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Spencer is relaxing on an oversized beach towel, slimy with sun block and pissed that Ryan stole his sunglasses. With nothing but the hotel and the beach, what else is he supposed to do? Ryan ran off with the girl an hour after they met with plans to elope after stopping by K-Mart to get cheap rings.

Fuck, Spencer hates sand.

His day only gets better when some guy doesn't see him and kicks hot sand all over his towel.

"Shit, fuck, I'm sorry," the guy says, cheap sunglasses in one hand, sweaty bangs in his eyes. "I didn't even see you, I'm so sorry, here." He kneels and begins wiping sand from Spencer's space.

Something about him makes Spencer curious. "Chill, dude, it's cool. A little sand never hurt anybody." And, yeah, Spencer hates sand, but this guy has the best pouty lip he's ever seen.

"I heard about this kid on the channel five news, he went blind after rubbing sand on his face to help with a jellyfish sting."

"What, really?"

The guy laughs, sitting down on the corner of Spencer's towel. "No, I'm just kidding. There were jellyfish last month, though. But no one got hurt." Spencer nods. Okay. So, just a little sand.

"I'm sorry, again. Can I do anything?" He brushes a little more sand away, but it doesn't really help.

"Nah, it's cool," Spencer says.

"Cool, see you around, then," the guy smiles, gets up and walks away.

His swim trunks say Brendon across the ass.

+

The hotel breakfast bar is empty by the time Spencer crawls out of bed at eleven, so he goes in search of something other than tap water to drink. The first place he finds is a tiki bar in the sand.

"Hey, can I get an orange juice?" He asks the guy behind the counter. He pushes his cheap $3 sunglasses up his nose as they slip down.

"You want vodka?" The guy asks in sloppy English. "You want Mimosa?"

"No, just orange juice," Spencer says.

"You want Screwdriver?" The guy asks.

"Orange juice," Spencer says again. "Just juice."

"Vodka?" The guy asks again. Spencer groans.

"Sólo el jugo de naranja, por favor," Brendon says, appearing beside Spencer. "Y un batido de fresa." Brendon is dressed in a black and white striped tank top that is more flamboyant than Spencer's seventh grade history teacher.

The guy behind the counter hands over a cup of orange juice and a strawberry smoothie. Brendon says, "De nada, Andre," and hands him a ten dollar bill. Brendon doesn't get change.

"Thank you," Spencer says.

"Sure thing," Brendon smiles. "I'm Brendon."

"I know," Spencer says, then blushes. Brendon laughs.

"So what brings you to California?" Brendon asks, sipping his smoothie.

They walk together down the beach, ducking beneath volleyball games and Frisbees. Spencer is happy to find that his orange juice is just orange juice.

"My best friend dragged me here and then ran off with the first girl he found," Spencer explains.

Brendon nods as if he understands. "Yeah, that happens."

"Do you live here?" Spencer asks.

"Most of the time," Brendon says slyly. Then he laughs. "Yeah, I live here."

"What's it like?" Spencer throws his empty cup into a trash can.

"You know," Brendon gestures with his smoothie, "It's fun. Nice. It gets tiring sometimes. I prefer the winter to the summer. Too many people in the summer." Spencer looks guilty; he's a tourist himself, after all.

"Oh, no," Brendon says, noticing. "I didn't mean it like that. I just mean – it's hard to take a run on the beach when there are sandcastles all over the place."

They pause beside another garbage can while Brendon slurps down the dregs of his drink. Brendon trashes the cup and smacks his lips in a playful manor, checking out Spencer's stubble with amused eyes.

"So, your friend abandoned you, right? Need any company?" Brendon asks. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and twirls them on his finger. When he clicks a button on the remote, a white convertible Mustang in the parking lot across the street flashes its lights.

Spencer says, "Sure."

