Spencer realized by the time he got back home, Brandon had gone to work. Or school. Spencer didn't know, but either way, the house was empty and he had the option of trying to limp up the stairs alone or sit on the ground floor alone. Instead, he dialed a number - rarely used - and summoned a black car.
He was still unhappy that Sherlock had taken him straight home. He wanted his Mummy.
It was a good hour plus drive from the city, but eventually the cottage came into sight.
Spencer was actually excited that he might get a few minutes alone with his mother, especially if she really was retiring the way it seemed. He hurried along, leg hurting as he came up towards the porch. John had dragged his old, soft chair out onto the porch and sat reading a book with a quilt over his legs. He blinked up at the car, and had stood to give Spencer a hand when he realized who was gimping his way over.
"Hello, son," John said, squeezing Spence's arm. "What a surprise."
"Dad," Spencer said, leaning to hug him. "Is Mum.. home?"
"She's somewhere about," John said with a fond sort of sternness to his expression. "She's a menace and needs to be stopped. She's made all our good shirts into a quilt. I don't know what she'll do next."
Spencer smiled. "And how've you been? You look like you're doing good, Dad. Happy?" he said, looking around. "I miss you."
"I miss you do, dear," John said, smiling at his son. "How's school?"
"Erm," Spencer said. "I think we both should be sitting down for that talk." He fidgeted. "Can we go in?"
"Sure," John said with a frown. He placed his blanket over his chair and motioned to Spencer to grab the door so he could pull his chair back inside. Spencer held the door open and followed his dad in. He was comforted to see his Father's chair waiting.
He curled up as best he could with his injured leg.
"Did Father tell you about my um, leg?" Spencer asked, eyes large behind his glasses.
"Yes," John said with raised eyebrows. "Another reason your mother is a menace who must be stopped. Are you taking care of it like I taught you?"
Spencer rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dad," he said, but it was with a fond smile. "Just bloody hurts! You all forgot about that part." He rubbed at the wound. "Dad, I've been let go from the Academy."
John pressed his lips together. "And what do you intend to do now?"
Spencer chewed his lip.
"I was sortof coming to talk to Mum about that," he whispered.
"Whatever for?" John asked, keeping his expression stern.
Spencer picked at his fingers, then went back to chewing on his abused lip. "Options?" he tried.
"Spencer," John sighed, clearly disappointed. "I think you could do better."
"They want me as an analyst, a bloody peon! I won't ever get room for advancement and I'll be stuck doing all the things Father was trapped by. I'm better than that! They said I failed my psych evals, Dad. Me!" Spencer said, blowing up. "Like I'm some sort of.. psychopath!"
John's mouth opened and then snapped shut. Then he turned. "Sherlock, come talk some sense into your bloody son!"
Sherlock stumbled down the hall, looking for all the world like a cat just woken from a nap. His curls flew in every direction. Spencer growled at how his Father still managed to look effortlessly attractive even with grey in his hair.
"Spencer!" Sherlock said, tugging his silky dressing gown up. "What's the problem? I imagine the trip here is longer than to hospital. Everything alright?"
"He's considering following in his mother's footsteps rather than yours," John told his dazed lover. "Could you please explain to this poor confused lad that you weren't a peon, or trapped by the force?"
"The police will most certainly try to wrap you in red tape," Sherlock said, raising his finger. "Which is why I was a consultant." He slipped into John's lap.
Spencer averted his eyes.
"But I don't wanna do what you did," he mumbled.
"But you shouldn't want to do what that woman does, either," John said, an arm curling around Sherlock's waist. "Be decent in front of the children, Sherlock."
"I am decent," Sherlock huffed, kissing John on the temple. "Only no, no we're not. They released you because you wouldn't give them the answers they wanted to hear."
"But they're wrong!" Spencer said. "They're wrong, and I can see the answers, but they keep complaining about chain of evidence and inadmissible and Mr. Holmes you have to be sympathetic, but it's PATHETIC!"
"What has everyone all worked up in here?" Mary asked, standing in the doorway. Her jeans were covered in paint and torn at the knee, and were too big for her and rolled up at the waist. She was wearing a men's shirt in a familiar violet shade with dirt smeared all over.
"Are those my jeans?" John asked, looking alarmed. Mary shrugged.
"They used to be. We have a garden now, by the by," she replied. She bent to kiss Spencer on the cheek. "Hello, my love."
"Hi, Mum," Spencer said.
"Mary, he's down to his pants at this point," Sherlock sighed. "We'll have to go into town."
"I don't think that's quite a complaint, if you think about it," Mary said, arching an eyebrow suggestively.
"You could've asked," John muttered.
"Spencer, dear, what have you done to upset him?" Mary asked.
"School kicked me out, and I came to talk to you about work instead of them," Spencer said with a surly expression. "I'm not going to have Father's job. I am not Sherlock Holmes!"
"And who are you, then?" Mary replied, sitting down on the arm of his chair, looking a little too cool for maternal.
Spencer fidgeted more. "I don't know! I was going to be a police officer. They want me as an analyst, Mum, but if I'm going to be quibbling over what's right and wrong - then why don't I work for people who don't care what procedure is, and at least I won't.. be.. alone.." He mumbled into his jacket, drawing into himself. "I can't do Father's job."
"Well, I'm not hiring right now," Mary said, patting his curls.
"Thank God," John said, rolling his head backwards, eyelids fluttering.
"Mum!" Spencer whined. "What am I supposed to do?!"
"I'm not answering that," Mary said, looking disgruntled. "You children- You can't expect us to pick out what you're to do. No! You need to go out, explore, try thing for yourself. You aren't strapped for cash. You're more privileged than most princes are. Go! Get out and do something for yourself. So the police didn't want you, stop whinging about it and try again."
Spencer scowled, but pushed up out of his chair.
"Have fun with your shag cottage," he sneered, stalking out with all the dignity he could.
After the front door slammed with enough aplomb, Sherlock looked over at Mary.
"Shag cottage," he said, smirking.
Mary shrugged, sliding down onto the seat of Sherlock's armchair. "If he can't tell us who Spencer is, then he won't be able to tell anyone else, either."
"They'll find their way," Sherlock said, playing with John's sideburns and scratchy stubble. "It's why we shoved them out of the nest. Or rather flew off without them. How's the garden going?" he asked innocently.
"I don't like worms," Mary said, wrinkling her nose. "I decided to build a sandcastle instead. But first I made several cement cherubs and have hidden them around the yard for people to trip over."
"Excellent," Sherlock said, hopping out of John's lap with energy a man his age shouldn't have.
"Hello, son," John said, squeezing Spence's arm. "What a surprise."
"Dad," Spencer said, leaning to hug him. "Is Mum.. home?"
"She's somewhere about," John said with a fond sort of sternness to his expression. "She's a menace and needs to be stopped. She's made all our good shirts into a quilt. I don't know what she'll do next."
Spencer smiled. "And how've you been? You look like you're doing good, Dad. Happy?" he said, looking around. "I miss you."
"I miss you do, dear," John said, smiling at his son. "How's school?"
"Erm," Spencer said. "I think we both should be sitting down for that talk." He fidgeted. "Can we go in?"
"Sure," John said with a frown. He placed his blanket over his chair and motioned to Spencer to grab the door so he could pull his chair back inside. Spencer held the door open and followed his dad in. He was comforted to see his Father's chair waiting.
He curled up as best he could with his injured leg.
"Did Father tell you about my um, leg?" Spencer asked, eyes large behind his glasses.
"Yes," John said with raised eyebrows. "Another reason your mother is a menace who must be stopped. Are you taking care of it like I taught you?"
Spencer rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dad," he said, but it was with a fond smile. "Just bloody hurts! You all forgot about that part." He rubbed at the wound. "Dad, I've been let go from the Academy."
John pressed his lips together. "And what do you intend to do now?"
Spencer chewed his lip.
"I was sortof coming to talk to Mum about that," he whispered.
"Whatever for?" John asked, keeping his expression stern.
Spencer picked at his fingers, then went back to chewing on his abused lip. "Options?" he tried.
"Spencer," John sighed, clearly disappointed. "I think you could do better."
"They want me as an analyst, a bloody peon! I won't ever get room for advancement and I'll be stuck doing all the things Father was trapped by. I'm better than that! They said I failed my psych evals, Dad. Me!" Spencer said, blowing up. "Like I'm some sort of.. psychopath!"
John's mouth opened and then snapped shut. Then he turned. "Sherlock, come talk some sense into your bloody son!"
Sherlock stumbled down the hall, looking for all the world like a cat just woken from a nap. His curls flew in every direction. Spencer growled at how his Father still managed to look effortlessly attractive even with grey in his hair.
"Spencer!" Sherlock said, tugging his silky dressing gown up. "What's the problem? I imagine the trip here is longer than to hospital. Everything alright?"
"He's considering following in his mother's footsteps rather than yours," John told his dazed lover. "Could you please explain to this poor confused lad that you weren't a peon, or trapped by the force?"
"The police will most certainly try to wrap you in red tape," Sherlock said, raising his finger. "Which is why I was a consultant." He slipped into John's lap.
Spencer averted his eyes.
"But I don't wanna do what you did," he mumbled.
"But you shouldn't want to do what that woman does, either," John said, an arm curling around Sherlock's waist. "Be decent in front of the children, Sherlock."
