Nope.
He swallowed, finishing washing his face and running lotion over his tattoos to keep them supple and bright.
He still had a visitor in his bed, much to his delight. Of course she wasn't up for anything other than half-drugged conversation, but he did get to spend a lot of time enjoying her clutching at his shirt in her sleep, breathing at his neck, which now felt strangely exposed.
He tossed the rest of his bloodied clothes into the hamper.
He headed to his dresser to pull out a vest, black, pulling it over his head. Then to his closet for a sleek black shirt - high thread count cotton. A cardigan would make him look soft, like Dad, but the burgundy blazer? It would make him look slim, sharp, dangerous.
Like Sherlock.
Black trousers were next, a soft light wool. Luxe. Spencer had been taught extensively about clothing and how to read people. He had a whole drawer devoted to his Nobody persona, ripped jeans, leather jacket, torn tees - his hand trailed across his inherited oak dresser, hand coming in contact with the supple riding crop.
"You're pretty," Abby whispered, watching him from the bed. She licked her lips. "Like a ruby. Dark, sharp edges."
Spencer jumped, eyes going wide. He'd known she was there, but he'd fallen into battle mode. His breathing picked up.
"Too much?" he asked, flushing slightly.
She shook her head, her eyes looking a bit softer than they usually did at her shop. She smiled. "No, no. I like it."
"Brandon's gone off. I've got a good idea where," he said, hand tightening on the weapon. Weapon? Tool. The leather creaked. He licked his lips nervously. "Do you want to watch?" he breathed.
"How could I watch? I'm stuck here," Abby pointed out, trying to shift in the bed. He did look very nice.
"Two choices, I could bring him back here," Spencer said, gliding up towards the side of the bed. "Or I can set my phone up on my laptop, camera and all. The former would be more humiliating for him. I'm still not sure what he likes," he said, sitting beside her. "It may not go anywhere at all. I don't play rape scenes. No means no. He says stop, and I will. I was just.." He tilted his head unsure. "Curious if you were interested."
Abby gave him a curious smile, but her words were cautious. "I think what happens between you and 'im is a bit private. Even if you want to humiliate him, he don't like me much, and I don't think he'd appreciate my watching."
Spencer nodded. He leaned forward to kiss her in the middle of her forehead. "Don't think you don't have your own punishment coming," he whispered against her skin. "Lav's just through that door. Don't soak your stitches if you want to get cleaned up. Flannels pants and comfortable shirts are on the top drawer. I'm only a ring away."
"Yeah, yeah, get on with it. I'll ring if I need you," Abby said, but her hand was on his shoulder, thumb caressing his collar. Spencer leaned in to give her a dominating kiss, careful not to lean on her stomach. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and back out.
"Don't leave," he said with a harder glint in his eye as he got up.
"How'd you know?" she asked, a sort of awe dawning in her eyes.
"I deduced it," Spencer said with a wink and a half grin, showing his teeth.
***
He tried to hang onto the confidence as he began his trip to the dive that Brandon cooked in. The food was good, but the guys were assholes. He was underpaid, under-appreciated, and Spencer wanted to snap Brandon to heel for it.
They all had the potential for greatness. Their parents gave them the world, and they were wasting it.
Spencer only had to use his mobile to hack into the hotel records, quickly deducing which false name belonged to his cousin. A tap of his phone to the appropriate door and it clicked open for him. His shoulders dropped as his nose caught the smell. He let the door click behind him, crop tucked under his arm. The noise would've startled a normal person, but Brandon lay on the hotel bed, snoring. His arms were at an odd angle under him.
Spencer put the riding crop on the pressboard dresser. It wouldn't see any use any time soon. He went into the minuscule bathroom and turned on the shower. Cold.
He went to the bed and slapped Brandon across the face.
"Wh-Fuck, mate, what are you doin' here?" Brandon asked, looking very bewildered as he cupped his sore cheek.
"Reality check," Spence said, yanking Brandon by his wrist.
"Fucker, ouch, stop," Brandon snapped, trying to jerk his pins-and-needles arm out of Spencer's grasp. "I left, you're not my bloody mother, gerroff me."
"Exactly, you left," Spencer said, shoving Brandon towards the bathroom. "I told you to stay put." He pushed him into the shower, letting his off kilter balance topple the taller man into the spray.
"Ah, fucker! Fuckin' wanker, mother fucker, bastard child," Brandon shouted, his whole body shaking in the frigid water. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Drunkard, asshole, fuckin' sell out," Spencer shouted back at him, pulling the shower head down. "LUSH, WINO, YOU FUCKIN' ADDICT." He sprayed it in Brandon's face.