+

Brendon takes him on a tour of Los Angeles. They speed forty down a twenty-five lane and pull to a stop in front of a two-level bungalow in a small neighborhood. The house is set among palm trees and flowering shrubs.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Brendon says with a flourish.

When they get inside, Brendon makes killer veggie omelets and gives Spencer a glass of orange juice that makes the tiki bar's offering taste like water. Spencer makes ridiculous moaning noises around his form that are not at all exaggerated.

"Where did you learn how to cook?" Spencer asks while Brendon does dishes.

"I took a couple classes at a culinary institute after I dropped out of beauty school," Brendon says seriously.

Around the house, there are overflowing shelves of vinyl records, books, and DVDs. Brendon sprawls across a deep purple leather sofa and props his feet on an all-glass table. Across from him, there is a 50 inch flat screen hanging above a table of game consoles.

"What do you do for a living?" Spencer asks as he gingerly sits on a pristine leather chair.

"I don't," Brendon says. "My grandfather hit the lottery for fifty-six million. Two years later, my parents kicked me out because they found out I'm gay. I worked at a couple of places here and there, trying to make it on my own, and when Grandpa found out, he wrote me a check and wrote my mom a nasty letter."

Brendon laughs, but Spencer doesn't.

"I'm sorry," Spencer says.

"Don't be. I'm happy now." Brendon looks over at the liquor cabinet across the room. "Do you want something to drink?"

As Spencer quickly finds out, Brendon was possibly a bartender in a past life. He makes a mean Manhattan and Spencer decides he could down Brendon's Slippery Nipples all night. Which is pretty much what they do.

"Wanna play truth or dare?" Brendon asks after his fifth cocktail. Spencer was never much of a drinker and is already farther gone than sober, so he agrees. "Okay, I'll go first. Truth or dare?"

Brendon fixes Spencer with a stare that makes Spencer's toes curl.

"Truth," Spencer says, but it comes out a whisper. He says it again, louder. "Truth."

"Okay." Brendon leans forward, elbows on knees. "Have you ever kissed a guy?"

"Yes," Spencer says without hesitation. "Once." Brendon looks impressed. "Your turn."

"Truth," Brendon says after a moment of thought.

"Have you?"

Brendon laughs. "Spencer, Spencer." Words slip off his tongue like butter; Spencer melts. "Yes. Yes I have. I've kissed more guys than girls, easy."

Spencer feels his face heat up.

"Truth or dare?" Brendon says.

Spencer hesitates. The part of him that's closest to his groin wants to say dare, but his mouth says, "Truth."

"Have you ever had sex with a guy?"

Really, Spencer wonders, when did this become a game about sex?

His answer comes out a whisper. "No."

Brendon, well, he looks downright smug.

"Truth or dare," Spencer says, because he's drunk.

Brendon's eyes play over Spencer. "Truth," he says, as if he has a plan.

"Do you do this a lot? Invite guys over and get them drunk?" Spencer asks hoarsely.

"Never," Brendon says, straight into Spencer's eyes. "You're the first one." Spencer believes him.

"Truth or dare?" Brendon asks, and Spencer gives in. He says, "Dare."

Brendon says, "Kiss me."

Spencer carefully sets his glass down on the table and walks on his knees over to the sofa where Brendon is sitting, open and relaxed. He watches as each finger on his left hand touches Brendon's right knee; he watches his right hand do the same.

Licking his lips, he looks up at Brendon through his lashes and has never, ever felt like this before. A thrill stabs through his belly and his fingers tighten over Brendon's thighs.

Slowly, slowly, he leans in. Brendon meets him halfway.

Spencer can honestly say that kissing Brendon is like nothing he's ever felt. Brendon's jaw is smooth, his mouth is warm, and his lips are like erasers than remove every sane thought from Spencer's mind. Spencer loses his breath, fumbles for his grip on control, but fails brutally and falls into Brendon and everything he has.

All of that, and the kiss lasts only a few seconds.

Brendon is the one that pulls back; Spencer tries to follow.