"I am decent," Sherlock huffed, kissing John on the temple. "Only no, no we're not. They released you because you wouldn't give them the answers they wanted to hear."
"But they're wrong!" Spencer said. "They're wrong, and I can see the answers, but they keep complaining about chain of evidence and inadmissible and Mr. Holmes you have to be sympathetic, but it's PATHETIC!"
"What has everyone all worked up in here?" Mary asked, standing in the doorway. Her jeans were covered in paint and torn at the knee, and were too big for her and rolled up at the waist. She was wearing a men's shirt in a familiar violet shade with dirt smeared all over.
"Are those my jeans?" John asked, looking alarmed. Mary shrugged.
"They used to be. We have a garden now, by the by," she replied. She bent to kiss Spencer on the cheek. "Hello, my love."
"Hi, Mum," Spencer said.
"Mary, he's down to his pants at this point," Sherlock sighed. "We'll have to go into town."
"I don't think that's quite a complaint, if you think about it," Mary said, arching an eyebrow suggestively.
"You could've asked," John muttered.
"Spencer, dear, what have you done to upset him?" Mary asked.
"School kicked me out, and I came to talk to you about work instead of them," Spencer said with a surly expression. "I'm not going to have Father's job. I am not Sherlock Holmes!"
"And who are you, then?" Mary replied, sitting down on the arm of his chair, looking a little too cool for maternal.
Spencer fidgeted more. "I don't know! I was going to be a police officer. They want me as an analyst, Mum, but if I'm going to be quibbling over what's right and wrong - then why don't I work for people who don't care what procedure is, and at least I won't.. be.. alone.." He mumbled into his jacket, drawing into himself. "I can't do Father's job."
"Well, I'm not hiring right now," Mary said, patting his curls.
"Thank God," John said, rolling his head backwards, eyelids fluttering.
"Mum!" Spencer whined. "What am I supposed to do?!"
"I'm not answering that," Mary said, looking disgruntled. "You children- You can't expect us to pick out what you're to do. No! You need to go out, explore, try thing for yourself. You aren't strapped for cash. You're more privileged than most princes are. Go! Get out and do something for yourself. So the police didn't want you, stop whinging about it and try again."
Spencer scowled, but pushed up out of his chair.
"Have fun with your shag cottage," he sneered, stalking out with all the dignity he could.
After the front door slammed with enough aplomb, Sherlock looked over at Mary.
"Shag cottage," he said, smirking.
Mary shrugged, sliding down onto the seat of Sherlock's armchair. "If he can't tell us who Spencer is, then he won't be able to tell anyone else, either."
"They'll find their way," Sherlock said, playing with John's sideburns and scratchy stubble. "It's why we shoved them out of the nest. Or rather flew off without them. How's the garden going?" he asked innocently.
"I don't like worms," Mary said, wrinkling her nose. "I decided to build a sandcastle instead. But first I made several cement cherubs and have hidden them around the yard for people to trip over."
"Excellent," Sherlock said, hopping out of John's lap with energy a man his age shouldn't have.
***
Back in London, angry and injured, Spencer hauled himself up all seventeen stairs, with a few embarrassing stumbles. He was almost walking normally by the end of the day. Once he was in B flat again, he pulled every bottle of liquor and lined them up on the counter.
It had started out as an experiment in taste. Or something.
His hand knocked into the bottle of moscato. It fell over. Empty.
"Shit," he said, trying to clean up the mess that wasn't there.
"What are you doing?" Brandon asked, leaning against the door frame.
"Swh-what? What am.." Spencer hummed. "I'm pissed!" he finally settled on, righting the bottle. "That's what I am."
"Yes, I can see that. I don't understand why," Brandon drawled, sounding too much like his father. "Explain."
"Because Ab-Abby, Abigail! Told me to piss off. Dad told me, told me something. And Mum! Mum won't work with me!" Spencer sputtered. "She says I don't know who I am! So I decided to get pissed!" Spencer rolled his head back onto the cushion of the chair. "Bran, we're out of wine."
"Yeah, I'm going to let you think that," Brandon said, sounding amused. "I'm not cleanin' it up if you lost your guts over the carpet."
"I kin-can hold my liquor," Spencer hiccuped. "However, I cannot manage to get off the floor and the room keeps tilting to the right. Could you make it stop?"
Brandon tsked, crouching closer to the drunk teen. "Bad form, Spence. Why did you ask to work with your mum?"
"Because I haven't got a - a John," Spencer sobbed pathetically. "I can't be Sherlock Holmes without a Watson. She just gave Moriarty to some guy."
"Not just some guy, your sister's guy. Let's face it, mate, you'd never be a good Moriarty. Even you could agree to that," Brandon replied, wincing at the dramatic display.
"I know," Spencer said. "Got knifed on my first kidnapping. I'd be shite at it. I just miss my parents... Bran, I'm hungry." He reached out for his cousin.
"I'll make you something. Think you could handle eggs?" Brandon said, pulling out of reach. "That ought to be gentle for you."
Spencer's hand dropped.
"Yeah, sounds good," he said, curling over onto the rug. "This what we do then?"
"What who does?" Brandon asked from the kitchen.
"You an' me," Spencer mumbled. "We dance around and do the domestic. You shag blokes, and I kick 'em out. No feelings, no strings attached. You feed me up instead."
"Yeah, we're cousins. It's what we do," Brandon said tightly, trying to keep an upbeat tone as the conversation turned even more depressing. "Got a problem with it?"
"We aren't cousins," Spencer muttered. "Biolobical-bibilo-biologically identical twins, identical DNA. Your dad might as well be mine, and the same. Makes it worse, don't it?"
Brandon's lips puckered into a sour expression as he seasoned the eggs, whisking them together. "So, we're like, brothers."
"Mmhmm," Spencer said, sitting back up as his head spun. He pulled himself up, limping towards the kitchen to sink into 'his' chair at the table. "Brothers, blood brothers."
"Then this is definitely what we do," Brandon said, letting the eggs scramble while he heated a tin of beans. "Nice and domestic."
"I'd suck your cock if you wanted," Spencer said, face down on the kitchen table. "I don't care about the blood thing. Nobody'd have to know."
"No! You're my bloody family. Not to mention you're a kid. And drunk, and I'm sorry, but I don't take advantage of pissed people," Brandon said, putting the eggs and beans on a plate, plopping it next to Spencer. He had his palms flat on the table, and he leaned in close. "And I don't go in for family. No matter what our parents think on the subject."
Spencer looked up.
"I know," he said. "I just- we didn't talk about it Christmas. You're- you're bloody.." gorgeous. He blinked back emotions. He knew Brandon hated when he was emotional. "Domestic is good. I get what none of your lovers get." He picked up a bit of eggs on a fork, popping them into his mouth. "It's good."
"Come off it, anyone can scramble eggs," Brandon said, sighing and dropping into a kitchen chair across from Spencer. He poured himself a tequila shot from a bottle that had almost materialized out of no where. He flipped his hair out of his eyes. "What did your mum actually say, anyway? That got you so ticked off."
"I can't work for her," Spencer said. "That I'm more well off than some princes out there." He remembered her verbiage precisely. "To go out, find myself. They won't pick what I am."
Brandon snorted, throwing back his shot. "Parents. Always seem to know so much and they don't know anything a'tall."
Spencer watched Brandon's throat ripple.
"Abby said I was dangerous for 'er," he said, trying not to say anything else about how he wanted to coat that white throat with bites. He'd wank in the shower - as usual - and then not say anything - as usual. "I thought, thought workin' for Mum would protect her. Vance smacked her purple. Face. You don't bloody hit a woman in the face," he said around a mouthful of beans.
"And that's why you'd be a rotten Moriarty. Jus' like you'd be a rotten cop," Brandon said, leaning forward. "You don't want to hurt people. You wouldn't be able to do it, if that's what it took. I bet Vance just saw her as a threat to Finch. He'd do anything to protect her."
"I'd do anythin' for a love like that," Spencer sighed. "I know you think it's rubbish."
Brandon laughed. "Of course it is. Look at what love does to people. What it did to your parents. You want that mess? Ha. Thanks, but no thanks."
Spencer shook his head. "You should've seen 'em today. God, they were so saccharine, I had to leave. Yeah, I want the mess. I want to bleed for someone, to do crazy things, to build a criminal empire, to chase my criminal lover across the world, to live life on the line, like I'm gonna die tomorrow! It's what we were raised for, and everythin's so.. safe." He laid down his fork and leaned on his arm. "I wanna shot."
"No, no," Brandon pulled the bottle out of his reach. "You've had enough. And you'd throw up if you mixed the liquors." Brandon poured himself another shot, though. "You don't want to be a criminal. You don't want to hurt people, Spence."
"I want to hurt Vance," Spencer said darkly. "A cricket bat to the face would show him not to touch-" what's mine.
Brandon got sort of quiet. Considering things. "Yeah, but if you hurt him, you hurt Finch."
"I know, I KNOW," Spencer complained. "Maybe I should join the army.."
"Oh what, you jump from trying to be one dad into trying to be the other? Do not. join. the. army," Brandon said, eyes darkening.
"Well at least I'd be doing some good," Spencer tried. "How d'you know, Bran? How d'you figure out who you are? I couldn't even get my tongue pierced. The girl was even going to do it too. Couldn't hurt as bad as the knife wound though.."
