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Spencer, naturally, is right on time. Brendon wonders if Spencer’s ever late for anything. He was probably born on the exact day the doctor predicted, or whatever.

Brendon’s stomach is fluttering. He’s been going over and over their—whatever, their almost-kiss—since Thursday night’s jazz-band practice, and it’s all muddled in his head now. It had seemed so clear at the time, that Spencer was into him, that they’d tacitly agreed to something, but now he’s not so sure. Tacit doesn’t really work; Brendon learned that with Nick. So he’s gonna have to suck it up and go for explicit.

They’re mostly alone on the shuttle, and there’s no one around them at the back of it, so Brendon slides in next to Spencer. “So,” he says.

“So,” Spencer agrees.

“You know, RA really isn’t a very authoritative position.” Brendon hadn’t planned to start with that, but somehow it popped out. He’s gonna go with it. “You don’t grade me or anything. You can’t get me expelled.”

“I probably could get you expelled if I really—”

Brendon waves him off. “You wouldn’t do that. And it’s not against the rules, I checked.”

“Still. It’s not—it’s not very fair to you.” Spencer’s looking away, down to the front of the bus. “No matter what I might—want.”

Brendon reaches over and picks up Spencer’s hand, rubs his thumb against the back of it. “It is if it’s what I want, too,” he murmurs, and Spencer’s head swings around to look at him.

“Then—you have to tell me,” Spencer says. “I can’t—you’re the freshman, and I’m the RA. You have to tell me.”

Brendon wonders if that’s all Spencer’s been waiting for. “I want.” Spencer shakes his head, like that isn’t right. “Do you need specifics? I want—” Brendon licks his lips. “I want to date you. And maybe, if it goes well, to be your boyfriend. And I want to kiss you, and have kinky sex with you, and hold hands with you.”

“Right,” Spencer breathes, and then he’s leaning in, grasping Brendon’s face in his hands and kissing him. Spencer’s mouth is warm and forceful and Brendon almost moans into it, forgetting they’re in public. “Right, so—we should skip the party.”

“What?” Brendon blinks back to—whatever, the state of not being kissed into blissful incoherence by Spencer Smith. “Why would we skip the party?”

Spencer looks as confused as Brendon. “Oh, um. Did you not want to go, uh—follow up?”

Brendon swallows. “I want to follow up at the party,” he says. “Don’t you?”

“That’s a little, ah, high-pressure,” Spencer says. His gaze keeps dropping down to Brendon’s mouth. “For our first—anything. Even if we just play, no—sex, that’s still. That’s a lot of pressure.”

“I do my best work under pressure,” Brendon grins. He gets it, but—but he wants to go back into Steve’s playroom, to have Spencer take him in there and show him what he can do.

“Then—” Spencer checks his watch. “Okay. Short-form negotiation. What are you into? What do you want me to do to you?”

Brendon tilts their still-joined hands enough that he can trace his pinky finger over Spencer’s thigh. “Anything,” he says, and it comes out low and gritty.

“Anything?” Spencer asks. “So if I wanted to carve my name in your forehead with a penknife—”

“Whoa,” Brendon interrupts, and he can’t help but recoil back a little. “You want to—”

“No. But it’s covered under ‘anything,’ isn’t it?”

Brendon makes a face. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” Spencer says. “Or, okay, yeah, I know you probably don’t mean I can carve things in your forehead, but there’s a lot of stuff between ‘touch my cock’ and that, and I don’t know how you feel about all of it.”

“Well, whatever, then don’t do weird shit.” Brendon doesn’t really see why this is that hard. He likes regular stuff. Or—well—kinky regular stuff. Anything is regular compared to forehead-carving, he’s pretty sure.

Spencer sighs, leans back against the seat. “What exactly do you and Shane talk about?”

“Not forehead-carving,” Brendon says.

“Okay,” Spencer says. “We’re gonna do this the other way around, then. I’m into impact play, scratching—fingernails, sandpaper, the ends of clicky pens when the pen part is retracted, whatever—" He’s starting to check things off on his fingers. “Wax, rope, bondage in general, sensory deprivation, some exhibitionism, some voyeurism, giving orders and having them be followed, discipline scenes for not following orders, um—”

“I think that guy over there can hear you,” Brendon says. He wants to hear the rest, but he’s pretty sure Spencer didn’t mean to attract an audience.

“Uh,” Spencer says, lowering his voice. “Look, is any of that stuff you aren’t into? Is any of it stuff you are into?”

Brendon thinks through the list in his head. “Maybe not the sandpaper,” he says. “But, um. The rest sounds—yeah.”

“Okay,” Spencer says.

“See?” Brendon grins. “I’m easy.”

“Yeah. You are easy,” Spencer murmurs, and then he clears his throat, adopts a less sexual tone. “But I want you to be easy for me because you can trust me, not because you don’t know the kinds of things that can go wrong.”

Brendon knocks his shoulder into Spencer’s. “Okay,” he says. “So what are you gonna do, then?”

“I’m going to give you orders,” Spencer says, and his voice is lower, his body turned towards Brendon’s on the seat. “And you’re going to obey them.”

Brendon’s mouth is suddenly very dry. “Okay,” he says, and licks his lips. “Yes.”

“Good,” Spencer says, and the shuttle pulls up to the stop. Spencer grabs Brendon’s shoulder, holds him from standing up. “Shake it off,” he says. “Before we catch the bus.”

Brendon knows what Spencer means, he’s pretty sure, and he takes a deep breath and tries to stop feeling like everything other than Spencer has ceased to matter. “Yeah?” Spencer says, and Brendon nods.

The bus ride to Steve’s neighborhood is shorter than the shuttle, and crowded. They chit-chat about jazz band, nothing sexy or kinky, and Brendon feels like himself again, antsy and hyperactive. He wants the other thing back, the quiet focused thing.

Brendon pulls the collar out as soon as the bus leaves them behind, buckles it around his neck. He’s gotten fast with it, but it still takes a moment’s concentration, and when he lets go and looks up, Spencer’s in front of him, staring at him. Brendon swallows, feeling the way the buckle presses on his throat.

“Now,” Spencer says. “That’s—I know that’s not for me—” He gestures to the collar “—but I’m saying now. You ready?”

“Yeah,” Brendon says, and Spencer nods, once.

“Stay close,” Spencer says, and Brendon tucks up into him, just far enough so he won’t trip over Spencer’s heel on the walk down to Steve’s house. There’s no one else on the sidewalk, not in a residential neighborhood like this with garages and backyards, but Brendon feels like maybe he wouldn’t notice even if there was a crowd. He’s too glued to Spencer, to every little move Spencer makes.

“In the house,” Spencer says, half a block later, “You’re going to stay close. No talking unless I tell you to speak, or if I ask you a question. If I sit in a chair you kneel next to me, facing out. Okay?”

“Okay,” Brendon says, and his voice comes out breathy and turned-on.