"I never do this," Spencer says as Brendon watches him through searching eyes.

"I don't either," Brendon promises.

"Are we – ?" Spencer leans his head against Brendon's collarbone. His tequila breath rebounds into his own face, but it somehow only spurs him on further. "Are we going to have sex?"

Brendon asks, "Do you want to?"

"Yes." Spencer mouths at Brendon's throat. Will he even remember this in the morning?

Gently, Brendon pushes Spencer back. Spencer grabs for Brendon, ends up tucking his hands into the pockets of Brendon's shorts. Brendon hisses quietly when Spencer catches sensitive skin in the smooth slide of his hands seeking steadiness.

"Bedroom," Brendon whispers, pulling them both to their feet.

Spencer is very drunk. Maybe not as drunk as he was at his High School prom, but yeah, he's drunk. Halfway down the hall, Brendon shoves him against the Electric Lime wall and kisses him. Spencer opens up for Brendon and just lets him. He whimpers when Brendon traces a finger along his ribcage, sucks on Brendon's tongue when it's offered, and spreads his legs when Brendon pulls at his waistband.

"I'm so fucked," Spencer says, eyes closed.

"Not yet, you're not," Brendon laughs.

Brendon's bedroom would maybe look good if Spencer wasn't drunk, but now it just makes his head hurt. The bed has way too many pillows, there is a Victorian-era trunk on one wall, and a strange array of scarves hanging from pegs on the yellow walls.

They stop next to the bed. Brendon says, "I'm going to take off your clothes now, okay?" and Spencer just nods. He lifts his arms when Brendon pulls at his shirt and steps out of his shorts after Brendon pulls them down. He doesn't even blush, standing naked in front of Brendon, unless you count the rosiness that he took on from the Sambuca.

Spencer allows himself to be pushed down on the bed. He watches Brendon strip off his own clothes, never breaking eye contact. Spencer is so hard; he feels like he's in high school again.

Brendon asks once more, "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Spencer says, "Fuck, yes, just fucking fuck me already."

So Brendon goes slowly. They kiss for what, to Spencer, seems like an hour, but is really only ten minutes. Spencer raises his hips, looking for contact, but Brendon is careful to avoid any. When Spencer lets out a strangled whine, Brendon looks triumphant.

"Please," Spencer says, not even twenty minutes in. Brendon has his mouth on Spencer's shoulder, biting and sucking his way down to Spencer's chest. Through his drunken haze, Spencer can feel Brendon hard against his thigh. He says again, "Please," and bucks into Brendon's hips.

"Please what?" Brendon murmurs against damp skin.

"Please, please fuck me," Spencer gasps.

Brendon wraps a spit-slick hand around Spencer's cock and tugs. Spencer howls, fingers scrabbling at Brendon's shoulders. Brendon moves down and replaces his hand with his mouth, eliciting an animalistic moan from Spencer that makes Brendon close his eyes and tell himself, not yet.

"Please," Spencer says again.

Brendon pulls back, tasting salt on his tongue. He grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand and slicks up his fingers. He starts with one, going so slowly, in and out with every other breath. Spencer pleads, "More, Brendon, I can."

Two fingers make Spencer clench and buck. Brendon palms his own cock with sympathy, but he isn't so desperate that he'll compromise Spencer's comfort, even though they just met.

By the time they get to three fingers, Spencer is begging for release. "Let me come, Brendon, I have to. I need it, please." Brendon ignores him, working him open until he starts begging for more. "Fuck me, please. Fuck me."

Brendon wears a condom because he's not stupid. In the time it takes him to open the foil, Spencer is experimentally fingering himself, which Brendon puts a stop to immediately. "Wait for me," he says. Spencer does.

He slides in with a groan that matches Spencer's. Spencer writhes in a mixture of pain, pleasure, and need. Brendon remembers his first time and starts rocking, short little thrusts and then longer, harder, faster. Spencer grabs hold of the thousand dollar headboard and screams Brendon's name.