"I am not!" Brandon roared back. "You mother fuckers with your judgments and your problems. I relax, I have fun. That's what I do-"
"You're ruining your life," Spencer shouted. "You're killing yourself, you're fucking killing yourself! You'll be dead before Mum!" He slammed the shower sprayer down in the tub and kicked off the water. "You'll be fuckin' dead."
"And what do you fuckin' care?" Brandon returned, shaking his half-naked head, water flinging everywhere. "What do any of you fuckin' care? No one would notice."
Spencer grabbed a towel, getting into the tub, on top of Brandon as he shoved the rough white fabric over his drenched cousin. "I care. I fucking care. I knew you were gone the moment I woke up," he said. "But you don't care. Because this? This is wrong, Brandon." He ran the towel over the top of Brandon's head, grabbing either end up to pull Brandon's face towards his. "I'm in love with you, you wanker," he said, forcing a bruising kiss on his lips.
"Fuck you," Brandon hissed out before returning the kiss in full. Spencer's shorter body slotted in with his. "Fuck you, fuck you and fuck you."
It was so much more violent than the soft warning kiss he'd left Abby with. Spencer tasted blood as he fisted wet shirt and hair. He turned Brandon's head to the side, sinking his teeth into his neck. Brandon groaned, his hands gripping at Spencer with vice-like strength.
"Spencer," the blond boy said, arching.
Spencer was livid. "The worst fucking part," he spat. "Is that if you're drunk, you can't consent. And if you aren't drunk, you won't." He shoved Brandon back against the tub, eyes blazing.
Instead of fighting, Bran slid down, curling his knees to his chest. His eyes were rimmed red, and he licked his bloody lip. "Then why even bother?"
Spencer stood on jelly legs, leaning on the sink. "Because, I told you, I'm bloody in love with you," he whispered. "Always have been. And this, us like this? It makes sense. Because if it were equal, you'd never go for it. You don't do boyfriends, husbands. You fuck and fling about, but I'm not asking for any of that." He shucked his wet red jacket, the illusion gone. Swiftly his buttons disappeared and he peeled back his shirt, leaving him in nothing but his vest. "We fight, Bran. You always let me win."
"I don't let you do anythin'," Bran replied, just a hint of a slur at the end of his words. He was so good at drinking that unless he were really royally pissed, he usually could sham sober pretty well. He was slipping. "So what? You jus' going to pretend to boss me around in the hopes that I'll listen to you and we'll fuck an' it'll all be alright?"
"You've got at least a stone and six inches on me," Spencer said. "I can't talk to you sober to figure out if this can stop being pretend. I could hurt you, Bran. If that's what you want. But I can't deduce what it is you want, what you need from me. Maybe it's best if I do call your Mum, healthier for both of us. I wanted to be able to help you."
"Don't call me mum," Brandon said with a sigh, knowing that the dominant younger boy was turning into that soft version of himself that Bran always hated. He closed his eyes so he didn't have to see the illusion fade. "Tol' ya, I'm movin' out. I won't be in this place long, I'll get another flat. It's for the best."
Spencer blinked, trying not to let tears form as he stared up at the nicotine stained ceiling.
For the best.
You love him.
"Guess that'll leave the upstairs empty," Spence said, voice deadpan.
Brandon gulped, nostrils flaring. He steeled himself for opening his eyes, and crooked his mouth into an easy-looking, uneven grin. "Yeah. And you won' have to babysit anymore."
"Wrong," Spencer said, lowering his eyes to Brandon's. "I'll finally be free to ask Abby to be my proper sub. She's interested. Had my eye on a nice leather collar for you, but I think she'd need something more delicate. Crop won't work for her now, but the care taking is my favorite part. You remember that I hope," he said, not letting emotions play across his face. Not a twitch.
"I hope the two of you will be very happy," Brandon said, pushing himself out of his ball position to stand, heading back into the main bedroom. "May she bleed prettily on your bed for the rest of your life."
Spencer slipped back on his wet shirt, picking up his jacket. He let out a sigh as he picked up the riding crop.
"Maybe this was why Father never stayed with your dad," Spencer said, looking at Brandon. His chest hurt. He was still angry. He wanted to hit Brandon over and over. Forget the crop, he wanted to use his fists. "Mum would've married John, you know. They were engaged. Happy too."
"Your mum has never been happy. Why d'you think she has six lovers? Because one ain't good enough," Brandon snapped, reaching into his suitcase for a mini-bottle. His hands were starting to shake. He tipped the contents into is mouth, swallowing hard. "Your father ain't happy, my mum ain't happy. We're just one, big fuckin' miserable family."
Spencer's crop swung, smacking Brandon across the face.
"Spit it out!" he shouted.