Brendon wants more than that—he wants Spencer to take him right into the back and hit him with stuff and fuck him. He’d wanted Nick to do stuff right away, too, hadn’t wanted to waste time mingling. But Spencer—he knows Spencer wants him there. He knows Spencer wants to date him. So maybe he can wait.

He’s not sure it’s allowed, but he reaches up and squeezes Spencer’s hand for a moment, and Spencer glances back at him and smiles.

“Yeah,” Spencer says, and then they’re on the threshold.

Spencer hands his own twenty over and then runs his hand down Brendon’s back to his ass, slides Brendon’s wallet out. Brendon’s pretty sure the slow stroke and the careful way he’s opening the wallet are meant to give Brendon time to object, and he smiles at Spencer and keeps his hands out of the way so Spencer can put his wallet back.

The living room’s full of people again, and Spencer walks them right over to Shane. Brendon’s not sure if it’s more or less—strange, to be doing this in front of a friend instead of a stranger, but it’s not like he didn’t see Shane up against a wall that one time. Fair’s fair.

“Hey,” Shane says, and he puts up his hand to punch Brendon in the arm the way he always does. Spencer catches Shane’s fist in his hand before it touches Brendon, moves until he’s between them.

“Not right now,” Spencer says, low, and Shane looks between them. Brendon stays put, close behind Spencer, and Shane takes another look at them and drops his arm, grinning.

“Nice,” Shane says. “I was wondering if you were gonna get it together.”

Spencer shrugs, moving back until he can get his hand on Brendon’s lower back. His palm is warm, and Brendon feels heavier just from the feel of it, like he could sink into the floor. “Apparently I wasn’t hiding my interest as well as I thought I was.”

Shane’s smirking, leaning back against the arm of an overstuffed couch. “And to think Brendon didn’t call me and tell me. Me, his beloved mentor and friend.”

“Well,” Spencer says. “Um, it actually only—we only decided on the way here. Actually.”

Shane laughs, a little too loud for the room. “Oh man,” he says. “So this is your first date, basically.”

“Hey,” Spencer says. “It was Brendon’s idea. I just wanted to go back to the dorms.”

It should be weird, the way they’re talking about him instead of to him. But Spencer’s thumb is petting him, gentle back-and-forth strokes, and Brendon’s having a lot of trouble caring about anything beyond that, anything that isn’t Spencer touching him. It’s—relaxing, sort of, not to have to be funny and interesting and the life of the party.

“I bet you did,” Shane says. “So? What’s the plan?”

“Mm,” Spencer says, and turns to look at Brendon for a long moment. “Nothing too exciting. Straight D/s.”

“You know he’s good with—”

“Yeah,” Spencer interrupts, and he turns toward Brendon a little more, smooths his hand around from Brendon’s back until he’s holding Brendon’s shoulder, thumb tucked into the hollow of Brendon’s throat. “You’re very good with pain, aren’t you, Brendon?”

Questions—Brendon has to answer questions. “Yes.” The movement of his throat shifts the skin under Spencer’s thumb, and Brendon’s eyelids try to slide shut without his conscious approval.

“You want it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Brendon says, and gives up on keeping his eyes open while Spencer’s touching him like this.

“You’d let me spank you?” Spencer’s voice is quieter now, but Brendon can’t hear anything else, the noise of the room fading away.

“Yes.”

“You’d let me cane you?”

“Yes.” Brendon lets his head fall forward a little, chin sinking down over Spencer’s hand. He feels heavy all over, like Spencer’s thumb is the only thing keeping him upright.

“We’re gonna go in the other room now,” Spencer says, and Brendon doesn’t answer, because it isn’t a question. Dimly, he hears Shane telling Spencer he’ll see him later, and then Spencer’s got his hand over Brendon’s eyes. “You can keep them closed,” Spencer says. “I’ve got you.” He wraps his other arm around Brendon’s waist, pulls Brendon tight into his side. “Walk with me.”

Brendon thinks of movies he’s seen, where the kidnapping victim tries to count the steps or keep track of the turns. This doesn’t feel anything like that. Brendon knows where they’re going, and he knows what they’re doing, and he wants—he’d let Spencer take him into an abandoned warehouse. Spencer’s trustworthy.

“What are you smiling at,” Spencer murmurs, but Brendon’s pretty sure he doesn’t have to answer that one. “I’m going to sit down now,” Spencer says instead. “Do you remember what to do?”

“Yeah,” Brendon says, and when Spencer sinks down away from Brendon, Brendon lets himself tip forward onto his knees, presses himself against the warmth of Spencer’s thigh. The floor is soft under his shins, and he wonders if Spencer found a place with mats for him.

“Hands behind your back,” Spencer says, and Brendon pulls one back and then the other, clasps them in place. “Good,” Spencer says. “You look so good like this, Brendon. You look obedient. I’m the envy of the room, you know that? Everyone wishes they had you kneeling next to them.”

Brendon leans in closer, sighing out a long breath, and the corners of his mouth twitch when Spencer’s hand comes up into his hair. He can’t quite manage a smile, but inside he feels—contented, like he could just do this all weekend, just sit here and be petted and have Spencer tell him he’s obedient.

There’s nothing like this in the porn he watches. Brendon’s glad Spencer knows stuff that isn’t from porn. Maybe he’ll tell him that later; it doesn’t seem that important now, and anyway Brendon’s not supposed to talk. He’s allowed to just—be.

“We’re gonna sit here a while,” Spencer says, voice gentle. “And then I’m gonna help you up and we’re gonna go back out to the living room so I can talk to some of my friends. But you can stay—feeling like this, if you want to. If you can sustain it. I’ll keep you safe, if you want to stay like this.”

Brendon doesn’t nod, because it’s too much movement to bother with, but he leans his head back into Spencer’s palm, lets Spencer cup his skull and hold him up.

“You’re so out of it,” Spencer murmurs. “We’re gonna have to learn how all the best ways to get you back up to reality.” He rubs the tips of his fingers into Brendon’s scalp, a gentle massage, and Brendon lets out a quiet sound, not much more than a breath. “I wish I could get you all the way back to the dorms like this. I’m gonna feel kind of mean bringing you back to earth so we can leave.”

Brendon doesn’t want that, either, to have to stop feeling like this, and he turns his head enough to press his face into Spencer’s thigh. “We’ve got time,” Spencer says, tickling his scalp. “And I can put you under again later, if that’s what we decide. You’re so responsive.”

They’re quiet for a stretch of time. Brendon doesn’t open his eyes, and he isn’t sure how long it actually lasts; it feels like ages, but not long enough, when Spencer slides his hand down to Brendon’s shoulder and says, “Okay. I’m gonna get up, and then you’re going to. If you need help, you can hold onto me.”

Brendon doesn’t know why Spencer thinks he can’t stand up on his own, but when he tries, he almost tumbles over, legs weak. His whole body feels like concrete jointed with jelly, and he wobbles against Spencer’s side until Spencer gets an arm firmly around him. “You’re okay,” Spencer says, and Brendon manages a half-nod. He’s okay. He’s way better than okay.