"Get yourself off," Brendon pants, not because he doesn't want to do it himself, but because he's horrible at keeping two separate things going at once. Spencer snakes one hand between them, knuckles grazing Brendon's belly, stroking quickly. Brendon's eyes close without his consent, but snap back open when Spencer comes, moaning and clenching and bruising Brendon's hip with strong fingers.

The sight makes Brendon let go, thrust wildly for thirty seconds until he comes, too.

When he can breathe again, Brendon cleans them both up. Spencer cuddles into Brendon's favorite pillow and Brendon lets him.

+

Spencer wakes up with a headache that makes his eyes burn. With bright light reverberating off of the yellow walls, and an ache shooting up his spine, he decides to keep his eyes closed and his body still. Brendon is up not much later, stretching and humming.

Spencer squints against the light to find Brendon watching him.

"I'm sorry," Spencer says, even though his mouth is dry and the movement makes him nauseous.

"I'm not," Brendon says. He leans in but stops far enough away to let Spencer make the decision. Spencer makes up for the extra space and pulls Brendon closer. They kiss lazily until Spencer says, "I'm getting tired of smelling myself. Can I use your shower?"

He washes with Sea Breeze shampoo and Berry Blast soap, dries off with a striped towel, and dresses in Brendon's Dior boxers. He happily takes a cup of coffee from Brendon in the kitchen and puts six teaspoons of sugar in before taking a sip.

Brendon offers him some aspirin and by noon they're good to go. They load into Brendon's car and cruise along Rodeo Drive and Sunset Boulevard. Brendon ducks into a couple of shops and stocks up on underwear, a fresh bottle of Bacardi, and two new pairs of sunglasses (one of which he presents to Spencer).

They have a late lunch at Trimana and pick out fresh strawberries at a street market. They end up back at Brendon's house before the sun is down, where Brendon makes steak sandwiches. Without asking, Brendon makes Spencer a Dragon Berry Mojito. Spencer checks his cell phone with his first sip and happily tells Brendon, "I guess I'm not missed or anything. No missed calls."

Two drinks in, Spencer strips off their clothes and rides Brendon right there, Brendon bucking up to meet him, their breath mingling.

Hours later, they fall into Brendon's bed and go again, slow this time, savoring every movement.

+

Spencer's phone rings at nine in the morning. He answers on autopilot. It's Ryan, reminding him that their flight is in the morning. He says, "Keltie is going to come with us. She's going to move in with me."

When Brendon wakes up, Spencer is sitting at the bar in the kitchen, reading an old issue of GQ. Brendon kisses him with a closed mouth and wanders to the fridge. He drinks juice straight out of the carton and smacks his lips with a smile.

"What do you want to do today?" He asks.

Spencer plays with the corner of a page. "I'm supposed to be going home tomorrow."

Brendon is silent for a few moments. Then, brightly, he says, "You don't have to. You could stay."

"I've been thinking about that. I could, you know. Get a job here and find an apartment or something." Spencer flips to a page he's already read.

"Or you could move in with me," Brendon says.

Spencer looks up and meets his eyes. "Do you think we'll last?"

Seriously, Brendon says, "I've never wanted anything more."

"I have a dog," Spencer says sadly.

Brendon shoots back, "We can put up a fence."

"All of my stuff is back home."

"I'll wait for you." They stare at each other for a long, still moment. "I could give you anything you've ever wanted, anything you could ever want."

"I don't need things," Spencer says.

"Okay," Brendon says. "Then I won't. Just me. I'll just give you me."

Spencer eyes him suspiciously. "You swear you don't do this all the time? I'm not gonna come back and find you with another guy, am I?"

"Would I lie to you?" Brendon asks. Really, Spencer doesn't know. But he sort of does.

"Okay," he says to a smiling Brendon. "Okay."