"You are such a pain in my arse," Brandon said, tossing the bottle at Spencer. "Stop hittin' me."
Stop.
"So we're clear, this is it, Brandon?" Spencer asked, lowering his hand. "You're calling stop."
Brandon swallowed again, jaw clenched. "You hit my face."
"Mum was dying," Spencer countered. "A stroke and a bypass. Are you calling stop?"
"Your mum picked a mass murderer over your dads. They never got over it. It was the most selfish, reckless decision a person ever made," Brandon replied, knowing it was a pot-kettle-black situation. He inhaled through his nose and dared to reach back into his suitcase. A second bottle in hand.
Spencer raised the riding crop, looking ready to strike. "He gave her to Seb. He gave her a surgery that fixed her. She was being poisoned, Seb saved her," Spencer ground out, slashing through the air to smack Brandon's hand. "And Father was so in love with Dad that Mum, Mum gave them me." Angry tears rolled down his face. "Because Father was so selfish!"
"She left my mum! Just like your Father's fucking moronic brother, and after my mum took care of her when your Father left Mary in a hospital to die," Brandon snapped back, pushing Spencer.
"All Mum wanted was for ONE, ONE PERSON to love her completely!" Spencer shouted, tears falling freely. "One person who loved her more than anyone else, not to fuck or sleep with anyone else or fall in love with anyone else. It's all she fucking wanted!! Your Mum shagged everyone, everyone who stood in the way of the one person my mom loved most!"
"Yeah? And is one person going to be enough for you because I don't believe you when you say it would've been enough for her!" Brandon shouted in return.
Spencer backed away. There was more there than just a simple question - Brandon or Abby. "You want me to choose," he said, swallowing back the thick knot.
"I don't want anything," Brandon said with a weak shrug. He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I don't want anything."
Spence dropped everything, dropping to the bed to wrap his arms around Brandon. "I want you," he said softly, tears still falling. "Damn it all." He ghosted a kiss over the red welt on Brandon's cheek. He'd broken the skin. "I can't answer you, Bran. I can't answer if one person would be enough. I've never had anyone."
"Neither have I," Brandon whispered back, letting Spencer hold him. He gritted his teeth together, red eyes staring back at Spencer with a glassy tint to them. "I can't stop, Spence. I can't."
Spencer kissed him again. "You can," he said, kissing him again and again. "Just, give it up, give up to me."
"I can't," Brandon said, his voice cracking, tears sliding down his cheeks. He pressed into Spencer's attentions, sniffing. "I can't. I can't, Spence. Don't ask me to."
Spencer stroked him, kissing him, along his jaw, over his lips. "Please, Brandon, please," he begged. "Because I want this, I want you. I need you." He pawed down Brandon's chest. "You taste like rum. You taste like bad tequila." He kissed Brandon again. "I hate tequila."
"Tequila is magic," Brandon growled, sucking on Spencer's lip. He brushed his hands over Spencer's flat chest, then around to his back, pulling him closer. "We could just not talk about it. We could do that."
Spencer shook his head. "I want you. I want you in a white chef's jacket. Opening night," he breathed, pulling off his own shirt again. "Your restaurant that your mum promised. I want my own table, table for one. And I want everyone, everyone to wonder who the fuck I am and why the chef, is coming out. And I'd want to snog you right there in your restaurant, tug on your collar and make you moan, but I'd wait. I'd wait until you dragged yourself in, almost dawn," Spencer bit over Brandon's neck. "Your shirt would be a mess, and you'd smell like I could eat you. I'd strip you of everything."
"Vivid imagination you have," Brandon panted, licking his lips. Spencer's voice was going straight to Bran's cock, and he groaned. "What else?"
"I'd make you wash, while I watched," Spencer said, unzipping Brandon's trousers. "I'd swat your arse until it was red. You'd already be exhausted, but I'd make you tremble. I'd lick you open," he said, trailing his tongue along Brandon's top lip.
"You've never licked anything open," Brandon pointed out, but he was breathless. Gasping for anything. It's what they did, Oz and Bran. Oz got high, Bran got drunk and they fucked until one of them passed out. He hadn't done anything with anyone since. "You think you even know how?"
Spencer slipped his smaller hand in to cup Brandon's cock. "I'm a fast learner," he said, giving the turgid organ beneath his fingers a squeeze. "Because I'd be on top. No matter how curious I am to feel this inside me," he breathed into Brandon's mouth, kissing it open again. "I'd keep you on edge until the sun rose."
"Fuck, Spence," Brandon whispered, his eyes sliding closed. His hair was mussed and damp from the shower, and he already looked like he'd been fucked seven ways from Sunday. "Yeah, please, Spence."