"Spencer," Brandon said his name, leaning forward. "You just figure it out. There aren't any definite ways. You just, you do stuff. You stop trying to do what your parents do, and you figure out what it is you like to do."
Spencer reached out to touch Brandon's cheek. It was warm under his fingertips. "Brother..." he whispered.
Brandon flinched at the word. He screwed the cap on the bottle and stood to put it back in it's hiding spot. "Can you make it to bed? Or do you need help?"
Several things flew to Spencer's lips, but he settled on. "Just a shoulder, if you don't mind," he mumbled. "Thanks for... food."
"Eh. Someone's got to feed you," Spencer said, his arm around Spencer's waist, pulling him up onto his feet. "C'mon. It always looks better in the morning."
"Not in London. It usually rains," Spencer quipped. Brandon smelled good. Like food and tequila. It was the little things. The little things he should stop obsessing over. Spencer's bed was calling to him. He managed to get onto it with a huff. "Bran.." he said, before his 'brother-cousin' could leave.
"Yeah?" Brandon asked, tossing a pair of soft sleep trousers at the younger man.
"If we weren't, y'know, would you-?" he asked, holding the pyjamas.
"Look, Spencer. You're lookin' for more than just a shag. And that's all I'm lookin' for," Brandon said. He ruffled his cousin's curls before heading for the door. "Stop obsessing. You always find things when you stop lookin' for them."
"Yeah, alright," Spencer said. "Night, Bran."
"Night, Spencer," Brandon said, turning out the light and closing the door.
"What are you doing?" Brandon asked, leaning against the door frame.
"Swh-what? What am.." Spencer hummed. "I'm pissed!" he finally settled on, righting the bottle. "That's what I am."
"Yes, I can see that. I don't understand why," Brandon drawled, sounding too much like his father. "Explain."
"Because Ab-Abby, Abigail! Told me to piss off. Dad told me, told me something. And Mum! Mum won't work with me!" Spencer sputtered. "She says I don't know who I am! So I decided to get pissed!" Spencer rolled his head back onto the cushion of the chair. "Bran, we're out of wine."
"Yeah, I'm going to let you think that," Brandon said, sounding amused. "I'm not cleanin' it up if you lost your guts over the carpet."
"I kin-can hold my liquor," Spencer hiccuped. "However, I cannot manage to get off the floor and the room keeps tilting to the right. Could you make it stop?"
Brandon tsked, crouching closer to the drunk teen. "Bad form, Spence. Why did you ask to work with your mum?"
"Because I haven't got a - a John," Spencer sobbed pathetically. "I can't be Sherlock Holmes without a Watson. She just gave Moriarty to some guy."
"Not just some guy, your sister's guy. Let's face it, mate, you'd never be a good Moriarty. Even you could agree to that," Brandon replied, wincing at the dramatic display.
"I know," Spencer said. "Got knifed on my first kidnapping. I'd be shite at it. I just miss my parents... Bran, I'm hungry." He reached out for his cousin.
"I'll make you something. Think you could handle eggs?" Brandon said, pulling out of reach. "That ought to be gentle for you."
Spencer's hand dropped.
"Yeah, sounds good," he said, curling over onto the rug. "This what we do then?"
"What who does?" Brandon asked from the kitchen.
"You an' me," Spencer mumbled. "We dance around and do the domestic. You shag blokes, and I kick 'em out. No feelings, no strings attached. You feed me up instead."
"Yeah, we're cousins. It's what we do," Brandon said tightly, trying to keep an upbeat tone as the conversation turned even more depressing. "Got a problem with it?"
"We aren't cousins," Spencer muttered. "Biolobical-bibilo-biologically identical twins, identical DNA. Your dad might as well be mine, and the same. Makes it worse, don't it?"
Brandon's lips puckered into a sour expression as he seasoned the eggs, whisking them together. "So, we're like, brothers."
"Mmhmm," Spencer said, sitting back up as his head spun. He pulled himself up, limping towards the kitchen to sink into 'his' chair at the table. "Brothers, blood brothers."
"Then this is definitely what we do," Brandon said, letting the eggs scramble while he heated a tin of beans. "Nice and domestic."
"I'd suck your cock if you wanted," Spencer said, face down on the kitchen table. "I don't care about the blood thing. Nobody'd have to know."
"No! You're my bloody family. Not to mention you're a kid. And drunk, and I'm sorry, but I don't take advantage of pissed people," Brandon said, putting the eggs and beans on a plate, plopping it next to Spencer. He had his palms flat on the table, and he leaned in close. "And I don't go in for family. No matter what our parents think on the subject."
Spencer looked up.
"I know," he said. "I just- we didn't talk about it Christmas. You're- you're bloody.." gorgeous. He blinked back emotions. He knew Brandon hated when he was emotional. "Domestic is good. I get what none of your lovers get." He picked up a bit of eggs on a fork, popping them into his mouth. "It's good."
"Come off it, anyone can scramble eggs," Brandon said, sighing and dropping into a kitchen chair across from Spencer. He poured himself a tequila shot from a bottle that had almost materialized out of no where. He flipped his hair out of his eyes. "What did your mum actually say, anyway? That got you so ticked off."
"I can't work for her," Spencer said. "That I'm more well off than some princes out there." He remembered her verbiage precisely. "To go out, find myself. They won't pick what I am."
Brandon snorted, throwing back his shot. "Parents. Always seem to know so much and they don't know anything a'tall."
Spencer watched Brandon's throat ripple.
"Abby said I was dangerous for 'er," he said, trying not to say anything else about how he wanted to coat that white throat with bites. He'd wank in the shower - as usual - and then not say anything - as usual. "I thought, thought workin' for Mum would protect her. Vance smacked her purple. Face. You don't bloody hit a woman in the face," he said around a mouthful of beans.
"And that's why you'd be a rotten Moriarty. Jus' like you'd be a rotten cop," Brandon said, leaning forward. "You don't want to hurt people. You wouldn't be able to do it, if that's what it took. I bet Vance just saw her as a threat to Finch. He'd do anything to protect her."
"I'd do anythin' for a love like that," Spencer sighed. "I know you think it's rubbish."
Brandon laughed. "Of course it is. Look at what love does to people. What it did to your parents. You want that mess? Ha. Thanks, but no thanks."
Spencer shook his head. "You should've seen 'em today. God, they were so saccharine, I had to leave. Yeah, I want the mess. I want to bleed for someone, to do crazy things, to build a criminal empire, to chase my criminal lover across the world, to live life on the line, like I'm gonna die tomorrow! It's what we were raised for, and everythin's so.. safe." He laid down his fork and leaned on his arm. "I wanna shot."
"No, no," Brandon pulled the bottle out of his reach. "You've had enough. And you'd throw up if you mixed the liquors." Brandon poured himself another shot, though. "You don't want to be a criminal. You don't want to hurt people, Spence."
"I want to hurt Vance," Spencer said darkly. "A cricket bat to the face would show him not to touch-" what's mine.
Brandon got sort of quiet. Considering things. "Yeah, but if you hurt him, you hurt Finch."
"I know, I KNOW," Spencer complained. "Maybe I should join the army.."
"Oh what, you jump from trying to be one dad into trying to be the other? Do not. join. the. army," Brandon said, eyes darkening.
"Well at least I'd be doing some good," Spencer tried. "How d'you know, Bran? How d'you figure out who you are? I couldn't even get my tongue pierced. The girl was even going to do it too. Couldn't hurt as bad as the knife wound though.."
"Spencer," Brandon said his name, leaning forward. "You just figure it out. There aren't any definite ways. You just, you do stuff. You stop trying to do what your parents do, and you figure out what it is you like to do."
Spencer reached out to touch Brandon's cheek. It was warm under his fingertips. "Brother..." he whispered.
Brandon flinched at the word. He screwed the cap on the bottle and stood to put it back in it's hiding spot. "Can you make it to bed? Or do you need help?"
Several things flew to Spencer's lips, but he settled on. "Just a shoulder, if you don't mind," he mumbled. "Thanks for... food."
"Eh. Someone's got to feed you," Spencer said, his arm around Spencer's waist, pulling him up onto his feet. "C'mon. It always looks better in the morning."
"Not in London. It usually rains," Spencer quipped. Brandon smelled good. Like food and tequila. It was the little things. The little things he should stop obsessing over. Spencer's bed was calling to him. He managed to get onto it with a huff. "Bran.." he said, before his 'brother-cousin' could leave.
"Yeah?" Brandon asked, tossing a pair of soft sleep trousers at the younger man.
"If we weren't, y'know, would you-?" he asked, holding the pyjamas.
"Look, Spencer. You're lookin' for more than just a shag. And that's all I'm lookin' for," Brandon said. He ruffled his cousin's curls before heading for the door. "Stop obsessing. You always find things when you stop lookin' for them."
"Yeah, alright," Spencer said. "Night, Bran."
"Night, Spencer," Brandon said, turning out the light and closing the door.
***
Spencer's leg healed. The scar was thin and red for awhile, but he got back to using the stairs and running about without assistance again. Which of course, meant he no longer needed to rely on Brandon to tuck him in at night or help him up and down. He missed the physical closeness.
