But she was oddly in the mood to go shopping. Oh, well, rich girl is as rich girl does.
She parked the car in front of the flat, sad that she had to return to the empty home now that Vance was back to his jobs. She couldn't stay at her parents' place, either, no matter how nice it had been to have Sherlock and John and Papa all to herself, fawning all over her. She had to be a grown up and go home and return to work and deal with the fact that she might die young.
Her mother hadn't, so maybe she wouldn't, either.
Finch had a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, travel mug of tea in hand, when she unlocked the door and let herself in.
"Welcome home!" Thaddeus sang out from the kitchen. He was carrying out a plate of cheese toasties.
Finch dropped her bag to the floor, eyes wide. "How the fuck did you get in here?"
Thaddeus crunched into the crusty bread. "Fron' door," he said around the mouthful. "Wha' did I do it wrong?"
"Well, for starters, you don't live here," Finch said, brows knit together. She put a hand on her hip, looking disgruntled. "And I haven't been home for a week."
"Erm, the key your dad gave me says otherwise," Thaddeus replied, gesturing with his toast. "You know you have a whole unused flat in the back? I took the liberty of liberating it."
Finch's blood boiled and she had her phone in her hand in two seconds, striding further into the flat to stare at his belongings while she dialed her father. "What do you mean he gave you a key- PAPA!"
"Did you forget something at the cottage, love?" Seb said, voice tired and sleepy. He'd taken to napping in one of the den chairs. John's in fact. It really was comfortable.
"He's not even a friend, I hardly know him. Why did you give this creature a key!" Finch shrieked into the phone, kicking her foot into a wall.
"Finch, it's just insurance," Sebastian said softly. He hadn't mentioned it to Mary. There was a good reason Seb kept Jack around. And it wasn't because he enjoyed sharing his wife. "It's not good for you to live completely on your own. Episodes can be spontaneous, and your mother's stroke came completely unexpected, love. Jack's old area is separate from the rest of the house."
Thaddeus beamed.
"No! No, no, I want him out. I want him out right now! This is my house now, this is where I live with Vance, and not him. I'm not Mum, I don't need five billion boyfriends or people babysitting me," Finch insisted, glaring at Thad. "I don't like him."
"Finch, you're an adult now," Seb sighed. "Work it out with him. Love you, sweetheart."
"Papa! Papa, you put him here, you work it out. Get him out," Finch said, ready to pound her phone into the door frame.
Sebastian hung up.
"So," Thaddeus said. "Papa tiger favors the black sheep." He clucked his tongue, taking another bite of food. "Mm, what is this cheese?"
Finch was already dialing her boyfriend for backup. "Not yours! Have I any groceries? Why do you even want to live here, oh my God, get out."
"Not much in the way of perishables," Thaddeus said, plucking the mobile from her hand and ending the call and tossing it across the room to bounce on the sofa. "Leave the poor bloke alone. Think of me like a flatmate! It'll be fun." He grinned at her. "Cheese toasty?"
"No! I don't want flatmates," Finch said, scrambling to pick up her phone. "Especially not ones that eat my food and throw my things! Look, you've cracked it. Ass." She huffed, feeling too flushed under her skin. "I'm going out. You'd better be gone by the time I get back."
"I don't plan on it!" Thaddeus called out. He shrugged, setting the plate on the table and following her. He'd gotten bored with going through her things anyway. He hadn't been invited to the mysterious family cottage. Halfway down the sidewalk, his long legs caught up with her.
"So where we headed?"
"You aren't headed anywhere! You aren't- No. No, nope, I've tolerated you around the shop because you've been handy," Finch stopped, waiving her hands around. "But no more! You don't get to live with me and you don't get to follow me about my errands. I don't even know why you were in my flat, but just because you saved my life, doesn't mean you get to live in my home, especially without even asking."
Thaddeus had his guileless smile on. "Because I'm meant to save it again," he said. "Miss Finch, may I please live in your flat, oh fearsome lady of Moriarty?" He cackled, catching up her flailing hands.
"No. You may not," Finch said, her lower lip pouting out. "Vance won't like it at all, and I'm sure I don't either."
"Don't or won't?" Thad replied. "Scarface won't have to know at all. I've already been to your flat for work before. It's not as if there's anything suspicious going on." He raised his brows.
