bandomstuffsit

Title: Burying the Lead
Author:

untappedbeauty
Pairing(s): Brendon/Spencer
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word count: 5,518
Summary: Spencer is a grumpy journalist, and Brendon is a breath of fresh air -- a hot breath of fresh air with a great ass. Spencer's not sure what this story holds for him, but he's really hoping it ends with him getting laid.

"Where is my story?" Spencer growls. "I have 45 minutes until deadline, you're 20 minutes past your deadline, and the copy desk is on my ass."

Spencer's computer doesn't say anything back. His email remains frustratingly unchanged, no new story popping up to keep him from throwing something or throttling someone.

"Spencer," Dallon calls from across the newsroom. "Seriously, 45 minutes. If I don't have something soon, I'm going to have to plug with wire. Do you want wire on 1A?"

Spencer grits his teeth and turns around. "It's Karla," Spencer says, and that's almost explanation enough. Nonetheless, for politeness' sake, he continues. "She's probably polishing this fucking City Council story into her latest opus. I've called her twice. Ten minutes ago, she told me I'd have it in 5 minutes."

"Dude, when we hit the 20 minute mark I'm going with wire anyway," Dallon says. He holds up his hands when Spencer glares. "The press waits for no one," he says.

"Arrgh," Spencer says, turning back to his computer. He transfers his glare to his computer screen and picks up his phone to call Karla for the third time. He gets five digits in, and then the sky opens up and angels sing and his email pings with his fucking story.

It's 35 goddamn inches. On the City Council. Spencer edits like the wind, taking great pleasure with each vicious cut.

***

"So," Dallon says when it's safely past deadline, "I'm going to guess you'd be up for going out tonight."

"Are you buying?" Spencer asks, rubbing at his neck and stretching.

"Of course not. I'm a journalist. I can barely afford my own drinks."

"Where would we go?"

"Truman's?"

"Eh," Spencer says. "Do they have music tonight?"

"I don't think so."

"Thank fuck, my head is pounding. I'm down with that."

"You're such an angry young man, Spencer Smith. Where are the carefree days of yore?"

"I left them behind in college. You remember college, right? Those alcohol-soaked days of deadlines and procrastination and panic?"

"You pretty much just described our lives now," Dallon says.

"I know," Spencer says. "How did it seem so much better then?"

"Nostalgia," Dallon says wisely.

"Probably," Spencer says, shutting off his computer and grabbing his keys. "Now let's get out of here before someone says something important on the police scanner and fucks up the rest of my night."

***

Dallon beats Spencer to the bar. When Spencer gets there, a vaguely familiar-looking guy is sitting next to Dallon at one of the tables near the dartboard. Spencer tries to place the guy while he orders and waits for his beer. He feels like he should remember him -- messy brown hair that's slightly too long, black-framed glasses and big, dark eyes -- but he admits defeat when he reaches the table.

He looks at Dallon with a raised eyebrow, and Dallon sighs. "Spencer, this is Brendon. He interned on the copy desk last summer. Brendon, you remember Spencer, our night editor."

"Hey!" Brendon says, reaching across the sticky table to shake Spencer's hand. He has a nice smile. "It's good to see you again."

"You too," Spencer says, searching his memory. He'd just moved to town and started at the paper last summer, and he could never keep anyone straight back then.

It must show on his face, because Brendon's smile falters a bit. "I bugged you a lot about ... everything," Brendon says, making a face.

That's it. The weird muppet face makes things click. "Ohhh," Spencer says. "You were the one I had to keep telling to call the reporters with all your questions because I wasn't a mind reader. I'm still not, by the way."

Brendon winces, and Spencer feels a little bad. But Brendon laughs it off and says, "Yeah, that was me," so Spencer gets to avoid apologizing, at least. He forgets that some people don't know he doesn't really mean it when he's an asshole. It's a side effect of the job.