He was thinking about getting a dog or cat or something as he walked home from school. School - a waste. His classes had been shifted into computer technologies, crime analysis, and added psychology course for him 'to work on his empathy'. Which, he's just gotten kicked out of for the second time.
He carried his leather tote across his back, passing one of the local secondary schools as it was letting out. He was reminiscing about going home to flop on the sofa with his dad or father and talk about the inaccuracies of the lesson that day, when a hand stretched out pulling him into an alley way.
"Hey, boy," a slimy voice said.
Spencer kicked for the guy's knees, then swung his elbow upwards into the man's chin.
"Fuck off, bastard," he spat, running off.
He got home feeling awful. The worst part - that wasn't the first time.
Hey, boy.
Boy. Kid. It didn't matter that his IQ was high enough to rival some of the greatest minds in the world, or that he could down an unarmed man in less than two minutes. (He wasn't the best against an armed captor, but that's why he had family.)
Spencer climbed onto the sink in the bathroom, examining his face. He removed his glasses, looking close at his eyes, his nose, his teeth. He had all of his adult teeth - minus his wisdom teeth as they'd been removed at fifteen. He had hair in the right places, though not a lot. His biological father being rather hairless and his mother's red-headedness leaving him with pale hair on his body. His own curls had a ginger tinge to their dark coils.
Still a bit of youthful roundness remained in his cheeks, though his body was slim and lanky - though not nearly as tall as his "half brother" or Father.
He finally pulled away to sulk in his room. Laptop perched on his knees, he went about checking his email and normal sites. A few messages popped up from acquaintances, leaving him tidbits of information. One of the upgrades he'd given to his own irregulars was cheap mobile phones. A simple text or email was a lot easier than needing to hunt down certain people.
Of course, they had to be trustworthy ones. Three of the ten distributed mobiles had 'gone missing' after Spencer had passed them out. He shot out a mass text to the remaining seven to pass on the description of the guy who'd attacked him. He was ticked off, and the bloke would have a hard time anywhere in London once Spencer laid his mark on him.
Spencer snickered to himself, fingers flying over his keyboard.
"Wanna fuck with a kid, Mister Creeper?" he murmured to himself. "Watch what I can do."
He had all of London's cameras at his fingertips.
The internet was the last free wasteland, and Spencer had learned how to take advantage of it. Of course governments had tried. Banning ISPs, banning websites, creating laws for a strange world that was changing faster than the stodgy old world of white haired men could ever keep up with.
He was flicking through cameras, shooting off texts and laughing.
There was a knock against the window.
Spencer quickly slammed his laptop closed. He put it to the side and pushed aside his curtains.
Abby's purple hair whipped in the wind, the bruising fading on the side of her face. She motioned for him to let her in. Spencer unlatched his window, pulling it open and standing aside.
"C'min," he said.
The thin girl slid through the window. Her denim jacket was ripped at the elbows, stars peering through the faded fabric. "You busy?"
"Erm," Spencer said, looking back at his laptop. "Nah, I'm good. You alright?"
Abby gulped, but she nodded. "Yeah, just um, runnin' from a few things. No one will look here." She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "You, um. Wanna let me hang out here for a few?"
Spencer picked up his laptop, unplugging it and dropping it back into its bag. "Yeah," he said, tossing her looks as though he couldn't believe she was here. "You need anything? Food, tea? Someone shot?"
"Nah. As if you'd shoot anyone, anyway," Abby said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. She bit her lip, looking around the minimally decorated room. "Nice place."
"Thanks. It was my parents," Spencer said. "They retired. I don't actually have a gun anyway. Not sure about Brandon." He looked up and shrugged. "Flat mate." Cousin, brother.
Abby shrugged, pushing hair out of her face. "Been a while. Not usin' a cane anymore, I see."
"Healed up," Spencer said, patting his leg before carefully sitting beside Abby on the bed. "Cane was just to keep from ripping the wound back open. Fuckers knifed me. You're uh, bruising is going down." He picked at his fingers.
"Yeah," she looked at him, her expression similar to a rabbit caught in a snare. "Hurts less. Which is good, I think it was affectin' my work. Fuckin' headache."
"Sorry," Spencer said. "Vance is a bit.. protective of my sister. Erm. Moriarty. Nevermind." He looked away, heart beginning to race a bit.
"You really need to learn to keep your mouth shut, little Holmes," Abby told him, eyebrows raised. She stood and went to poke at the stuff on his bureau. "People don't like big mouths."
"Not like it's a secret to you," Spencer said. "You met him after all. Not like I'm friends with him. He's just dating my sister, and she's disgustingly obsessed with him."
"She is that," Abby agreed, looking over her shoulder at him. "It's nice that she has someone like that. Someone to protect her."
Spencer swallowed. "Yeah," he agreed. "What're you running from?" he asked.
Abby snorted. "Like I'd tell you. Anyway. What's there do to in here? Before I get bored and find a new hiding place."
"Um, telly, I guess," Spencer hummed. His eyes flicked back to his laptop. "Or I could show you London."
"Thanks, I think I've seen enough of London tonight," Abby replied, pulling at her face in the mirror. She was tired.
"Not like this you haven't," Spencer said, grabbing his laptop. "Promise, you won't even have to leave the room for it." He opened it back up, bringing it out of sleep mode. Dozens of camera views popped to life.
"What're you doing?" Abby asked, sliding back onto the bed to watch him. Her eyes narrowed. "You-You just get off watching people?"
"Gross," Spencer sneered. "Nah, I was hunting. Some bloke tried to grab me earlier. I've got some people badgering him for now." He flicked through the latest routes until he caught the guy being hustled by two of the older irregulars. "Hah! See. They won't hurt him, but they'll scare him real good. And spread the word, if he tries to grab another-..." kid.
Abby nodded, watching the scene with interested eyes. Sort of glad he hadn't been looking a bit further north about thirty minutes ago. "That's sort of incredible."
Spencer looked over, face warm. "Really? It's just a hobby," he said. "More fun than the stuff I do at school."
"Yeah, I mean, you know how much shit you'd cause if you really wanted to?" Abby said without thinking, and then she wrinkled her nose. "I mean, y'know, if you were that sort. You ain't."
Spencer closed out his programs. "No, I'm not. I try to do good by people," he said. "Try being the word. Y'know, like giving criminals a place to hide out so she doesn't get nicked?" He smiled.
"Ex-criminal," Abby insisted, looking away from him, rolling her eyes. "I'm not in that world anymore." Most of the time.
"Ex-criminal," Spencer echoed. He snorted softly. "C'mon, I'll make tea - unless you'd rather rest and be alone." He nearly flushed up to his ears when he realized they were both on his bed. "I know you said to leave you alone, and I know you wouldn't be here if you didn't need to be. Still I'm glad you took me up on the offer."
"Weren't much of a choice," Abby replied, just as softly. She looked down at her hands, covered in little permanent doodles. She licked her lips. "Tea sounds good. Sounds normal."
Spencer reached out for one of her hands and pulled her along. "I can do tea," he said, tugging her gently.
The kitchen was warm and inviting as always. Of course it was with Brandon in it any time he wasn't at work. Usually Spencer set his laptop in there too, so at least he wasn't alone, and they shared at least one meal a day. Still, it made him miss his parents like crazy.
He pulled down two mugs as he turned on the kettle.
"Biscuits?" he asked. "I think Bran made some chocolate chip ones."
Abby nodded, leaning back in one of the wooden chairs. Strangely, she didn't look out of place. "Yeah, I mean, if 's'not too much trouble."
Spencer set about fixing up a proper tea. He looked over his shoulder frequently, his heart fluttering in his chest. He sat the mug across from her along with a plate of soft cookies. He reached out to stroke her hair.
"There you go, proper English pick me up," he smiled.
She pulled away from him, reaching out for her mug, wrapping both arms around it. "Yeah, yeah. Everyone in England loves tea." She looked around the room with interest, her eyes scanning all the worn-in things. "It's more homey than I'd imagined."
"It is my home," Spencer said, backing off. She was like a feral cat. "Has been as long as I've been alive. My Father too. Baker Street. Famous, or don't you know the history?"
Abby gave him a weary look that clearly said, 'who the fuck doesn't know that'. "Yeah, I'm familiar with your dads. Especially since you're always on about them."
Spencer sunk into another chair, setting his chin on the table. "I miss 'em, alright?" he sighed. "That room used to be theirs, not mine. Everything's too big, empty now. Whatever, I'm whinging." He picked up his tea. "My fl- flatmate isn't home much either. Works and goes to culinary school. Fuckin' tease."
Abby took a gulp from her mug, frowning at the younger man. "How's goin' to work and school bein' a tease? Or, you mean, because he ain't interested in you? He probably is."
"Godno," Spencer laughed. "No, no way. He's like a sex god on two legs and is more scared of intimacy than you are at being in my flat. Nope, only in my messed up dreams." He winked. "Trust me, I've tried goin' there."
Abby gave him a side-eye glance, lip curling up. "He wasn't into it?"
The door downstairs slammed, shoes thundering up the wooden steps.
Spencer's eyes went wide. "Shit!" he swore. "Bran?!" he called out.
"Hello, little cousin!" Brandon called back. "What's goin' on?"
Spencer smacked his face, sliding down in his chair. "Have a friend hiding out," he muttered. "Thanks, Bran, brilliant. Really brilliant." He didn't look at Abby. "Just have some company!" he said.
