out to dinner to celebrate his arrival. They're full of bubbly holiday plans for their first 'Real Christmas with Snow and Everything,' and Spencer's working hard not to ruin it with the massive amount of guilt he's feeling.
In retrospect, it was so easy to feed the lie to the reporter that Jon had put him in touch with; he told them that it wasn't Brendon, and it was like that was what they wanted to hear so everyone believed it. That it was some random guy Spencer had met in a bar, and no, he doesn't know his name. So now the whole world, or at least the portion of it that watches Entertainment Tonight, probably thinks he's a complete whore. He sighs, rolling over onto his side, curling up.
He's lied, and he did it without telling Brendon what he planned to do. He's protected his family, but it means that he has to let go of the only person he's met in years that he really felt connected to. Life sucks hardcore. And so does the sorry excuse for a mattress that he's sleeping on for the next week.
His phone buzzes, and he checks the display. It's Brendon. Again. He's called every day since Spencer made his statement to the press, and Spencer knows that he should grow some balls and talk to him. It's just... Spencer doesn't know whether to expect Brendon to yell at him, to hate him, or to forgive him, to absolve him - and he's not sure which would be worse. So he remains ball-less and lets the call go to voicemail.
He's stopped listening to the messages after the first one, got as far as hearing Brendon's voice choked with hurt, hearing 'you didn't have to-' before he hit the delete button. He keeps reminding himself that he did the best thing, not just for him but for Brendon too. It's just the little niggling voice that keeps telling him that doing the right thing never makes you feel this awful that has him sighing as he deletes the new message without listening to it.
"So we're thinking ice skating on the square tomorrow afternoon, what do you think?" Tosh bops in to the room, towel drying her hair but dressed.
She's wearing the most hideous Christmas sweater Spencer's ever seen - it's a giant Rudolph, and Spencer is very, very afraid that the nose may light up at any moment. "Stylish."
"I know!" She grins at him mischievously, and she looks so much like their mom that it makes Spencer's heart clench. "Ryan sent us both one, aren't they so perfectly horrific?"
"Absolutely awful," Spencer agrees, rolling onto his back and tucking his hands behind his head. There's no telling whether Ryan meant them ironically or not; his fashion sense somehow manages to routinely rotate between hipster and grandpa. "Try not to set yourself on fire, I'm gonna bet that's not flame retardant."
Tosh chuckles. "Oh, god, death by Christmas sweater! I bet I'd make the news."
She tosses the towel over the back of the chair, and looks at him. She frowns and shoves at one of his knees - "Shove over." - and settles herself down next to him. It's a twin bed, and Spencer's six feet tall. He bumps her with his shoulder and teases. "This is cozy."
"Yup." She says smugly, bumping him back. They lie there for a minute, and Spencer tries to put everything else out of his mind and just be happy to be with his sisters. It's been a long fall without them. He sort of succeeds until Tosh looks over at him, blue eyes serious as she twirls one wet strand of long, dark hair between her fingers. "You're sad, Spencer."
He sighs, and shuts his eyes. "Yeah, a little bit."
"What happened? We saw the story, and then you saying it wasn't him." She rolls on her side to look him in the eye. "But Spencer, it looked like him, and you've been talking for ages about your friend Brendon..."
"Yeah, I know, I... " Spencer swallows hard. "It was him. I didn't have any idea who he was, he was just Brendon, you know? It was him and me, and I lied to the press and said it wasn't."
"Why? Did he ask you to-"
"No," Spencer interrupts emphatically. "No, he never asked me to lie for him. I just... it was easier. Better. Better for everyone."
"How is it better if it makes you sad, Spence? How are you guys going to be together if he's not out?" She frowns, wrinkling her nose. "Or was this just another one of your hook-ups?"
"We're not together. I mean, we were. I think. Or maybe just starting to be, but we can't. It'd ruin his career," Spencer shrugs. And then he frowns, looking over at his sister. "And what do you mean, another hook-up? I don't have hook-ups!"
There's a laugh from the doorway at that. "Oh, bullshit."
Trish crosses the room and hops on to the bed with them, sitting Indian-style at their feet. Her sweater has a Santa that looks more psychotic than jolly; it creeps Spencer out more than just a little. "We know all about your little nights out at the club. We have since we were thirteen."
"You have not!" Spencer argues. They can't have, he was totally stealthy about it. He is a master of stealth. "I am a master of stealth."
"Oh, bitch, please," Trish pshaws him, and Tosh giggles. He kicks at Trish and she smacks his foot. "It's not like it took a rocket scientist to figure out the pattern - you'd get pissier and pissier, and then Mrs. Roberts would come over and babysit, and then the next day, voila! Relaxed and happy Spencer makes an appearance."
The girls exchange an amused look, and then sing-song simultaneously. "Spennncer got laaid!"
Spencer rolls his eyes, and they laugh harder at him. "Freaks. Knock off the twin mind-meld thing, you know that freaks me out."
"Yes, Spencer," They chorus angelically, and Spencer groans.
"Okay, seriously, though." Trish brings them back to the subject at hand. "He broke it off because of his career? That's lame."
"No, he- It was my decision," Spencer says, and both girls frown at him. "Look, he's working on a new album, and his manager said this could ruin it for him. And you girls didn't need reporters hounding you, and the store could suffer. It just. It makes sense."
"It makes sense?" Trish looks at him like he's lost his mind. "How the hell does that make sense? You like each other but you won't even try because it would be inconvenient? That's stupid."
"It is not! I-"
"I get that you're trying to be responsible here," Tosh interrupts, and Spencer could hug her. She's the most like him, dependable and level-headed. "But Trish is right - that's stupid."
"What?" Spencer takes it all back; the Ivy League has obviously ruined his sister. He wants a refund of the stupidly expensive tuition.
"It's stupid, because you're not doing what you obviously want to do," she continues like he hadn't even spoken. "You're thinking of all the grown up stuff, because you're so used to having to be the grown up. But you like him. You sounded so happy when you talked about him on the phone. You never mention anyone, but you mentioned him. And we were so excited, because you deserve someone who makes you happy, and Ryan said you were really into him. So I get that you're trying to put us, and the store, and even Brendon first, but it should be your turn now. You gave up a lot to take care of us, to keep our family together. But you should have a chance to put yourself first."
"You deserve that." Trish adds.
Spencer looks away, staring at a crack in the wall as he tries to blink away the tears. He hates how thick his voice sounds when he speaks. "It's too late now anyway. I already made my decision."
"But if it was the wrong decision, you should unmake it," Trish rests her hands in fists on his shins and gives him an earnest look. "You told me that when I was twelve, and I let everyone spread that rumor about Cindy Myers when I knew it wasn't true and then felt guilty because I was supposed to be her friend. You said that if someone cares about you, and you tell them you know you were wrong, then they'll forgive you for making a mistake. So just tell him that you made a mistake."
Spencer can't help but laugh, a watery little chuckle at that. "I don't know, Trish, I think this might be more serious than Cindy having cooties or whatever-"
"I know, but the principle still stands," Trish grins. "Don't screw with my homespun analogy technique, it's totally getting me an A in my ethics class."
"That's what's getting you an A? And here I thought it was-" Tosh is cut off by a pillow with the force of a hundred and twenty-five pounds of sister behind it, so the tail end of that comes out as "Mmrph."
"Tosh and two of her friends are renting an apartment in Paris for the summer," Trish calmly rats out her sister, who smacks at her arm until she lets the pillow up.
"Traitor," Tosh glares at her sister, flipping drying hair out of her face. Spencer just gives her his patented eyebrow raise, the one he maybe practiced in the mirror when he was twenty one and trying to intimidate them into seeing him as an authority figure and not the brother who used to sneak them candy before dinner. "I was going to tell you, Spence. It's like it's for school. I need to, if I'm going to keep up with the other French majors, half of them summer on the freaking Riviera. And anyway, she's dating a teacher's assistant. In one of her classes. Who's twenty-three and lives off-campus."