Description
Spencer is relaxing on an oversized beach towel, slimy with sun block and pissed that Ryan stole his sunglasses. With nothing but the hotel and the beach, what else is he supposed to do? Ryan ran off with the girl an hour after they met with plans to elope after stopping by K-Mart to get cheap rings.

Fuck, Spencer hates sand.

His day only gets better when some guy doesn't see him and kicks hot sand all over his towel.

"Shit, fuck, I'm sorry," the guy says, cheap sunglasses in one hand, sweaty bangs in his eyes. "I didn't even see you, I'm so sorry, here." He kneels and begins wiping sand from Spencer's space.

Something about him makes Spencer curious. "Chill, dude, it's cool. A little sand never hurt anybody." And, yeah, Spencer hates sand, but this guy has the best pouty lip he's ever seen.

"I heard about this kid on the channel five news, he went blind after rubbing sand on his face to help with a jellyfish sting."

"What, really?"

The guy laughs, sitting down on the corner of Spencer's towel. "No, I'm just kidding. There were jellyfish last month, though. But no one got hurt." Spencer nods. Okay. So, just a little sand.

"I'm sorry, again. Can I do anything?" He brushes a little more sand away, but it doesn't really help.

"Nah, it's cool," Spencer says.

"Cool, see you around, then," the guy smiles, gets up and walks away.

His swim trunks say Brendon across the ass.

+

The hotel breakfast bar is empty by the time Spencer crawls out of bed at eleven, so he goes in search of something other than tap water to drink. The first place he finds is a tiki bar in the sand.

"Hey, can I get an orange juice?" He asks the guy behind the counter. He pushes his cheap $3 sunglasses up his nose as they slip down.

"You want vodka?" The guy asks in sloppy English. "You want Mimosa?"

"No, just orange juice," Spencer says.

"You want Screwdriver?" The guy asks.

"Orange juice," Spencer says again. "Just juice."

"Vodka?" The guy asks again. Spencer groans.

"Sólo el jugo de naranja, por favor," Brendon says, appearing beside Spencer. "Y un batido de fresa." Brendon is dressed in a black and white striped tank top that is more flamboyant than Spencer's seventh grade history teacher.

The guy behind the counter hands over a cup of orange juice and a strawberry smoothie. Brendon says, "De nada, Andre," and hands him a ten dollar bill. Brendon doesn't get change.

"Thank you," Spencer says.

"Sure thing," Brendon smiles. "I'm Brendon."

"I know," Spencer says, then blushes. Brendon laughs.

"So what brings you to California?" Brendon asks, sipping his smoothie.

They walk together down the beach, ducking beneath volleyball games and Frisbees. Spencer is happy to find that his orange juice is just orange juice.

"My best friend dragged me here and then ran off with the first girl he found," Spencer explains.

Brendon nods as if he understands. "Yeah, that happens."

"Do you live here?" Spencer asks.

"Most of the time," Brendon says slyly. Then he laughs. "Yeah, I live here."

"What's it like?" Spencer throws his empty cup into a trash can.

"You know," Brendon gestures with his smoothie, "It's fun. Nice. It gets tiring sometimes. I prefer the winter to the summer. Too many people in the summer." Spencer looks guilty; he's a tourist himself, after all.

"Oh, no," Brendon says, noticing. "I didn't mean it like that. I just mean – it's hard to take a run on the beach when there are sandcastles all over the place."

They pause beside another garbage can while Brendon slurps down the dregs of his drink. Brendon trashes the cup and smacks his lips in a playful manor, checking out Spencer's stubble with amused eyes.

"So, your friend abandoned you, right? Need any company?" Brendon asks. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and twirls them on his finger. When he clicks a button on the remote, a white convertible Mustang in the parking lot across the street flashes its lights.

Spencer says, "Sure."