Brandon popped his head in, looking skeptical. "Who in the world would visit you?"
Spencer glared. "Someone who needed my help," he hissed. He pushed away from the table. "Piss off, Brandon."
"Don't be so cranky. She a friend of Finch's?" Brandon asked, looking the girl over.
"She's not bloody deaf!" Abby snapped, eyes flashing.
"Brandon, this is Abby," Spencer said, face full of meaning. "Finch's boss. She needed a cuppa."
"Her boss? You mean the cunt that got you snatched?" Brandon asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Fuck you," Abby said.
"I told you that wasn't her fault," Spencer said, jumping from his chair. "Besides I wouldn't've gotten snatched if I had been ready for the knife. It was my own fault for being unprepared. Abby, he's a dick. Come back to my room."
"Oh, I'm a dick? She's solely responsible for some bloke drivin' a knife into your leg. I'm not the arsehole, here, cuz, she is. If it hadn't been-"
"Alright, alright, I'm leavin'! Quit your shoutin' you fucking drama queen," Abby said, pushing her chair back to stand.
"Abby, please," Spencer said, reaching for her wrist.
"I didn' come here to cause a domestic, Spencer. It's alright, I'm probably fine now," Abby told him, but she wasn't tugging her wrist away.
"Kick 'er out, Spence," Brandon said, turning to go up the stairs to his room. "She'll probably shoot you in your sleep."
Spencer gritted his teeth, leading Abby back to his room. "It'd be nothing worse than he's done," he muttered. "I told you this is a safe place. You can stay as long as you need. Or not. Because I trust you," he said, closing the door to his room, closing them in again. "I told you, me'n'him - flatmates. That's it."
"I don't think he sees it that way," Abby replied, sitting back down on his bed. "That didn't sound like a just-flatmates conversation."
"Yeah, it's a 'he thinks I'm just a kid' conversation," Spencer spat, flopping down beside her. "I told you, looks like a sex god. Is a complete and utter slag. I can have friends. And it wasn't your fault. It wasn't."
"It wasn't your fault, either," she said, crossing her legs. "You didn't do nothing wrong. I mean, exceptin' the part where you told me all about your family. That was bad."
"Yeah, but you were interested," Spencer said, looking at her properly now. "You were talking to me, and I - " Abby's dark eyes were luminous in the low light, offset by her purple hair. It made her look fae. "And you were gorgeous when you were interested."
Abby licked her lips, watching him. "Don't. Don't say stuff like that, Spencer."
"Why? Cause I'm some kid? Come off it," he said. "Might as well call me a pouf and kick me in the balls. I can handle a kidnapping, or attempted one. I'm not helpless, and I won't ignore that you're fucking beautiful. I like pretty people, even if they aren't angels on the inside."
"Yeah, 'cause you're some kid. Some well-off, innocent as fuck boy, who wants to fuck the bloke upstairs," Abby sighed, flopping back on the bed, too. She curled towards him. "Not to mention your mum and that Vance moron would have my head on a platter. I know what you said. No matter what they tell me, I know who your mum is."
Spencer reached out to cup Abby's cheek. "The bloke upstairs is my cousin," he whispered. "First cousin. And believe me, I know how fucked up that is. I told you, nothin' come of it. He doesn't feel the same, and I.. I feel something different."
"Yeah? What do you feel?" Abby said with a small, tiny, minuscule grin.
"Feel like I might kiss you," he said, leaning in. His nose brushed against hers, a nervous breath shuddered out between his lips before he closed the distance between them. He slid his hand to her nape to keep her from pulling back immediately. Her eyes closed, and she kissed him, too. Her movements were still shy, nervous like a doe in an open field.
"Spencer," she whispered.
Spencer pressed his lips against hers again. Closed lipped, but soft, growing bolder. "Abby," he said back. "Don't- don't run." He kissed her again. He just wanted to kiss.
"Just this once," Abby said softly, their noses still rubbing together. She licked over his lip, leaning in. "Is that okay?"
Spencer nodded. Anything, he thought. "Just want to kiss you," he whispered against her mouth. He pressed further, kissing her again and again. Their mouths naturally parted, and he gasped as he tasted the tea on her tongue. His fingers tightened just slightly in her hair. Her inked hands stroked down his body, over the soft fabric of his button-up shirt, until they were cupping his firm backside, using his body to pull herself closer to him.
"Kissing," Abby panted. "Kissing is good."
Spencer stroked his hand down Abby's back. "Really?" he panted back. "I'm alright?" he asked, self-conscious. He kissed her cheek, feather light, moving down her jaw to breathe in her scent. She smelled like London streets, smelled like adventure.
"Yeah, yeah," Abby said, continuing to kiss him until something caused her to pull back. "Wait- why d'you ask?"
Spencer bit his lip, shaking his head. "Just some dick said I wasn't any good at," he muttered.
"Don't listen to the blond bastard," Abby breathed, moving back in to kiss him again.
Spencer's breath caught as he wrapped his arms around the beautiful inked girl. She was color embodied. He rolled over, snogging her deeply. It felt natural just to grind his hips forward against her warmth and he broke away.
"Sorry," he gasped.
"What for?" Abby asked, her roaming hands returned to his round bum.
Spencer pulled off his glasses, dropping them on the night table and dove back in, grinding against her again. He breathed into her ear. "Nothing, you- just drive me wild," he said, faking confidence. He nibbled at her ear, caressing down her body over her shirt. "Abby," he moaned.
"Ah, oh, yeah," Abby gasped, hands twisting in his hair. "You're so good. So gentle." She hooked her leg around his waist, biting at his jaw.
Spencer whimpered loudly, holding nothing back. "Ah, ah, I'm-ah," he panted. No, no, no, not yet!
"I want," Abby said, pausing their activity to look him in the eye. "D'you?"
Spencer's chest was heaving. His pale eyes were so wide, the grey-green was nearly gone. He stroked her cheek, looking down her body. He nodded wordless. "I'll- stuff's in the lav," he said, nodding at the frosted glass door.
Abby's lips turned up in a half-smile. "I'll just get more comfortable, yeah?"
"Oh-kay," Spencer said, getting up on legs that felt like jelly.
He wasn't one hundred percent sure what she meant - 'I want'. It could mean a thousand things. He grabbed both the lube and Brandon's extra stash of condoms just in case. He shucked his shirt before coming out of the bathroom.
"Abby?" he asked, dizzy with anticipation.
She'd taken off her jacket and jeans, kneeling on the bed in her pants and a thin black vest. Faded purple locks tumbled over her detailed shoulders. "Spencer."
He tossed the things on the bed and climbed up, pulling her in for a heady kiss. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," he breathed, hands roaming down her inked skin. He reached between her legs, running teasing fingers across her underwear. His fingertips tingled.
Her hands braced on his shoulders, and she rubbed herself with his touch, pushing his fingers harder into her. "You're not so bad y'self."
Spencer tried his best to follow her lead, using a firmer touch until he pulled the cotton aside and ran his bare fingers over her. He gasped at the discovery. Wetness, warmth - hot! She was so hot between her legs. If his doctor dad's nagging voice wasn't shouting about safety, he'd have knocked her over-
He had her on her back in seconds, pressing his lips against her cotton covered cunt. Feminine musk smothered him and he moaned again loudly.
"Noisy," Abby observed, propping herself on her elbows so she could watch him. Her cheeks were covered in a faint blush, her shirt pushed up, revealing more ink over her torso. Like a tattooed lady in a freak show, there wasn't much that wasn't covered in something. And all of it blended beautifully together. "I like it."
Spencer moaned again, running his hand up her tank as he licked and sucked at her through the fabric. "More," he panted, using his other hand to tug at her underwear. "Please."
"Yeah, more," Abby said, lifting her hips for him. She shivered, reaching over for a condom, tearing one of the packets from the strip. "C'mere."
Spencer unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them down with his pants. He felt pale and strange next to Abby's beautifully decorated body. He kissed up her stomach, pushing her shirt up and over her head. He licked over her breast.
"I want to kiss you everywhere," he said. Abby laughed breathlessly, and she tore open the packet to roll the condom over Spencer's pale prick.
"That's a lot of space to cover," she told him, her hand on his cock. She gave it a teasing stroke. "Everywhere?"
Spencer's mouth dropped open as his eyes fluttered closed. He didn't even have time to think about size or inadequacies. He made a grunt that was something like an affirmative. "E'rywhere," he breathed, falling forwards again on his hands. He peeled open his heavy eyes. "Easy- I'm- I'm close enough already."
He reached down to her.
"Do you need any, um, extra?" he asked, sliding a finger inside as he used his thumb to rotate over her pretty clit. It shown with wetness.
"Nah, I'm okay," she said with another strange look at him. As though she were suspecting something. "Just you."
Spencer nodded, burying his face against her neck as he lowered his hips. He felt himself taken in, and cried out in pleasure. "Oh, God- Abby, fuck, yes," he moaned, grasping at her, nibbling at her neck as he tried to adjust to the feeling. "Ah, ah, yes.."
"Spence, Spence-" Abby chanted his name, rising to meet him. She pressed their lips together in a punishing kiss. "You're fuckin' hot."