"How about that I don't want you there, and I didn't put you there. That's suspicious," Finch replied, tugging her hands out of his grip. "Do not let me hear you call him that again. If I'm one thing, it's a good shot."
"No, your Papa-tiger did," Thaddeus purred, pulling her in to drape his arm across her shoulders like Brandon had been doing. "Loveboy might not have found you, what how many hours? Days? You work me like a horse, and won't give me a place to kip! How awful," he moaned.
Finch wiggled in his grasp, ducking under his arms, shoving her hands in the pockets of her torn jeans. She started back down the sidewalk, sulking. "I-I never thought Papa would try and do something like this. And for the record, I don't work you. You volunteer, and I've repeatedly asked you to leave and you just keep coming back."
"I thought we agreed you liked me - at least a little," he said, not backing down. "Your dad's not asking me to shag you, silly goose, just check and make sure you haven't died in lav or something once in awhile. There's a whole space back there. You weren't even using it neither."
"We might have done! One day. And instead you're there," Finch argued back before realizing what she'd been thinking. She slapped a hand over her mouth, cheeks turning bright red. She shook her head. "Never mind, it's not like you're listening to me anyway."
"Not really," Thaddeus agreed. "So, shopping then? We're in dire need of nibbles."
"You buy them, then, since you were to kind as to liberate me of mine," Finch muttered, walking along in a proper sulk over the whole ordeal. She ducked into a little boutique that had been one of her more recent faves, looking over racks of clothes.
Finch's phone buzzed in her pocket.
"Hello?" she said, answering without looking at the caller ID.
"Finch?" Vance panted, on the run. "Sorry, missed your call, bird. Everythin' alright?"
"Papa gave Th-that monster a key to my flat! And now he won't leave," Finch replied, picking up on his breathlessness. "Are you busy? Fuck's sake, Vance, call me when you're safe."
"Fine," Vance said. "Just running from a bit of security. Wait - who? That bastard!"
"Yeah, exactly. I just got in and he's moved all his things into Jack's old room, and I want him out. I miss you," Finch said it all in one long sentence. She picked up a black shirt, something she normally wouldn't have ever chosen. "He's following me about, pawing at me. I don't like it."
Gunshots could be heard over the phone, Vance swore. "Sec, love," he said, leaping up over a fence with a grace of a high jumper. His feet hit the ground and he put the phone back to his ear. "Put out his things?" he suggested. "Did you tell your Mum?"
"No, Papa hung up on me. I didn't want to mention it to Mum. She was crying the whole time. I mean, she thought I didn't see her, but I know she was," Finch whispered, selecting another all-black outfit out of the slim pickings in the shop. It was all too small for her, too, but that's because she wasn't purchasing for herself. "I'm- I don't want him here. I can do this on my own. No one ever lets me do anything on my own."
Vance pulled himself up onto a ledge, pressing against the brick as sirens flowed past the street he'd just left. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I thought you didn't want to be alone anymore," he panted. "Look, maybe just until I get back home? A week or two at most, I swear it, love. I'll kick him out proper m'self."
"Yeah. Fine. Whatever all of you want," Finch said, ending the call. She picked up her purchase and headed back out onto the streets, feeling a little bit like she could cry, even if she didn't know what about. They'd warned her the medication might make her weepy, but she didn't care. Blame the meds.
Thaddeus had waited outside.
"What'd boyfriend have to say?" he asked, arms crossed.
"Fuck you," Finch snapped, walking away, tucking the phone back into her purse. "I hate all of you."
Thaddeus smiled. He turned on his heel to go do the shopping. He didn't have a lot of money, at least not access to it, but he'd do enough shopping to fix something healthy when she finished her row.
***
Spencer was tired. He'd wound up working for the police anyway - a different sort of analyst, contract work instead of being outright on payroll. He didn't like becoming his father like that, but he realized the reasons made sense. The rules of the force were too much for him to stay constrained in for someone who was always taught to think outside the box.
He'd preened today, slicking back his curls, putting on a sinfully luxe suit and gloves. Leather gloves. He did always like how they felt against his skin. They'd been one of his first purchases from Angelina. He was still incensed that she'd contacted his mother, but he hadn't seen the leather collar since leaving it on Brandon's pillow.
