The Sweet Spot, 1/2

[vixalicious]

Title: The Sweet Spot
Author: vixalicious
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer, (Ryan/Keltie)
Rating: R
Word count: ~15,000
Disclaimer: So completely on the not true side that it's almost worked it's way back around. Or, er. Something. They're probably not doing it, y'all.

Written for harlequin_bands
Original prompt:"Responsibility" should be Nicole Keyes's middle name. After all, not many people would sacrifice their lives to run the family bakery and raise a younger sibling. But with Nicole's twin sister now blissfully married and her younger sis turning out more femme fatale than girl-next-door, super reliable Nicole is getting sick of putting everyone else's needs first!

Enter Hawk. The deliciously sexy former NFL player offers Nicole a taste of the freedom she craves. Hawk may know the way, blindfolded, to her sweet spot, but Nicole's not about to let him get close enough to break her heart. Of course, she might not have a choice in the matter if Hawk's past keeps getting in the way of their present.

Summary: "Responsibility" should be Spencer Smith's middle name (except it's James). After all, not many people would sacrifice their lives to run the family bakery and raise their twin sisters. But now the girls are grown, and Spencer has to learn to put his own needs first! And Brendon, the Sweet Spot's newest regular, might just be what Spencer's looking for. But will Brendon's past get in the way of their present?

Notes: Completely unbeta'd - if I missed something glaring, let me know. Also, contains chats and texts that are purposefully misspelled and might make your eyes bleed if that sort of thing bothers you. In other news, I've aged them up; this isn't future fic, it's present day but they're just older. Also, names of family members have been changed because they didn't sign up to be famous on the internet.

ETA: Now on AO3 here



~*~


"Time to make the donuts!"

Spencer rolls his eyes at Travis, and if he wasn't up to his elbows in flour, he'd reach over and smack him. "It is far, far too early to be making jokes like that. Plus it stopped being funny the four-hundredth time you said it, which was at least two years ago."

"Nope," Travis grins unrepentantly as he ties on an apron. "Still funny, boss."


The word 'boss' still makes Spencer start, and he has to stop himself from looking behind him to see if his dad is standing there. He isn't, of course. Hasn't been for nearly ten years now, though it doesn't seem like it could have been that long ago since the plane crash that had orphaned him and his baby sisters. The shop still looks almost the same as it did then, on the day his parents left it in his care with admonitions to look after both the store and the twins. They were headed to San Francisco for a work conference, one of those small-business seminars. They never made it home, but Spencer can't help but look after both like they might walk back in tomorrow.

He works quietly next to Travis for the next two hours as they prepare the day's goods, and the air is thick with the smell of baking croissants, cinnamon rolls, and his mother's special recipe banana-nut muffins. Travis chatters on about the party he's going to on Saturday, about the project he's working on for his classes at UNLV, and Spencer half-listens, half-works on this week's supply order in his mind as they go through the familiar morning routine.

At half past five, he leaves Travis to finish up and heads into the cramped office crammed between the kitchen and the front. If he works at it, he might be able to break away by two and take a nap before he goes to pick the girls up from the airport. He tries really hard not to think about how pathetic it is for a twenty-nine year old man to be planning an afternoon nap, and instead focuses on the girls.

It's their first weekend home from college, and he can't contain his excitement to see them. They've been gone for almost two months now, and as much as he's proud of the smart, capable women his sisters are becoming, he can't help but wish they'd chosen a school closer to home. Brown's a great school, but Rhode Island is a long way from Las Vegas, and while Tosh emails him all the time, it takes a near Act of Congress to get her or Trish on the phone. He's down to facebook-stalking his own sisters, and his goal for the week they'll be home for Thanksgiving is to find out who the hell has Trish's relationship status set on 'it's complicated.'

He can't do anything til they get here, though, so he does what he does every morning: he flips on the lights, slides open the bakery cases, and with Travis's help, everything is ready to go on time. At six am, he turns the sign on the door, and The Sweet Spot is officially open for business.

~*~

"My God, I swear they've grown." Ryan flops down on the couch in Spencer's living room, sprawling awkwardly. The glass of wine he's holding almost falls victim to his drama, but at the last second Keltie swoops in and saves it from tipping on to Spencer's mom's prized Persian rug. Spencer's always liked Keltie, she's good people. Even if she married his batshit-crazy best friend.

