He knew it was a one time thing. That didn't mean he wasn't going to pine over it. It didn't mean he couldn't wait to rub it in Brandon's face either.
Still it would've been nice to wake up with her still in his arms. The window had been left cracked and he'd been cold. His fingers sped up on the keyboard.
He'd picked up another bloke he'd decided needed a lesson, following him on cameras.
"Oi. Arse," Brandon said, stumbling into the room, clearly half-hungover. "Did you put the coffee on?"
"I don't drink coffee. Make tea," Spencer said. "You're clearly dehydrated anyway. Coffee will only make you feel worse."
"Shut it, you're not my mother," Brandon mumbled, but he filled the kettle with water. His stomach turned at the thought of cooking. "What you doin'?"
"Watching, listening," Spencer said, tabbing over to the cameras, then back. "Jealous bastard," he said under his breath, continuing to type.
"What?" Brandon asked, mouth full of some crackers he'd uncovered. "Whuf-you-say?"
Spencer smirked. "Three day bender, Bran? - I said you're a jealous bastard," he said. "How's it feel to lick your wounds this time?"
"Lick my wounds?" Brandon chuckled, leaning back on the counter. He shook his head. "Sorry, kid, that's your job. I just had the best three fuckin' days of my life. And I do mean fuckin'."
"Yeah? What'd they look like?" Spencer asked, not looking up as he kept his little smirk.
"Short, ginger, named Oz. Works down at that bar, Yellow Brick Road," Brandon shrugged, taking another fistful of crackers. "Then he brough' in his flatmate."
Spencer snapped his laptop closed. "Of course," he sneered. He stood up, taking in his cousin, flatmate, genetic half brother. "I think you should move out."
"Why? What'd I do that you weren't doin'?" Brandon asked, clearly surprised by the suggestion. "I mean, I could hear you. You're not quiet."
"Yeah neither were you. In her face," Spencer said. "No matter how I felt about your boyfriends, I only chucked 'em out if you wanted them gone. Unlike you, I wanted her to stay. We don't think the same, Bran. We never will be on the same page, and- and what I feel - for you - it's only going to ruin something with Abby. So I think it's best you look for somewhere else. Maybe see about splitting Finch's flat or something." He clenched his fist. "I'm sure your mum will understand."
The kettle whistled but Bran didn't move to touch it. His eyebrows were raised, and a sarcastic, surprised expression crossed his face. When he finally spoke, his tone was scathing. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe you're right. But I've never been hurt by any of my flings, boyo. She's going to get you killed, and y'know, you're right. I don't gotta be 'round to watch that." He set the box of crackers on the counter and headed for the stairs without even looking back.
Spencer flicked off the kettle.
"She won't be a fling, Bran," he said to the empty kitchen. "I'm not like you."
It still didn't stop the knot forming in Spencer's throat or the watering of his eyes. He went back to his room to bury his face in the pillow that still barely held Abby's scent. He curled around it, choking down the shaking fear of being truly alone. He touched his trembling lips, his clogged throat. He was full of longing.
He wanted to call his mother and demand to know why he felt like this. She always told him patience, but he felt like he was dying slowly. Burning from the inside.
If Abby could give him just once, why couldn't Brandon?
He swiped at his face, pushing off his bed. His socked feet hit the stairs in double time. He didn't bother knocking as he pushed open the door.
"The fuck-"
Spencer twisted Brandon's arm, pressing him against the set of drawers, tip toe to smash their mouths together. He grasped Brandon's hair with his other hand, pulling him down. Brandon groaned, and it wasn't a pleased noise, but he pushed back with his mouth. Spencer bit at Brandon's lip, pissed off as he pushed away.
"Just tell me you don't feel anything!" Spencer shouted. "Not even once!"
"We don't do this, Spencer. We're fucking blood-"
"I don't care! I don't care!" Spencer pulled at his hair. "You fuck everyone else from here to Timbuktu, and you can't even fuckin' kiss me, just once! Without me feeling like I'm raping you, because goddamnit, Bran, if you'd just look at me, just once-" Tears spilled down Spencer's face. "This is why you have to leave. I don' wanna marry you, Bran, but just tell me I'm not the only one feeling like this."