Spencer crawled over him, pressing him back into the musty hotel bed. "You wouldn't be the first person I put my cock in, but you'd sure as hell be the last," he murmured, biting down Brandon's chest as he pumped him. He sucked at a nipple through Brandon's shirt. It felt dirtier somehow like this.
"Spence, fuck, fuck, yeah, yes. Please, Spence," Brandon groaned, unable to keep the noises down in his drunken state. His hand brushed Spencer's hair, looking for something to cling to.
Spencer ached to suck Brandon's cock down, instead he moved up to his throat, attacking it with fervor as he slicked the precome pouring out of the tip of Brandon's cock down his shaft. Spencer moaned.
"Fuck you, look at you," Spencer hissed. "Wet and slick, aching for me, aren't you, Bran? You can't bear to say yes, and you push and you push and you want my hand on your cock."
"Need- fuck, something, need- need you," Brandon groaned, thrusting up into Spencer's hand. "You- You tease me. Mean."
Spencer bit Brandon's ear. "Maybe if you didn't fuck like a whore, I'd have you on my cock. Maybe if you weren't sloshed to hell, I'd bring you to nirvana," he hissed, wanking his cousin faster. "But right now, this is what you get. This is all you'll ever get." He bit the other side of Brandon's neck, sucking hard to make sure a ring of marks would remain for a least a week or more.
"Spence, please, I'll beg," Brandon whimpered, feeling too close to coming to even know what he was begging for. "Fuck, fuck, Spencer-"
Spencer pulled his hand from Brandon's trouser. "Beg me then," he said, pulling away to take off his tank. "Beg me with your arse in the air."
"Please. Please, Spencer," Brandon said, chest heaving, groaning at the loss of contact. "I'm begging, please, Spencer. You."
Spencer swallowed. He shook his head. Was this it? His only chance? Maybe it would change Brandon's mind? Maybe it would make him severe all ties. "Clothes off," Spencer barked, forcing his voice deeper than the squeak it wanted to be. He went to Brandon's suitcase - of course, lube and condoms.
Brandon shucked the remainder of his clothes, wishing for a second he felt a little more sober because he wanted to remember every aching moment of it. Still, Spence had a point. He'd never do this sober. "Spencer, please."
Spencer had to squeeze himself through his trousers.
"If I knew you weren't shaggin' everything that looked you're way, I'd have you in my mouth right now," Spencer said, popping the cap and dribbling cold lube down Brandon's arse crack. He lubed up his fingers and pressed two inside without preamble. Spencer's chin was jutted out as he crooked his fingers, trying not to let the warm-tight-oh-fuck feeling overwhelm him. Instead he used his free hand to slap Brandon's arse cheek.
"Ah, oh God," Brandon swore a few times under his breath, pushing his face into the pillow, attempting to muffle the sound. The pain, the gorgeous fucking pain of the little smacks and rough treatment, the dirty forceful talk- it was driving him wild. "Fuck, Spence, you teasing mother fucker."
"Want it now, then?" Spencer said. "It'll hurt. Is that what you want, Brandon? Beg!"
"Please, Spencer, please, fuck me, fuck me raw," Brandon whined, his head feeling sort of fuzzy around the edges. He blushed, halfway not believing the words coming out of his mouth. "Fuck me, Spence. Please."
Spencer pulled his fingers out, knowing, knowing this wasn't consent. Not really. He pulled on the condom, covering Brandon's back as he pressed inside. He was nowhere near ready. Spencer nearly screamed as Brandon's body clenched around the intrusion.
"Aaah!! Bran!" Spencer said, grabbing the back of Brandon's neck with one hand, pressing his lower back with the other. "Fffuck."
"Spence," Brandon ground out, aching as he was stretched. His skin was flushed red. "Fuck, fuck, Spence. B-burns."
"You asked for it," Spencer breathed as he reached for the lube, adding more as he slid in and out. He drove himself deep inside, reaching for Brandon's cock, stroking it. He was admittedly surprised Brandon was hard, still so hard with a cock up his arse, taken so unprepared, and being beaten around.
Spencer thrust once, twice hard before grinding himself against Brandon's arse, wanking him. He'd lose it if he tried more. He was Dom. He wasn't going to lose it. Not now, not on what could be the only time. He craned up, biting the back of Brandon's neck.
"Fuck, Spencer, please, I gotta come, please, let me come," Brandon begged, sobbing out. "I'm so close- too close-"
"Say you're mine," Spencer breathed. "Say it."
"Yours, fucking yours," Brandon said. "Please, m-master, please-"
Spencer moaned, face going red. "Come!" he shouted. "Fuckin' come." He thrust sharply several times. Brandon was chanting his name as he obeyed the rough command, already close enough that he was going to come either way.