Spencer tries not to yawn - he never did get that nap, he'd had to re-do the schedule for next week at the last second so one of his employees could go to Laughlin to take care of a sick grandmother. He'd liked to have been upset about it, but spending a week in Laughlin is punishment enough for anyone. "They haven't grown, Gramps. They're almost nineteen. Perhaps you're just shrinking in your old age."

"Oh, God, here we go," Keltie groans.

Ryan jackknifes himself up to a sitting position. "Thirty is not old! Thirty is the new twenty!"

"Funny how the only people who ever say that are people who aren't in their twenties anymore," Spencer baits his best friend with a smirk and an air of smugness that comes from being the youngest person in the room. He's a year and two days younger than Ryan, and he has every intention of torturing Ryan with this every day between now and next August when Spencer turns thirty himself. Revenge is a cold bitch, and so is Spencer - this is totally payback for the year that Ryan kept saying things like 'There's this fantastic new club, everyone is going, oh wait, you can't get in.'

The girls have gone out to catch up with their friends from high school, or they'd be right there with him, saying things like "When you were born, had they figured out the earth was round yet?" and "What was it like when the dinosaurs roamed the earth, Ryan? Did it make it hard for you to get to school?" They're awesome, they're like Spencer's bitchy little wingmen, and he's so glad they're back home, even it's just for a week.

Unfortunately, they're just as likely to say the same things to him, so he's kind of glad they're not around when Ryan retaliates with, "I may be old, but at least I'm getting laid once in a while, unlike some people I could name."

"Hey!" Spencer and Keltie object simultaneously.

"I get laid!" Spencer defends.

"Excuse me?" Keltie scoffs, crossing her arms and scooting an inch away from her husband.

Ryan rolls his eyes, but he reaches out to tug her back closer. "Sorry, we make love, a choir of angels sing, et cetera..."

"Oh, please, I fuck you within an inch of your life," Keltie smacks him across the chest. "On a regular basis. 'Once in a while,' my ass."

"We could do it that way once in a while, sure," Ryan agrees solemnly, but his eyes are sparkling. Keltie tries to look outraged but the giggling doesn't help her case. He turns his attention back to Spencer with a level look. "Speaking of anal sex, we were talking about you not having any."

Keltie laughs outright at that, and Spencer chucks a coaster at her. She bats it away with practiced ease. "Yeah, Spencer. We're kind of worried that your ass virginity may have grown back."

"My- my WHAT?" Spencer turns seven shades of red and splutters for a full minute. Ryan laughs so hard he actually rolls off the couch, and he is officially fired as Spencer's best friend. "It doesn't work that way, you assholes." At least, he hopes not. "And it hasn't been that long."

"Six months since you hooked up with that one guy at that place downtown," Ryan says from the floor. "And almost a year before that."

"And you haven't been with anyone since I've known you, not seriously." Keltie adds, and she's got her worried face on now.

"It hasn't been all that long," Spencer argues weakly as he tries to think back. "I've been busy, what with the store and the girls and-"

"And the girls are grown now," Ryan says gently. "I know, it was hard on you. I wish... I wish I'd known how to be more help back then."

"You helped." Spencer shrugs the regrets away. They'd been so young, and at twenty Ryan had been dealing with his own issues, his own losses. Spencer doesn't begrudge him having to do his own growing up.

"But the girls are grown now," Keltie repeats, one hand wrapping around the nape of Ryan's neck. "And you've got the youngest case of empty nest syndrome on record. You rattle around in this house, you don't go out on the weekends."

"I have a job that starts when most people are coming home from the clubs." Spencer can hear the defensiveness in his own voice and he tries to dial it back a notch. "Besides, it makes me feel ancient. The last time I went out, I ran into one of the twins' friends from school. I remember this guy when he was in the seventh grade. He used to come to the girls' parties. Now he can get into clubs. And he hit on me. I felt dirty for days."

"Well, at least," Keltie grins slowly, and that never bodes well for anyone. "You could be his sugar daddy."

Spencer and Ryan both groan, and Ryan grabs a pillow off the couch and bats it at her as punishment. She wrests it away and bops him with it once on top of the head. "Seriously though. You need to get out more. Get a hobby that doesn't involve your sisters or baking soda. Ryan and I could set you up with-"

"Absolutely not! No set ups, never again. Just because you know two gay people does not mean those two gay people should meet."