Spencer shuddered, finally howling his release into Abby's mouth. Lights flickered behind his eyes and he felt like he was being turned inside out as he pulsed. As his hips began to still, shame quickly sank through his body.
"Fuck," he swore, kissing Abby quickly. "Shit, shit, I'm sorry," he said kissing down her neck. "Let me, just let me.."
"Shh, hush, shut up," Abby said, taking his face between her hands. Just as she'd suspected. "Pull out, and give me your hand."
Spencer held onto the condom as he pulled out. He tied it off and chucked it over the bedside. His face was on fire as he bent back over Abby. He offered her his hand.
"Show me?" he whispered.
She sat up a little, and placed his hand between her legs, sliding his fingers over her hot, wet entrance. "Just, just put your hand here, and press. Don't hurt, just like, like a good rough pressure. Like you'd like, y'know?"
Spencer nodded, starting out softer than he'd meant, but pressing firmer as he went. He kissed Abby's lips as he worked her. "Like this?" he asked, feeling his cock bob in attempt to rise again at the wet sounds. "What else?"
"In, go in," Abby said, collapsing back on the bed, bucking her hips up so his fingers had no other choice but to slip inside her. Her own hand pressed at the space between her hip bones, and she let out a loud moan of her own.
Spencer fucked her with his fingers, using his other hand to take over, pressing at her lower stomach. He was panting heavily, repeating the action, over and over. Just this once. He wanted to wring every noise and sigh and bit of pleasure from Abby's body.
Quickly, she was fluttering around his slick fingers, closing around him, her eyes rolled back in her head. Her brow damp with sweat, and a flush rising on her pale chest.
"Abby, yes, that's it," he murmured. "Let me hear you."
"Spencer," she gasped his name, hands reaching up to pull him down for a kiss, riding the aftershock of her orgasm. "Unmf. Mmm. Spencer."
Spencer kissed her and kissed her until her hips stopped moving. He stroked up her body, damp with sweat. "Good?" he asked, rubbing their noses together as he pulled her tight against him. His cock was still half-hard with interest.
"Yeah, real good. Especially for your first time," Abby teased, kissing him back. Their bodies felt like they could stick together as the sweat cooled.
Spencer hid his face in her cheek. "When did you figure out?" he half-squeaked.
"Almost as soon as we started," she giggled.
"I was awful," Spencer laughed. "You'll tell stories about me, I bet."
"Nah, I don't talk to no one," Abby said, truthfully. It was true. She was the exact opposite of him. She pecked his lips. "Just this once, yeah?"
Spencer's heart fell. "Yeah," he agreed, voice tinged with sadness. He kissed her back. "You not staying then?"
"I'll stay for a bit. Got a shower?" Abby asked.
"Yeah," Spencer said, smiling softly. "Want company?"
"Yeah, actually, I do," Abby said, scooting out from under him, pulling him towards the bathroom.
Spencer snickered to himself, fingers flying over his keyboard.
"Wanna fuck with a kid, Mister Creeper?" he murmured to himself. "Watch what I can do."
He had all of London's cameras at his fingertips.
The internet was the last free wasteland, and Spencer had learned how to take advantage of it. Of course governments had tried. Banning ISPs, banning websites, creating laws for a strange world that was changing faster than the stodgy old world of white haired men could ever keep up with.
He was flicking through cameras, shooting off texts and laughing.
There was a knock against the window.
Spencer quickly slammed his laptop closed. He put it to the side and pushed aside his curtains.
Abby's purple hair whipped in the wind, the bruising fading on the side of her face. She motioned for him to let her in. Spencer unlatched his window, pulling it open and standing aside.
"C'min," he said.
The thin girl slid through the window. Her denim jacket was ripped at the elbows, stars peering through the faded fabric. "You busy?"
"Erm," Spencer said, looking back at his laptop. "Nah, I'm good. You alright?"
Abby gulped, but she nodded. "Yeah, just um, runnin' from a few things. No one will look here." She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "You, um. Wanna let me hang out here for a few?"
Spencer picked up his laptop, unplugging it and dropping it back into its bag. "Yeah," he said, tossing her looks as though he couldn't believe she was here. "You need anything? Food, tea? Someone shot?"
"Nah. As if you'd shoot anyone, anyway," Abby said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. She bit her lip, looking around the minimally decorated room. "Nice place."
"Thanks. It was my parents," Spencer said. "They retired. I don't actually have a gun anyway. Not sure about Brandon." He looked up and shrugged. "Flat mate." Cousin, brother.
Abby shrugged, pushing hair out of her face. "Been a while. Not usin' a cane anymore, I see."
"Healed up," Spencer said, patting his leg before carefully sitting beside Abby on the bed. "Cane was just to keep from ripping the wound back open. Fuckers knifed me. You're uh, bruising is going down." He picked at his fingers.
"Yeah," she looked at him, her expression similar to a rabbit caught in a snare. "Hurts less. Which is good, I think it was affectin' my work. Fuckin' headache."
"Sorry," Spencer said. "Vance is a bit.. protective of my sister. Erm. Moriarty. Nevermind." He looked away, heart beginning to race a bit.
"You really need to learn to keep your mouth shut, little Holmes," Abby told him, eyebrows raised. She stood and went to poke at the stuff on his bureau. "People don't like big mouths."
"Not like it's a secret to you," Spencer said. "You met him after all. Not like I'm friends with him. He's just dating my sister, and she's disgustingly obsessed with him."
"She is that," Abby agreed, looking over her shoulder at him. "It's nice that she has someone like that. Someone to protect her."
Spencer swallowed. "Yeah," he agreed. "What're you running from?" he asked.
Abby snorted. "Like I'd tell you. Anyway. What's there do to in here? Before I get bored and find a new hiding place."
"Um, telly, I guess," Spencer hummed. His eyes flicked back to his laptop. "Or I could show you London."
"Thanks, I think I've seen enough of London tonight," Abby replied, pulling at her face in the mirror. She was tired.
"Not like this you haven't," Spencer said, grabbing his laptop. "Promise, you won't even have to leave the room for it." He opened it back up, bringing it out of sleep mode. Dozens of camera views popped to life.
"What're you doing?" Abby asked, sliding back onto the bed to watch him. Her eyes narrowed. "You-You just get off watching people?"
"Gross," Spencer sneered. "Nah, I was hunting. Some bloke tried to grab me earlier. I've got some people badgering him for now." He flicked through the latest routes until he caught the guy being hustled by two of the older irregulars. "Hah! See. They won't hurt him, but they'll scare him real good. And spread the word, if he tries to grab another-..." kid.
Abby nodded, watching the scene with interested eyes. Sort of glad he hadn't been looking a bit further north about thirty minutes ago. "That's sort of incredible."
Spencer looked over, face warm. "Really? It's just a hobby," he said. "More fun than the stuff I do at school."
"Yeah, I mean, you know how much shit you'd cause if you really wanted to?" Abby said without thinking, and then she wrinkled her nose. "I mean, y'know, if you were that sort. You ain't."
Spencer closed out his programs. "No, I'm not. I try to do good by people," he said. "Try being the word. Y'know, like giving criminals a place to hide out so she doesn't get nicked?" He smiled.
"Ex-criminal," Abby insisted, looking away from him, rolling her eyes. "I'm not in that world anymore." Most of the time.
"Ex-criminal," Spencer echoed. He snorted softly. "C'mon, I'll make tea - unless you'd rather rest and be alone." He nearly flushed up to his ears when he realized they were both on his bed. "I know you said to leave you alone, and I know you wouldn't be here if you didn't need to be. Still I'm glad you took me up on the offer."
"Weren't much of a choice," Abby replied, just as softly. She looked down at her hands, covered in little permanent doodles. She licked her lips. "Tea sounds good. Sounds normal."
Spencer reached out for one of her hands and pulled her along. "I can do tea," he said, tugging her gently.
The kitchen was warm and inviting as always. Of course it was with Brandon in it any time he wasn't at work. Usually Spencer set his laptop in there too, so at least he wasn't alone, and they shared at least one meal a day. Still, it made him miss his parents like crazy.
He pulled down two mugs as he turned on the kettle.
"Biscuits?" he asked. "I think Bran made some chocolate chip ones."
Abby nodded, leaning back in one of the wooden chairs. Strangely, she didn't look out of place. "Yeah, I mean, if 's'not too much trouble."
Spencer set about fixing up a proper tea. He looked over his shoulder frequently, his heart fluttering in his chest. He sat the mug across from her along with a plate of soft cookies. He reached out to stroke her hair.
"There you go, proper English pick me up," he smiled.
She pulled away from him, reaching out for her mug, wrapping both arms around it. "Yeah, yeah. Everyone in England loves tea." She looked around the room with interest, her eyes scanning all the worn-in things. "It's more homey than I'd imagined."
"It is my home," Spencer said, backing off. She was like a feral cat. "Has been as long as I've been alive. My Father too. Baker Street. Famous, or don't you know the history?"
Abby gave him a weary look that clearly said, 'who the fuck doesn't know that'. "Yeah, I'm familiar with your dads. Especially since you're always on about them."
Spencer sunk into another chair, setting his chin on the table. "I miss 'em, alright?" he sighed. "That room used to be theirs, not mine. Everything's too big, empty now. Whatever, I'm whinging." He picked up his tea. "My fl- flatmate isn't home much either. Works and goes to culinary school. Fuckin' tease."