Brandon swallowed, hard, and he didn't blink because he knew if he did Spencer wouldn't be the only one crying. He just sniffed and then gave a sharp nod. "Like I said. I'll be out tomorrow. By the end of the day today, if I can find a place to crash."
Spencer's face crumpled. He felt like his heart was breaking. His next inhaled of air was mostly a sob. He turned slumping down the stairs. He made it halfway down before breaking down. It was for the best.
***
Freya stood with her arms crossed. She overlooked her passed out son on some stranger's sofa. She and Mary had thoroughly frightened the poor guy back into his bedroom. She picked up the stale glass of hopefully water and threw it over Brandon's face.
"What the fuck!" Brandon spat, spluttering liquid. He blinked up at his mother, vodka streaming down his face. "Mum, the hell you doing here?"
"I think the better question, bairn, what the 'ell you doin' here?" Freya spat back at him. "Two weeks and you haven't been 'ome, not once. Look at yourself." She threw her chin at him, turning to look at Mary. "Disgusting ungrateful brat, innit he?"
Mary leaned on the door frame, watching the scene with interest. "He does take after you-know-who sometimes."
"I do not! What are you ol' biddies on about? I was asked," Brandon sneered the word, "to leave and I obliged the tosser."
Freya grabbed Brandon by the ear, yanking.
"It wasn't his decision, now was it?" she shouted. "God, you're just like him sometimes. Git yer arse off that sofa, git yer bags, now!"
"I am nothing like those two pompous arseholes the two of you decide to fuck every five seconds!" Brandon shouted back, not enjoying the confrontation in the wake of a vicious hangover. "I'm not goin' back to that moldy old house!"
"Aw, I called it that, too," Mary cooed.
Freya tossed a fond smile at Mary.
"Fine," Freya said, face falling serious again. "Then it's off to rehab with you."
"Oh, Mummerz, I love you, but kindly fuck off," Brandon said, flopping back down on the couch. "I don't need rehab."
"Ninety days in Normandy Farms. Minimum. It's what I can have you legally committed for," Freya said, sighing. "You'll fail the rest of your courses and lose your job. Try me, child. It's Baker Street or rehab. We made a deal, and I don't take kindly to those breaking my rules. Remember when you were four?"
"Mum," Brandon sat up, staring at her as though he didn't recognize the woman in front of him. He looked at Mary with pleading eyes. "You wouldn't let her-"
"You just called me and old biddy and asked us to fuck off, don't come begging favors at me," Mary told him. "Not to mention I happen to agree with her."
"I'm not a bloody alcoholic! I don't need rehab!" Brandon protested. "And you want to send me back to some place where I'm going to be half-molested by your pervert son-"
"Mary, you'll talk to Spencer?" Freya said softly, looking concerned.
"I might," Mary shrugged.
Freya perched on the sofa, pushing back her son's wet hair. "Darlin', I thought you and Spencer were-," she said, giving a soft cough. "You two were always pullin' at pigtails.."
"No, no, Mum, that's just- look, I don't comment on your ones," Brandon snuck a look at Mary and then back to Freya, "you don't talk about mine. Gross. If it shuts you up, I'll go back to the damn house."
"My two have made me quite a happy lady, young man," Freya said, popping back up. "I'm not commenting on your bed partners, Brandon, I'm coming to reign you in. I know you have dreams, sweetheart, and they aren't going to come from living on Butch's pull out."
Brandon gave a bitter laugh. "Can't we save the emotional chat, Mother? You're here, I'm doing as you ask, and I'll move back to that fuckin' sty with the bratty boy who spends more time crying than any girl I've ever met. Happy?"
"Ecstatic," Freya said. "We're not done, though. Come along."
Freya drove, watching and worrying for her sullen child. She did love him, but sometimes she wondered where she went wrong. She'd tried to be both mother and father for him, but she'd never asked Sherrinford whether he'd wanted the child or not. She had. It had brought her closer to Mary, but it had brought this wonderous new life into her own as well.