“Eyes open,” Spencer says, and Brendon blinks against the low lights of the back room. There are a handful of people playing, and Spencer walks them over to watch a scene, stopping well away from the people in it. One of the guys is Hans, and he’s got a guy Brendon sort of remembers from the munch, Danny, tied up with dark green rope, head to toe with knots and wraps Brendon can’t begin to puzzle out.

“It’s gorgeous,” Spencer whispers. “You’d look amazing like that.”

Brendon can’t take his eyes off the way Hans is checking the ropes, testing how tight they are, running his fingers under them. Danny’s head is thrown back, and his cock in his briefs is hard.

“I’m not as good as Hans,” Spencer says. “But he’s taught me some tricks. I could make it so you can’t move an inch, if you wanted. Or I could make it so you could walk around, but you’d feel the ropes on every deep breath.”

Hans is still tugging at ropes, adjusting, and Spencer turns them away, past a couple of guys gently flogging a third, and out into the kitchen.

“You can come up, if you want,” Spencer says. “Or not. But you have to keep following the rules until I say it’s time to go. Okay?”

“Okay,” Brendon agrees. The kitchen looks blurry, and so does Spencer, like a Star Trek alien princess under the soft-focus lens.

“Okay,” Spencer repeats, and leads them out into the living room.

***

Brendon’s not sure, when they get back to Spencer’s room, whether this is “up,” really. He’s aware and awake and he isn’t having trouble keeping his eyes open, but he still doesn’t feel like himself, not really. Everything’s still kind of muffled, like he’s forgotten to take out his earplugs after a concert.

“God,” Spencer says, as soon as the door closes. “I want—I want to kiss you, can we—”

“Fuck yeah,” Brendon grins, and Spencer pushes him back against the door, licking and biting at his mouth. It’s more excitement than skill, but Brendon’s on the same page. Following Spencer around the party and zoning out of his conversations hadn’t felt long at the time—it had been nothing Brendon ever wanted to stop doing—but it’s been hours since Brendon last kissed Spencer, and right now he can’t believe they went that long. “You can always be kissing me.”

“Good,” Spencer mutters, and then his hands are under the hem of Brendon’s shirt. “I want more, if that’s—”

“Yeah,” Brendon says, although he has to stop himself from saying “anything.” “Yeah, yes, sex, we should do that. Yes.”

Spencer sucks in a harsh breath, pushes Brendon’s shirt up over his head. “Want to see you,” he says, and Brendon’s head falls back against the door, baring a little more of his skin to Spencer’s gaze.

“Yeah,” Spencer says, and leans down to kiss Brendon’s throat, scraping his teeth against the skin. “Fuck, you looked so good in that collar.” The words make Brendon newly aware that the coiled collar is digging into his hip, but he’s pretty sure his pants are coming off soon, so he doesn’t bother to readjust it. “You taste—”

Spencer’s voice cuts off and Brendon feels more than he sees Spencer dropping to his knees, fingers on the fly of Brendon’s jeans.

"Been wanting to do this," Spencer says, half into Brendon's hip. He pops the button, and Brendon tilts his head down to watch. Spencer's got a gorgeous mouth, and maybe Brendon had thought about this mostly the other way around, but he's sure as hell not going to turn it down.

Anyway, he's pretty sure that Spencer could still tell him to do something and he'd do it, even if Spencer's mouth was on his dick. Well, except Spencer wouldn't be able to say anything with his mouth on Brendon's dick. But if he, like, signalled something. Brendon doesn't think Spencer knows any sign languages, though. Maybe they could learn. Or they could have, like, a system of signals for different things, like—

"Pay attention," Spencer says, and then he pulls Brendon's cock out of his jeans and sucks the head into his mouth, wet and hot.

Yeah. Brendon's definitely still following Spencer's orders, even with Spencer on his knees. He can't take his eyes off Spencer, the way Spencer's glancing up at Brendon between strokes. Spencer keeps catching Brendon's eye just long enough to make Brendon blush at how dirty-hot it is for Spencer to be watching him watching Spencer suck him off. It's like some kind of exhibitionist loop, and Brendon wants to get trapped in it.

"You're—good at that," Brendon says, and Spencer's lips tighten around Brendon's dick like maybe he's trying to smile. "I want to go next."

Spencer pulls his hand off Brendon's hip long enough to flash a thumbs-up, and then he's diving back into it, twice as fast, spit dripping down from the messy redness of Spencer's mouth. Brendon wants to see this all the fucking time, suddenly. To slide onto Spencer's drum throne after jazz band and beg Spencer to suck him, please, please. Or to have Spencer tie him up, like he'd said at the party, head-to-toe and unable to move, unable to buck his hips up into Spencer's mouth.

He doesn't last long, can't. Spencer pulls off at Brendon's gasped, "Coming," and strokes him through it. Brendon leans heavily into the door, trying not to let his knees fail him, and then Spencer's slithering back up Brendon's body, pressing into him. His cock is a hard line against Brendon's belly, and Brendon reaches down to Spencer's fly, skipping right over the issue of his shirt.

"Bed," Spencer says, and Brendon's next to it almost before the syllable's faded from the air. He'd blush, maybe, at how easy he is for Spencer's instruction, except that—well. They both like him that way, Brendon's pretty sure.

"Lie down," Spencer says. "Yeah?"

"Yeah?” Lying down to blow Spencer means— ”Oh. Yes. Yeah!" That was maybe slightly too enthusiastic, but Spencer’s grinning at him, anyway. Brendon drops his pants first, settles himself on the bed with his feet dangling, so there's plenty of room for Spencer's knees when Spencer climbs up over his face.

"You like it like this," Spencer says, and Brendon nods.

"I've never—like this," Brendon admits. "But yeah."

"God." Spencer pulls his dick out and squeezes the base of it, hard. "God, you're so fucking hot, Brendon."

Brendon arches under him, desperate for Spencer to—do this, to fuck his mouth like this. “Please,” he says, and Spencer groans, leaning forward to brace himself on the wall.

The first push of Spencer’s big cock between Brendon’s lips makes him moan around it, eyes slipping shut. He’s given blowjobs—some, anyway—but not like this, not lying back and having the blowjob sort of done to him instead of the other way around.

It’s hot, ridiculously hot, but it’s also making Brendon’s neck absolutely ache, and he reaches up to drag the pillow down from the head of the bed. “Sorry,” Spencer says, and Brendon just sucks harder.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Spencer says, and Brendon moans around him. “You like—the talking?”

Brendon can’t nod his head, exactly, but Spencer seems to get the point. “It’s—if I’d known how good this would feel, I’d have ordered you to suck me at the party. You would have—you’d get on your knees and let me, let me fuck your mouth in Steve’s back room.”