Trish sticks her tongue out at Tosh, who returns the gesture, and Spencer tries to decide who he should lecture first. And then he looks around the room that Trish shares with her roommate Sarah, that's across the hall from Tosh and Jill's room, and he thinks about how they've been living here, on their own, for months. It's just the start of all the decisions they have to make without him, and Spencer remembers that first year on his own and how his parents didn't stop him when he and Ryan decided to spend a month on the road with their friend's band. This is letting go, he thinks, and it's hard, and it sucks, but he keeps his voice light when he says, "Okay."
"Okay?" The twins echo, mirror images of confusion.
Trish recovers first, going on the defensive. "We're not breaking any rules - the professor knows, Mark doesn't grade my work. I switched to a different section. And it's just an elective, it's not in my major so after this semester's over there's no conflict."
"Okay," Spencer repeats. "Be careful, don't risk your academic reputation for it, but okay. And you-" He points at Tosh. "I expect to hear from you every three days, and by phone at least once a week. I am not afraid to call in the gendarmes if I think you've gone missing."
Tosh nods emphatically, and they both stare at him with no small amount of incredulity. He grins back at them. "What?"
Tosh just holds one hand up to his forehead, and Trish demands, "Who are you and what have you done with our Spencer?"
"I think the boylove broke his brain," Tosh says with mock sadness.
Spencer tickles her til she falls off the bed.
~*~
Spencer loosens his tie and takes another sip of his martini. Which he was stupid enough to order 'shaken not stirred' because he's a giant dork and James Bond is awesome and, as he'd taken great pleasure in announcing to Ryan, he was not yet thirty and could still do stupid shit.
It tastes like ass.
He grimaces and sets it back down, looking around the martini bar where they're ringing in the new year. It's a nice place, swanky without being stuffy, busy without being packed, yet another one of Ryan's finds. He's always had a knack for finding the next big thing, even when they were kids. This time next year, the place will be overrun, but now it's just cozy, intimate, full of the buzz of conversation, the clink of glassware, and the soft music of a jazz trio playing on a small stage.
Keltie's whispering something into Ryan's ear, and he nods before he leans over and gives her a quick kiss. Spencer doesn't usually feel like a third wheel when he's out with them, but tonight more than a small part of him is wishing he'd just stayed home and thrown himself a pity party for one.
He swallows back a sigh and forces himself to smile at them, to take another swallow of ass-tini, to pretend like he's having fun. "The band's good."
Ryan cocks his head, listening to them for a moment. "Yeah, not bad. You having a good time?"
"Yeah, totally," Spencer fibs.
Ryan gives him a considered look. "Unh-huh. Liar."
Well, yeah. Spencer shrugs. "Why'd you even ask then? I'm having as much fun as I was possibly going to have tonight, so that's. That's something."
Keltie gives him a sympathetic look and leans across Ryan to ask, "Have you even talked to him?"
Spencer looks away, studying the rim of his glass intently. "I was going to, but the holidays... and then he stopped calling, so..."
"So you thought you'd wait to see if Santa brought you a pair for Christmas?" Ryan rolls his eyes. "You need to call him."
"If that's what you want," Keltie interjects. "If you still want to be with him. Do you still want that? Because if you don't, we could go home now. If you're miserable, I mean."
Ryan raises one eyebrow at her, but he nods. "Totally. We can ring the New Year in making out in the back of your car while you drive us home, Spence. It'll be just like high school all over again."
"Asshole. That was one time, stop making me sound like a wallflower." Spencer smacks him. Extra hard. Ryan rubs his arm and gives him a pained look. "I'm not miserable, guys, we can stay. And I'm going to call him, I just have to figure out the right thing to say."
"The right thing to say is fucking HELLO," Ryan argues, and Keltie nods vigorously. "You need to talk to him, and just clear the air."
"I don't know if there's even any point to it," Spencer shrugs. "I mean, he's… It's not like I'm even in his league. He's adored by millions. On a good day, I'm adored by my sisters, and by a small circle of caffeine addicts."
"And us!" Keltie adds cheerfully. "And more importantly, by Brendon. You have to give it another shot - you know you'll hate yourself if you don't. You care about him, you said yourself you had a connection, do you know how rare that is?"
"First of all, I said that to Ryan, who is a sorry excuse for a best friend and can't keep his mouth shut-" Spencer glares in Ryan's direction. Ryan doesn't look the least bit contrite. "And even if we did, that doesn't mean he still feels that way. Or even wants anything to do with me now."
"Which is why you need to talk to him, and find out," Ryan points out.
"No one said this was going to be easy," Keltie says. "Sometimes you have to just put yourself out there and take a risk to be with the person you love."
Love. Spencer frowns into his drink. No one said anything about love. He's saved from answering though, by the club's manager, who steps up to the microphone as the band stops playing.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Fever Lounge." He smiles as the crowd applauds politely. "We're so glad you chose to ring in the New Year with us, and as a thanks, we have a special surprise for you all. Some of you may recognize our mystery guest this evening from your misspent youths, and those of you that don't will know he is soon enough. He's graciously agreed to play a few tunes of his soon-to-be released album, and once you hear them, you'll know what I'm talking about."
He steps away from the stage, and it begins to rotate, slowly revealing a white baby Grand piano.
And Brendon.
There's a small gasp of recognition from the audience, but Brendon just starts playing like he doesn't notice. He starts playing, and Spencer swears he didn't know it was possible for his heart to hurt this much. It's a physical pain as he watches the spotlight shine highlights into Brendon's dark hair, the steel line of his back as his fingers trail across ivory keys. The stage rotates his face toward the crowd just as he starts singing, and Spencer's breath catches in his chest. Yeah, okay. Love.
Brendon's voice is strong, vibrant, as it carries through the room. There's no way SNAP sounded like this, Spencer thinks, because he would have noticed. He finishes the song, and the room bursts into applause.
Brendon plays two more songs, pausing between them to joke with the crowd, and he's warm and entertaining, and he's got them all eating out of his hand. The crowd is paying rapt attention as the notes of the second song fade away, and Brendon looks up, the edges of his smile turning just a little nervous.
"So we've got time for just one more song before it's time for the countdown to begin. This little number is my favorite track off my new album. In a lot of ways, it was the hardest to write," he smiles ruefully. "It had a first verse and a chorus for the longest time, and just wouldn't go anywhere from there for the longest time. And then I met someone, someone really special. But I let it get fucked up and…" He trails off, then smiles brilliantly in the direction of the crowd. "I'm rambling. So anyway, this song is about second verses to me, and hopefully about second chances too."
The song starts slow, Brendon singing in a clear voice, and Spencer's not sure he even understands the words, though they are beautiful. Then the chorus comes, and suddenly he gets it - it's a song about being in love, not falling, about hoping for the best even when you fear for the worst.
"I missed your skin when you were east, you clicked your heels and wished for me, " Brendon sings, and Spencer knows Brendon can't see him through the spotlights but fuck if it doesn't feel like Brendon's eyes are locked with his. He can't look away. He can't believe this is his life. "I know the world's a broken bone, but melt your headaches, call it home."
And then it's over all too fast, and there's applause and cheering and a countdown to a new year with celebrating all around him, and Spencer can't quite take it all in. He sits there dumbfounded for a long moment while people around them throw confetti and blow paper horns and mack on complete strangers. It takes him a while, but finally he looks up, looks at Ryan and Keltie who are watching him with big eyes, leaning their chins against their hands in mirror images, like he's a fascinating experiment they're conducting or a watched pot about to boil or something. "You knew?"
"Yes," They both say, and Ryan half-shrugs one shoulder and adds, "He got in touch with Trish online. She was afraid you'd keep punking out-"
"I was going to call him!" Spencer defends. He was. Probably.
"So," Ryan continues as if Spencer never said a word. "We thought maybe you could use a push."
"A push?" Spencer repeats.
"Go talk to him," Keltie suggests gently. "He's waiting for you."
"I still don't know what to say," Spencer says, and he smacks Ryan on the arm when he rolls his eyes. "After hello, asshole."
Keltie smiles, and reaches across the table to squeeze Spencer's hand. "Tell him you missed him too."