+

Brendon takes him on a tour of Los Angeles. They speed forty down a twenty-five lane and pull to a stop in front of a two-level bungalow in a small neighborhood. The house is set among palm trees and flowering shrubs.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Brendon says with a flourish.

When they get inside, Brendon makes killer veggie omelets and gives Spencer a glass of orange juice that makes the tiki bar's offering taste like water. Spencer makes ridiculous moaning noises around his form that are not at all exaggerated.

"Where did you learn how to cook?" Spencer asks while Brendon does dishes.

"I took a couple classes at a culinary institute after I dropped out of beauty school," Brendon says seriously.

Around the house, there are overflowing shelves of vinyl records, books, and DVDs. Brendon sprawls across a deep purple leather sofa and props his feet on an all-glass table. Across from him, there is a 50 inch flat screen hanging above a table of game consoles.

"What do you do for a living?" Spencer asks as he gingerly sits on a pristine leather chair.

"I don't," Brendon says. "My grandfather hit the lottery for fifty-six million. Two years later, my parents kicked me out because they found out I'm gay. I worked at a couple of places here and there, trying to make it on my own, and when Grandpa found out, he wrote me a check and wrote my mom a nasty letter."

Brendon laughs, but Spencer doesn't.

"I'm sorry," Spencer says.

"Don't be. I'm happy now." Brendon looks over at the liquor cabinet across the room. "Do you want something to drink?"

As Spencer quickly finds out, Brendon was possibly a bartender in a past life. He makes a mean Manhattan and Spencer decides he could down Brendon's Slippery Nipples all night. Which is pretty much what they do.

"Wanna play truth or dare?" Brendon asks after his fifth cocktail. Spencer was never much of a drinker and is already farther gone than sober, so he agrees. "Okay, I'll go first. Truth or dare?"

Brendon fixes Spencer with a stare that makes Spencer's toes curl.

"Truth," Spencer says, but it comes out a whisper. He says it again, louder. "Truth."

"Okay." Brendon leans forward, elbows on knees. "Have you ever kissed a guy?"

"Yes," Spencer says without hesitation. "Once." Brendon looks impressed. "Your turn."

"Truth," Brendon says after a moment of thought.

"Have you?"

Brendon laughs. "Spencer, Spencer." Words slip off his tongue like butter; Spencer melts. "Yes. Yes I have. I've kissed more guys than girls, easy."

Spencer feels his face heat up.

"Truth or dare?" Brendon says.

Spencer hesitates. The part of him that's closest to his groin wants to say dare, but his mouth says, "Truth."

"Have you ever had sex with a guy?"

Really, Spencer wonders, when did this become a game about sex?

His answer comes out a whisper. "No."

Brendon, well, he looks downright smug.

"Truth or dare," Spencer says, because he's drunk.

Brendon's eyes play over Spencer. "Truth," he says, as if he has a plan.

"Do you do this a lot? Invite guys over and get them drunk?" Spencer asks hoarsely.

"Never," Brendon says, straight into Spencer's eyes. "You're the first one." Spencer believes him.

"Truth or dare?" Brendon asks, and Spencer gives in. He says, "Dare."

Brendon says, "Kiss me."

Spencer carefully sets his glass down on the table and walks on his knees over to the sofa where Brendon is sitting, open and relaxed. He watches as each finger on his left hand touches Brendon's right knee; he watches his right hand do the same.

Licking his lips, he looks up at Brendon through his lashes and has never, ever felt like this before. A thrill stabs through his belly and his fingers tighten over Brendon's thighs.

Slowly, slowly, he leans in. Brendon meets him halfway.

Spencer can honestly say that kissing Brendon is like nothing he's ever felt. Brendon's jaw is smooth, his mouth is warm, and his lips are like erasers than remove every sane thought from Spencer's mind. Spencer loses his breath, fumbles for his grip on control, but fails brutally and falls into Brendon and everything he has.

All of that, and the kiss lasts only a few seconds.

Brendon is the one that pulls back; Spencer tries to follow.