"Mother" was never a title Freya had expected to have.
She made certain he had all things and escorted him upstairs.
Inside, Spencer was slowly unbuttoning a local high school uniform in front of his webcam. He was playing shy. He'd had this guy on the hook for a week now.
"What on Earth are you doing?" Mary asked from the doorway, where she seemed prone to hovering these days.
"Mom!" Spencer shouted, slapping his laptop lid closed, eyes wide. "What the hell?" he asked, clutching his shirt back together. (At least a mother interrupting only furthered his facade)
"What I said experiment, I'm not sure internet porn sensation was what I had in mind," Mary quipped before really observing him. Deducing, like the Holmes brothers had taught her. "Wait, no, what am I missing. Not a porn star..."
"Of course not," Spencer said sulking as he ripped off the tie. He hated ties. "Who'd want me? I'm nobody," he sneered.
"Yes, well, you're somebody to me," Mary said, smirking. "Good news for you. I've brought you a flatmate."
Spencer scowled. "Who?" he said, then heard Freya talking loudly as she frog-marched her son on up the stairs. He groaned. "Mum!! No!" He dragged his hand down his face.
"Uh-uh, you don't get a say," Mary said, limping in to sit down on his bed. She sniffed. "Oh, really, Spencer, change the damn sheets after you do that."
Spencer flushed. "They're my sheets," he muttered. He hadn't changed them since Abby, even though her scent was long gone. "I kicked him out. He's supposed to be gone. It's my flat."
"No, darling, it's my flat in which you live," Mary told him, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "He said you felt him up. Want to talk about it?"
"He walks around here half-arsed naked, day in and day out," Spencer spat. "God, Mum. And he was so fucking jealous over my girl... over my friend. I got tired of him just there ruining everything. I told him to get out." Spencer pulled his knees up to his chest. "I know what Father does, who Father does. Why do I have to be like him, Mum? Why can't I be like you, pulling pretty lovers?"
"Oh, my son," Mary sighed, watching him. "I don't pull pretty lovers. I'm the most lonely person in the world. You should be lucky to be like your father."
"You're surrounded by people who want you," Spencer said, eyes drawing up. "I'm not enough like Dad either - apparently. He left because I'm repulsive."
"He did not! Now you're just being a brat," Mary replied. "He left because he didn't want to be in the way of you pulling pretty people. Like your cousin. Or that repulsive creature that almost got you killed. Which was partially your fault and you should be glad I haven't torn your tongue out over it." Mary tapped her lip. "Shall I tell you a secret?"
Spencer shuffled closer to his mother, nodding. "It better not be patience either, because I'm tired of patience, Mummy," he huffed.
"You're the only thing standing between him and rehab," Mary whispered, petting her son's hair.
Spencer looked up at the ceiling and back at his mother. "That bad?" he whispered.
"Yup. His mum agrees with me. He needs somewhere stable, Spencer. Even if you're only friends, and I know it hurts you, but you can give him stable, when he's had nothing but Freya his whole life," Mary told him softly.
Spencer looked pensive, leaning toward his mother's shoulder.
"I just wanted him to admit he felt somethin'," he whispered. "Abby - Mum, I lo-like her. And she's trying to be better. I just - you care about more than one person. And Dad, Father, Jack and Seb. Even Aunt Free. Does the loneliness ever get better? I feel like I'm dying inside. I was just trying to force Bran to admit I wasn't alone."
Mary shook her head, looking sad. "It never gets better. But you learn to shoulder it over time, and the people that care about you, they'll stay. You have to give yourself time, but I know, I know. Enough about patience. You're a teenage male, you want everything right now."
Spencer laughed, breathing in the familiar scent of his mother. He missed his parents.
"I'm not a porn star," he said. "It was a.. case. Of sorts."
"You better not be," Mary snorted, patting him on the cheek. "Don't want you to take after your mum too much, now."
"You didn'!" Spencer gasped.
"Yeah, for a while, I did," Mary said, not even embarrassed about it anymore. "Paid my way through uni, before I met your father.Well, paid my rent through uni. Mycroft paid tuition."