~*~
Spencer's knees are a little weak as he nears the door that says very clearly on it 'Authorized Personnel Only.' Does someone maybe sort of writing a song about you make you authorized? Spencer takes a deep breath, and starts to push the door open when someone taps him on the shoulder. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck, Spencer thinks and turns around, trying to think up some bullshit story that's going to get him behind that door.
Jon's standing there, looking worried. "Spence, hi."
"I need to talk to him," Spencer says, and he draws up to his full height, doing his best to look intimidating. "I'm going to talk to him."
"Hey, I'm not trying to-" Jon waves his hands around, shaking his head. "I just wanted to say sorry."
"Sorry?" Spencer's got to stop repeating what other people say tonight, it's making him sound as stupid as he feels, but this is not that moment, apparently.
"I shouldn't have interfered," Jon admits sheepishly. "I shouldn't have talked you into... I didn't mean for you to go away, I just wanted to protect him, you know?"
Spencer gets that, so he nods. Honesty more than grace makes him admit grudgingly, "You didn't make me do anything, I-"
"I suggested it," Jon counters, and he looks sad for a minute. "I forget that he can take care of himself, sometimes. He was kind enough to remind me."
"Is he mad at you?" Spencer asks, when what he really means is, is he mad at me?
"He was," Jon admits, and Spencer thinks he's answering both questions. "But he got over it. He forgives, it's what Brendon does. After the yelling. And making me sing Disney tunes with him."
Spencer can't hide the laugh, and Jon grins. "Oh, yeah, laugh it up - see how you feel after the third rendition of Kiss The Girl! And he never lets me do Sebastian, I'm always the background fish, it's not fair."
"That's because your Caribbean accent is crap."
Spencer stiffens slightly. Brendon.
He turns around, and there Brendon is, leaning around the door, half-hidden from the room at large. He's still wearing the tuxedo shirt he'd performed in, but it's untucked and his sleeves are rolled up. He looks delectably disheveled. He's got this tentative smile, but there's a pinched, worried look in his eyes that Spencer wishes wasn't there. Spencer shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to feel somehow less awkward. "Um. Hi."
"Hey," Brendon says softly, and his smile brightens just a fraction. He leans back, swinging the door farther open. "Want to hang out backstage? I've got connections…"
"Sure," Spencer nods and starts toward him. He half-turns back to Jon and says, "See you around."
Jon gives him a smile that's easy and relieved. "Hope so."
Brendon leads the way through the unpainted, utilitarian back-of-the-house, dodging waitstaff with a practiced ease. Once, a girl about the twins' age stops him and shyly asks for an autograph, and Brendon poses for a photo with her on her cell phone. She flashes them both a pleased smile as she heads back toward the lounge.
"This is me," Brendon says a minute later, pushing open a door with a piece of paper that says "Dressing Room" taped to it. It's small but they've made an effort - a nice counter with makeup lighting down either side, a loveseat crammed against one wall. There's a guitar leaning against it, and Spencer wonders if it's Brendon's. There are posters in frames on the walls, and a fruit basket on a low table by the couch.
"So…"
"So," Spencer echoes, and now that he's here, he has no idea what he's supposed to say.
"So your sister says that you're a self-sacrificing idiot, and that I should never let you make decisions," Brendon leans back against the counter-top, practically sitting on his hands as he looks at Spencer with big eyes. "She says you can't be trusted to actually put what you want first."
"I'm out of practice at it," Spencer admits. He stays where he is, just inside the door, a few feet away from Brendon.
Brendon nods, like he's taking that in, and then he looks up at Spencer through thick lashes. "You didn't answer my calls."
"I know, I'm sorry, I…" Spencer runs one hand through his hair, trying to find a way to explain. "I thought… I didn't want to know if you hated me. I just… I'm sorry."
"Why would I hate you?" Brendon frowns, his brow wrinkling. "I was a little pissed, yeah, but not… we could have talked about it. We should have talked about it."
"I know, it just seemed… I didn't want to ruin things for you, and I was trying to protect the girls' privacy, which trust me, they've set me straight on-" Spencer rolls his eyes, and Brendon grins. "Very clearly and using words I should never have taught them when they were little."
Brendon laughs, and his shoulders loosen a little. "Good for them. And I get why you wouldn't want to expose them to that, I know it's a strange thing to have the world interested in the intimate details of your life, and I wish I could keep that part of my life away from all the people I care about. But I can't control that."
Spencer shrugs, "I know. I should have… I should have given them more credit, that they could handle it if people started asking them questions about the accident, or brought up the settlement from the airline… I just wanted to spare them the pain. And I wanted you to get your record made."
"I wish you'd just told me that," Brendon moves toward him a step. "I could have told you that Jon was just worrying, because that's what managers do, what friends do. I could have told you that if people don't want to listen to my music because I'm gay, then those aren't people that I want listening to my music anyway."
He takes another step closer, and into Spencer's personal space. Spencer can't stop the way he leans toward Brendon any more than he could stop breathing, and he can feel the heat of Brendon's body from inches away. He has to force himself to pay attention to the words Brendon's saying.
"I did an interview on Monday with Out magazine, it's going to be an internet exclusive and it should be online any day now. I was always going to come out eventually. This just moved up the timetable by a few months. It was one of the reasons I left SNAP - I spent most of my twenties having to hide who I am, and I don't want to do that anymore, whether it's with you or with someone else," Brendon says earnestly, and then pauses before grinning mischievously up at Spencer. "Just to be clear though, I want it to be with you."
"You... you really still want to?" Spencer has to ask, but he reaches out and rests his hands on Brendon's hips. Brendon steps even closer, pressing his body flush against Spencer's, and the breath stutters out of Spencer's lungs.
"I really still do," Brendon's eyes flare wide, solemn, even though he's still got the tail end of the smile on his face. "I know it won't be easy, I know my life is a little weird to most people, but... I think we could have something really special, if we just let ourselves try, Spencer."
"I think so too," Spencer says softly, and he flexes his hands, thumbs pressed against Brendon's hipbones as his fingers fan out across Brendon's backside. Oh, God, he thinks, they're actually going to do this. He's dating someone; no, not someone, but Brendon. He grins wide and bright, knowing that he probably looks like a big goofball in love, but so the fuck what? He totally is. "Let's do this."
~*~
"Oh, Jesus, we have got to try doing this in an actualfax bedroom sometime," Spencer groans, kneeling up from his spot between Brendon's legs to cradle the elbow he just rammed into the console between the front seats of his car. Either he's grown or cars have shrunk since the last time he tried this.
"Bedrooms are far, far away," Brendon pants, rolling his hips up against Spencer's. It would be sexier if he didn't have his trousers and a pair of neon yellow briefs hanging off one leg. Oh, fuck it, who is Spencer kidding? It's still pretty fucking sexy. "Bedrooms are for pansies."
He sits up, capturing Spencer's lips with his own, burying one hand in Spencer's hair. Suddenly Spencer's elbow doesn't hurt quite so much, and he reaches between them to wrap one hand around Brendon's dick. Brendon gasps, catching Spencer's lower lip between his teeth, and hastens to return the favor.
"Oh, sweet- fuck, Brendon," Spencer licks his way inside Brendon's mouth until they both have to come up for air. "You're so... I want to fuck you, want-"
And then he freezes, and he'd swear the hair on the back of his neck stands up.
Brendon stops too, and he looks up at Spencer with big eyes. "Did you hear something?"
"I think so, I-"
Brendon reaches up and wipes the fog off the window just in time to hear another snick-click of a camera and a flash going off less than twenty yards away.
"Shit." Spencer closes his eyes, and tries not to panic. They're just sitting here half-clothed, okay, less than half-clothed, in a parking lot in a car with fogged up windows that twenty seconds ago might have possibly been rocking. Pictures can't capture rocking, can they? "Shit, I-"
"Fuck it," Brendon shrugs.
"What?" Spencer looks at him incredulously, because this is so totally the start of round two, how does Brendon not see this? He tries to convey this, but all he can manage is a higher-pitched, "What?"
"We aren't doing anything wrong," Brendon says, and then grins. "Well, okay, maybe a little public indecency, but hey. What they can't see can't hurt us. I don't care who sees me kissing you. Do you care who sees you kissing me?"