"Rick was a sweetheart-"

"Rick was an obsessive-compulsive control freak with four dogs and a coke habit. I thought he was going to snort me whole before he figured out it was flour on my hands and not blow."

"Okay, okay," Keltie acknowledges. "Not my finest match ever. But still, you've got to quit hiding behind your job and get out there again."

"Before it's too late," Ryan adds. "Before you turn into the world's first gay spinster."

And now it's Spencer's turn to beat Ryan with a pillow.

~*~

It's ten minutes past six, and Spencer's only just now sliding the last tray of eclairs into the display case when the front door chimes with their first customer of the day. Saturdays are slow, everyone sleeping in, although they do get the occasional 'we've been up all night, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas' early morning drunks. Spencer really hopes this isn't one of those - he started his day by oversleeping, having to run for it to get to work on time, all the while worrying about the girls and how their flight back to Providence was. They still haven't called or texted, and he's trying not to worry, trying and failing. He could really use a day where his customers aren't assholes, but he's been around long enough to know life doesn't actually work like that.

This guy, for example, looks like a prime example of an asshole. He looks like all the scene kids that Ryan, and by proxy Spencer, used to hang out with back in high school, back when they had a band, back before Spencer had to give up teenage angst to be a responsible adult. The guy is wearing sunglasses inside, giant ugly ones with white frames that Spencer can recognize from twenty feet away as Gucci. His skinny girl's jeans are rumpled and stained, held low on his hips by a studded leather belt and a prayer, and his hair is rucked up like he either spent all night partying or fucking or both.

Spencer just hopes he's not still drunk. He can deal with the attitude, but the last time they got drunk kids in, they ate two donuts and then proceeded to barf in one of the booths. Spencer still has nightmares about cleaning that up. He plasters a completely fake smile on his face and greets his customer cordially. "Good morning, welcome to The Sweet Spot. What can I get for you?"

The guy's eyebrows do this weird waggling thing, like he's coming up with an appropriately lewd response to that, and Spencer sighs internally. Yep, asshole, he thinks, and waits to hear what the guy comes up with. He's shot down cuter drunks than this guy, although his ever-honest inner monologue makes him admit not by much. He really is hot, which only points further to his being a complete ass.

"Whatever you call your largest latte," is all the guy says though, as he bounces on his toes, his head angling down to take in the contents of the display. "You guys make all this here?"

"That'd be a large - we're not much on pretending to speak Italian here - and yes," Spencer relaxes just a notch, because the guy doesn't seem to be intoxicated. "All fresh, every day."

"That's so awesome," the guy says, and he seems genuinely excited.

"Says the guy who didn't start his morning slaving over a hot stove." And that's a little snarkier than Spencer would normally be with a customer, but he's over-tired and worried, and thrown off-kilter by the fact that he can't get a read on this guy. Assholes don't usually tap out the rhythm to Silverchair - on beat - along with the store's stereo system at six am; nice guys don't usually walk around with designer jeans and hair styled by someone else's libido.

"Says the guy who's gratefully going to reap the benefits of someone else slaving over said stove," The guy just grins at him, all bright white teeth and full-lipped, and Spencer finds himself starting to smile back grudgingly. It catches him by surprise, so he frowns and goes to make the latte.

By the time he turns back around, the guy is kneeling in front of the case, smudging Spencer's glass with one hand and clutching his sunglasses in the other. He looks like he may have fallen in love with processed sugar, and Spencer wonders for a second what else he's going to have to clean off the case.

The guy just looks up, though, and smiles again. His eyes are brown and bright, kind of tired looking but that's the norm at this hour, either up too late or too early. He gives Spencer a solemn look. "I need help- Sorry, what's your name?"

"Spencer."

"Spencer, that's an awesome name. I'm Brendon." And he looks a little self-conscious as he says it, but he shrugs it away so quick that Spencer decides he must have been imagining it. "Spencer, I need your help. Life or death matter here, seriously."

Spencer raises an eyebrow in response, and Brendon nods like that was assent. "It's a question of vital importance: the coffeecake or the banana ginger muffin?"

Spencer mulls it over, as Brendon gives him a hopeful look. "Muffin. Cream cheese icing."

Brendon beams at him, and seriously, that kind of gorgeous ought to be illegal this early in the morning. "I knew you wouldn't lead me astray."