Spencer huffed. "Good. People ought to pay to look at you, Mum. You're beautiful," he said, picking at his hands again. "I don't- my.. job. It probably won't make money. But I'll be home more. Sorta. I can try to be there for Bran."
"Give him Hell, my darling," Mary hummed, kissing her son's hair. "And stay out of trouble, even though I know you won't."
"Mum-" Spencer said, catching her hand. "I'm not bad.. for liking Bran.. like that. Am I?"
"I once had sex with Sherlock and Sherrinford at the same time. I don't think I'm a person you can ask that question of, in a moral sense," Mary said, using her son to steady herself as she pushed up onto shaky legs.
"Mum," Spencer said, face turning red. "Gooo. You make me feel like such a.. a.. virgin!" He covered his face again, but rolled off the bed to help his mother back through the apartment.
"You'll earn your wings, so to speak. Someone who takes his top off in front of a camera won't stay pure for long," Mary mused, limping along with her son. "Do be safe, my love. I know that Sherlock and John are your parents but I worry so."
"I can take care of myself," Spencer promised. "They weren't the only ones who taught me growing up. Even though I still think Finch got the better end of that stick-"
"Mary dear, I've got him settled in," Freya said, holding out her hands to take Mary from Spencer. "He's like an angry wet cat and smells like the floor of a bar, but he's home."
"Hmm, and Spencer and I have had a nice chat and no more prima donnas will be throwing each other out of the house," Mary promised, leaning on her girlfriend. "I'm wretchedly tired. Let's go home and shag senseless."
"So long as I get you on your back," Freya cackled.
"Muuuum," Spencer groaned again, covering his ears. "Go go go. Take her away."
Freya laughed and half carried Mary down the stairs. She opened the car door for her lover and carefully helped her into the sleek vehicle. She rounded the car and hopped in the driver's seat. She sniffled a bit as she turned the key.
"Am I doing the right thing, Mare?" Freya asked. "God, I never know what to do with him. For fuck's sake, I just assumed they were shagging!"
"Oh, please, Spencer's sexually scared of his own shadow, someone like Brandon would just wreck him," Mary scoffed, looking over at Free. "I mean, not that I don't ship it, but you have to admit, Spencer needs more experience before tackling a bloke like Brandon. Brandon would eat him for brekkie."
Freya smiled softly. "He is a lot like his father," she sighed. "Still - Spencer made the first move. Something made him bold."
Mary shrugged. "Your son is gorgeous. Maybe he saw something he liked."
"Pfft!" Freya sputtered as she pulled into traffic. "He is that, isn't he? Beautiful, talented. Mary, I made that thing!" She snickered again. "Can you imagine him in the bar when we were young?"
"I don't want you to kick my arse for trying to shag your son, so perhaps we should focus on somethin' else. Like that time you and I did 'inventory', and you had on that leather jacket-"
Freya cackled. "Oh please, what about that night you had on that babydoll dress. I swear every time I saw your knickers..." she said, reaching over to squeeze Mary's hand. "I just don't want them to have to scrap like we did. Maybe, maybe it wouldn't have taken losing you so many times to realize I didn't just love you."
"Hey now," Mary's head lolled to the side, watching her oldest and best friend. "They'll be alright, sweetheart. They'll work it out. They're smart boys." Mary squeezed Free's hand back. "And we have now. Isn't that what counts?"
"It does. It's been the best, even though I know you're bored out of your mind," Freya said. "Wanna go cause some trouble?"
"Oh yes, let's," Mary said, taking her phone out of her bag, texting her son with her free hand.
[Freya had a new girlfriend every week when we were younger. She's had Sherrinford for years. Perhaps Bran takes after his mum, after all. - Mum]
Spencer stared down at his phone. He was still confused that his mother - Brandon's mother! were both encouraging this. This strange thing. Spencer may not have Vance's ability to protect his lover at all cost, but that didn't mean Spencer didn't ache to save Abby from the criminal world or pull Brandon back from the bottle.
[A boy can hope - SH]
He set his phone to the side, tip-toeing up the stairs to Brandon's room. He tapped lightly on the door.