Spencer thinks about it for half a second; no, he really doesn't. He'd kiss Brendon in front of the whole world. He shakes his head. "No. No, I don't care."
"Sooo," Brendon turns to the window and wipes it clear again. He smiles and waves as the flash flares again. "If you don't care, and I don't care..."
He pulls Spencer back to him, and whispers against his lips, "Then why aren't we kissing?"
Spencer would answer, but he's a little busy.
Spencer goes home. He goes home to his empty house and faceplants into bed, grinning stupidly in the dark when he realizes he can still smell Brendon. He feels giddy, he tries to tell himself that it's just because he got laid, but it's also because he might be thinking about what it might be like to come home to a house that isn't empty. Getting so, so far ahead of yourself, he remonstrates himself, and then rolls over and grabs his phone. He texts Travis to let him know he'll be late coming in tomorrow, and he sets his alarm for six AM instead of three before rolling over and going to sleep.
His phone starts vibrating at five-thirty.
Spencer rolls over with a groan, and buries his head under his pillow.
It falls silent and he debates rolling over to check who it was or just going back to sleep, but before he can decide, his phone buzzes with a text. Then another. Then another. And another.
He grabs it up, and flips it open to read.
Travis: whats going on? call store pls
Tosh: sum1 just asked me if the rumrs r tru? if they r, my roomie wants autographed pic!
Ryan: r u ok?
He texts Ryan back immediately, because if Ryan is awake at this time of the morning something must be drastically, drastically wrong. 'im fine why r u up?'
'u r famous on the intrnt. grls txtd me to c if u were ok.'
"Famous what?" Spencer scrubs at his face and tries to wake up. He staggers out of bed and down the hallway to the kitchen and makes himself a cup of coffee while he waits for his laptop to boot up. Then he logs on.
And promptly wishes he hadn't.
'Urie Caught with Hand in the Cookie Jar?'
'Boy Band Gay Scandal'
'Former 'SNAP' Frontman Finds Sugar at Sweet Spot'
Spencer clicks on the last one, trying to figure out what the hell is going on and what it has to do with him and his store. The answer comes pretty quickly as the page opens and Brendon's face stares back at him.
Or not his face exactly. His face looking younger, with added eyeliner, with over-gelled, over-styled hair, surrounded by four other guys just as baby-faced.
Spencer's stomach sinks, because now he knows what this has to do with him, but he reads the article anyway.
"Las Vegas, NV - Photos surfaced this morning of Brendon Urie, the charismatic former lead singer of popular boy-band SNAP, caught in a romantic after-hours embrace with an unidentified man at The Sweet Spot, an independently owned bakery and coffee shop in Urie's hometown of Las Vegas. The Sweet Spot is owned by three siblings, Patricia, Natasha, and Spencer Smith, and is near the studio where Urie, who left SNAP last year to pursue a solo career, is recording. SNAP, an international award-winning success based on Urie's vocal talent and the group's highly choreographed dance moves, often refuted claims that Urie and several other members of the band were in fact homosexual. Urie could not be reached for comment."
The photos are a little grainy, clearly taken from a distance, but Spencer can recognize himself, can recognize Brendon. There's one of them kissing, then one shirtless, Brendon's face hidden in Spencer's neck, and then most damning, one of just Spencer, body hidden by the pass-thru window, one hand gripping the frame tightly while the other is in his lap. You can't see Brendon's head, but just about anyone with a prurient imagination will figure out where it is, Spencer thinks.
Spencer kind of wants to throw up.
And he's still trying to let it all sink in, sitting at his kitchen counter feeling violated, his private life laid open for the entire world to see, when his phone rings again. He checks the caller ID, and it's the store, so he picks up.
"Yo, Spencer," Travis's voice comes down the line, tinny and far away and way, way more serious than Spencer is used to. "Shit's crazy down here, man. There's a crowd of people standing outside with cameras, and I think I saw a news crew or two. People keep calling me asking for comments on 'the situation.' Which from what I can gather involves you butt nekkid on my prep counter."
"Fuck." Spencer tries to think. He needs more caffeine. He needs a shower. He needs there not to be pictures of him getting a blowjob on the internet. "Fuck!"
"What d'you want me to do? Should I open up? 'Cuz I don't think they're here for the muffins, dude. Oh, and some guy called and said he was from the health department and he wants to talk to you."
"He- What- But I disinfected everything! I threw out the-" Spencer stops mid-sentence, horrified.
Travis starts laughing, hard and loud in Spencer's ear. "The what? Oh, you are finishing that sentence. I have to explain to everyone I know that I work at the Sex Bakery now, I get the deets, man."
"The, uh. Crisco?" Spencer knows he's at least eighteen shades of red. He rests his forehead on the cool countertop and sort of wishes he could die. Or time travel. Time travel would be awesome right about now, he could go back and tell himself not to fool around with Brendon. Even if the thought of missing out on last night makes him kind of sad.
Travis actually makes a hooting sound. Spencer doesn't think he's ever heard anyone actually hoot before in his life, but this is apparently the level of hilarity he's living at now, Travis is hooting. He finally gets it together enough to wheeze, "Classy."
"Oh, fuck you." Spencer can't help but laugh a little. It's either that or cry.
"Keep your food kink away from me, dude," Travis teases. "And note how I'm refraining from making fisting jokes."
Spencer groans against the countertop. "Saying you're refraining is not the same as actually refraining, you do get that, right?"
"Close enough," Travis replies cheerfully. "Your kinky secrets are safe with me."
The store opens on time, with Travis serving up donuts and lies to reporters. Spencer knows this, because when he gets out of the shower he has texts about the best of the best - 'i told them it was me-flash lights up the fro, u no?' and 'if any1 asks, store is haunted by sex addict ghosts' are Spencer's favorites. He also has five texts from Brendon:
06:12: ppl r wrong on the internet recommend 2 stay away
06:17: k worse than i thought. they have ur name from the store. prob paps there, recc stay home.
06:20: pls dont b mad, im sorry
06:25: i can xplain. will call asap. sorry sorry sorry. :'( Jon says pls dont talk to press.
06:30: pls dont hate me. sorry.
Spencer sighs, running one hand through wet hair. There's also a missed call, and as he presses the button to call Brendon back, it crosses his mind that he never thought when they were exchanging numbers last night that these would be the circumstances under which he'd be calling Brendon for the first time.
Brendon picks up almost immediately. "Spencer?"
"Hey," Spencer exhales softly. Now that he's called, he isn't sure what he's supposed to say. "So how's your day going?"
"Oh, Jesus," Brendon laughs sharply, almost bitterly. "I've had better. I am so, so sorry about this, Spencer. Really, I am. I should have told you, I was going to tell you, I just..."
"I feel like I should have known. Hell, my sisters were into SNAP, I think Tosh had a poster," Spencer sits down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard.
"I liked that you didn't know," Brendon admits softly, and Spencer closes his eyes. "I... I could be myself with you. I know it sounds stupid and egotistical, but it was nice to just be me, to know that you didn't have any preconceived notions of who I was. I know I should have told you, but I just hated to give that up."
There's silence over the line for a moment, and then Brendon adds, "Obviously, I should have taken into account the press stepping in, and realized I should've told you and given you the choice about spreading your personal life in the fucking tabloids. I am so sorry, and I totally get it if you hate me and you never want to talk to me again."
"I don't hate you, Brendon," Spencer frowns, picking at the fabric of his bedspread. "I... it's just a lot to take in. Last night was awesome. I just didn't expect to wake up to the whole world knowing about it, or to have photographers camped out at the store-"
"Oh, god, the store!" Brendon groans. "I didn't even think- I'm ruining your whole life, aren't I?"
"Not ruining, just-"
"Oh, shit, hang on a second, Spencer," Brendon interrupts, and Spencer can hear him having a muffled conversation with someone. He thinks they're almost arguing, but he can't make out what they're saying. Brendon sounds annoyed and frustrated and a little embarrassed when he comes back on the line. "Sorry, that was Jon. You know... um, well, you probably don't, but he's sort of my manager? And he wants to know if you've talked to anyone?"