~*~

The bell over the door rings, and Spencer forces himself not to turn, not to look to see if it's Brendon.

Just because Brendon's come in every day for the last three weeks, usually after ten, after the breakfast rush, when they're down to college kids on laptops slowly sipping coffees they can't really afford and Spencer can take a break, can pretend to clean the tables off while they have conversations about things like Elvis impersonators and the lost art of hackey sack. Just because he's done that, and just because it's nearly noon and there's been no sign of him, Spencer's not worried. He's not missing Brendon, he's just concerned about one of his customers.

He lasts fifteen seconds before he looks up.

It's not Brendon.

Spencer internally rolls his eyes at himself as he serves the customer, because really. Grown man. Happiness not dependent on seeing a customer, a customer, who he's known for less than a month.

It's just. It's just Brendon's always got this edge of sunnyness to him when he comes in, not like everything's always great for him, but like he always hopes it will be.

Sometimes he comes in with his friend Jon or this giant guy named Zack, who looks like he could actually kill people but is actually pretty cool, and he's just as sweet and spazzy and random when his friends are there. But mostly he's alone and he always comes in when business is slowing down. Spencer glares at the coffee stain on the table top he's scrubbing, because it looks like maybe Brendon isn't coming today and Spencer misses him and if he doesn't come in, Spencer may never figure out if Brendon's flirting with him or not.

He's maybe out of practice at this whole thing. He sighs, and scrubs harder. He hates it when Ryan's right.

"Hey, Spence."

Spencer starts, his head jerking up. Brendon's standing there, looking disheveled and still a little sleepy, thumbs in the pockets of too-tight jeans, square-rimmed red glasses perched on his nose and a hellacious case of bed-head. He grins sheepishly. "I overslept. I am, as we speak, late for work." He rocks forward on his toes just a bit. "But I didn't want to start the day without you. Or, er... your coffee, I mean."

He's blushing just a bit, as he grins, and Spencer thinks 'flirting, definitely probably flirting, right?' but just grins back and says, "I knew you just wanted me for my lattes."

Brendon laughs, then looks up at Spencer coyly. "Oh, not just."

Definitely flirting.

~*~

"He could be a spy!"

"Ryan, he's not a spy." Spencer laughs as he chucks another load of laundry into the dryer.

"He totally could be- BASTARD! Sorry, some asshole just cut me off."

"An asshole cut you off on the Fifteen, color me shocked," Spencer rolls his eyes and gets back to the subject at hand. "Ryan, yesterday he tripped over his own shoelaces and knocked over a canister of cinnamon. I'm pretty willing to bet that Brendon is not a secret agent."

"Industrial espionage - he's trying to sabotage you!" Ryan insists.

"Whose industrial espionage? It's not like we're exactly cutting into Starbucks profits or anything."

"Okay, then. If he's not a spy, or married, or a jerk, then why haven't I, your best friend in the whole wide world, your blood brother, why haven't I got to meet him yet?"

"Um, well. Let's see, setting aside the fact that you are a total drama queen," Spencer snarks as he slams the dryer door shut. "There is the small fact that we aren't actually dating."

"So?" Ryan seems blithely unconcerned by this small fact, and Spencer can almost see the accompanying hand gesture waving that worry away through the phone line. "I still have vetting rights. You like him, you talk about him all the time, you're going to ask him out, once you actually get the nerve up to do it. And you totally met Keltie before I asked her out."

"Because she was the girls' ballet teacher, not because of some epic best friends thing," Spencer argues.


"Still!"

"Ugh, call me back when you've regained reason," Spencer groans, snapping the phone shut and cutting Ryan off mid-huff. He addresses the empty room. "So in a decade or so."

He looks around the room for a second. The laundry's going, the floors are sparkling, and yesterday he even cleaned the grout in the shower. He wonders if maybe he should get a dog. His phone trills, and he flips it back open to read the text Ryan's sent him.

'u r an ass. tlk to you in 2018? or when u gro balls and ask hiim out. Kel wants 2 dbl date.'

~*~

Two nights later, Spencer's sitting in his office sorting through stacks of paperwork, figuring out schedules and purchasing, balancing long columns of numbers on his computer, and generally wishing he could be doing anything else on a Tuesday night. Especially when he has to be back here for work in less than eight hours.