"Spencer doesn't like not knowing everything and not being in control of everything," Dallon says. "It makes him grumpy. He's been very grumpy tonight."

"It was a difficult night," Spencer says. He downs half his beer in one swallow to emphasize his point.

"My sympathies. You want another?" Brendon asks, gesturing at Spencer's beer. Then, before Spencer can respond, Brendon pushes away from the table and says, "I'll get you another." He's headed to the bar before Spencer can protest.

Spencer watches him go appreciatively, and Dallon looks amused when Spencer turns back. Spencer clears his throat and says, "How did I forget that... energy?"

"You mean 'that ass'?" Dallon says.

Spencer waves a hand vaguely and finishes his beer. "Why not both?"

Dallon laughs, and there's no question in Spencer's mind that he's laughing at Spencer. "You want me to leave?" Dallon asks.

Spencer only considers it for a fraction of a second before he says, "Nah. Too obvious."

Dallon shrugs, and then Brendon's back with three beers. He slides them over to Spencer and Dallon with an ease that screams "waiter."

"So," Spencer says, "what are you up to these days?"

Brendon glances at Dallon uncertainly, like the question might somehow be meant for him. Apparently figuring out that it wasn't, he says, "I just got my degree a few months ago. I've, uh, been working part-time at a couple of places until I figure out where to go from here."

"Oh yeah?" Spencer says. "I assume it was journalism?"

"English, actually. I'd been hoping to teach elementary or middle school, but you know how the economy is and how competitive the market is right now."

"Yeah," Spencer says. He can't imagine anything more hellish than teaching young children about grammar, but he says politely, "I hope something will open up for you." He notices Dallon glancing around, seemingly uninterested in the conversation, like he's heard it all before. On a hunch, he asks, "So did you two keep in touch?"

Brendon starts to say something, but Dallon beats him to the punch. "We actually just ran into each other again recently," Dallon says, shooting Brendon a weird look. "We're catching up."

Spencer watches, bemused, as Brendon and Dallon hold a silent conversation that involves a lot of eyebrow action. "Should I leave you two alone?" he asks, turning Dallon's earlier question back on him.

"Nope!" Dallon says. "Hey, the dartboard's free. Let's play darts!"

"I love darts," Brendon says.

Spencer shrugs. "Okay."

They play darts. Brendon wins, but Spencer's not really bothered. He has a great view of Brendon's ass the entire time he's losing.

***
There's cake at work. The email pops up just before 5 p.m., and Spencer's starving. He skipped breakfast -- lunch for other people, but breakfast for him, anyway -- because he was running late.

Please join us in the break room to say goodbye to Elaine, the email reads. We have cake and punch to say thank you for her work here, and we want to wish her luck as she leaves to pursue her master's degree.

"Oh shit, cake," Spencer says to himself. "Please tell me it's got the good frosting."

When he gets to the break room, two-thirds of the newsroom is already hovering there, like vultures drawn to carrion. Spencer is impressed when Dallon pulls it together long enough to give the traditional speech of the departing employee's direct supervisor -- he doesn't even drool. Then Elaine gives a speech, and everyone stares at the cake as though hypnotized until it's finally cut. Elaine's a good copy editor, it's a real loss for the newsroom, blah blah blah, but Spencer can't focus on that when there's cake to be had.

"Mmm, cake," Dallon says, waving his cake past Spencer's face while Spencer's still waiting in line.

"I hate you," Spencer says.

"Here, you can have mine," Dallon says, holding his plate out.

Spencer stares suspiciously, but Dallon doesn't pull it away when Spencer reaches for it. Spencer digs in right where he's standing and wipes it all out in about 90 seconds flat. It's got the good frosting. "God, you're the best," he tells Dallon.

"I'm buttering you up," Dallon says.

"I figured," Spencer says. Then, "Do you think anyone would care if I got a second piece?"

"Back of the line if you want to try," Dallon suggests, but he moves with Spencer when Spencer actually goes to stand at the end of the line. "So," Dallon says, "how did you like Brendon?"