"Spence, fuck, Spencer," Brandon whimpered.
Spencer was already shaking with his own orgasm, empying himself into the thin condom. Pathetically slim barrier. He pulled out slowly, holding the base. He dropped it into the trash can, wiping himself off with his shirt.
Brandon looked throughly fucked. His body littered with bruises, bites. His arse was red, and Spencer knew, sore. His neck was a mess of teeth and tongue. His hair - laughable.
Spencer sat heavily on the bed, reaching for Brandon and pulling him in. Big spoon, little spoon. Spencer didn't care he was too short. He buried his nose at the back of Brandon's neck. "I hope you're sober enough to remember this," he whispered, stroking Brandon's come soaked stomach.
"Yeah, me too," Brandon panted, feeling too good to be real. Cloud 9 level shit. "Fuck, Spence, me too."
"Don't come home unless you want this," Spencer said, squeezing him. "We'll discuss, sober. Even if it's to tell me you regret this and to fuck off." He kissed Brandon's neck. "This is our crossroads, Brandon. Clean up and tell me what you want, or fuck off. I'll give you what you need, but not unless you want it."
He got up, covering his.. lover with the hotel blanket. It was shit aftercare after all that.
"Be safe, on the way back," Brandon mumbled, unable to look Spencer in the eye. It wasn't as easy, not as cut and dry as he made it seem. "Night, Spencer."
"Goodbye, Brandon," Spencer said, throwing back on his vest and leaving the ruined shirt behind. He put his wet blazer back on and forgot completely about the riding crop sitting on the dresser as he stumbled out of the hotel.
He wasn't sure how he got back home. Was it still home?
He collapsed in the middle of the living room, hyperventilating with the occasional sob he couldn't suppress.
Spencer put the riding crop on the pressboard dresser. It wouldn't see any use any time soon. He went into the minuscule bathroom and turned on the shower. Cold.
He went to the bed and slapped Brandon across the face.
"Wh-Fuck, mate, what are you doin' here?" Brandon asked, looking very bewildered as he cupped his sore cheek.
"Reality check," Spence said, yanking Brandon by his wrist.
"Fucker, ouch, stop," Brandon snapped, trying to jerk his pins-and-needles arm out of Spencer's grasp. "I left, you're not my bloody mother, gerroff me."
"Exactly, you left," Spencer said, shoving Brandon towards the bathroom. "I told you to stay put." He pushed him into the shower, letting his off kilter balance topple the taller man into the spray.
"Ah, fucker! Fuckin' wanker, mother fucker, bastard child," Brandon shouted, his whole body shaking in the frigid water. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Drunkard, asshole, fuckin' sell out," Spencer shouted back at him, pulling the shower head down. "LUSH, WINO, YOU FUCKIN' ADDICT." He sprayed it in Brandon's face.
"I am not!" Brandon roared back. "You mother fuckers with your judgments and your problems. I relax, I have fun. That's what I do-"
"You're ruining your life," Spencer shouted. "You're killing yourself, you're fucking killing yourself! You'll be dead before Mum!" He slammed the shower sprayer down in the tub and kicked off the water. "You'll be fuckin' dead."
"And what do you fuckin' care?" Brandon returned, shaking his half-naked head, water flinging everywhere. "What do any of you fuckin' care? No one would notice."
Spencer grabbed a towel, getting into the tub, on top of Brandon as he shoved the rough white fabric over his drenched cousin. "I care. I fucking care. I knew you were gone the moment I woke up," he said. "But you don't care. Because this? This is wrong, Brandon." He ran the towel over the top of Brandon's head, grabbing either end up to pull Brandon's face towards his. "I'm in love with you, you wanker," he said, forcing a bruising kiss on his lips.
"Fuck you," Brandon hissed out before returning the kiss in full. Spencer's shorter body slotted in with his. "Fuck you, fuck you and fuck you."
It was so much more violent than the soft warning kiss he'd left Abby with. Spencer tasted blood as he fisted wet shirt and hair. He turned Brandon's head to the side, sinking his teeth into his neck. Brandon groaned, his hands gripping at Spencer with vice-like strength.
"Spencer," the blond boy said, arching.
Spencer was livid. "The worst fucking part," he spat. "Is that if you're drunk, you can't consent. And if you aren't drunk, you won't." He shoved Brandon back against the tub, eyes blazing.
Instead of fighting, Bran slid down, curling his knees to his chest. His eyes were rimmed red, and he licked his bloody lip. "Then why even bother?"