Fuck. Brendon’s not sure anything’s ever sounded quite as good as that, and the way Spencer’s voice is washing over him is—is like—

“Yeah,” Spencer says. “Fuck, yeah, you can—go under for me again, yeah. You’re so good like this, B. You’re so fucking hot, giving it up for me.”

Brendon’s thoughts are slowing down, but this time he’s kind of aware of it, not just going with the flow. It’s weird, but he has the feeling like maybe he could stop, if he wanted to, and just go back to normal. He just really, really doesn’t want to, so instead he lets himself drift, focusing on the weight of Spencer’s cock in his mouth.

“So—fuck, so good, so—” Spencer’s hips jerk forward, and then he pulls out, jerking himself off. Brendon slits his eyes back open to watch, just in time to see Spencer cupping his hand over the head of his dick as he comes. Spencer sinks back onto Brendon’s chest, wipes his hand on the lower leg of the jeans he’s still wearing.

Brendon’s eyes drift shut again, and he feels Spencer climbing down next to him, squeezing between Brendon and the wall. “Quiet time,” Spencer murmurs, and Brendon takes a deep breath and lets it out. Hopefully that’s enough of an answer.

Brendon doesn’t sleep, but he isn’t exactly awake, either. When Spencer finally stirs, squeezing an arm around Brendon’s waist and kissing his jaw, Brendon lets his head turn toward Spencer. It feels like a lot of effort.

“How you feeling?” Spencer asks, and Brendon summons up enough energy to make some kind of sound. He’s pretty sure it’s a reasonably good “fine, thanks” sound. “You thirsty?”

Brendon supposes he's pretty dry-mouthed. "Yeah," he manages, and Spencer huffs a laugh, tucks his face into Brendon's shoulder.

"You sound so out of it," he says. "It's nice."

"'s nice on this end." Brendon's pretty sure he's only sort of intelligible right now, but Spencer bites his shoulder, anyway, and Brendon tilts into him a little more.

"So, uh," Spencer says. "That was a good party, huh?"

Brendon laughs, and finds he's got his regular gravity back. He pushes himself over enough to roll onto Spencer. "Yeah. Good party. Great after-party."

***

Ian throws a party on a Tuesday night, because Ian is a free spirit or something.

"I think it just means he doesn't have morning classes on Wednesday," Spencer points out, and Ryan snorts behind them. Brendon's started seeing a lot of Ryan, outside of their a capella practices. Luckily, Ryan's way more easygoing when Spencer's around.

"Freshmen," Ryan mutters, and Brendon turns around to mock-glare at him.

"Hey now," Brendon says. "Ian is a class unto himself."

"Accurate," Ian says, swinging out of his doorway and waving them in. "Heyyy, what's that now?"

He's pointing at Spencer's arm, sneaking around Brendon's waist. "Uh—surprise," Spencer says, and Brendon leans back a little and kisses the corner of his mouth. Ryan groans and walks past them into the party.

“So this means you’re the freshman Spencer had the crush on,” Ian says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Guilty," Brendon agrees.

Ian starts to retort, but his head suddenly snaps up. "Dallon, my man! I thought you were swamped with that take-home thing.”

Dallon’s coming up behind Brendon, wearing a skinny tie and a pretty sweet suit to go with it. He shrugs at Ian. “It wasn’t as bad as Way made it sound. Did you do the first question or—”

Brendon has no patience for schoolwork discussions at a party. "Dude! Long time no see!"

"Oh, yeah?" Ian says. "You've been sleeping elsewhere, huh? Are you in the CIA, Dallon? You can tell us. It's cool."

"Probably a secret girlfriend," Spencer says. "You been sneaking off to get jiggy wit—you know what, let's pretend I didn't say that."

Dallon, inexplicably, is blushing.

"Ha, yeah, secret girlfriend," Brendon agrees, smirking at Dallon. "That's gotta be it, right? You totally met some nice girl in orientation and you're like engaged or some shit. It's that or heroin."

"He'll never tell," Ian says. "It's totally the CIA thing."

"You've been holding out on me, bro." Brendon grins. "Have you totally saved us from, like, terrorist attacks and shit? Or do you secretly speak Korean? Because that would be awesome.”

Dallon’s still kind of standing there, blushing, when a girl comes around the corner and trots toward them. “I’m so sorry I’m late, babe!” She grabs Dallon’s hand and leans up—and up and up—to kiss him on the cheek.

“Oh my god,” Ian says. “Is this your CIA partner?” Spencer laughs and flicks Ian in the arm.

“I may possibly have a secret girlfriend,” Dallon says, finally. “Breezy, this is Ian, Spencer, and Brendon. Guys, this is Breezy.”

“Sounds like a codename to me,” Ian says.

“Oh, it totally is,” Breezy agrees. “Wait, shit, now I have to kill you. I’ll come in the night when you’re least expecting it.”

“I like this girl,” Brendon says, and Dallon smiles at him, and down at Breezy.

“Yeah,” Dallon agrees. “She’s all right.” Breezy knocks her hips into him, and he kisses the part of her hair.

Brendon leans into Spencer’s side. Ian's still making CIA jokes, ribbing Dallon the same way he made fun of Brendon and Spencer, and Ryan's poking his head out to see why everyone's still in the hall. They aren't even in the party yet, and this is already the best one Brendon's ever been to.

***

The party was awesome, but the way Spencer's fingers keep stroking over little bits of Brendon's skin makes it easy to decide to duck out early. Brendon feels like his pulse has been racing for an hour, and they're pretty much running back to their dorm, Spencer running ahead and tugging Brendon with him, laughing. Brendon's pretty sure they're putting on an embarrassing show for everyone walking around the campus, but he really couldn't care less.

They barely manage to get into Spencer’s room before they’re kissing, teeth biting into each other’s lips. Spencer’s pushing Brendon’s shirt up and scraping his nails over Brendon’s skin, digging burning lines across Brendon’s chest and back.

“Fuck,” Brendon groans, and Spencer pushes him back against the door, throws the lock.

“Arms,” Spencer says, and Brendon gets them up over his head, tries to grip the top of the doorframe for support. It’s impossible to concentrate on anything except the way that Spencer’s mouth feels on his nipple, the way Spencer’s rocking against Brendon’s thigh.

“Want to—” Spencer doesn’t finish his sentence, but his hand comes up under Brendon’s shirt, nails scratching at his sides.

“Yeah,” Brendon groans. Spencer hasn’t done much of this yet, like he’s been easing towards the painplay, and Brendon can’t stop thinking about how good it’s going to be. “Yeah, please.”

Spencer shudders against him. "Fuck, we're—this was so fucking worth staying sober for. Gonna tear you the fuck up."

That sounds—yeah. "Yeah," Brendon says. His arms are getting tired, and he digs his nails farther into the wood.