"He was cool," Spencer says absently, scraping up the little bit of frosting left on his plate and licking it off the plastic fork. "Well, not cool, but fun."

"Great, I'm glad you think so," Dallon says, "because I gave him your number."

Spencer feels his cake high abruptly wearing off. "You're seriously setting me up?"

"Don't think of it as setting you up. Think of it as facilitating a connection between two people who might choose to pursue further joint activities."

"Heh, joint activities," Spencer says, then reins himself back in. "You're sure he asked for my number? You didn't tell him I'm a lonely cat lady who needs a date?"

"True as that may be, no, I didn't do that. He likes you. I think he even liked you last summer. There's no accounting for taste."

"Hmph," Spencer says. "Now that you've told me, I'm going to be annoyed if he doesn't call."

"Yet you'll still be annoyed if he does call, won't you," Dallon says. It's not a question. Dallon knows him well enough.

***

Brendon does call. Spencer hates talking on the phone, but Brendon's call only annoys him a little, because Brendon's slightly awkward and definitely weird, but in a funny way. And Spencer gets a date out of it, so it's mostly a win.

***

They go out late Sunday afternoon. It's not the sexiest time of the week, but Spencer can't exactly go out nights with his job.

They go to a mini-golf place, and again, Brendon's kicking his ass. But as long as Spencer can stare at Brendon's ass, he's cool with it.

He has a sneaking suspicion about something, though, so as Brendon's carefully lining up a shot, he asks, "So you're kind of crazy competitive, aren't you?"

Brendon pauses for the briefest moment before sinking the ball easily. "Who, me?" he asks. When he turns to face Spencer, his expression is the very picture of innocence.

"Middle child?" Spencer asks.

"Youngest," Brendon says, leaning on his putter like it's a cane.

"Awww, the baby. No wonder you love attention so much."

"You minored in psych, didn't you?" Brendon responds.

"Double majored, actually," Spencer says. He lines up his shot, and it gets pretty close to the hole. Spencer's never had the best aim.

"Why on earth would you go into journalism, then?" Brendon asks, following Spencer closer to the hole. "Do you hate having money and security? There are always more crazy people to keep psychiatrists in business, but old people aren't going to live forever and keep buying newspapers."

Spencer guides the ball in with his putter, not even bothering to pretend he's still trying to play honestly. "Well, aside from having to go to school for a few more miserable years, therapists actually have to listen to people complain. As a journalist, I get to be the one doing all the complaining."

"I remember you did like to complain," Brendon agrees. "I also seem to remember an impressive ability to inject three or four curse words into any given sentence."

"That just happens. I have no control over what comes out of my mouth on deadline," Spencer says. "Was Aaron Wilson still on the sports desk when you were here? Do you remember his daughter?"

Brendon nods.

"Yeah, I think she was a ninja," Spencer say. "Every time shit went down and I let my 'fucks' and 'goddamns' and 'motherfuckers' fly, I'd hear the pitter-patter of her little feet about 10 seconds too late. I'm a ruiner of children."

"Well," Brendon says, "that's why children have no place in a newsroom."

Spencer laughs. "Agreed. But you actually want to work with kids?" He trusts his expression is saying the "are you crazy?" that he's not voicing.

"Yeah, I love kids," Brendon says. "My family is huge, so I've always been around kids. I figured if I could teach my nieces and nephews how to read, it wouldn't be that much harder to teach reading and grammar and style to other kids."

"Hmm, if you learn the trick to that, let me know. I have some reporters who can't seem to grasp certain principles of the English language."

"I will absolutely teach you," Brendon says, "if you buy me dinner."

Spencer grins. "What are you in the mood for?"

***

They go for Mexican and talk about college and music and Spencer's dogs, but mostly Spencer can't stop staring at Brendon's mouth every time he takes a drink or licks his lips. Spencer doesn't remember finding Brendon irresistible last summer, but maybe it's because he was still settling in and feeling like he was in way over his head. He had mostly concentrated on not fucking anything up too bad last summer. Or maybe he'd been blocking out any attraction because of the whole "no dating co-workers" thing.