The tapping takes him by surprise, and for a second he thinks he's hearing things. But no, it's definitely there, louder this time, someone knocking on the front glass. He gets up, trying not to think about the burglaries and home invasions they show every night on the local news. This is his store, though, and if someone's trying to break in, they'll have to come through him first. He grabs the first quasi-weapon-like thing he can get his hands on and heads out front.

Brendon's standing pressed against the glass, one hand cupped around his eyes as he peers inside. He's shivering just a little in the December desert night, but when he sees Spencer, he beams and starts waving like a lunatic.

Spencer disables the alarm and unlocks the front door, and Brendon comes tumbling inside. "Thanks! I saw the light on and it isn't usually, so I was worried something was wrong so I thought I should check it out. Jeez! I forgot how cool nighttime gets in Vegas this time of year, I should have worn a hoodie or something. Is that a stapler?"

"It's. I. Yeah," Spencer rubs one hand over the nape of his neck sheepishly. "I sort of thought you were breaking in."

"Oh shit!" Brendon looks horrified. "Dude, I probably scared the shit out of you, I am so sorry! Did you call the cops?"

"No, I just-" Spencer stops when Brendon smacks him hard on the arm.

"Are you crazy? You thought I was a robber and you were going to what, staple me into submission?" Brendon's frown is just as fierce as his smile, and Spencer desperately tries not to think it's cute when Brendon puts his hands on his hips as he continues his tirade. "You could have been hurt or worse, Spencer! Next time, call the police!"

"Okay," Spencer agrees solemnly as he relocks the door. "Next time you bang on my glass, I'll call the cops."

Brendon tries not to smile, but he loses the battle. "So not what I meant. Whatever. Loser."

"Ah, I'm wounded," Spencer puts one hand to his chest, faking a hit. "The guy with nothing better to do than wander around a strip mall parking lot at-" He breaks off, checking the clock on the wall. "Ten-thirty at night thinks I'm a loser. Life as I know it is over."

"Smartass."

Brendon's laughing though, so Spencer's counting it as a win. He waves toward his lighted office with the stapler. "Come on, come back to the office and keep me company. Unless you were really headed somewhere?"

"Nah, we were just- I'm on my dinner break." Brendon follows behind Spencer, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I totally have time to hang out."

Brendon's never said what he does, and Spencer hasn't asked. Obviously it's not a nine-to-five gig, but this is Vegas and that could mean anything from rent boy to tech support. It's a twenty-four/seven kind of town. Spencer wonders if he should ask, but first things first. "Have you eaten then? We always have day-old something around here."

"I never say no to baked goods."

"Words to live by," Spencer grins. He waves Brendon toward the other chair in his office. "Make yourself at home, I'll be right back."

Spencer's digging in the walk-in, seeing what's easy to get to, when he hears Brendon call out to him. He ducks his head back out of the refrigerator and yells back. "Yeah, what?"

"Who's Trish?"

Spencer frowns because, hello, random. He shouts back, "My sister. Why? You want chocolate cake or carrot cake?"

"Chocolate!" Brendon's reply is cheery. "And she's IM'ing you on facebook."

"Oh, shit! Um," Spencer juggles the two cakes, trying to sort himself out. He's been trying to talk to Trish all week, to finalize their Christmas vacation plans, but their schedules have been shit. Of course she'd ping him now, when he's trying to flirt with a cute boy. "Can you tell her I'll be right there? I hate to ask-"

"No, no worries, I've got it!"

Brendon's laughing softly when Spencer walks back in, carrying the plates of cake. He's sitting behind Spencer's desk typing, so Spencer takes the other chair and waits for him to finish.

"Your sister's funny."

"Yeah, she's a special snowflake." The words are mocking, but the tone gives him away every time. He loves his family, and he's so proud of the girls.

The computer beeps again, and Spencer leans forward curiously. "What's she got to say tonight?"

Brendon flips the screen to where they can both see it, and Spencer starts reading through the chat log.

trish: hi spence!!
spencer: hey this is bden. spence'll be right back, eh's getting me cake.
trish: oookay. hi bden. i'm spence's sis
spencer: yeah, he said. nice to meet you!
trish: why's he feeding you cake?
spencer: bcuz i didn't break into the store
trish: ???
spencer: long story. u'll have to ask him
trish: k.
spencer: how's school?
trish: ok. boring. how do you know spencer?
spencer: i came in for coffee one day and decided to stay
trish: oh. oh you're brendan! brenden?
spencer: brendon. guilty as charged! how did u know?
trish: ryan said. well, never mind. he mentions you sometimes
spencer: awesome :D at least i hope so - good mentions me or god this jerk needs to disappear mentions me?