"What, like the press?" Spencer's more surprised than he probably should be, but then again it never occurred to him to give interviews or something. He tries not to be pissed off, that Brendon would think he might, that Jon would think so. "No. I talked to Travis, and my best friend. I need to call the girls, they've texted me so they know about it."
"Could you- maybe you could come here first? Jon wants to," Brendon sighs, and Spencer can practically see him rubbing at his face over the phone. "Fuck. Jon wants to talk strategy, to figure out how to spin this, and he wants you involved."
Spencer really doesn't like the sound of that, even if he can appreciate the practicality of it. "What do you want?"
"I want," Brendon huffs out a short laugh. "I want to go back to last night, when things were still awesome and mostly uncomplicated."
"Me too," Spencer admits.
"Failing that... I'd like to see you again," Brendon says earnestly. "Not just strategically. I mean, not just for this. I wanted to see you again before, it's just that we need to deal with this whole mess first-"
"Brendon," Spencer interrupts quietly. "I get it. Where are you?"
It takes Spencer a while to make it to Brendon's suite at the Palms. First, he has to leave his house. That's a trickier proposition than it sounds, because when he peers out the blinds in the living room, he sees five or six reporters milling around his driveway. One of them seems to be going through his neighbors' trash. Spencer spares a moment to hope there are horrible things in there, like used condoms and dirty diapers. The Andersons have four kids under the age of ten, so it seems like one or the other or both ought to be an option.
He puts on a hat and sunglasses and a heavier coat than a sixty-five degree sunny December day in Las Vegas calls for, and heads for the garage. Where he decides, fuck it, and loses it all, because damned if he's going to act like he did anything wrong.
So now there will probably be seventy billion new pictures of him looking pissed off while backing down his driveway on the internet. Awesome. He takes the most circuitous route to the office of the Board of Health, trying to remember all the tricks he's seen in movies to lose a tail. He doesn't even know if he has one, but it seems like a logical thing to do. Unfortunately, there seem to be approximately one billion nondescript white cars in Vegas, and he's really not sure he can tell them apart.
He leaves there an hour later, with the results of the morning's surprise inspection - fucking 97, thank you very much, because he'd cleaned everything after Brendon left last night - and a slap on the wrist to remind him that people weren't so much supposed to be naked, even allegedly naked, in places where food gets made. The guy had actually been kind of decent about it, had subscribed to the 'what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas' theory and hadn't tried to force some sort of confession, or even mentioned Brendon's name.
That alone helps him hold on to his temper through another labyrinthine drive, through heavy traffic on the Strip, and a ten minute wait for Zack to meet him in the casino to escort him past security. It's touch and go though, and his teeth are on edge by the time he walks through the door to be faced with Jon - no, scratch that, Brendon's manager - telling him to go back into the closet and all but barricade the door.
"I think you should deny everything. The pictures are blurry, it's a case of mistaken identity." Jon lays out, not even pausing to acknowledge Spencer's arrival. "You just say, sure, you've been to the bakery before, because I'm sure there's proof out there somewhere, but you don't have any idea who those people are in the photos. It's not you. And then we'll set you up with someone, maybe one of those girls from High School Musical-"
"Ugh, no way!" Brendon grimaces, and then smiles at Spencer, murmurs hello softly before returning his attention to Jon. "They're all like, twelve, and the last one couldn't even carry a conversation. I asked her if she liked Queen, and she said she thought that Helen Mirren was overrated. Do you have any idea how many levels of wrong that is?"
"Epic levels," Spencer puts in, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against a wall. He's not sure where he fits in with this drama yet. "Helen Mirren's awesome."
"Exactly!" Brendon nods.
"Okay, fine, then we find somebody else." Jon runs his hands through his hair in frustration. Spencer's never seen him riled before, would have sworn he was the most easygoing guy on the planet and probably half-stoned most of the time, but apparently not. "We find you a girl, and you say it wasn't you, and Spencer says it wasn't him, and then it wasn't anybody. Everyone's straight and then we go sell lots of records to lots of girls who want to be Mrs. Brendon Urie one day."
"One flaw with that plan," Spencer interjects, crossing his arms. "I'm not straight. Okay, well two flaws, because Brendon isn't either, but let's focus on the first one. You probably have til the end of the day, if that, before someone somewhere puts up a picture of me that disproves that pretty decisively. I'm on the board of the Las Vegas Alliance of Gay and Lesbian Small-Business Owners, my sisters have been vocal members of PFLAG since junior high, and I've helped organize the Gay Pride celebration here for the last five years."
He pauses for a second, then looks Jon in the eye and says with a bitter twist of a smile. "I'm here, I'm queer, get used to it."
"Look, it's not like I want to shove you back in the closet, either of you-" Jon meets Spencer's stare, and Spencer doesn't so much as blink. He turns back to Brendon, speaking earnestly. "But this is a delicate time for your career, Brendon, and I don't want to see you throw it away. You've worked so hard on this album, and I wouldn't being doing my job if I didn't do everything in my power to keep it all from getting fucked up."
Brendon sighs, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. "Jon, I know that. But the whole thing with SNAP, and getting away from that, the point was to be myself. If I'm not doing that, then how honest can my music be?"
Jon says it softly, so softly that Spencer has to strain to hear it. "Will it matter how honest your music is, if no one gets to hear it?"
Spencer's stomach twists, because this is a big deal. He knows what music means to Brendon, from conversations had over countless cups of coffee when he thought Brendon was just an enthusiast like himself. He wants to reach out, reach over and put his hand on Brendon's shoulder, because he looks like he wants to curl in on himself. But before he can, Brendon straightens his spine, gathers himself together visibly. "I can-"
"Brendon?" A head pokes around the corner, a short guy in a golfer hat and a Buzzcocks t-shirt. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need your input - I think the levels are fucked on that last track."
"Shit." Brendon frowns, then looks apologetically at Spencer. "I'm sorry, I have to... I'll be right back."
Spencer shoos him off and he can hear Brendon and the other guy already deep in conversation before the door shuts. And now it's just him and Jon in the room, left staring at each other with a metric fuckton of awkward in between them.
"Look, I'm not trying to be an asshole about this, I swear." Jon scratches at the back of his neck, looking frustrated. "It's just. He's already so far out on this limb, and everyone in the music industry is watching, waiting for him to fail. This is his dream, it's all he's ever wanted."
Spencer defends, "I'm not trying to ruin things for him. I didn't even know-"
"I know, I know. He told me. And look, I get that this can't be easy for you, suddenly having everyone all up in your business." The look Jon gives him is equal parts sympathy and pleading. "It's just. One quick denial, even just you saying it wasn't him... this whole thing could disappear."
Spencer thinks about it for a moment, and Jon senses an advantage and keeps pressing. "Look, I know you like him. And he likes you. But have you really thought about what this is going to mean? For you, for your family, your friends. The press, they're like bloodhounds on a scent, they won't give up until they've found out every slightly scandalous thing about your life and put it in print."
Spencer frowns, thinking about the reporters on his drive this morning. It's only a matter of time before they track down the twins, and he thinks about what it would be like for them, trying to focus on school while being bothered by paparazzi. And it'd only be a matter of time before their parents' accident would be brought up, everyone loves a good tragic story. "I don't know, it's his choice..."
"It's your choice too," Jon argues. "You need to think about what this is going to do to your life too. You didn't ask for this, you didn't ask to be famous."
It's done. For better or worse, it's done.
Spencer's lying on a bed in a dorm room in Providence, Rhode Island, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling. Trish and Tosh are in the bathroom, getting ready to go out to dinner to celebrate his arrival. They're full of bubbly holiday plans for their first 'Real Christmas with Snow and Everything,' and Spencer's working hard not to ruin it with the massive amount of guilt he's feeling.
In retrospect, it was so easy to feed the lie to the reporter that Jon had put him in touch with; he told them that it wasn't Brendon, and it was like that was what they wanted to hear so everyone believed it. That it was some random guy Spencer had met in a bar, and no, he doesn't know his name. So now the whole world, or at least the portion of it that watches Entertainment Tonight, probably thinks he's a complete whore. He sighs, rolling over onto his side, curling up.