Spencer pays, and then the moment of truth comes. They came in separate cars, and when they get to the parking lot it's either going to be the end of a great date or the beginning of an awesome night. Spencer really wants it to be the latter, and only partly because he hasn't gotten laid in way too long.

"So," Spencer says when they're standing outside the door. He can't think of how to continue.

Brendon grins like he can read Spencer's mind. Maybe he can. That would be awesome, because then they could avoid this awkward stuff and get straight to the good stuff. "So," Brendon says, drawing it out for a minute. "Thanks for dinner."

"Yeah, no problem," Spencer says.

He's just about to ask if Brendon wants to come over to his place when Brendon says, "I had a great time, but I should really get going. I have an early morning and a lot of stuff to do before then." He sounds apologetic.

"Oh," Spencer says, trying not to let his disappointment show. "Yeah, okay. I had a good time too." He leans forward awkwardly, and Brendon's just a smidge too far away for it to go smoothly. Spencer ends up kissing the corner of his mouth before Brendon moves closer and meets his kiss.

Brendon's mouth feels even better than it looks, and when Brendon pulls away and heads for his car, saying "I'll call you" over his shoulder, Spencer's never been more annoyed by the existence of early mornings.

***

"Hey, grumpy," Ashlee says the next day, rolling her chair up to his desk. "Can you edit my lawsuit story before I leave? I'm not sure if I got all the background info covered. I've been so buried in it today that I can't tell if it'll make sense to an outsider."

"Yeah, sure," Spencer says. "Just give me a minute to wrap up Alex's story."

"'Kay," she says. "Is it cool if I stay here?"

"Uh-huh," Spencer says, attention back on his computer already.

Ashlee seems preoccupied with her phone and doesn't bother him for the next few minutes while he finishes up. They're about halfway done going through Ashlee's story together when Spencer's cell rings. He'd normally ignore it, but it's Brendon's number, and he doesn't want to miss him.

"Just a sec," he tells Ashlee, and she politely wanders away. "Hello," he says.

"Spencer, hey, it's Brendon."

"So my phone told me," Spencer says.

"You saved my number? That must mean you thought Date One went well, too," Brendon says.

Spencer smiles. "Yeah, wasn't too bad. What's up?"

"Just thinking about you," Brendon says. "God, that sounds lame. But I'm sorry I had to cut out so early last night."

"Yeah?" Spencer says, feeling stupidly pleased.

"Definitely. Do you want to do it again sometime?"

Spencer can think of a lot of things he'd like them to do sometime, but he just responds, "Not putt-putt and dinner on a Sunday, right? We'd have to shake things up."

"Obviously," Brendon says. "I've actually got a friend playing a show in a couple of nights. It'll be after you get off work. You interested?"

Spencer definitely is.

***

"So," Ashlee says when she comes back over, "got a hot date?"

"Hopefully," Spencer says.

"Good. Maybe it'll make you less grumpy."

"Is that your way of telling me I need to get laid?"

"I never said that," Ashlee responds. "Because that would probably qualify as sexual harassment, and you know how the company frowns on that."

"God forbid," Spencer says. "Now, about your lead..."

***

Spencer wears his lucky boxers on Date Day. He's still trying to figure out if it the choice is pathetic or prudent when Brendon calls to let Spencer know he's waiting in the newspaper's parking lot.

Brendon jumps out of the car and opens the passenger door with a flourish when Spencer makes it outside. "How was your shift?" he asks.

"Not bad," Spencer says. "No breaking news, so at least it was quiet. You have a good day?"

"It was okay. It's better now."

"You're fucking cheesy," Spencer says.

Brendon wiggles his eyebrows and drives, heading for a club Spencer's never been to before.