"Mum, go home," Brandon muttered from under his bundle of blankets on the bare mattress bed.
"They've left," Spencer said softly. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."
"Bloody fantastic," Brandon said, curling in on himself.
Spencer crossed to the bed, sitting on the edge before reaching out to pet Brandon's sticky hair.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "For kicking you out. For.. making you uncomfortable. It hasn't been the same without you."
Brandon turned to look at his cousin, huffing. "Yeah, well. Shit happens."
"Well, I- I'll just go back downstairs before I do something stupid like try to hug you or something," Spencer said, pulling his hand back.
"Yeah. You do that," Brandon muttered, turning back on his side.
Spencer scowled. Protect. Brandon didn't look like his usual confident self. He looked - vulnerable. Spencer ignored all warning bells going off and curled up against Brandon's back, wedging his arm across Brandon's waist and sticking his nose in his boozy smelling hair.
"What are you doing, you pervert," Brandon said, but he didn't move. Not a single inch.
"Cuddling," Spencer said. "Shut up. I'm not even hard. You just look pathetic. Besides, no telling who you slept with while you were gone. You stink of liquor."
"I am pathetic. Don't you listen to my mother?" Brandon snapped back, but it didn't hold any venom. "She threw vodka in my face. I should shower."
"Mm," Spencer said. He squeezed Brandon in a hug. "Shower, and maybe food?" he breathed against Brandon's neck.
"Did you even eat for the last three weeks?" Brandon huffed, groaning a bit at his throbbing head.
"Does cereal count?" Spencer asked, sitting up slightly to lay his chin on Brandon's shoulder. Cuddling would definitely improve Spencer's mood, and it seemed to be helping Brandon.
"No, cereal does not count as actual food," Brandon sighed. "Let me up. I'll take a shower and we'll order takeaway, I'm not fuckin' cookin' after all that shite."
Spencer stopped himself from dropping the kiss he wanted to on Brandon's face. Instead he unwound himself from his tall cousin and hopped out of his bed. "I'll order. What can you stomach?"
"Chinese. Plain lo mein, with shrimp," Brandon ordered, rolling over. He'd have to get some sheets at some point but eh. Didn't matter now. "And eggrolls!"
Spencer smiled back at him. "Kay. Welcome back, Brandon," he said, ducking out the door. He went downstairs to find his mobile. He re-read his mother's text. Maybe patience is what he needed after all.
"What the fuck!" Brandon spat, spluttering liquid. He blinked up at his mother, vodka streaming down his face. "Mum, the hell you doing here?"
"I think the better question, bairn, what the 'ell you doin' here?" Freya spat back at him. "Two weeks and you haven't been 'ome, not once. Look at yourself." She threw her chin at him, turning to look at Mary. "Disgusting ungrateful brat, innit he?"
Mary leaned on the door frame, watching the scene with interest. "He does take after you-know-who sometimes."
"I do not! What are you ol' biddies on about? I was asked," Brandon sneered the word, "to leave and I obliged the tosser."
Freya grabbed Brandon by the ear, yanking.
"It wasn't his decision, now was it?" she shouted. "God, you're just like him sometimes. Git yer arse off that sofa, git yer bags, now!"
"I am nothing like those two pompous arseholes the two of you decide to fuck every five seconds!" Brandon shouted back, not enjoying the confrontation in the wake of a vicious hangover. "I'm not goin' back to that moldy old house!"
"Aw, I called it that, too," Mary cooed.
Freya tossed a fond smile at Mary.
"Fine," Freya said, face falling serious again. "Then it's off to rehab with you."
"Oh, Mummerz, I love you, but kindly fuck off," Brandon said, flopping back down on the couch. "I don't need rehab."
"Ninety days in Normandy Farms. Minimum. It's what I can have you legally committed for," Freya said, sighing. "You'll fail the rest of your courses and lose your job. Try me, child. It's Baker Street or rehab. We made a deal, and I don't take kindly to those breaking my rules. Remember when you were four?"