He's lied, and he did it without telling Brendon what he planned to do. He's protected his family, but it means that he has to let go of the only person he's met in years that he really felt connected to. Life sucks hardcore. And so does the sorry excuse for a mattress that he's sleeping on for the next week.
His phone buzzes, and he checks the display. It's Brendon. Again. He's called every day since Spencer made his statement to the press, and Spencer knows that he should grow some balls and talk to him. It's just... Spencer doesn't know whether to expect Brendon to yell at him, to hate him, or to forgive him, to absolve him - and he's not sure which would be worse. So he remains ball-less and lets the call go to voicemail.
He's stopped listening to the messages after the first one, got as far as hearing Brendon's voice choked with hurt, hearing 'you didn't have to-' before he hit the delete button. He keeps reminding himself that he did the best thing, not just for him but for Brendon too. It's just the little niggling voice that keeps telling him that doing the right thing never makes you feel this awful that has him sighing as he deletes the new message without listening to it.
"So we're thinking ice skating on the square tomorrow afternoon, what do you think?" Tosh bops in to the room, towel drying her hair but dressed.
She's wearing the most hideous Christmas sweater Spencer's ever seen - it's a giant Rudolph, and Spencer is very, very afraid that the nose may light up at any moment. "Stylish."
"I know!" She grins at him mischievously, and she looks so much like their mom that it makes Spencer's heart clench. "Ryan sent us both one, aren't they so perfectly horrific?"
"Absolutely awful," Spencer agrees, rolling onto his back and tucking his hands behind his head. There's no telling whether Ryan meant them ironically or not; his fashion sense somehow manages to routinely rotate between hipster and grandpa. "Try not to set yourself on fire, I'm gonna bet that's not flame retardant."
Tosh chuckles. "Oh, god, death by Christmas sweater! I bet I'd make the news."
She tosses the towel over the back of the chair, and looks at him. She frowns and shoves at one of his knees - "Shove over." - and settles herself down next to him. It's a twin bed, and Spencer's six feet tall. He bumps her with his shoulder and teases. "This is cozy."
"Yup." She says smugly, bumping him back. They lie there for a minute, and Spencer tries to put everything else out of his mind and just be happy to be with his sisters. It's been a long fall without them. He sort of succeeds until Tosh looks over at him, blue eyes serious as she twirls one wet strand of long, dark hair between her fingers. "You're sad, Spencer."
He sighs, and shuts his eyes. "Yeah, a little bit."
"What happened? We saw the story, and then you saying it wasn't him." She rolls on her side to look him in the eye. "But Spencer, it looked like him, and you've been talking for ages about your friend Brendon..."
"Yeah, I know, I... " Spencer swallows hard. "It was him. I didn't have any idea who he was, he was just Brendon, you know? It was him and me, and I lied to the press and said it wasn't."
"Why? Did he ask you to-"
"No," Spencer interrupts emphatically. "No, he never asked me to lie for him. I just... it was easier. Better. Better for everyone."
"How is it better if it makes you sad, Spence? How are you guys going to be together if he's not out?" She frowns, wrinkling her nose. "Or was this just another one of your hook-ups?"
"We're not together. I mean, we were. I think. Or maybe just starting to be, but we can't. It'd ruin his career," Spencer shrugs. And then he frowns, looking over at his sister. "And what do you mean, another hook-up? I don't have hook-ups!"
There's a laugh from the doorway at that. "Oh, bullshit."
Trish crosses the room and hops on to the bed with them, sitting Indian-style at their feet. Her sweater has a Santa that looks more psychotic than jolly; it creeps Spencer out more than just a little. "We know all about your little nights out at the club. We have since we were thirteen."
"You have not!" Spencer argues. They can't have, he was totally stealthy about it. He is a master of stealth. "I am a master of stealth."
"Oh, bitch, please," Trish pshaws him, and Tosh giggles. He kicks at Trish and she smacks his foot. "It's not like it took a rocket scientist to figure out the pattern - you'd get pissier and pissier, and then Mrs. Roberts would come over and babysit, and then the next day, voila! Relaxed and happy Spencer makes an appearance."
The girls exchange an amused look, and then sing-song simultaneously. "Spennncer got laaid!"
Spencer rolls his eyes, and they laugh harder at him. "Freaks. Knock off the twin mind-meld thing, you know that freaks me out."
"Yes, Spencer," They chorus angelically, and Spencer groans.
"Okay, seriously, though." Trish brings them back to the subject at hand. "He broke it off because of his career? That's lame."
"No, he- It was my decision," Spencer says, and both girls frown at him. "Look, he's working on a new album, and his manager said this could ruin it for him. And you girls didn't need reporters hounding you, and the store could suffer. It just. It makes sense."
"It makes sense?" Trish looks at him like he's lost his mind. "How the hell does that make sense? You like each other but you won't even try because it would be inconvenient? That's stupid."
"It is not! I-"
"I get that you're trying to be responsible here," Tosh interrupts, and Spencer could hug her. She's the most like him, dependable and level-headed. "But Trish is right - that's stupid."
"What?" Spencer takes it all back; the Ivy League has obviously ruined his sister. He wants a refund of the stupidly expensive tuition.
"It's stupid, because you're not doing what you obviously want to do," she continues like he hadn't even spoken. "You're thinking of all the grown up stuff, because you're so used to having to be the grown up. But you like him. You sounded so happy when you talked about him on the phone. You never mention anyone, but you mentioned him. And we were so excited, because you deserve someone who makes you happy, and Ryan said you were really into him. So I get that you're trying to put us, and the store, and even Brendon first, but it should be your turn now. You gave up a lot to take care of us, to keep our family together. But you should have a chance to put yourself first."
"You deserve that." Trish adds.
Spencer looks away, staring at a crack in the wall as he tries to blink away the tears. He hates how thick his voice sounds when he speaks. "It's too late now anyway. I already made my decision."
"But if it was the wrong decision, you should unmake it," Trish rests her hands in fists on his shins and gives him an earnest look. "You told me that when I was twelve, and I let everyone spread that rumor about Cindy Myers when I knew it wasn't true and then felt guilty because I was supposed to be her friend. You said that if someone cares about you, and you tell them you know you were wrong, then they'll forgive you for making a mistake. So just tell him that you made a mistake."
Spencer can't help but laugh, a watery little chuckle at that. "I don't know, Trish, I think this might be more serious than Cindy having cooties or whatever-"
"I know, but the principle still stands," Trish grins. "Don't screw with my homespun analogy technique, it's totally getting me an A in my ethics class."
"That's what's getting you an A? And here I thought it was-" Tosh is cut off by a pillow with the force of a hundred and twenty-five pounds of sister behind it, so the tail end of that comes out as "Mmrph."
"Tosh and two of her friends are renting an apartment in Paris for the summer," Trish calmly rats out her sister, who smacks at her arm until she lets the pillow up.
"Traitor," Tosh glares at her sister, flipping drying hair out of her face. Spencer just gives her his patented eyebrow raise, the one he maybe practiced in the mirror when he was twenty one and trying to intimidate them into seeing him as an authority figure and not the brother who used to sneak them candy before dinner. "I was going to tell you, Spence. It's like it's for school. I need to, if I'm going to keep up with the other French majors, half of them summer on the freaking Riviera. And anyway, she's dating a teacher's assistant. In one of her classes. Who's twenty-three and lives off-campus."
Trish sticks her tongue out at Tosh, who returns the gesture, and Spencer tries to decide who he should lecture first. And then he looks around the room that Trish shares with her roommate Sarah, that's across the hall from Tosh and Jill's room, and he thinks about how they've been living here, on their own, for months. It's just the start of all the decisions they have to make without him, and Spencer remembers that first year on his own and how his parents didn't stop him when he and Ryan decided to spend a month on the road with their friend's band. This is letting go, he thinks, and it's hard, and it sucks, but he keeps his voice light when he says, "Okay."
"Okay?" The twins echo, mirror images of confusion.