***

It's a cool place. It's not like Cheers or anything, but it seems like a lot of people know Brendon there, and it seems like the kind of place Spencer could make a habit of going to.

"Hey, you need anything else before we head back?" Brendon asks. Spencer's halfway through a Jack and Coke.

"Nah," Spencer says. "Lead on."

The club is divided in three sections, and the one farthest back is where the bands are. It's a decent crowd for a Thursday, but not so bad that Spencer has trouble following Brendon's path.

"I've never heard these guys before," Brendon shout-speaks when they find a spot not far removed from stage right. "But Pete's band should be going on next, so even if they suck we won't have to hear much."

They do kind of suck, but it's not so bad when he's standing next to Brendon, watching him crane his neck and bop around impatiently. Eventually Spencer rests his free hand on Brendon's shoulder, and Brendon turns to smile at him, settling a bit. Spencer ends up pulling him closer so they can bump hips and Spencer can leave his hand on Brendon's side.

"Ooh, this is them," Brendon says a while later, when Spencer's lost track of what's going on because he keeps glancing over and staring at Brendon's jaw and mouth and the sweat edging his hairline.

It's... not exactly Spencer's style, but it's not necessarily bad. It's angry and screamy, and Spencer thinks he could probably enjoy it on deadline, when he's at his most misanthropic. Pete, who Brendon points out right off the bat, is the frontman, and Spencer spends most of the set wondering how he'll be able to speak when he's done with all that screaming. Also, Pete keeps spitting on people.

"I'm glad we're outside the spit zone," Spencer yells, leaning in even closer to Brendon.

Brendon grins over his shoulder. "There are people who would love to be covered in Pete's spit," he calls. "But yeah, I factored that in when I found our spot."

"You're so thoughtful," Spencer says, and is somehow surprised when he realizes Brendon's shifted to stand right in front of him. Just a couple more inches, and they'd basically be spooning. Or like, grinding, if this were grinding music. Which it's not, Spencer reminds himself.

Still, Brendon keeps getting closer and closer, and Spencer has to keep making sure his hands don't graze Brendon's ass every time Brendon shifts. Eventually he gets tired enough of it that he slings one arm over Brendon's shoulder and across his chest and makes Brendon stay still, hot back pressed along Spencer's front.

Brendon drops his head forward, and Spencer stares at the back of his neck and can almost imagine Brendon biting his lip. He doesn't pay a lot of attention to the rest of the band's set.

***

"That was great," Spencer says when they've made it back to the front section of the bar and gotten new drinks. He doesn't really know if it was great, but he knows he liked being close to Brendon and getting to smell his hair without it seeming creepy.

"Yeah?" Brendon says. "I know not everyone's into Pete's kind of music, but he puts on a killer show."

"Definitely," Spencer agrees.

Brendon knocks back his shot and says abruptly, "Do you want to go make out in my car?"

"Fuck yes," Spencer says, and abandons his mostly full drink gladly.

***

Brendon, Spencer learns, is delightfully bendy. Spencer hasn't made out in a car in years, but Brendon makes it far easier than Spencer can remember from his high school days. He pushes Spencer into the passenger seat, reclines it and climbs on top easily. All Spencer has to do is lie back and let Brendon go at it. The added bonus is that Spencer's hands have free rein, gripping Brendon's hips, then sliding across his belly and up his shirt, then moving down to palm Brendon's ass. It's the absolute best car makeout of Spencer's life.

"You know," Spencer says between kisses, "we could take this somewhere else."

"Hmm?" Brendon murmurs into another kiss, then moves down to Spencer's neck, kissing and sucking, and Spencer wants so. much. more.

"My place? I have a bed," Spencer says stupidly as Brendon settles just below his ear and licks.

"Oh," Brendon says, and sits back. "Oh, god, that would be awesome."

YES! Spencer's brain cries triumphantly, and he lets his hands wander just under Brendon's waistband.

Brendon closes his eyes and shivers, then says the dreaded word: "But."