"Gonna fucking—" Spencer pulls Brendon off the door, steers them towards the bed. "Clothes, get—"

Brendon's kind of amused at the way Spencer's lost the power of speech, but it's not going to stop him from getting the fuck out of his clothes so they can do—whatever it is they're about to do. His skin is humming with the anticipation of it. He doesn't even know what Spencer owns, what might be hidden in his drawers and under his bed.

Spencer's stripping, too, shirt over his head, undoing his belt. Brendon sits back on the bed to watch, and Spencer ... doesn't put the belt down. Oh, fuck. "Yeah?" Brendon says, staring at it. His mouth is watering, which is just a ridiculous reaction to this, but he wants it.

"Yeah," Spencer says. "My hand first."

Brendon's breathing heavy now, like he's been running instead of sitting here watching his boyfriend fold a belt in half. Spencer's hands are big and broad and calloused and they feel amazing stroking Brendon's skin and fisting his cock, but Brendon's really fucking sure they're going to be even better spanking his ass.

"Should I—" Brendon gestures at the bed, half-turns himself.

"Flat on your belly," Spencer says, which is definitely not how it works in porn. Brendon seriously needs to find better porn, apparently, or else maybe give up on thinking he'll be able to predict Spencer's actions from it. "Arms over your head."

Brendon settles himself, keeping his thighs mostly together, because he's pretty sure that getting belted on the balls would be a little more than he's necessarily up for tonight. Sometime, maybe, but not right now. Actually, that sounds kind of—but, okay. Not right now.

"God, you're all smooth," Spencer says, stroking his hand from Brendon's scalp down to the curve of his ass. He rubs Brendon's thighs a little. "You're gonna look so red when I'm done with you."

Brendon whimpers, and he can't even pretend to be embarrassed about it instead of really, really turned on. "Yeah," he says, and Spencer leans over and kisses Brendon's ear.

"Don't move," Spencer says, and drops the belt next to Brendon.

The first couple of spanks don't feel like much of anything. They don't even startle Brendon, because they come so fast, and they don't hurt at all. After a few more, Brendon's wondering if maybe this whole thing isn't as great as he thought it was going to be, because it's sort of fun to feel his whole body reverberate from the strike, but his ass doesn't hurt at all. He doesn't even feel warm.

Several strikes later, and Brendon's starting to get back into the appeal of it. Spencer’s hand stings, now, a sharp pinching kind of pain that makes Brendon want to arch back into it. He settles for moaning, instead, urging Spencer on. Spencer’s hitting him with both hands, Brendon’s pretty sure, and there’s no real pause, smack-smack-smack-smack, until Brendon can’t keep track of how many or how long it’s been, just of how he’s starting to feel sore instead of stingy.

His dick is grinding into the bed, and Spencer’s muttering something about how well he’s taking it, and Brendon’s definitely, definitely back on the spanking train. He is buying his fanclub membership and getting his “I ♥ spanking” t-shirt. Which—that’s kind of a weird thought. Brendon laughs, more of a giggle than not, and Spencer pauses, rubs one hand into the sore skin of Brendon’s ass.

“Shit, listen to you,” Spencer says, and Brendon laughs harder, because Spencer’s voice is low and growly and hot. “Fucking running over with endorphins, huh?”

“Dunno,” Brendon giggles, and he feels Spencer pulling the belt out from where it’s gotten half-trapped under Brendon’s side.

“Just a few,” Spencer says, and Brendon has to hold back a complaining whine. “I don’t want you to be too sore to fuck me.”

“Oh fuck.” Brendon lifts his hips off the bed for a moment, just to give his dick some breathing room, because yes, yes, yes, he really wants to fuck Spencer.

“Down,” Spencer says, and Brendon drops back onto the bed. Spencer snaps the belt, and Brendon almost jumps at the loud crack. “Antsy, are we?” Spencer’s grinning; Brendon can hear it.

“You would be, too,” Brendon says, muffled into the pillow. “C’mon, please.”

“Well, since you ask so nicely,” Spencer says, and then the belt cracks across Brendon’s ass.

It burns, sharp and searing, but it fades fast into a duller ache. Brendon can handle that, except then there’s another strike and it’s even more, burning across the bottom curve of Brendon’s ass. “Jesus fuck,” Brendon grits out, and Spencer hits him again, and once more, and Brendon’s pretty sure he’s actually never going to speak again, is just going to tense all his muscles against this pain forever and ever.

Spencer’s fingers trace over his ass, and they feel cold and soothing. “So fucking gorgeous,” Spencer murmurs. “Take a deep breath.”

Brendon sucks air into his lungs, lets it out again. The pain is receding, and in its place is—heat, and the way Spencer's fingers are dragging trails of sensation across it. "Oh shit," he groans, and Spencer climbs onto the bed next to him, turns Brendon onto his side.

"Too sore? It's okay if you are," Spencer says. "We can do something else. Trust me, there's—there's no end of stuff I want to do with you."

Brendon leans up and kisses him, pushes Spencer over and wraps one hand around the back of Spencer's head. Spencer's moaning into his mouth, biting and sucking and holy fuck, Brendon's never wanted anything as much as he wants to fuck Spencer right now. "Not too sore," he says. "I—definitely not too sore."

"Get me ready, then," Spencer says, and pulls lube out from under his pillow. "Want your fingers in me."

"Yeah?" Brendon slicks them up, gets out of the way enough for Spencer to pull his knees up. Getting to his clean hand and his knees is enough to make Brendon groan and drop his face onto Spencer’s belly for a second, breathing hard, but after that it’s good, the pulled-tight feeling. Brendon wonders if he’ll be bruised, tomorrow. He hopes so.

Spencer’s tight around his fingers, and Brendon likes the way he’s watching Brendon’s face. It’s like Brendon’s putting on a show for Spencer, and he grins and flexes his bicep more, tilts his whole body instead of just his arm.

“Fuck, okay, just—now,” Spencer says. “Fuck me.”

“Condom,” Brendon says, and Spencer swears, points at the desk. Brendon’s knees wobble when he stands up, and Spencer swings off the bed to help him, an arm under Brendon’s shoulders. “Whoops.”

“My fault,” Spencer says. “Sit down, I’ll get one.”

Brendon goes ahead and sits down, lets Spencer crawl around him back onto the bed. “You don’t want me to—um. Be on the bottom?” Brendon asks, rolling the condom on.

Spencer shakes his head. “Want you to really fuck me,” he says. “Hard and fast.”

“Right,” Brendon chokes out, and then he’s pushing Spencer’s legs back, and Spencer’s watching him, blue eyes tracking Brendon’s movements. “Right,” he says again, and lines himself up. He’s only done this, like, once, but he’s pretty sure it comes back fast.

“Oh, yeah,” Spencer groans when Brendon pushes in. “Jesus, I love getting fucked. Want you to fucking—give it to me.”

“Yeah,” Brendon agrees. He can totally do that. His first few thrusts have Spencer tilting his hips up into Brendon’s, arms coming up around Brendon’s back. Brendon’s ass is aching, and it’s so fucking good, in a way he doesn’t have any words for, lighting up his whole body. He wants to do this every day for—whatever, a seriously long time.