Spencer stood on jelly legs, leaning on the sink. "Because, I told you, I'm bloody in love with you," he whispered. "Always have been. And this, us like this? It makes sense. Because if it were equal, you'd never go for it. You don't do boyfriends, husbands. You fuck and fling about, but I'm not asking for any of that." He shucked his wet red jacket, the illusion gone. Swiftly his buttons disappeared and he peeled back his shirt, leaving him in nothing but his vest. "We fight, Bran. You always let me win."
"I don't let you do anythin'," Bran replied, just a hint of a slur at the end of his words. He was so good at drinking that unless he were really royally pissed, he usually could sham sober pretty well. He was slipping. "So what? You jus' going to pretend to boss me around in the hopes that I'll listen to you and we'll fuck an' it'll all be alright?"
"You've got at least a stone and six inches on me," Spencer said. "I can't talk to you sober to figure out if this can stop being pretend. I could hurt you, Bran. If that's what you want. But I can't deduce what it is you want, what you need from me. Maybe it's best if I do call your Mum, healthier for both of us. I wanted to be able to help you."
"Don't call me mum," Brandon said with a sigh, knowing that the dominant younger boy was turning into that soft version of himself that Bran always hated. He closed his eyes so he didn't have to see the illusion fade. "Tol' ya, I'm movin' out. I won't be in this place long, I'll get another flat. It's for the best."
Spencer blinked, trying not to let tears form as he stared up at the nicotine stained ceiling.
For the best.
You love him.
"Guess that'll leave the upstairs empty," Spence said, voice deadpan.
Brandon gulped, nostrils flaring. He steeled himself for opening his eyes, and crooked his mouth into an easy-looking, uneven grin. "Yeah. And you won' have to babysit anymore."
"Wrong," Spencer said, lowering his eyes to Brandon's. "I'll finally be free to ask Abby to be my proper sub. She's interested. Had my eye on a nice leather collar for you, but I think she'd need something more delicate. Crop won't work for her now, but the care taking is my favorite part. You remember that I hope," he said, not letting emotions play across his face. Not a twitch.
"I hope the two of you will be very happy," Brandon said, pushing himself out of his ball position to stand, heading back into the main bedroom. "May she bleed prettily on your bed for the rest of your life."
Spencer slipped back on his wet shirt, picking up his jacket. He let out a sigh as he picked up the riding crop.
"Maybe this was why Father never stayed with your dad," Spencer said, looking at Brandon. His chest hurt. He was still angry. He wanted to hit Brandon over and over. Forget the crop, he wanted to use his fists. "Mum would've married John, you know. They were engaged. Happy too."
"Your mum has never been happy. Why d'you think she has six lovers? Because one ain't good enough," Brandon snapped, reaching into his suitcase for a mini-bottle. His hands were starting to shake. He tipped the contents into is mouth, swallowing hard. "Your father ain't happy, my mum ain't happy. We're just one, big fuckin' miserable family."
Spencer's crop swung, smacking Brandon across the face.
"Spit it out!" he shouted.
"You are such a pain in my arse," Brandon said, tossing the bottle at Spencer. "Stop hittin' me."
Stop.
"So we're clear, this is it, Brandon?" Spencer asked, lowering his hand. "You're calling stop."
Brandon swallowed again, jaw clenched. "You hit my face."
"Mum was dying," Spencer countered. "A stroke and a bypass. Are you calling stop?"
"Your mum picked a mass murderer over your dads. They never got over it. It was the most selfish, reckless decision a person ever made," Brandon replied, knowing it was a pot-kettle-black situation. He inhaled through his nose and dared to reach back into his suitcase. A second bottle in hand.
Spencer raised the riding crop, looking ready to strike. "He gave her to Seb. He gave her a surgery that fixed her. She was being poisoned, Seb saved her," Spencer ground out, slashing through the air to smack Brandon's hand. "And Father was so in love with Dad that Mum, Mum gave them me." Angry tears rolled down his face. "Because Father was so selfish!"
"She left my mum! Just like your Father's fucking moronic brother, and after my mum took care of her when your Father left Mary in a hospital to die," Brandon snapped back, pushing Spencer.
"All Mum wanted was for ONE, ONE PERSON to love her completely!" Spencer shouted, tears falling freely. "One person who loved her more than anyone else, not to fuck or sleep with anyone else or fall in love with anyone else. It's all she fucking wanted!! Your Mum shagged everyone, everyone who stood in the way of the one person my mom loved most!"
"Yeah? And is one person going to be enough for you because I don't believe you when you say it would've been enough for her!" Brandon shouted in return.
Spencer backed away. There was more there than just a simple question - Brandon or Abby. "You want me to choose," he said, swallowing back the thick knot.
"I don't want anything," Brandon said with a weak shrug. He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I don't want anything."