NO! Spencer's brain cries.

"But I can't tonight. I really want to, but... God, you're going to think this is stupid."

"What?" Spencer asks. Maybe it will be stupid, and maybe Spencer can talk him out of whatever his stupid reason is.

"Third date," Brendon says. "I wait until the third date."

Spencer wants to whine, ask "Why? Why would you do this to me?" Instead, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and asks, "Are you doing this because you think you need to to get a third date out of me? Because I can promise that you were going to get a third, fourth, twelfth, whatever you wanted anyway." He sneaks a hand up the back of Brendon's shirt hopefully.

Brendon looks at him sternly. "Don't tempt me," he says.

Spencer can't help it; he pouts. "How soon can we have a third date, then?"

"Five days," Brendon says.

"Seriously? Is that a thing, too?"

"No," Brendon says. "It just seems like it'll be kind of fun to make you wait."

"You're evil," Spencer says, and feels the loss when Brendon gives him one last kiss and shifts off of Spencer and into his own seat.

It's a long, unsatisfying ride back to the newspaper so Spencer can pick up his car.

***

Dallon's eating a donut in the break room when Spencer comes in to get a coke Friday.

"Sup?" Dallon says around a mouthful of donut.

"Have I told you I love you lately?" Spencer asks.

"Not in a few days."

"Well, I do. Brendon is awesome."

"Yeah?" Dallon says with a smile. "Things going well?"

"They are. I can't believe we worked together last year and hardly knew each other, and now out of nowhere we see each other again and it just clicks. What are the odds?"

Dallon nods and stuffs half a donut in his mouth.

"You're an amazing conversationalist," Spencer tells him.

Dallon just shrugs.

***

Spencer has a date with Brendon planned for Tuesday night. He has a third date -- the parameters of which he will fulfill by taking Brendon somewhere to eat after work, then dragging him home and having a lot of awesome sex. He's possibly never been happier when he's come to work on a Monday.

He's actually whistling when he gets to his desk and starts up his computer, but his phone rings pretty much the minute he sits down.

"Hello?" he says.

"Hey, check your email first thing," Dallon says.

"Uh, okay. I always do."

"Yeah, well. Check it and don't overreact, okay?"

"Okay?" Spencer says, and Dallon hangs up.

Spencer waits for his email to load with a creeping sense of dread. There's no unhappy emails from the editor, nothing from any angry readers. He opens the only email from Dallon, sent to the entire editorial department, with the subject line "Welcome to the copy desk."

There's a picture of Brendon at the top, followed by a little bio and a note encouraging everyone to come say hi to Elaine's replacement.

Spencer whips around to look, and sure enough, he sees the back of Brendon's head at Elaine's old desk. One of the other copy editors is sitting next to him, maybe going over the new computer system with him. Who cares; Spencer is in the lowest depths of despair, and his visions of getting laid by a guy who he really likes are dissolving faster than a fucking Alka Seltzer.

He wants to die. Instead, he starts an angry text, because corporate can access their email and he doesn't want them seeing any death threats in case he really does kill Dallon.

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?" he types. "I HATE YOU. YOU SUCK."

He sulks as he checks the rest of his unread messages, and Dallon texts, "Calm down, asshole. I'm taking my break in a few. Meet me in the parking lot."

Spencer kills a few minutes imagining how he'll kill Dallon -- maybe cutting his brake lines or poisoning the coffee -- before Dallon thumps the back of his chair on his way out of the newsroom. Spencer gets up to follow.

Dallon keeps walking when they get outside, leading Spencer away from the door and toward a nearby bench. Spencer keeps in step. Angrily, though.

"Would you prefer death by fiery crash or poison?" he asks.

"I knew you would do this," Dallon says.

"Threaten to kill you?"

"Overreact."

"Dude," Spencer says. "You basically set me up with an awesome guy, let me get this fucking close to getting in his pants, and after all that you tell me you hired him so I can't find true happiness? Way to bury the lead, asshole."