“Motherfucking—fuck,” Spencer says, and then he’s just making sounds, loud and low. His hands are scrabbling all over Brendon’s back, legs folding farther up to his chest, and Brendon’s just trying to keep pounding him and not come right fucking now.

Spencer’s head comes up and he keens, hands dropping to Brendon’s ass and nails digging in so hard that Brendon almost shouts from the sharp pain. He’s really fucking glad Spencer just came, because Spencer’s fingernails and his ass and his—everything are too much for Brendon’s dick right now, way too much, and Brendon’s making his own embarrassing noises and bucking up into Spencer once and twice. He doesn’t mean to collapse onto Spencer, but he can’t quite manage anything else, especially given that Spencer hasn’t let go of his ass yet.

“Holy shit,” Spencer gasps, loosening his grip and shaking out each hand. He slides up on the bed enough to free Brendon’s dick from his ass, carefully lets his legs down. “That was—that was really fucking excellent.”

“Seconded.” Brendon’s reply is muffled by Spencer’s chest.

“You can—stay here,” Spencer says. “If you want. So we don’t have to move.”

“You have the best ideas,” Brendon agrees. “Mad props, Spencer Smith.”

Spencer’s hand strokes gently over Brendon’s ass. His palm still feels tinglingly cool. “Yeah, I do have some good ones.”

***

The first jazz-band concert is on a Thursday night, in the dance studio. The acoustics aren’t perfect—the good auditorium was booked solid, and Vicky couldn’t get them a spot—but it’s a beautiful building, and Brendon wants to hear it fill up with their music.

Vicky’s already frazzled and snapping when Brendon shows up, and he doesn’t blame her. The freshmen in the horn section still aren’t up to par, and their great baritone-sax guy had dropped out of school to join a touring band, so they’re left with a merely competent replacement. Still, Brendon’s pretty sure they’re gonna be great. And if not at this show, then at the holiday show, and the one for family visiting day in the spring, and the finals-week concert. It’s kind of nice, having all of that laid out in front of him, and then three more years of it.

He’s pretty sure saying that stuff to Vicky wouldn’t help, though, so instead he gets out of her way and helps move chairs into place for the audience. “Here—” Gabe, setting his trombone down in the corner, crooks a finger at him. “We’ll do an assembly line.” The brown folding chairs are kept in huge closets hidden in one studio wall, and Gabe organizes a line of people to pass as many as they can carry out to the middle of the studio floor. Brendon’s near the end of the line, unfolding chairs as they reach him and passing them to the baritone-sax guy to arrange, when Spencer comes in, spinning a drumstick in one hand.

Brendon almost gets hit with the next stack of chairs, distracted by watching Spencer’s fingers twirling the stick. “Sorry,” he says, and the pianist, Nicole, just grins at him.

“I heard about you guys,” she says. “Didn’t know if it was true, though. Ian’s a gossip.”

“Ian’s always right,” Brendon says. He’s not surprised that she knows Ian. Everyone seems to.

They run out of chairs fast, thanks to the assembly line, and Gabe shuts the big closet doors, everyone scattering to get their instruments ready.

“Later,” Nicole says, and pops a salute. Brendon laughs, and supposes it’s okay that he can’t take over the piano parts until she graduates.

Brendon’s just gotten his stand in place when he hears someone tapping a live mic. “People,” Vicky says. “Doors open in twenty, and if your asses aren’t off the stage by then I will pick you up and possibly throw you out a window. You have been warned.”

“Brilliant and inspirational as always!” Gabe shouts, and Vicky turns a finger on him.

“That’s the end of your commentary,” she says, and he holds up his hands in acquiescence.

Someone leans in behind Brendon, and he turns to see Spencer smirking in Gabe’s general direction. “Last year he ended most of his heckling with ‘show us your tits,’ but Vicky broke him of that. Possibly by actually breaking him,” Spencer says.

“He doesn’t look that broken,” Brendon points out. Also, Brendon totally saw Gabe and Vicky making out in the student union once.

Spencer shrugs. “Maybe she put him back together.”

***

The concert is amazing. It’s been too long since the last time Brendon was on a stage—at his high-school graduation, a chorus performance in the sticky June heat. This is way better; none of them are phoning it in, even the freshmen trumpeters.

Brendon’s heart is still pounding even after all the come-down of putting chairs and instruments away. The way the audience had bounced in their seats, the applause. Brendon thinks he could learn to live on just that performance high. Who needs food or sleep or—

Sex, though. Brendon definitely needs sex. Like right now. “Hey,” he says, and swings his non-clarinet-carrying arm around Spencer’s waist. “Dallon’s gonna be out all night with his secret girlfriend, you know.”

“Is he, now?” Spencer puts an eyebrow up. “Are you suggesting some kind of inappropriate assignation to your Resident Assistant?”

“Definitely,” Brendon confirms. “How’s he feel about it, do you think?”

Spencer doesn’t answer, but he’s walking a lot faster, now. “Anything you want to do in particular?” he asks, getting out his keycard to unlock the dorm’s main doors.

Everything, Brendon wants everything. “We could, um. I was thinking maybe we could, like. Watch some porn?”

Spencer’s hustling them up the stairs, and he pauses to glance back at Brendon. “Okay,” he says. “Your collection or mine?”

“Um.” Brendon kind of wants to know what Spencer’s collection consists of, but he’s been thinking about one particular video. “Mine, I guess. This time?”

“Get it,” Spencer says, and lets himself into his room. “Meet me back here.”

Fuck, Brendon loves it when Spencer gets bossy. He almost trips over himself rounding the corner towards his room to grab his laptop. He’s slightly more careful coming back, because he’s definitely not risking the laptop, but he’s still pretty much jogging back around to Spencer’s room. “Hey,” he says, breathless, when Spencer opens the door, and Spencer kisses him, one hand on the back of his neck.

“Hey,” Spencer rumbles back, letting him into the room. “Let me guess—forehead carving, right? I know that’s what you’re into.”

“Oh, yeah,” Brendon grins. “God, I can’t get enough of it. It’s my desperate, secret desire, Spencer. I’m so glad you’re on board.”

“Anything for you, baby.” Spencer waggles his eyebrows, and then he’s laughing, tipping himself back onto his elbows on the bed. “So what is it really?”

“Uh,” Brendon says. “So you know Steve’s, like, playroom setup?” Spencer just looks at him. Right, yeah, obviously Spencer knows it. “He has that, um. Fucking machine.”

Spencer smirks. “Groupie.”

“That’s what Shane called me!” Brendon drops the laptop on Spencer’s pillow and sits next to him, curling into Spencer’s side. “What’s up with that?”

“Just, you know,” Spencer says, unhelpfully. “It’s kind of a—like, there are all these guys who are at Steve’s parties practically just for that, you know? You’d think they’d pool their cash and buy one. Maybe they like the audience, though.”