Spence dropped everything, dropping to the bed to wrap his arms around Brandon. "I want you," he said softly, tears still falling. "Damn it all." He ghosted a kiss over the red welt on Brandon's cheek. He'd broken the skin. "I can't answer you, Bran. I can't answer if one person would be enough. I've never had anyone."
"Neither have I," Brandon whispered back, letting Spencer hold him. He gritted his teeth together, red eyes staring back at Spencer with a glassy tint to them. "I can't stop, Spence. I can't."
Spencer kissed him again. "You can," he said, kissing him again and again. "Just, give it up, give up to me."
"I can't," Brandon said, his voice cracking, tears sliding down his cheeks. He pressed into Spencer's attentions, sniffing. "I can't. I can't, Spence. Don't ask me to."
Spencer stroked him, kissing him, along his jaw, over his lips. "Please, Brandon, please," he begged. "Because I want this, I want you. I need you." He pawed down Brandon's chest. "You taste like rum. You taste like bad tequila." He kissed Brandon again. "I hate tequila."
"Tequila is magic," Brandon growled, sucking on Spencer's lip. He brushed his hands over Spencer's flat chest, then around to his back, pulling him closer. "We could just not talk about it. We could do that."
Spencer shook his head. "I want you. I want you in a white chef's jacket. Opening night," he breathed, pulling off his own shirt again. "Your restaurant that your mum promised. I want my own table, table for one. And I want everyone, everyone to wonder who the fuck I am and why the chef, is coming out. And I'd want to snog you right there in your restaurant, tug on your collar and make you moan, but I'd wait. I'd wait until you dragged yourself in, almost dawn," Spencer bit over Brandon's neck. "Your shirt would be a mess, and you'd smell like I could eat you. I'd strip you of everything."
"Vivid imagination you have," Brandon panted, licking his lips. Spencer's voice was going straight to Bran's cock, and he groaned. "What else?"
"I'd make you wash, while I watched," Spencer said, unzipping Brandon's trousers. "I'd swat your arse until it was red. You'd already be exhausted, but I'd make you tremble. I'd lick you open," he said, trailing his tongue along Brandon's top lip.
"You've never licked anything open," Brandon pointed out, but he was breathless. Gasping for anything. It's what they did, Oz and Bran. Oz got high, Bran got drunk and they fucked until one of them passed out. He hadn't done anything with anyone since. "You think you even know how?"
Spencer slipped his smaller hand in to cup Brandon's cock. "I'm a fast learner," he said, giving the turgid organ beneath his fingers a squeeze. "Because I'd be on top. No matter how curious I am to feel this inside me," he breathed into Brandon's mouth, kissing it open again. "I'd keep you on edge until the sun rose."
"Fuck, Spence," Brandon whispered, his eyes sliding closed. His hair was mussed and damp from the shower, and he already looked like he'd been fucked seven ways from Sunday. "Yeah, please, Spence."
Spencer crawled over him, pressing him back into the musty hotel bed. "You wouldn't be the first person I put my cock in, but you'd sure as hell be the last," he murmured, biting down Brandon's chest as he pumped him. He sucked at a nipple through Brandon's shirt. It felt dirtier somehow like this.
"Spence, fuck, fuck, yeah, yes. Please, Spence," Brandon groaned, unable to keep the noises down in his drunken state. His hand brushed Spencer's hair, looking for something to cling to.
Spencer ached to suck Brandon's cock down, instead he moved up to his throat, attacking it with fervor as he slicked the precome pouring out of the tip of Brandon's cock down his shaft. Spencer moaned.
"Fuck you, look at you," Spencer hissed. "Wet and slick, aching for me, aren't you, Bran? You can't bear to say yes, and you push and you push and you want my hand on your cock."
"Need- fuck, something, need- need you," Brandon groaned, thrusting up into Spencer's hand. "You- You tease me. Mean."
Spencer bit Brandon's ear. "Maybe if you didn't fuck like a whore, I'd have you on my cock. Maybe if you weren't sloshed to hell, I'd bring you to nirvana," he hissed, wanking his cousin faster. "But right now, this is what you get. This is all you'll ever get." He bit the other side of Brandon's neck, sucking hard to make sure a ring of marks would remain for a least a week or more.
"Spence, please, I'll beg," Brandon whimpered, feeling too close to coming to even know what he was begging for. "Fuck, fuck, Spencer-"
Spencer pulled his hand from Brandon's trouser. "Beg me then," he said, pulling away to take off his tank. "Beg me with your arse in the air."
"Please. Please, Spencer," Brandon said, chest heaving, groaning at the loss of contact. "I'm begging, please, Spencer. You."