"Mum," Brandon sat up, staring at her as though he didn't recognize the woman in front of him. He looked at Mary with pleading eyes. "You wouldn't let her-"
"You just called me and old biddy and asked us to fuck off, don't come begging favors at me," Mary told him. "Not to mention I happen to agree with her."
"I'm not a bloody alcoholic! I don't need rehab!" Brandon protested. "And you want to send me back to some place where I'm going to be half-molested by your pervert son-"
"Mary, you'll talk to Spencer?" Freya said softly, looking concerned.
"I might," Mary shrugged.
Freya perched on the sofa, pushing back her son's wet hair. "Darlin', I thought you and Spencer were-," she said, giving a soft cough. "You two were always pullin' at pigtails.."
"No, no, Mum, that's just- look, I don't comment on your ones," Brandon snuck a look at Mary and then back to Freya, "you don't talk about mine. Gross. If it shuts you up, I'll go back to the damn house."
"My two have made me quite a happy lady, young man," Freya said, popping back up. "I'm not commenting on your bed partners, Brandon, I'm coming to reign you in. I know you have dreams, sweetheart, and they aren't going to come from living on Butch's pull out."
Brandon gave a bitter laugh. "Can't we save the emotional chat, Mother? You're here, I'm doing as you ask, and I'll move back to that fuckin' sty with the bratty boy who spends more time crying than any girl I've ever met. Happy?"
"Ecstatic," Freya said. "We're not done, though. Come along."
Freya drove, watching and worrying for her sullen child. She did love him, but sometimes she wondered where she went wrong. She'd tried to be both mother and father for him, but she'd never asked Sherrinford whether he'd wanted the child or not. She had. It had brought her closer to Mary, but it had brought this wonderous new life into her own as well.
"Mother" was never a title Freya had expected to have.
She made certain he had all things and escorted him upstairs.
Inside, Spencer was slowly unbuttoning a local high school uniform in front of his webcam. He was playing shy. He'd had this guy on the hook for a week now.
"What on Earth are you doing?" Mary asked from the doorway, where she seemed prone to hovering these days.
"Mom!" Spencer shouted, slapping his laptop lid closed, eyes wide. "What the hell?" he asked, clutching his shirt back together. (At least a mother interrupting only furthered his facade)
"What I said experiment, I'm not sure internet porn sensation was what I had in mind," Mary quipped before really observing him. Deducing, like the Holmes brothers had taught her. "Wait, no, what am I missing. Not a porn star..."
"Of course not," Spencer said sulking as he ripped off the tie. He hated ties. "Who'd want me? I'm nobody," he sneered.
"Yes, well, you're somebody to me," Mary said, smirking. "Good news for you. I've brought you a flatmate."
Spencer scowled. "Who?" he said, then heard Freya talking loudly as she frog-marched her son on up the stairs. He groaned. "Mum!! No!" He dragged his hand down his face.
"Uh-uh, you don't get a say," Mary said, limping in to sit down on his bed. She sniffed. "Oh, really, Spencer, change the damn sheets after you do that."
Spencer flushed. "They're my sheets," he muttered. He hadn't changed them since Abby, even though her scent was long gone. "I kicked him out. He's supposed to be gone. It's my flat."
"No, darling, it's my flat in which you live," Mary told him, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "He said you felt him up. Want to talk about it?"
"He walks around here half-arsed naked, day in and day out," Spencer spat. "God, Mum. And he was so fucking jealous over my girl... over my friend. I got tired of him just there ruining everything. I told him to get out." Spencer pulled his knees up to his chest. "I know what Father does, who Father does. Why do I have to be like him, Mum? Why can't I be like you, pulling pretty lovers?"
"Oh, my son," Mary sighed, watching him. "I don't pull pretty lovers. I'm the most lonely person in the world. You should be lucky to be like your father."
"You're surrounded by people who want you," Spencer said, eyes drawing up. "I'm not enough like Dad either - apparently. He left because I'm repulsive."
"He did not! Now you're just being a brat," Mary replied. "He left because he didn't want to be in the way of you pulling pretty people. Like your cousin. Or that repulsive creature that almost got you killed. Which was partially your fault and you should be glad I haven't torn your tongue out over it." Mary tapped her lip. "Shall I tell you a secret?"