"I never do this," Spencer says as Brendon watches him through searching eyes.

"I don't either," Brendon promises.

"Are we – ?" Spencer leans his head against Brendon's collarbone. His tequila breath rebounds into his own face, but it somehow only spurs him on further. "Are we going to have sex?"

Brendon asks, "Do you want to?"

"Yes." Spencer mouths at Brendon's throat. Will he even remember this in the morning?

Gently, Brendon pushes Spencer back. Spencer grabs for Brendon, ends up tucking his hands into the pockets of Brendon's shorts. Brendon hisses quietly when Spencer catches sensitive skin in the smooth slide of his hands seeking steadiness.

"Bedroom," Brendon whispers, pulling them both to their feet.

Spencer is very drunk. Maybe not as drunk as he was at his High School prom, but yeah, he's drunk. Halfway down the hall, Brendon shoves him against the Electric Lime wall and kisses him. Spencer opens up for Brendon and just lets him. He whimpers when Brendon traces a finger along his ribcage, sucks on Brendon's tongue when it's offered, and spreads his legs when Brendon pulls at his waistband.

"I'm so fucked," Spencer says, eyes closed.

"Not yet, you're not," Brendon laughs.

Brendon's bedroom would maybe look good if Spencer wasn't drunk, but now it just makes his head hurt. The bed has way too many pillows, there is a Victorian-era trunk on one wall, and a strange array of scarves hanging from pegs on the yellow walls.

They stop next to the bed. Brendon says, "I'm going to take off your clothes now, okay?" and Spencer just nods. He lifts his arms when Brendon pulls at his shirt and steps out of his shorts after Brendon pulls them down. He doesn't even blush, standing naked in front of Brendon, unless you count the rosiness that he took on from the Sambuca.

Spencer allows himself to be pushed down on the bed. He watches Brendon strip off his own clothes, never breaking eye contact. Spencer is so hard; he feels like he's in high school again.

Brendon asks once more, "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Spencer says, "Fuck, yes, just fucking fuck me already."

So Brendon goes slowly. They kiss for what, to Spencer, seems like an hour, but is really only ten minutes. Spencer raises his hips, looking for contact, but Brendon is careful to avoid any. When Spencer lets out a strangled whine, Brendon looks triumphant.

"Please," Spencer says, not even twenty minutes in. Brendon has his mouth on Spencer's shoulder, biting and sucking his way down to Spencer's chest. Through his drunken haze, Spencer can feel Brendon hard against his thigh. He says again, "Please," and bucks into Brendon's hips.

"Please what?" Brendon murmurs against damp skin.

"Please, please fuck me," Spencer gasps.

Brendon wraps a spit-slick hand around Spencer's cock and tugs. Spencer howls, fingers scrabbling at Brendon's shoulders. Brendon moves down and replaces his hand with his mouth, eliciting an animalistic moan from Spencer that makes Brendon close his eyes and tell himself, not yet.

"Please," Spencer says again.

Brendon pulls back, tasting salt on his tongue. He grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand and slicks up his fingers. He starts with one, going so slowly, in and out with every other breath. Spencer pleads, "More, Brendon, I can."

Two fingers make Spencer clench and buck. Brendon palms his own cock with sympathy, but he isn't so desperate that he'll compromise Spencer's comfort, even though they just met.

By the time they get to three fingers, Spencer is begging for release. "Let me come, Brendon, I have to. I need it, please." Brendon ignores him, working him open until he starts begging for more. "Fuck me, please. Fuck me."

Brendon wears a condom because he's not stupid. In the time it takes him to open the foil, Spencer is experimentally fingering himself, which Brendon puts a stop to immediately. "Wait for me," he says. Spencer does.

He slides in with a groan that matches Spencer's. Spencer writhes in a mixture of pain, pleasure, and need. Brendon remembers his first time and starts rocking, short little thrusts and then longer, harder, faster. Spencer grabs hold of the thousand dollar headboard and screams Brendon's name.