“Oh.” Brendon bites his lip. “Well, I have lots of other stuff, or—we don’t have to, like. It was just an idea.”

Spencer’s hand on his arm stops Brendon’s movement toward the laptop. “Hey,” he says, and presses a kiss to Brendon’s jaw. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s fine,” Brendon says, not looking at Spencer. “You don’t have to be into everything—”

“Hey, no. Fucking machines are hot.” Spencer pulls Brendon in even closer, whispers in his ear. “I’d love to tie you up in front of Steve’s and watch you just take it.”

Brendon sucks in a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Spencer murmurs. “There’s always a big crowd of people watching. Would you want—”

“Yes.” The word slips out of Brendon’s mouth before he even finishes thinking it.

“Right, well.” Spencer smiles, sitting up a bit. “Turn it on, then.”

Brendon’s too bound up in thoughts of the fucking machine, of its on switch, to parse Spencer’s words correctly the first time. “Oh, the—laptop. Yeah.” Brendon grabs it off the pillow, opens it up from sleep. He’s already got a window open to his porn files, and Spencer leans in before Brendon thinks better of it, skimming the filenames.

“Dude,” Spencer says. “That’s—that’s a lot of porn.”

“Uh.” Brendon clicks through to the fucking-machines file. “I guess?”

“No, like, objectively, that is a shit-ton of porn.” Spencer leans back enough to look Brendon in the face. “You’ve really been, like. Waiting a long time, huh?”

Brendon thinks about high school, about how carefully he had to hide being gay, let alone being into this stuff. “It’s—kind of part of why I went to school outside Vegas,” Brendon says. “Like, it’s a good school and all, and the music department is awesome, but I really wanted to, like. To—” Brendon can’t quite find the words.

“Yeah,” Spencer says, like maybe he gets it anyway. “To experience all the stuff you’ve been thinking about.”

“All at once,” Brendon agrees. “I had this schedule of munches, and I just wanted to go to every single one until I had, like. What the videos have, you know? The big leather top with the dungeon full of crazy toys and shit.”

Spencer makes a face, and Brendon rushes to clarify. “But I don’t—that wasn’t—you’re so much better than that,” Brendon reassures him. Brendon’s face feels hot, admitting it like this. “You’re perfect. I don’t really want that. I thought that was just, you know. That’s what the option was, you know? And I—Nick was—I thought I’d found it, or really close, and so I guess I didn’t stop to, um, to ask whether that’s what he was looking for, too, the full-time porn thing.”

“Different kind of porn,” Spencer says, and the corners of his lips are twitching. “His kind has new guys every month.”

“Yeah,” Brendon says. “I should have asked, I guess.” He makes himself look Spencer in the eye. “But you want—not new guys every month.”

“No,” Spencer says. “Just you. And not porn stuff, except the stuff we like in porn. You know?”

Brendon nods, and he can’t keep the grin off his face. “Does this mean there won’t be some kind of ceremony where like forty guys jerk off on me and then I have to promise to be your full-time slave?”

Spencer laughs into Brendon’s shoulder. “I think I have that video, too. And—yeah, I wasn’t planning anything like that.”

“Okay,” Brendon says. He looks down at the laptop and then shuts it. “Actually, instead of porn, do you think maybe we could do those checklist things? I’ve been thinking about them, and this book I picked up has a really long one. It’s kind of cool.” He’s glad he finally cracked one of his books open. There’s some pretty cool stuff in there.

“Yeah,” Spencer says, and Brendon can see all of his teeth, he’s smiling so wide. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

***

Brendon’s surprised when Shane calls, but he doesn’t hesitate to shut his textbook and answer the phone. “Hey.”

“Lunch?” Shane sounds like he’s walking, maybe, just a touch short of breath.

Brendon checks his watch. By the time Shane can get on campus, they won’t have much time to talk. “Maybe tomorrow would be—”

There’s a knock at the door, and Brendon hears it through the phone, too. “You’re here already,” he says, and Shane laughs, the sound doubling. Brendon shuts the phone and opens the door instead, grinning back at him.

“I could totally have been doing important shit,” Brendon points out. “I could have been writing a symphony.”

“Then I would have sat in the corner and not disturbed you, obviously,” Shane says. “Now c’mon, I’ve been craving those burgers all week.”

They chitchat about the fall weather and the way all the cute guys on campus are starting to cover up while they’re getting their food, innocuous stuff. Brendon supposes he wouldn’t have thought, a few months ago, that was the kind of stuff he wouldn’t care about people overhearing, but now it’s barely even on his radar.

“There’s a munch this weekend,” Shane says. “You guys should come.”

“Um. Just a munch?” Brendon had liked that first one okay, but—those munch dates in his calendar had been just the planned avenue for awesome, kinky sex. Brendon didn’t really plan on coming back after somehow landing a gorgeous toppy boyfriend.

“Yeah,” Shane says. “Spencer doesn’t usually go to many, but that’s because he does his socializing at parties. And if you guys are gonna be—I mean. Spencer talked to some people at the last party, but he wasn’t really paying attention to anyone but you.”

Brendon takes a bite out of his veggie burger. He hadn’t really thought about how he was—curtailing Spencer’s usual party activity.

“Oh, hey, not like that,” Shane says, like he’s reading Brendon’s mind. “I don’t mean you kept him from it. Trust me, he’d way rather have you on your knees at a party than have more attention to spare for Mark and Steve’s endless flirting.”

Brendon’s pretty sure that kind of sentence should be embarrassing. It is, a little, but Shane’s so—matter-of-fact. “I guess. So the munch is for Spencer?”

“For both of you,” Shane says. “Also for me, in case nobody else cool shows.” He reaches over and prods Brendon with the tines of his fork. “It’s good to have, you know, a support network and shit. Right? People who know. We can’t tell everybody, so we tell each other.”

Brendon pokes at his fries. “I mean. I’m pretty good at keeping stuff to myself, when I have to.” He has weekly calls with his family, after all.

“I know,” Shane says. “But you don’t have to be. Anyway, you’re fun, you should come. Think about it?”

“Sure,” Brendon says. “So what’s up with you?”

“Oh no no no.” Shane laughs. “Don’t think we’re not going to switch right over to talking about you and Spencer and the joys of in-hall kink, because we totally are.”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” Brendon sniffs, and then he loses it in giggles. “Man, I would be a terrible lady.”

“Well, there’s totally parties for that, if you change your mind,” Shane says. He winks, adds, “And I bet Spencer would totally get off on you in lingerie.”

“Spencer gets off on a lot of stuff,” Brendon says. “It’s, uh. It’s kind of awesome.”

Shane sits back in his chair, arm over the empty one next to him. “Yeah?”

“He’s just—it’s like.” Brendon bites his lip, tries to figure out how to explain it. “It’s like, okay. I watched all this porn, growing up, right? And it was so hot and so exactly what I wanted. Like, I had a lot of reasons for moving way out of Vegas and going to a secular school, but this—I’ve been wanting this for my whole life, it feels like. You know?”