Trish recovers first, going on the defensive. "We're not breaking any rules - the professor knows, Mark doesn't grade my work. I switched to a different section. And it's just an elective, it's not in my major so after this semester's over there's no conflict."
"Okay," Spencer repeats. "Be careful, don't risk your academic reputation for it, but okay. And you-" He points at Tosh. "I expect to hear from you every three days, and by phone at least once a week. I am not afraid to call in the gendarmes if I think you've gone missing."
Tosh nods emphatically, and they both stare at him with no small amount of incredulity. He grins back at them. "What?"
Tosh just holds one hand up to his forehead, and Trish demands, "Who are you and what have you done with our Spencer?"
"I think the boylove broke his brain," Tosh says with mock sadness.
Spencer tickles her til she falls off the bed.
Spencer loosens his tie and takes another sip of his martini. Which he was stupid enough to order 'shaken not stirred' because he's a giant dork and James Bond is awesome and, as he'd taken great pleasure in announcing to Ryan, he was not yet thirty and could still do stupid shit.
It tastes like ass.
He grimaces and sets it back down, looking around the martini bar where they're ringing in the new year. It's a nice place, swanky without being stuffy, busy without being packed, yet another one of Ryan's finds. He's always had a knack for finding the next big thing, even when they were kids. This time next year, the place will be overrun, but now it's just cozy, intimate, full of the buzz of conversation, the clink of glassware, and the soft music of a jazz trio playing on a small stage.
Keltie's whispering something into Ryan's ear, and he nods before he leans over and gives her a quick kiss. Spencer doesn't usually feel like a third wheel when he's out with them, but tonight more than a small part of him is wishing he'd just stayed home and thrown himself a pity party for one.
He swallows back a sigh and forces himself to smile at them, to take another swallow of ass-tini, to pretend like he's having fun. "The band's good."
Ryan cocks his head, listening to them for a moment. "Yeah, not bad. You having a good time?"
"Yeah, totally," Spencer fibs.
Ryan gives him a considered look. "Unh-huh. Liar."
Well, yeah. Spencer shrugs. "Why'd you even ask then? I'm having as much fun as I was possibly going to have tonight, so that's. That's something."
Keltie gives him a sympathetic look and leans across Ryan to ask, "Have you even talked to him?"
Spencer looks away, studying the rim of his glass intently. "I was going to, but the holidays... and then he stopped calling, so..."
"So you thought you'd wait to see if Santa brought you a pair for Christmas?" Ryan rolls his eyes. "You need to call him."
"If that's what you want," Keltie interjects. "If you still want to be with him. Do you still want that? Because if you don't, we could go home now. If you're miserable, I mean."
Ryan raises one eyebrow at her, but he nods. "Totally. We can ring the New Year in making out in the back of your car while you drive us home, Spence. It'll be just like high school all over again."
"Asshole. That was one time, stop making me sound like a wallflower." Spencer smacks him. Extra hard. Ryan rubs his arm and gives him a pained look. "I'm not miserable, guys, we can stay. And I'm going to call him, I just have to figure out the right thing to say."
"The right thing to say is fucking HELLO," Ryan argues, and Keltie nods vigorously. "You need to talk to him, and just clear the air."
"I don't know if there's even any point to it," Spencer shrugs. "I mean, he's… It's not like I'm even in his league. He's adored by millions. On a good day, I'm adored by my sisters, and by a small circle of caffeine addicts."
"And us!" Keltie adds cheerfully. "And more importantly, by Brendon. You have to give it another shot - you know you'll hate yourself if you don't. You care about him, you said yourself you had a connection, do you know how rare that is?"
"First of all, I said that to Ryan, who is a sorry excuse for a best friend and can't keep his mouth shut-" Spencer glares in Ryan's direction. Ryan doesn't look the least bit contrite. "And even if we did, that doesn't mean he still feels that way. Or even wants anything to do with me now."
"Which is why you need to talk to him, and find out," Ryan points out.
"No one said this was going to be easy," Keltie says. "Sometimes you have to just put yourself out there and take a risk to be with the person you love."
Love. Spencer frowns into his drink. No one said anything about love. He's saved from answering though, by the club's manager, who steps up to the microphone as the band stops playing.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Fever Lounge." He smiles as the crowd applauds politely. "We're so glad you chose to ring in the New Year with us, and as a thanks, we have a special surprise for you all. Some of you may recognize our mystery guest this evening from your misspent youths, and those of you that don't will know he is soon enough. He's graciously agreed to play a few tunes of his soon-to-be released album, and once you hear them, you'll know what I'm talking about."
He steps away from the stage, and it begins to rotate, slowly revealing a white baby Grand piano.
And Brendon.
There's a small gasp of recognition from the audience, but Brendon just starts playing like he doesn't notice. He starts playing, and Spencer swears he didn't know it was possible for his heart to hurt this much. It's a physical pain as he watches the spotlight shine highlights into Brendon's dark hair, the steel line of his back as his fingers trail across ivory keys. The stage rotates his face toward the crowd just as he starts singing, and Spencer's breath catches in his chest. Yeah, okay. Love.
Brendon's voice is strong, vibrant, as it carries through the room. There's no way SNAP sounded like this, Spencer thinks, because he would have noticed. He finishes the song, and the room bursts into applause.
Brendon plays two more songs, pausing between them to joke with the crowd, and he's warm and entertaining, and he's got them all eating out of his hand. The crowd is paying rapt attention as the notes of the second song fade away, and Brendon looks up, the edges of his smile turning just a little nervous.
"So we've got time for just one more song before it's time for the countdown to begin. This little number is my favorite track off my new album. In a lot of ways, it was the hardest to write," he smiles ruefully. "It had a first verse and a chorus for the longest time, and just wouldn't go anywhere from there for the longest time. And then I met someone, someone really special. But I let it get fucked up and…" He trails off, then smiles brilliantly in the direction of the crowd. "I'm rambling. So anyway, this song is about second verses to me, and hopefully about second chances too."
The song starts slow, Brendon singing in a clear voice, and Spencer's not sure he even understands the words, though they are beautiful. Then the chorus comes, and suddenly he gets it - it's a song about being in love, not falling, about hoping for the best even when you fear for the worst.
"I missed your skin when you were east, you clicked your heels and wished for me, " Brendon sings, and Spencer knows Brendon can't see him through the spotlights but fuck if it doesn't feel like Brendon's eyes are locked with his. He can't look away. He can't believe this is his life. "I know the world's a broken bone, but melt your headaches, call it home."
And then it's over all too fast, and there's applause and cheering and a countdown to a new year with celebrating all around him, and Spencer can't quite take it all in. He sits there dumbfounded for a long moment while people around them throw confetti and blow paper horns and mack on complete strangers. It takes him a while, but finally he looks up, looks at Ryan and Keltie who are watching him with big eyes, leaning their chins against their hands in mirror images, like he's a fascinating experiment they're conducting or a watched pot about to boil or something. "You knew?"
"Yes," They both say, and Ryan half-shrugs one shoulder and adds, "He got in touch with Trish online. She was afraid you'd keep punking out-"
"I was going to call him!" Spencer defends. He was. Probably.
"So," Ryan continues as if Spencer never said a word. "We thought maybe you could use a push."
"A push?" Spencer repeats.
"Go talk to him," Keltie suggests gently. "He's waiting for you."
"I still don't know what to say," Spencer says, and he smacks Ryan on the arm when he rolls his eyes. "After hello, asshole."
Keltie smiles, and reaches across the table to squeeze Spencer's hand. "Tell him you missed him too."
Spencer's knees are a little weak as he nears the door that says very clearly on it 'Authorized Personnel Only.' Does someone maybe sort of writing a song about you make you authorized? Spencer takes a deep breath, and starts to push the door open when someone taps him on the shoulder. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck, Spencer thinks and turns around, trying to think up some bullshit story that's going to get him behind that door.
Jon's standing there, looking worried. "Spence, hi."
"I need to talk to him," Spencer says, and he draws up to his full height, doing his best to look intimidating. "I'm going to talk to him."
"Hey, I'm not trying to-" Jon waves his hands around, shaking his head. "I just wanted to say sorry."