"I don't think you're a jerk," Spencer says softly. "I like it when you come around."

"Good," Brendon smiles, and Spencer grins back at him for a moment, like the giant goofball he is, before he goes back to reading.

spencer: wait no don't answer.
spencer: if he thinks i'm a jerk, it will make me cry into my cake. soggy cake = bad.
trish: that's my bro. his cupcakes bring all the boys to the yard
spencer: lol true. so what collegy type things are you up to tonight?
trish: writing a paper and waiting for my bf to call

"Boyfriend? I knew it!" Spencer smacks one hand on the desk, and Brendon gives him a bemused look. "I've been trying to get her to crack on this for weeks! Ask her who it is, find out his name. And how old he is. Ooo, and where he lives!"

"And his social security number?" Brendon laughs, but he starts typing again.

spencer: ur bro is having kittens. who is bf?
trish: oh shit! tell him it's no one.
spencer: u are waiting for no one to call u? i dont buy it.
trish: do you have brothers?
spencer: y. 2. both older.
trish: then you know what it's like
spencer: protective?
trish: no one expects the spanish inquisition; everyone expects the spencer inquisition

"I'm not that bad!" Spencer defends, but he's guessing that Brendon doesn't buy it judging by the way he's giggling. "You're so mean."

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger!"

"Mean. Both of you." Spencer tries to keep a straight face, but he mostly fails.

spencer: he sez ur mean
trish: yeah, well, get him to tell you about the time he embarrassed me in front of my prom date
trish: then see who's mean
trish: ooo, tell him i'm dating a tattooed biker with three kids and a prince albert
spencer: ...
spencer: i think he just swallowed his tongue
trish: no wait, an octogenarian politician. he's a barrel of fun as long as we remember to bring the oxygen tank
spencer: he's turning multiple shades of pink. it's surprisingly hot on him
trish: ew, ew, brother! *scrubs brain*
trish: tell him i was jk
trish: and i will tell him when i'm ready not when he is

Spencer makes a frowny face at the screen, and gestures to Brendon to let him at the keyboard. Brendon slides it over without argument, and turns to his cake.

spencer: hey, this is spence. stop being a grown up, it freaks me out.
spencer: i'll lay off
trish: wouldn't be spencer if you didn't worry. i'm ok. tosh has my back
trish: at least until she runs off to france
trish: shit, don't tell her i told you that
trish: there is no france. france does not exist.
trish: these aren't the droids you're looking for.

Spencer rolls his eyes, and types a quick 'you're a moron, I love you, I'm going now' back at her and closes out of the screen.

"So you guys are close?" Brendon says around a mouthful of moist chocolate cake.

"Yeah, we-" Spencer breaks off for a second, taking up his own fork and toying with his cake. Ten years, he thinks it ought to get easier to tell people; this may be why he doesn't let that many new people into his life. He hates lending credence to any of Ryan's theories, though. "Our parents died when the twins were really young, plane crash... So I moved back home and. Well, you know." He waves the whole thing off. "So yeah, close. I'm still trying to get used to the idea that they're all the way across the country."

"You raised them?" Brendon looks a little taken aback when Spencer nods. "That's amazing! You can't have been very old yourself."

"Nineteen," Spencer shrugs it off. He knows he isn't a saint, never has been. "It's not... it's just what you do. It's family."

"It is special, Spencer. Not everybody..." Brendon frowns for a moment, and he looks down at the cake with a bit more interest than in warrants. "When I was seventeen, my parents kicked me out. Because... well, let's say I wasn't living up to their expectations of the good little Mormon boy." He looks up, with the most serious look Spencer's ever seen on Brendon's face. "So you know, it's not what everyone does."

He's drumming his thumb against the desktop, and Spencer reaches across without thinking and takes his hand. He feels kind of silly after he's done it, but Brendon just looks up and smiles at him. Smiles at him with sympathy, not pity, and laces their fingers together.

"I'm sorry your parents died."