"There is no rule saying you can't date a co-worker," Dallon says.

"Yes! Yes there is!" Spencer says. "It's in the fucking employee handbook!"

"Okay, no," Dallon argues. "There is a rule that says managers can't date their direct reports. But technically, you're part of the city desk and Brendon is part of the copy desk. I'm his direct supervisor, so he can't fuck me."

"Oh, well then," Spencer says sarcastically.

"Besides," Dallon continues, "everyone knows newsrooms are a hotbed of incestuousness. Look at the reporters; they might as well be playing musical beds. And at my last paper, the publisher and the features editor were having an affair and everyone knew about it. In conclusion, it's not that big a deal. And it might even be weird if you weren't fucking one of your co-workers."

"Is that seriously supposed to convince me this is on the up-and-up? Aren't we supposed to have integrity?"

"Journalistic integrity, sure. But you know what you said the other day about 'Gosh, how did Brendon and I work together and never click until now?' It's because you're a moron. Brendon had a huge thing for you last summer, and everyone but you could see it from space because you project some kind of sexless, no-touching image over everyone you work with."

"I do not!" Spencer says.

"You never noticed Ashlee was not only smoking hot but also into you?"

"What? But she has a boyfriend--"

"Yeah, now she does. She didn't when she started here."

"Well--" Spencer splutters. He refuses to consider that Dallon might be right. "That's not the point."

"Yeah, the point is that you never would have gone out with Brendon if you'd known he was going to be working here again. So you're welcome."

"Fuck your face," Spencer says. "I will hate you until I die."

***

Spencer does not go by the copy desk to welcome Brendon. Brendon waves across the room once, and Spencer waves awkwardly back because it would be rude not to. He just doesn't know what he's supposed to do. Is he supposed to act like he doesn't know Brendon? Or like they're vaguely acquainted because of Brendon's internship? He knows he's definitely not supposed to act like he's intimately acquainted with Brendon's mouth and would like to get more familiar with the rest of his person. Everything is awkward, and Spencer is screwed.

He doesn't get to be miserable about it for long, because Brendon follows him into the break room a few hours into his shift.

"Hey," Brendon says. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Hey," Spencer mumbles.

"You're being weird," Brendon says. "Dallon warned me that you would be weird."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "I kind of would have expected some warning?"

Brendon winces. "Yeah, Dallon told me not to tell you. He said you wouldn't take it well."

Spencer shrugs. "I thought you wanted to teach."

"I do," Brendon says. "But until I can get a teaching job, I've gotta pay the bills somehow. I figured even journalism is better than turning tricks."

"I don't know that it pays better," Spencer says.

"This won't be a big deal, will it?" Brendon asks softly.

Spencer's quiet, thinking. It feels weird. It's nothing he would have considered before, and Dallon's right; if Brendon had come back to the paper before the past couple of weeks happened, Spencer would have marked him off limits and never considered the possibility of a first date, let alone a third.

"You liked me last summer?" he asks.

"Shit," Brendon says, and it looks like he actually blushes a bit. "Dallon told you that?"

Spencer nods.

"Yeah," Brendon admits quietly. "You were like the most attractive prickly porcupine I'd ever seen."

Spencer huffs a laugh. "Should I be flattered by that?"

"Absolutely. Porcupines are adorable and endearing. And they make really cute noises. Makes me want to take one home."

Spencer finds himself crumbling. He just... He wants this. He wants to see where it goes.

Brendon glances around. No one else is in the break room. He moves in closer and hooks a finger in Spencer's belt loop. "Spence?" he asks.

"Yeah, okay," Spencer says. He sneaks a kiss. It's not advisable for the workplace, but he's feeling pretty daring. He's a rule-breaking rebel now.

***

He's whistling when he returns to his desk.

"Someone's in a good mood," Ashlee says.

Spencer grins. "Yep. I got a third date."