Abby took a gulp from her mug, frowning at the younger man. "How's goin' to work and school bein' a tease? Or, you mean, because he ain't interested in you? He probably is."
"Godno," Spencer laughed. "No, no way. He's like a sex god on two legs and is more scared of intimacy than you are at being in my flat. Nope, only in my messed up dreams." He winked. "Trust me, I've tried goin' there."
Abby gave him a side-eye glance, lip curling up. "He wasn't into it?"
The door downstairs slammed, shoes thundering up the wooden steps.
Spencer's eyes went wide. "Shit!" he swore. "Bran?!" he called out.
"Hello, little cousin!" Brandon called back. "What's goin' on?"
Spencer smacked his face, sliding down in his chair. "Have a friend hiding out," he muttered. "Thanks, Bran, brilliant. Really brilliant." He didn't look at Abby. "Just have some company!" he said.
Brandon popped his head in, looking skeptical. "Who in the world would visit you?"
Spencer glared. "Someone who needed my help," he hissed. He pushed away from the table. "Piss off, Brandon."
"Don't be so cranky. She a friend of Finch's?" Brandon asked, looking the girl over.
"She's not bloody deaf!" Abby snapped, eyes flashing.
"Brandon, this is Abby," Spencer said, face full of meaning. "Finch's boss. She needed a cuppa."
"Her boss? You mean the cunt that got you snatched?" Brandon asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Fuck you," Abby said.
"I told you that wasn't her fault," Spencer said, jumping from his chair. "Besides I wouldn't've gotten snatched if I had been ready for the knife. It was my own fault for being unprepared. Abby, he's a dick. Come back to my room."
"Oh, I'm a dick? She's solely responsible for some bloke drivin' a knife into your leg. I'm not the arsehole, here, cuz, she is. If it hadn't been-"
"Alright, alright, I'm leavin'! Quit your shoutin' you fucking drama queen," Abby said, pushing her chair back to stand.
"Abby, please," Spencer said, reaching for her wrist.
"I didn' come here to cause a domestic, Spencer. It's alright, I'm probably fine now," Abby told him, but she wasn't tugging her wrist away.
"Kick 'er out, Spence," Brandon said, turning to go up the stairs to his room. "She'll probably shoot you in your sleep."
Spencer gritted his teeth, leading Abby back to his room. "It'd be nothing worse than he's done," he muttered. "I told you this is a safe place. You can stay as long as you need. Or not. Because I trust you," he said, closing the door to his room, closing them in again. "I told you, me'n'him - flatmates. That's it."
"I don't think he sees it that way," Abby replied, sitting back down on his bed. "That didn't sound like a just-flatmates conversation."
"Yeah, it's a 'he thinks I'm just a kid' conversation," Spencer spat, flopping down beside her. "I told you, looks like a sex god. Is a complete and utter slag. I can have friends. And it wasn't your fault. It wasn't."
"It wasn't your fault, either," she said, crossing her legs. "You didn't do nothing wrong. I mean, exceptin' the part where you told me all about your family. That was bad."
"Yeah, but you were interested," Spencer said, looking at her properly now. "You were talking to me, and I - " Abby's dark eyes were luminous in the low light, offset by her purple hair. It made her look fae. "And you were gorgeous when you were interested."
Abby licked her lips, watching him. "Don't. Don't say stuff like that, Spencer."
"Why? Cause I'm some kid? Come off it," he said. "Might as well call me a pouf and kick me in the balls. I can handle a kidnapping, or attempted one. I'm not helpless, and I won't ignore that you're fucking beautiful. I like pretty people, even if they aren't angels on the inside."
"Yeah, 'cause you're some kid. Some well-off, innocent as fuck boy, who wants to fuck the bloke upstairs," Abby sighed, flopping back on the bed, too. She curled towards him. "Not to mention your mum and that Vance moron would have my head on a platter. I know what you said. No matter what they tell me, I know who your mum is."
Spencer reached out to cup Abby's cheek. "The bloke upstairs is my cousin," he whispered. "First cousin. And believe me, I know how fucked up that is. I told you, nothin' come of it. He doesn't feel the same, and I.. I feel something different."
"Yeah? What do you feel?" Abby said with a small, tiny, minuscule grin.
"Feel like I might kiss you," he said, leaning in. His nose brushed against hers, a nervous breath shuddered out between his lips before he closed the distance between them. He slid his hand to her nape to keep her from pulling back immediately. Her eyes closed, and she kissed him, too. Her movements were still shy, nervous like a doe in an open field.
"Spencer," she whispered.
Spencer pressed his lips against hers again. Closed lipped, but soft, growing bolder. "Abby," he said back. "Don't- don't run." He kissed her again. He just wanted to kiss.
"Just this once," Abby said softly, their noses still rubbing together. She licked over his lip, leaning in. "Is that okay?"
Spencer nodded. Anything, he thought. "Just want to kiss you," he whispered against her mouth. He pressed further, kissing her again and again. Their mouths naturally parted, and he gasped as he tasted the tea on her tongue. His fingers tightened just slightly in her hair. Her inked hands stroked down his body, over the soft fabric of his button-up shirt, until they were cupping his firm backside, using his body to pull herself closer to him.
"Kissing," Abby panted. "Kissing is good."
Spencer stroked his hand down Abby's back. "Really?" he panted back. "I'm alright?" he asked, self-conscious. He kissed her cheek, feather light, moving down her jaw to breathe in her scent. She smelled like London streets, smelled like adventure.
"Yeah, yeah," Abby said, continuing to kiss him until something caused her to pull back. "Wait- why d'you ask?"
Spencer bit his lip, shaking his head. "Just some dick said I wasn't any good at," he muttered.
"Don't listen to the blond bastard," Abby breathed, moving back in to kiss him again.
Spencer's breath caught as he wrapped his arms around the beautiful inked girl. She was color embodied. He rolled over, snogging her deeply. It felt natural just to grind his hips forward against her warmth and he broke away.
"Sorry," he gasped.
"What for?" Abby asked, her roaming hands returned to his round bum.
Spencer pulled off his glasses, dropping them on the night table and dove back in, grinding against her again. He breathed into her ear. "Nothing, you- just drive me wild," he said, faking confidence. He nibbled at her ear, caressing down her body over her shirt. "Abby," he moaned.
"Ah, oh, yeah," Abby gasped, hands twisting in his hair. "You're so good. So gentle." She hooked her leg around his waist, biting at his jaw.
Spencer whimpered loudly, holding nothing back. "Ah, ah, I'm-ah," he panted. No, no, no, not yet!
"I want," Abby said, pausing their activity to look him in the eye. "D'you?"
Spencer's chest was heaving. His pale eyes were so wide, the grey-green was nearly gone. He stroked her cheek, looking down her body. He nodded wordless. "I'll- stuff's in the lav," he said, nodding at the frosted glass door.
Abby's lips turned up in a half-smile. "I'll just get more comfortable, yeah?"
"Oh-kay," Spencer said, getting up on legs that felt like jelly.
He wasn't one hundred percent sure what she meant - 'I want'. It could mean a thousand things. He grabbed both the lube and Brandon's extra stash of condoms just in case. He shucked his shirt before coming out of the bathroom.
"Abby?" he asked, dizzy with anticipation.
She'd taken off her jacket and jeans, kneeling on the bed in her pants and a thin black vest. Faded purple locks tumbled over her detailed shoulders. "Spencer."
He tossed the things on the bed and climbed up, pulling her in for a heady kiss. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," he breathed, hands roaming down her inked skin. He reached between her legs, running teasing fingers across her underwear. His fingertips tingled.
Her hands braced on his shoulders, and she rubbed herself with his touch, pushing his fingers harder into her. "You're not so bad y'self."
Spencer tried his best to follow her lead, using a firmer touch until he pulled the cotton aside and ran his bare fingers over her. He gasped at the discovery. Wetness, warmth - hot! She was so hot between her legs. If his doctor dad's nagging voice wasn't shouting about safety, he'd have knocked her over-
He had her on her back in seconds, pressing his lips against her cotton covered cunt. Feminine musk smothered him and he moaned again loudly.
"Noisy," Abby observed, propping herself on her elbows so she could watch him. Her cheeks were covered in a faint blush, her shirt pushed up, revealing more ink over her torso. Like a tattooed lady in a freak show, there wasn't much that wasn't covered in something. And all of it blended beautifully together. "I like it."
Spencer moaned again, running his hand up her tank as he licked and sucked at her through the fabric. "More," he panted, using his other hand to tug at her underwear. "Please."
"Yeah, more," Abby said, lifting her hips for him. She shivered, reaching over for a condom, tearing one of the packets from the strip. "C'mere."
Spencer unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them down with his pants. He felt pale and strange next to Abby's beautifully decorated body. He kissed up her stomach, pushing her shirt up and over her head. He licked over her breast.
"I want to kiss you everywhere," he said. Abby laughed breathlessly, and she tore open the packet to roll the condom over Spencer's pale prick.
"That's a lot of space to cover," she told him, her hand on his cock. She gave it a teasing stroke. "Everywhere?"
Spencer's mouth dropped open as his eyes fluttered closed. He didn't even have time to think about size or inadequacies. He made a grunt that was something like an affirmative. "E'rywhere," he breathed, falling forwards again on his hands. He peeled open his heavy eyes. "Easy- I'm- I'm close enough already."