"Sorry?" Spencer's got to stop repeating what other people say tonight, it's making him sound as stupid as he feels, but this is not that moment, apparently.
"I shouldn't have interfered," Jon admits sheepishly. "I shouldn't have talked you into... I didn't mean for you to go away, I just wanted to protect him, you know?"
Spencer gets that, so he nods. Honesty more than grace makes him admit grudgingly, "You didn't make me do anything, I-"
"I suggested it," Jon counters, and he looks sad for a minute. "I forget that he can take care of himself, sometimes. He was kind enough to remind me."
"Is he mad at you?" Spencer asks, when what he really means is, is he mad at me?
"He was," Jon admits, and Spencer thinks he's answering both questions. "But he got over it. He forgives, it's what Brendon does. After the yelling. And making me sing Disney tunes with him."
Spencer can't hide the laugh, and Jon grins. "Oh, yeah, laugh it up - see how you feel after the third rendition of Kiss The Girl! And he never lets me do Sebastian, I'm always the background fish, it's not fair."
"That's because your Caribbean accent is crap."
Spencer stiffens slightly. Brendon.
He turns around, and there Brendon is, leaning around the door, half-hidden from the room at large. He's still wearing the tuxedo shirt he'd performed in, but it's untucked and his sleeves are rolled up. He looks delectably disheveled. He's got this tentative smile, but there's a pinched, worried look in his eyes that Spencer wishes wasn't there. Spencer shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to feel somehow less awkward. "Um. Hi."
"Hey," Brendon says softly, and his smile brightens just a fraction. He leans back, swinging the door farther open. "Want to hang out backstage? I've got connections…"
"Sure," Spencer nods and starts toward him. He half-turns back to Jon and says, "See you around."
Jon gives him a smile that's easy and relieved. "Hope so."
Brendon leads the way through the unpainted, utilitarian back-of-the-house, dodging waitstaff with a practiced ease. Once, a girl about the twins' age stops him and shyly asks for an autograph, and Brendon poses for a photo with her on her cell phone. She flashes them both a pleased smile as she heads back toward the lounge.
"This is me," Brendon says a minute later, pushing open a door with a piece of paper that says "Dressing Room" taped to it. It's small but they've made an effort - a nice counter with makeup lighting down either side, a loveseat crammed against one wall. There's a guitar leaning against it, and Spencer wonders if it's Brendon's. There are posters in frames on the walls, and a fruit basket on a low table by the couch.
"So…"
"So," Spencer echoes, and now that he's here, he has no idea what he's supposed to say.
"So your sister says that you're a self-sacrificing idiot, and that I should never let you make decisions," Brendon leans back against the counter-top, practically sitting on his hands as he looks at Spencer with big eyes. "She says you can't be trusted to actually put what you want first."
"I'm out of practice at it," Spencer admits. He stays where he is, just inside the door, a few feet away from Brendon.
Brendon nods, like he's taking that in, and then he looks up at Spencer through thick lashes. "You didn't answer my calls."
"I know, I'm sorry, I…" Spencer runs one hand through his hair, trying to find a way to explain. "I thought… I didn't want to know if you hated me. I just… I'm sorry."
"Why would I hate you?" Brendon frowns, his brow wrinkling. "I was a little pissed, yeah, but not… we could have talked about it. We should have talked about it."
"I know, it just seemed… I didn't want to ruin things for you, and I was trying to protect the girls' privacy, which trust me, they've set me straight on-" Spencer rolls his eyes, and Brendon grins. "Very clearly and using words I should never have taught them when they were little."
Brendon laughs, and his shoulders loosen a little. "Good for them. And I get why you wouldn't want to expose them to that, I know it's a strange thing to have the world interested in the intimate details of your life, and I wish I could keep that part of my life away from all the people I care about. But I can't control that."
Spencer shrugs, "I know. I should have… I should have given them more credit, that they could handle it if people started asking them questions about the accident, or brought up the settlement from the airline… I just wanted to spare them the pain. And I wanted you to get your record made."
"I wish you'd just told me that," Brendon moves toward him a step. "I could have told you that Jon was just worrying, because that's what managers do, what friends do. I could have told you that if people don't want to listen to my music because I'm gay, then those aren't people that I want listening to my music anyway."
He takes another step closer, and into Spencer's personal space. Spencer can't stop the way he leans toward Brendon any more than he could stop breathing, and he can feel the heat of Brendon's body from inches away. He has to force himself to pay attention to the words Brendon's saying.
"I did an interview on Monday with Out magazine, it's going to be an internet exclusive and it should be online any day now. I was always going to come out eventually. This just moved up the timetable by a few months. It was one of the reasons I left SNAP - I spent most of my twenties having to hide who I am, and I don't want to do that anymore, whether it's with you or with someone else," Brendon says earnestly, and then pauses before grinning mischievously up at Spencer. "Just to be clear though, I want it to be with you."
"You... you really still want to?" Spencer has to ask, but he reaches out and rests his hands on Brendon's hips. Brendon steps even closer, pressing his body flush against Spencer's, and the breath stutters out of Spencer's lungs.
"I really still do," Brendon's eyes flare wide, solemn, even though he's still got the tail end of the smile on his face. "I know it won't be easy, I know my life is a little weird to most people, but... I think we could have something really special, if we just let ourselves try, Spencer."
"I think so too," Spencer says softly, and he flexes his hands, thumbs pressed against Brendon's hipbones as his fingers fan out across Brendon's backside. Oh, God, he thinks, they're actually going to do this. He's dating someone; no, not someone, but Brendon. He grins wide and bright, knowing that he probably looks like a big goofball in love, but so the fuck what? He totally is. "Let's do this."
"Oh, Jesus, we have got to try doing this in an actualfax bedroom sometime," Spencer groans, kneeling up from his spot between Brendon's legs to cradle the elbow he just rammed into the console between the front seats of his car. Either he's grown or cars have shrunk since the last time he tried this.
"Bedrooms are far, far away," Brendon pants, rolling his hips up against Spencer's. It would be sexier if he didn't have his trousers and a pair of neon yellow briefs hanging off one leg. Oh, fuck it, who is Spencer kidding? It's still pretty fucking sexy. "Bedrooms are for pansies."
He sits up, capturing Spencer's lips with his own, burying one hand in Spencer's hair. Suddenly Spencer's elbow doesn't hurt quite so much, and he reaches between them to wrap one hand around Brendon's dick. Brendon gasps, catching Spencer's lower lip between his teeth, and hastens to return the favor.
"Oh, sweet- fuck, Brendon," Spencer licks his way inside Brendon's mouth until they both have to come up for air. "You're so... I want to fuck you, want-"
And then he freezes, and he'd swear the hair on the back of his neck stands up.
Brendon stops too, and he looks up at Spencer with big eyes. "Did you hear something?"
"I think so, I-"
Brendon reaches up and wipes the fog off the window just in time to hear another snick-click of a camera and a flash going off less than twenty yards away.
"Shit." Spencer closes his eyes, and tries not to panic. They're just sitting here half-clothed, okay, less than half-clothed, in a parking lot in a car with fogged up windows that twenty seconds ago might have possibly been rocking. Pictures can't capture rocking, can they? "Shit, I-"
"Fuck it," Brendon shrugs.
"What?" Spencer looks at him incredulously, because this is so totally the start of round two, how does Brendon not see this? He tries to convey this, but all he can manage is a higher-pitched, "What?"
"We aren't doing anything wrong," Brendon says, and then grins. "Well, okay, maybe a little public indecency, but hey. What they can't see can't hurt us. I don't care who sees me kissing you. Do you care who sees you kissing me?"
Spencer thinks about it for half a second; no, he really doesn't. He'd kiss Brendon in front of the whole world. He shakes his head. "No. No, I don't care."
"Sooo," Brendon turns to the window and wipes it clear again. He smiles and waves as the flash flares again. "If you don't care, and I don't care..."
He pulls Spencer back to him, and whispers against his lips, "Then why aren't we kissing?"
Spencer would answer, but he's a little busy.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-12 04:27 pm (UTC)