Spencer shuffled closer to his mother, nodding. "It better not be patience either, because I'm tired of patience, Mummy," he huffed.
"You're the only thing standing between him and rehab," Mary whispered, petting her son's hair.
Spencer looked up at the ceiling and back at his mother. "That bad?" he whispered.
"Yup. His mum agrees with me. He needs somewhere stable, Spencer. Even if you're only friends, and I know it hurts you, but you can give him stable, when he's had nothing but Freya his whole life," Mary told him softly.
Spencer looked pensive, leaning toward his mother's shoulder.
"I just wanted him to admit he felt somethin'," he whispered. "Abby - Mum, I lo-like her. And she's trying to be better. I just - you care about more than one person. And Dad, Father, Jack and Seb. Even Aunt Free. Does the loneliness ever get better? I feel like I'm dying inside. I was just trying to force Bran to admit I wasn't alone."
Mary shook her head, looking sad. "It never gets better. But you learn to shoulder it over time, and the people that care about you, they'll stay. You have to give yourself time, but I know, I know. Enough about patience. You're a teenage male, you want everything right now."
Spencer laughed, breathing in the familiar scent of his mother. He missed his parents.
"I'm not a porn star," he said. "It was a.. case. Of sorts."
"You better not be," Mary snorted, patting him on the cheek. "Don't want you to take after your mum too much, now."
"You didn'!" Spencer gasped.
"Yeah, for a while, I did," Mary said, not even embarrassed about it anymore. "Paid my way through uni, before I met your father.Well, paid my rent through uni. Mycroft paid tuition."
Spencer huffed. "Good. People ought to pay to look at you, Mum. You're beautiful," he said, picking at his hands again. "I don't- my.. job. It probably won't make money. But I'll be home more. Sorta. I can try to be there for Bran."
"Give him Hell, my darling," Mary hummed, kissing her son's hair. "And stay out of trouble, even though I know you won't."
"Mum-" Spencer said, catching her hand. "I'm not bad.. for liking Bran.. like that. Am I?"
"I once had sex with Sherlock and Sherrinford at the same time. I don't think I'm a person you can ask that question of, in a moral sense," Mary said, using her son to steady herself as she pushed up onto shaky legs.
"Mum," Spencer said, face turning red. "Gooo. You make me feel like such a.. a.. virgin!" He covered his face again, but rolled off the bed to help his mother back through the apartment.
"You'll earn your wings, so to speak. Someone who takes his top off in front of a camera won't stay pure for long," Mary mused, limping along with her son. "Do be safe, my love. I know that Sherlock and John are your parents but I worry so."
"I can take care of myself," Spencer promised. "They weren't the only ones who taught me growing up. Even though I still think Finch got the better end of that stick-"
"Mary dear, I've got him settled in," Freya said, holding out her hands to take Mary from Spencer. "He's like an angry wet cat and smells like the floor of a bar, but he's home."
"Hmm, and Spencer and I have had a nice chat and no more prima donnas will be throwing each other out of the house," Mary promised, leaning on her girlfriend. "I'm wretchedly tired. Let's go home and shag senseless."
"So long as I get you on your back," Freya cackled.
"Muuuum," Spencer groaned again, covering his ears. "Go go go. Take her away."
Freya laughed and half carried Mary down the stairs. She opened the car door for her lover and carefully helped her into the sleek vehicle. She rounded the car and hopped in the driver's seat. She sniffled a bit as she turned the key.
"Am I doing the right thing, Mare?" Freya asked. "God, I never know what to do with him. For fuck's sake, I just assumed they were shagging!"
"Oh, please, Spencer's sexually scared of his own shadow, someone like Brandon would just wreck him," Mary scoffed, looking over at Free. "I mean, not that I don't ship it, but you have to admit, Spencer needs more experience before tackling a bloke like Brandon. Brandon would eat him for brekkie."
Freya smiled softly. "He is a lot like his father," she sighed. "Still - Spencer made the first move. Something made him bold."