He reached down to her.
"Do you need any, um, extra?" he asked, sliding a finger inside as he used his thumb to rotate over her pretty clit. It shown with wetness.
"Nah, I'm okay," she said with another strange look at him. As though she were suspecting something. "Just you."
Spencer nodded, burying his face against her neck as he lowered his hips. He felt himself taken in, and cried out in pleasure. "Oh, God- Abby, fuck, yes," he moaned, grasping at her, nibbling at her neck as he tried to adjust to the feeling. "Ah, ah, yes.."
"Spence, Spence-" Abby chanted his name, rising to meet him. She pressed their lips together in a punishing kiss. "You're fuckin' hot."
Spencer shuddered, finally howling his release into Abby's mouth. Lights flickered behind his eyes and he felt like he was being turned inside out as he pulsed. As his hips began to still, shame quickly sank through his body.
"Fuck," he swore, kissing Abby quickly. "Shit, shit, I'm sorry," he said kissing down her neck. "Let me, just let me.."
"Shh, hush, shut up," Abby said, taking his face between her hands. Just as she'd suspected. "Pull out, and give me your hand."
Spencer held onto the condom as he pulled out. He tied it off and chucked it over the bedside. His face was on fire as he bent back over Abby. He offered her his hand.
"Show me?" he whispered.
She sat up a little, and placed his hand between her legs, sliding his fingers over her hot, wet entrance. "Just, just put your hand here, and press. Don't hurt, just like, like a good rough pressure. Like you'd like, y'know?"
Spencer nodded, starting out softer than he'd meant, but pressing firmer as he went. He kissed Abby's lips as he worked her. "Like this?" he asked, feeling his cock bob in attempt to rise again at the wet sounds. "What else?"
"In, go in," Abby said, collapsing back on the bed, bucking her hips up so his fingers had no other choice but to slip inside her. Her own hand pressed at the space between her hip bones, and she let out a loud moan of her own.
Spencer fucked her with his fingers, using his other hand to take over, pressing at her lower stomach. He was panting heavily, repeating the action, over and over. Just this once. He wanted to wring every noise and sigh and bit of pleasure from Abby's body.
Quickly, she was fluttering around his slick fingers, closing around him, her eyes rolled back in her head. Her brow damp with sweat, and a flush rising on her pale chest.
"Abby, yes, that's it," he murmured. "Let me hear you."
"Spencer," she gasped his name, hands reaching up to pull him down for a kiss, riding the aftershock of her orgasm. "Unmf. Mmm. Spencer."
Spencer kissed her and kissed her until her hips stopped moving. He stroked up her body, damp with sweat. "Good?" he asked, rubbing their noses together as he pulled her tight against him. His cock was still half-hard with interest.
"Yeah, real good. Especially for your first time," Abby teased, kissing him back. Their bodies felt like they could stick together as the sweat cooled.
Spencer hid his face in her cheek. "When did you figure out?" he half-squeaked.
"Almost as soon as we started," she giggled.
"I was awful," Spencer laughed. "You'll tell stories about me, I bet."
"Nah, I don't talk to no one," Abby said, truthfully. It was true. She was the exact opposite of him. She pecked his lips. "Just this once, yeah?"
Spencer's heart fell. "Yeah," he agreed, voice tinged with sadness. He kissed her back. "You not staying then?"
"I'll stay for a bit. Got a shower?" Abby asked.
"Yeah," Spencer said, smiling softly. "Want company?"
"Yeah, actually, I do," Abby said, scooting out from under him, pulling him towards the bathroom.
***
Tall, dark, and handsome entered the tattoo shop. He had several blackwork tattoos on his forearms. His denim jacket sleeves were pushed up, and his motorcycle boots clicked on the floor. He whistled as he walked, dragging his finger tips along the poster holders full of flash.
Finch looked up from the counter where she'd been sketching, waiting for Abby to come in. She smiled, trying to look friendly. "Hi. Is there something I can help you with?"
"Ello, love," he smiled. "Looking for Abigail. Is she in?"
"Um," Finch looked a little nervous at his shark-like smile. She gulped. "She's not comin' in today. I could, I could give you a message- I mean, give her a message for you."
A dark brow rose. "Let her know Thaddeus Mac dropped in for her. It's a family issue, and I need to talk to her," he said, smile dropping. His long thick hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail that flipped as he turned back before leaving. "You aren't her usual shop girl.."
"Uh, no, I just started," Finch said, trying to look cool. Failing miserably. "I'll tell her."
"On second thought, don't," he said winking. "I'd love to give her a bit of a surprise." He leaned back on the counter. "Piercer or apprentice?"
Finch shook her head, lips set in a frown. "Probably none of your business."
"Is if I'm a paying customer," Thaddeus frowned. "Or is she not letting you work on your own, poor poppet."
"I'm not a poppet," Finch said, blushing furiously. She didn't want to upset any potential customers but something about him just didn't sit well with her. "But I do get to pick my customers, so regardless of who you're payin', it won't be me."
"Pity, I'd love for you to get your needle in me," Thaddeus teased. "Maybe next time."
"I doubt it," Finch sniffed, pushing her stool away from the counter. "I've got an appointment soon, and I know Abby doesn't like loitering. Perhaps you should go-"
"Oh, you're kicking me out, kitten?" Thaddeus laughed. "Okay, okay."
"Yeah, I think I am. Don't call me kitten, either," Finch said, eyes turning firm.
Thaddeus waved his fingers and headed out of the shop. He instantly lit a cigarette. He never did get on with the e-vapor crap that everyone was wild about. Getting his hands on a traditional fag wasn't easy these days.
Inside, Finch pulled out her phone with shaking fingers.
[I love you. -FM]
Across the countryside, Vance put down his gun and pulled back.
[I love you too, birdie - VM]
[Everything alright? - VM]
Finch looked around her, making sure the shop was still empty, and then she texted back.
[Fine. Just some weird tosser- made me feel weird. -FM]
[Need me? - VM]
[It'd take twenty, maybe fifteen depending on if they let me drive or not - VM]
[ ;)-VM]
[Kicked him out. Didn't like him, but he finally left. Miss you. - FM]
[I'll be back by 11 to pick u up, gotta finish this up - VM]
Finch perched on her stool, ready to just lock up and run home, except that she knew the man was somewhere. Somewhere out there. She shivered.
[Can't wait. -FM]
[Don't go anywhere without me - VM]
[That's an order, love - VM]
Even though he couldn't see it, she was nodding.
[Ok. Miss you. - FM]
Finch looked up from the counter where she'd been sketching, waiting for Abby to come in. She smiled, trying to look friendly. "Hi. Is there something I can help you with?"
"Ello, love," he smiled. "Looking for Abigail. Is she in?"
"Um," Finch looked a little nervous at his shark-like smile. She gulped. "She's not comin' in today. I could, I could give you a message- I mean, give her a message for you."
A dark brow rose. "Let her know Thaddeus Mac dropped in for her. It's a family issue, and I need to talk to her," he said, smile dropping. His long thick hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail that flipped as he turned back before leaving. "You aren't her usual shop girl.."
"Uh, no, I just started," Finch said, trying to look cool. Failing miserably. "I'll tell her."
"On second thought, don't," he said winking. "I'd love to give her a bit of a surprise." He leaned back on the counter. "Piercer or apprentice?"
Finch shook her head, lips set in a frown. "Probably none of your business."
"Is if I'm a paying customer," Thaddeus frowned. "Or is she not letting you work on your own, poor poppet."
"I'm not a poppet," Finch said, blushing furiously. She didn't want to upset any potential customers but something about him just didn't sit well with her. "But I do get to pick my customers, so regardless of who you're payin', it won't be me."
"Pity, I'd love for you to get your needle in me," Thaddeus teased. "Maybe next time."
"I doubt it," Finch sniffed, pushing her stool away from the counter. "I've got an appointment soon, and I know Abby doesn't like loitering. Perhaps you should go-"
"Oh, you're kicking me out, kitten?" Thaddeus laughed. "Okay, okay."
"Yeah, I think I am. Don't call me kitten, either," Finch said, eyes turning firm.
Thaddeus waved his fingers and headed out of the shop. He instantly lit a cigarette. He never did get on with the e-vapor crap that everyone was wild about. Getting his hands on a traditional fag wasn't easy these days.
Inside, Finch pulled out her phone with shaking fingers.
[I love you. -FM]
Across the countryside, Vance put down his gun and pulled back.
[I love you too, birdie - VM]
[Everything alright? - VM]
Finch looked around her, making sure the shop was still empty, and then she texted back.
[Fine. Just some weird tosser- made me feel weird. -FM]
[Need me? - VM]
[It'd take twenty, maybe fifteen depending on if they let me drive or not - VM]
[ ;)-VM]
[Kicked him out. Didn't like him, but he finally left. Miss you. - FM]
[I'll be back by 11 to pick u up, gotta finish this up - VM]
Finch perched on her stool, ready to just lock up and run home, except that she knew the man was somewhere. Somewhere out there. She shivered.
[Can't wait. -FM]
[Don't go anywhere without me - VM]
[That's an order, love - VM]
Even though he couldn't see it, she was nodding.
[Ok. Miss you. - FM]
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