"I'm sorry yours sucked," Spencer smiles tentatively, and breathes a sigh of relief when Brendon returns it full-fledged.

They fall silent for a moment, focusing on their desserts, but it isn't as awkward as it could be. Still, Spencer's relieved when Brendon starts talking again, and the conversation turns to other topics, lighter things. They finish their cake, and Spencer heads to pile the dishes into the dishwasher, Brendon trailing behind him, regaling him with a story about the first time he got stoned. "-so there we were on the roof of this hotel in Cincinnati, and suddenly Jon needs White Castle. Like needs, won't shut up about it, and who am I to say no, right? So we go to head back downstairs and the door is locked. Jon's tugging and tugging, but it's not budging, and then of course it starts pouring down rain, so he calls Zack to come get us. So ten minutes later, Zack calls back all like, 'very fucking funny, where are you guys?' and Jon's all 'dude. roof.' And Zack starts to get pissed, because he's on the roof and we aren't there. It took us a solid ten minutes to convince him we weren't screwing with him and for us all to figure out that Jon and I had accidentally gone back to the wrong hotel."

"Oh, shit!" Spencer grins. "Stoner."

"No, we weren't even stoned then, we're just that fucking special! In our defense, all hotels start to blend after a while."

"What do you do that you're at so many hotels?" Spencer asks, leaning back against the counter, because Brendon's never really mentioned what he does, but obviously it has something to do with Jon and Zack, and keeps him well enough to buy five-dollar coffees.

"Oh, just... just a business trip. Dull, really," Brendon shrugs, then sweeps a look up at Spencer through the thick sweep of his lashes. His expression changes, and he takes a half-step toward Spencer. "Hey, you've got some frosting..."

Spencer blushes, and quickly raises one hand to his chin. "Fuck, where?"

"Here." Brendon steps all the way into his personal space this time, reaching up and brushing his thumb slowly across Spencer's bottom lip, his eyes downcast and focused on Spencer's mouth. Spencer feels his breath catch at the heat in Brendon's eyes when he looks back up and whispers, "Got it."

"Oh, good," Spencer says faintly, and then he doesn't say anything at all, because Brendon's mouth is on his. For such a tiny guy, he's surprisingly strong as he presses against Spencer, reaching up to tangle his hands in Spencer's hair, to pull him down against him, to push him back against the edge of the counter behind him. It brings him back down to earth enough to mumble "What are we doing?" against Brendon's lips, because Jesus, they're in the store, anyone who walked by could see them through the pass-thru window, but that's not enough to make him want to stop when Brendon replies:

"I don't know, but I like it." Brendon starts working the buttons of Spencer's black button-down open impatiently, his mouth leaving Spencer's to trail down over newly-exposed flesh. Spencer tips his head back, moaning as Brendon pushes the fabric aside and laves his tongue over the sensitive nub of Spencer's nipple. His own hands slip down, cupping Brendon's ass in both hands and pulling him closer.

"Really, really like it," Brendon mumbles against Spencer's skin, and it makes Spencer huff out a laugh that's half amusement, half shiver. He wants more, wants closer, wants more skin, so he slides his hands up Brendon's back, rucking his t-shirt up, and Brendon catches on quick. He pulls back, pulls it up and over his head, and his hair and his glasses are askew as he tosses it to the ground. He might just be the hottest thing Spencer's seen, like, ever, and he grabs Brendon by the biceps, pulling him back.

They're kissing again, and his own shirt is gone, pushed off his shoulders and farther by Brendon's wandering fingers. Skin to skin, touching, and Spencer can feel the throb of his arousal pressed against Brendon, but nice as the friction is, he wants more. He growls low into Brendon's ear as he thumbs the top button of Brendon's jeans open. "Wanna touch you."

"Mmm, yes," Brendon rubs up against Spencer, which doesn't really help the cause but feels really fucking good. He puts one hand on Spencer's chest and pushes him backward, landing him on top of the prep counter. "After I get done."

~*~

"Wow."

They're on the tile floor, and Spencer's pretty sure it would feel cold if under any other circumstances but right now, sweaty and sated with one sticky hand against the flat plane of Brendon's stomach, it feels pretty damn cozy. Which is good, because he's not entirely sure his legs still work.