Spencer swallowed. He shook his head. Was this it? His only chance? Maybe it would change Brandon's mind? Maybe it would make him severe all ties. "Clothes off," Spencer barked, forcing his voice deeper than the squeak it wanted to be. He went to Brandon's suitcase - of course, lube and condoms.
Brandon shucked the remainder of his clothes, wishing for a second he felt a little more sober because he wanted to remember every aching moment of it. Still, Spence had a point. He'd never do this sober. "Spencer, please."
Spencer had to squeeze himself through his trousers.
"If I knew you weren't shaggin' everything that looked you're way, I'd have you in my mouth right now," Spencer said, popping the cap and dribbling cold lube down Brandon's arse crack. He lubed up his fingers and pressed two inside without preamble. Spencer's chin was jutted out as he crooked his fingers, trying not to let the warm-tight-oh-fuck feeling overwhelm him. Instead he used his free hand to slap Brandon's arse cheek.
"Ah, oh God," Brandon swore a few times under his breath, pushing his face into the pillow, attempting to muffle the sound. The pain, the gorgeous fucking pain of the little smacks and rough treatment, the dirty forceful talk- it was driving him wild. "Fuck, Spence, you teasing mother fucker."
"Want it now, then?" Spencer said. "It'll hurt. Is that what you want, Brandon? Beg!"
"Please, Spencer, please, fuck me, fuck me raw," Brandon whined, his head feeling sort of fuzzy around the edges. He blushed, halfway not believing the words coming out of his mouth. "Fuck me, Spence. Please."
Spencer pulled his fingers out, knowing, knowing this wasn't consent. Not really. He pulled on the condom, covering Brandon's back as he pressed inside. He was nowhere near ready. Spencer nearly screamed as Brandon's body clenched around the intrusion.
"Aaah!! Bran!" Spencer said, grabbing the back of Brandon's neck with one hand, pressing his lower back with the other. "Fffuck."
"Spence," Brandon ground out, aching as he was stretched. His skin was flushed red. "Fuck, fuck, Spence. B-burns."
"You asked for it," Spencer breathed as he reached for the lube, adding more as he slid in and out. He drove himself deep inside, reaching for Brandon's cock, stroking it. He was admittedly surprised Brandon was hard, still so hard with a cock up his arse, taken so unprepared, and being beaten around.
Spencer thrust once, twice hard before grinding himself against Brandon's arse, wanking him. He'd lose it if he tried more. He was Dom. He wasn't going to lose it. Not now, not on what could be the only time. He craned up, biting the back of Brandon's neck.
"Fuck, Spencer, please, I gotta come, please, let me come," Brandon begged, sobbing out. "I'm so close- too close-"
"Say you're mine," Spencer breathed. "Say it."
"Yours, fucking yours," Brandon said. "Please, m-master, please-"
Spencer moaned, face going red. "Come!" he shouted. "Fuckin' come." He thrust sharply several times. Brandon was chanting his name as he obeyed the rough command, already close enough that he was going to come either way.
"Spence, fuck, Spencer," Brandon whimpered.
Spencer was already shaking with his own orgasm, empying himself into the thin condom. Pathetically slim barrier. He pulled out slowly, holding the base. He dropped it into the trash can, wiping himself off with his shirt.
Brandon looked throughly fucked. His body littered with bruises, bites. His arse was red, and Spencer knew, sore. His neck was a mess of teeth and tongue. His hair - laughable.
Spencer sat heavily on the bed, reaching for Brandon and pulling him in. Big spoon, little spoon. Spencer didn't care he was too short. He buried his nose at the back of Brandon's neck. "I hope you're sober enough to remember this," he whispered, stroking Brandon's come soaked stomach.
"Yeah, me too," Brandon panted, feeling too good to be real. Cloud 9 level shit. "Fuck, Spence, me too."
"Don't come home unless you want this," Spencer said, squeezing him. "We'll discuss, sober. Even if it's to tell me you regret this and to fuck off." He kissed Brandon's neck. "This is our crossroads, Brandon. Clean up and tell me what you want, or fuck off. I'll give you what you need, but not unless you want it."
He got up, covering his.. lover with the hotel blanket. It was shit aftercare after all that.
"Be safe, on the way back," Brandon mumbled, unable to look Spencer in the eye. It wasn't as easy, not as cut and dry as he made it seem. "Night, Spencer."
"Goodbye, Brandon," Spencer said, throwing back on his vest and leaving the ruined shirt behind. He put his wet blazer back on and forgot completely about the riding crop sitting on the dresser as he stumbled out of the hotel.
He wasn't sure how he got back home. Was it still home?
He collapsed in the middle of the living room, hyperventilating with the occasional sob he couldn't suppress.
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