"Get yourself off," Brendon pants, not because he doesn't want to do it himself, but because he's horrible at keeping two separate things going at once. Spencer snakes one hand between them, knuckles grazing Brendon's belly, stroking quickly. Brendon's eyes close without his consent, but snap back open when Spencer comes, moaning and clenching and bruising Brendon's hip with strong fingers.

The sight makes Brendon let go, thrust wildly for thirty seconds until he comes, too.

When he can breathe again, Brendon cleans them both up. Spencer cuddles into Brendon's favorite pillow and Brendon lets him.

+

Spencer wakes up with a headache that makes his eyes burn. With bright light reverberating off of the yellow walls, and an ache shooting up his spine, he decides to keep his eyes closed and his body still. Brendon is up not much later, stretching and humming.

Spencer squints against the light to find Brendon watching him.

"I'm sorry," Spencer says, even though his mouth is dry and the movement makes him nauseous.

"I'm not," Brendon says. He leans in but stops far enough away to let Spencer make the decision. Spencer makes up for the extra space and pulls Brendon closer. They kiss lazily until Spencer says, "I'm getting tired of smelling myself. Can I use your shower?"

He washes with Sea Breeze shampoo and Berry Blast soap, dries off with a striped towel, and dresses in Brendon's Dior boxers. He happily takes a cup of coffee from Brendon in the kitchen and puts six teaspoons of sugar in before taking a sip.

Brendon offers him some aspirin and by noon they're good to go. They load into Brendon's car and cruise along Rodeo Drive and Sunset Boulevard. Brendon ducks into a couple of shops and stocks up on underwear, a fresh bottle of Bacardi, and two new pairs of sunglasses (one of which he presents to Spencer).

They have a late lunch at Trimana and pick out fresh strawberries at a street market. They end up back at Brendon's house before the sun is down, where Brendon makes steak sandwiches. Without asking, Brendon makes Spencer a Dragon Berry Mojito. Spencer checks his cell phone with his first sip and happily tells Brendon, "I guess I'm not missed or anything. No missed calls."

Two drinks in, Spencer strips off their clothes and rides Brendon right there, Brendon bucking up to meet him, their breath mingling.

Hours later, they fall into Brendon's bed and go again, slow this time, savoring every movement.

+

Spencer's phone rings at nine in the morning. He answers on autopilot. It's Ryan, reminding him that their flight is in the morning. He says, "Keltie is going to come with us. She's going to move in with me."

When Brendon wakes up, Spencer is sitting at the bar in the kitchen, reading an old issue of GQ. Brendon kisses him with a closed mouth and wanders to the fridge. He drinks juice straight out of the carton and smacks his lips with a smile.

"What do you want to do today?" He asks.

Spencer plays with the corner of a page. "I'm supposed to be going home tomorrow."

Brendon is silent for a few moments. Then, brightly, he says, "You don't have to. You could stay."

"I've been thinking about that. I could, you know. Get a job here and find an apartment or something." Spencer flips to a page he's already read.

"Or you could move in with me," Brendon says.

Spencer looks up and meets his eyes. "Do you think we'll last?"

Seriously, Brendon says, "I've never wanted anything more."

"I have a dog," Spencer says sadly.

Brendon shoots back, "We can put up a fence."

"All of my stuff is back home."

"I'll wait for you." They stare at each other for a long, still moment. "I could give you anything you've ever wanted, anything you could ever want."

"I don't need things," Spencer says.

"Okay," Brendon says. "Then I won't. Just me. I'll just give you me."

Spencer eyes him suspiciously. "You swear you don't do this all the time? I'm not gonna come back and find you with another guy, am I?"

"Would I lie to you?" Brendon asks. Really, Spencer doesn't know. But he sort of does.

"Okay," he says to a smiling Brendon. "Okay."