Mary shrugged. "Your son is gorgeous. Maybe he saw something he liked."
"Pfft!" Freya sputtered as she pulled into traffic. "He is that, isn't he? Beautiful, talented. Mary, I made that thing!" She snickered again. "Can you imagine him in the bar when we were young?"
"I don't want you to kick my arse for trying to shag your son, so perhaps we should focus on somethin' else. Like that time you and I did 'inventory', and you had on that leather jacket-"
Freya cackled. "Oh please, what about that night you had on that babydoll dress. I swear every time I saw your knickers..." she said, reaching over to squeeze Mary's hand. "I just don't want them to have to scrap like we did. Maybe, maybe it wouldn't have taken losing you so many times to realize I didn't just love you."
"Hey now," Mary's head lolled to the side, watching her oldest and best friend. "They'll be alright, sweetheart. They'll work it out. They're smart boys." Mary squeezed Free's hand back. "And we have now. Isn't that what counts?"
"It does. It's been the best, even though I know you're bored out of your mind," Freya said. "Wanna go cause some trouble?"
"Oh yes, let's," Mary said, taking her phone out of her bag, texting her son with her free hand.
[Freya had a new girlfriend every week when we were younger. She's had Sherrinford for years. Perhaps Bran takes after his mum, after all. - Mum]
Spencer stared down at his phone. He was still confused that his mother - Brandon's mother! were both encouraging this. This strange thing. Spencer may not have Vance's ability to protect his lover at all cost, but that didn't mean Spencer didn't ache to save Abby from the criminal world or pull Brandon back from the bottle.
[A boy can hope - SH]
He set his phone to the side, tip-toeing up the stairs to Brandon's room. He tapped lightly on the door.
"Mum, go home," Brandon muttered from under his bundle of blankets on the bare mattress bed.
"They've left," Spencer said softly. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."
"Bloody fantastic," Brandon said, curling in on himself.
Spencer crossed to the bed, sitting on the edge before reaching out to pet Brandon's sticky hair.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "For kicking you out. For.. making you uncomfortable. It hasn't been the same without you."
Brandon turned to look at his cousin, huffing. "Yeah, well. Shit happens."
"Well, I- I'll just go back downstairs before I do something stupid like try to hug you or something," Spencer said, pulling his hand back.
"Yeah. You do that," Brandon muttered, turning back on his side.
Spencer scowled. Protect. Brandon didn't look like his usual confident self. He looked - vulnerable. Spencer ignored all warning bells going off and curled up against Brandon's back, wedging his arm across Brandon's waist and sticking his nose in his boozy smelling hair.
"What are you doing, you pervert," Brandon said, but he didn't move. Not a single inch.
"Cuddling," Spencer said. "Shut up. I'm not even hard. You just look pathetic. Besides, no telling who you slept with while you were gone. You stink of liquor."
"I am pathetic. Don't you listen to my mother?" Brandon snapped back, but it didn't hold any venom. "She threw vodka in my face. I should shower."
"Mm," Spencer said. He squeezed Brandon in a hug. "Shower, and maybe food?" he breathed against Brandon's neck.
"Did you even eat for the last three weeks?" Brandon huffed, groaning a bit at his throbbing head.
"Does cereal count?" Spencer asked, sitting up slightly to lay his chin on Brandon's shoulder. Cuddling would definitely improve Spencer's mood, and it seemed to be helping Brandon.
"No, cereal does not count as actual food," Brandon sighed. "Let me up. I'll take a shower and we'll order takeaway, I'm not fuckin' cookin' after all that shite."
Spencer stopped himself from dropping the kiss he wanted to on Brandon's face. Instead he unwound himself from his tall cousin and hopped out of his bed. "I'll order. What can you stomach?"
"Chinese. Plain lo mein, with shrimp," Brandon ordered, rolling over. He'd have to get some sheets at some point but eh. Didn't matter now. "And eggrolls!"
Spencer smiled back at him. "Kay. Welcome back, Brandon," he said, ducking out the door. He went downstairs to find his mobile. He re-read his mother's text. Maybe patience is what he needed after all.
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