Brendon looks thoroughly debauched, kiss-red lips, too-tight jeans still down around his thighs, and Spencer's feeling pretty proud that he's responsible for that. Brendon grins like he knows that - hell, Spencer knows it's probably written all over his face - and he laughs. "I'm never going to be able to look at baked goods the same way again."

Spencer can't hold back the laughter, and he hides his face in the curve of Brendon's neck. "It was the closest thing at hand! Not like we keep a supply of lube here or anything."

"Speaking as a regular customer, I am relieved to hear that," Brendon teases. He tips his head back against Spencer's shoulder, turning his head to give Spencer an impish smile. "Besides, it just gives me new ammunition in Jon's epic game of I-Never."

"How are you going to get him to say he never got a handjob with vegetable shortening?" Spencer wonders aloud, then remembers the last time Jon came in, they ended up having a semi-serious conversation about elephant testicles. "Never mind."

"Ah, good, you're learning not to question my powers," Brendon says with a smug nod. "Wise."

Spencer smirks and taps Brendon lightly on the back of the head. "I'd warn you to use your powers only for good-" He reaches out, traces a line down Brendon's chin, turning him to look at Spencer. He runs his thumb along the line of Brendon's lush, full lower lip, remembering the feel of that mouth around him. "-I kind of like it when you're wicked."

"Mmm, maybe you need a second demonstration," Brendon twists around enough to get his lips on Spencer's, and Spencer highly approves of this. This is an excellent plan. Or it is until he feels an electric twitch and shake against his thigh, and Brendon mumbles, "Shit."

"Is that a phone in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Spencer asks as Brendon moves away, rising to his knees so he can dig the phone out of his pocket.

"Oh, my god, how many years have you been waiting to use that one?" Brendon manages to roll his eyes and read the text at the same time.

"A few," Spencer admits cheerfully as Brendon taps out a reply. "Everything ok?"

"Yeah," Brendon frowns distractedly. "Just. I hate to do this, but I've got to go. It's... a work thing."

"Oh." Spencer tries not to feel disappointed. Work's work though, and Brendon had said he was only on a break. He scrunches up his face. "You aren't in trouble, are you?"

"No, no, I... just... people are waiting on me," Brendon gets to his feet, and then reaches out a hand to help Spencer up. He watches while Spencer zips up his jeans, and then he leans up for another kiss, just a soft brush of contact. "I'm sorry, I'd stay if I could."

"It's okay," Spencer smiles softly, because when Brendon's looking at him like that, it is. "So I don't know what your schedule's like this week... I leave on Friday to go see the twins, we're doing the whole 'Christmas in New England' thing, but I'd like to see you again. Maybe get dinner? Or just, you know, see you outside of the store?"

"And maybe try this again with a bed and condoms and real lube?" Brendon teases, and Spencer laughs.

"Yeah, we could definitely do that. If you're up for it."

"I think I could find the time," Brendon grins, shrugging and looking down. Then he frowns, scratching at a dark, greasy spot on the front of his jeans. "I'm never going to get the Crisco out of these."

Part 2

Comments

[mrsquizzical.livejournal.com]

this actually had a couple of laugh out loud and squeak moments in it!the im stuff was awesome!

[vixalicious]

Ah, awesome! I'm so glad you liked it - I had way too much fun with the IMs.

[mass-hipgnosis.livejournal.com]

"Rick was a sweetheart-"

"Rick was an obsessive-compulsive control freak with four dogs and a coke habit. I thought he was going to snort me whole before he figured out it was flour on my hands and not blow."

*mad cackling* THAT WILL NEVER NOT MAKE ME LAUGH.

Also I love the Spencer / Ryan / Keltie friendship dynamic more than is probably wise or healthy. They've got these inside jokes and they're so snarky with each other and the tone is just *spot-on.*

And your Brendon is spazzy and adorable. As Brendons tend to be. Which is awesome. Obviously it's not a nine-to-five gig, but this is Vegas and that could mean anything from rent boy to tech support. You realize, of course, that now I need fic in which they are 1) rentboys; and 2) call center graveyard-shift zombies. And that it must be Spencer/Brendon. And that I'll probably end up writing it myself. And then I will have INFLICTED MY FIC on my shiny new fandom and it will be ALL YOUR FAULT.

Trish and Brendon's chat convo made me giggle.

*clicks for more*

[vixalicious]

Thanks for the awesome feedback, and welcome to bandom! It's so shiny and addictive! :)