“Oh, yeah,” Shane says, serious for once. “I definitely know.”

“And Spencer is nothing like that porn. Like, he and that porn are like, matter and antimatter or some shit. But it’s still exactly what I want. I can’t even—there’s nothing else that’s as good as even the stupidest little thing he does to me.”

Shane turns his head as a group of students pass close by their table, waits until they’ve gotten out of range. “See, that’s—like, that’s not how it was for me and him, right? That’s not just normal, for, like, any two guys who are into the same stuff.”

Brendon manages to contain his “really?” He could listen to Shane telling him that his relationship with Spencer is awesome and spectacular for pretty much unlimited amounts of time. “Cool.”

“Yeah, smug it up, you lucky asshole.” Shane swipes a few of Brendon’s fries. “Someday my prince will come, or whatever.”

“You’re looking for a prince who wants to take you down to the dungeons,” Brendon points out. “I don’t think Disney really covered that.”

“Whatever,” Shane says. “Someday my toppy exhibitionist voyeur will come.”

“And come, and come, and—” Shane’s laughter drowns out the rest of Brendon’s repeats, and a couple of girls at a table nearby turn to see what’s so funny. Brendon decides to switch topics. “So, hey, I was reading this thing and I thought you’d explain it better than the book did.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Shane says, arms out. “Let me drench you with my awe-inspiring wisdom.”

“Ew,” Brendon says, and throws a fry at him.

***

Brendon pretty much has to drag himself out of Spencer's bed on the day of the munch. "We could just stay here," he mumbles into Spencer's chest. Brendon likes that the single beds kind of necessitate cuddling. Jamie definitely wasn't into that, but Spencer seems like he likes it, or at least like he's tolerant of the way Brendon curls around him.

"We promised Shane," Spencer says, but he sets the snooze. "Five minutes."

"Shane can suck it," Brendon yawns, and Spencer snorts, hand trailing down Brendon's side to his hip.

"Shane's not getting near 'it.'" Spencer wraps his hand around Brendon's cock, morning-hard. "But I will."

"Sold," Brendon agrees. "Best wake-up call."

By the time Brendon's coming, arching out of the warm sheets underneath his back, he's pretty much awake without the possibility of getting back to sleep. "All right," he says. "Munch it is."

"Shower time." Spencer swings out of bed, wraps a towel around his hips and picks up his shower kit. "If there's no one around, we can throw back the curtain between the showers."

"You're a terrible influence," Brendon says, and pulls his pajama pants off Spencer's floor. He's not sure when these even ended up in here. "My mother warned me about boys like you."

"No, she didn't."

"Well, she would have." Brendon wraps his arms around Spencer's waist and kisses his shoulder blade. "You're definitely one of those dangerous seductive types."

"Shower," Spencer says again, and Brendon lets himself be led.

***

The munch is at a Friendly's this time, and Brendon blinks against the too-bright interior. The group's got a room to themselves, and Shane's with the usual suspects, Sarah and Danny and that big guy whose name Brendon can't quite remember, and that other girl and ... people. He remembers Sarah and Danny, anyway.

"Be right back," Spencer says, and goes to say hi to the other table.

"Hey," Sarah says, raising an eyebrow at Brendon. "I see you landed a live one."

Brendon grins down at his menu. "Guess he liked my bait."

"I bet he did." She tilts her head. "Wait, didn't I hear you were hanging with Nick? Are my gossip streams crossing?"

"We hung out a little," Brendon says, and the memory doesn't bother him, even the embarrassment of the last party just a dull twinge. "But, you know. I was looking for more of a boyfriend thing."

"He's quite a boyfriend thing," the big guy says, smirking. "Nice work."

"I know, right?" Brendon doesn't bother hiding his smile. "I totally aced this one. If there's a trophy, you guys can go ahead and have it delivered to my dorm room."

"A trophy for what?" Spencer asks, dropping into the chair next to Brendon.

"Awesomeness," Brendon answers.

Spencer introduces himself around. Zack and Haley and Greta—Brendon remembers them now.

"Oh man, you guys," Greta says. "I read this book—well, this dirty novel—the other day that had all this extended wrist suspension with manacles. Like, the bottom was totally off his feet, for a good while, and the top was kind of hanging off him, too. And the author’s all acknowledging that there’s bad bruising and shit, but zip about breaking his wrists. It was the weirdest thing.”

“I hate that,” Haley agrees. “Like, write your fantasy or whatever, but if you’re gonna make it all real-world with the bruising, make it real-world with the massive danger.”

“Oh, whatever,” Zack says. “It’s fiction. As long as the guy who wrote it—”

“Girl,” Greta interrupts.

“—As long as the chick who wrote it isn’t going around suspending people by their wrists in reality, who the fuck cares.”

“Well, hang on,” Spencer says. “I don’t know. If the audience for the book is, like—there’s a ton of people who mess around with kink who we never see at parties, right? And they don’t hear the safety lectures and they don’t talk about it. So maybe they read this book and they’re all ‘well, bruising, I can deal with bruising,’ and then they end up with broken wrists and nerve damage.”

“If they’re too stupid to buy suspension cuffs and read, like, one article, they’re too stupid to live,” Zack says.

Brendon taps his thumb on the table. “I don’t know,” he says. “There’s a lot of—like. People who only watch the porn, you know?”

Shane grins at him from down the table. "The porn's pretty unrealistic, too," he points out.

"Well—yeah, okay," Brendon says. "Maybe there should be disclaimers or something."

Zack snorts, and Brendon shrugs, because okay, yeah, maybe not.

Spencer leans into Brendon's ear, whispers, "Doesn't mean we can't watch the porn as—inspiration." Brendon drops a hand onto his thigh and strokes a thumb over his inseam.

"It's nice to be able to understand what they're talking about," Brendon whispers back.

"Anyway," Zack says. "Forget wrist suspensions. Alcohol enemas are, like, apparently the big thing the kids are doing these days. Dangerous as fuck. You might as well be doing firecupping in a polyester bodysuit."

Well. Brendon understands some of what they're talking about, anyway.

Sarah has some anecdote about enemas that Brendon's pretty willing to zone out of, leaning back into Spencer's arm across the back of his chair. "Shane's kind of right," Brendon murmurs. "It's good to have—people." Ian and Dallon and Ryan, who don't care that Brendon's gay, who mostly only care that he's good at music. Shane and Sarah and the rest of these guys, who don't think it's weird that Brendon likes to be tied up and spanked and fucked into, like, alternative brain spaces. Brendon's never had any of this before; he didn't even know he wanted it.

"Yeah," Spencer says, softly. "I'm glad you found people, Brendon."

"Glad you're one of them," Brendon says, and tunes back in just in time for a punchline about cock rings. He's pretty sure the joke would have gone right over his head, but that's all right. Brendon came to this city to learn.