He'd gone to break a suspect. He was as efficient as Sherlock and twice as cutting with no John Watson to apologize or filter him.
He was riding along in Dom headspace afterwards, heading home. It was dropping, but he'd get on his computer and drive the energy into his work-
Baker Street stairs were familiar enough for him to walk with his eyes closed. He hummed, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he entered the den, nearly knocking into Abby, who was clearly on her way out.
"Where are you going?" Spencer said, catching Abby by her good arm. His eyes were narrowed as he turned to examine her.
"Finch called. Apparently she has an unwanted house guest I'm gonna go try and remove for her," Abby said, frowning at the look on his face. She nodded to the sleeping (drunk was a sort of sleep) figure on the sofa, lowering her voice. "Though' you migh' want a moment to deal with that."
Spencer's brows pinched. He nodded sharply. "Apologies for him," he said, leaning to kiss her cheek. "Don't be out too late."
"Yeah, I won't be," Abby promised, patting his arm. She darted down the stairs in her fire-stained PJ bottoms and one of his clean shirts.
Spencer let her go, feeling possessive and protective of her. He'd gotten her a mobile the first moment he could. He could always text or call. Instead Brandon was getting out of hand. Spencer picked up a heavy book, dropping it to the coffee table beside Brandon's head. The blond-haired boy started, eyes snapping open.
"God, dammit, Spence," Brandon huffed, rolling over from his back to his belly. He buried his head in the pillow under him. "What are you doin' being so loud for?"
"I think you mean, 'Welcome home, master'," Spencer said arms crossed as he glared from across the table.
"I think you're goin' to be sorely disappointed," Brandon said, words muffled by the fabric under his mouth. He was hiding his face on purpose, knowing what his breath smelled of. "I'm tired. Worked all day. Go away."
"You mean drank all day," Spencer said coldly. "I just spent six hours in a cell. Been nipping at the house wine at work? Don't think I can't smell you."
"I did not drink at work. I promised Finch," Brandon huffed, looking up at Spencer. "Why were you in a cell? Finally get an ASBO?"
Spencer leaned down to sniff Brandon's face. "I was extracting a confession," he sneered. "Tequila. Sit up."
Brandon shifted, wincing through a headache into a sitting position. "I really don't have time for your little games right now, Spencer. Don't you have a purple-haired misfit to follow around?"
"She's busy with Finch," he said, staring Brandon down. He shed his jacket, draping it over the chair by the sofa. He left his gloves on. He sat down on the sofa, arms along the back. "Trousers down," he said, voice low.
"No," Brandon said, feeling a shiver snake through his spine. "I've told you, Spencer. Not with you. Not now."
"Trousers down, across my lap," Spencer repeated. "Or bring me my things from your room."
"Sod off, you're not spanking me like some school kid," Brandon huffed, slouching down in the sofa, defiant.
Spencer reached over with his gloved hand to grasp the back of Brandon's neck. He used the other to swat his arse. "Watch me, you tall slut," he dared.
Brandon squirmed, trying to get out of Spencer's vice-strong grip. "Spencer! What on Earth-"
"You've been pushing me, Bran," Spencer said, twisting his hand to get Brandon's hair wrapped around his leather glove. He wished he'd taken them off now. "You're practically screaming for attention now." He smacked Brandon's hip, missing his arse as he squirmed. "Well, love, you have it."
"Since when-ah!- have I ever pushed you?" Brandon said, sinking his teeth into Spencer's thigh.
Spencer's keen turned into a growl. "Your little flirts of jealousy over my new girl," he said. "Threatening Finch's new toy. Let Vance be a big boy on his own." He tugged at the nape of Brandon's hair. "Stop that, brat. If you want something to do with your mouth, I'll give you something. Aside from pouring poison into it."
"Over your new girl, like we're just property to you," Brandon sneered, biting down again before being tugged away by the roots. His face was inches from Spencer's crotch, and his heart thudded. "I-I- I can-"
"Yesss, my new girl, new girlfriend. She is mine," Spencer hissed. He tilted his hips forward, soft wool of his trousers grazing Brandon's face. "You could-"
"No," Brandon shook his head, nose barely brushing the zipper of Spencer's trousers. "Not- Not like this. Not anymore."
Spencer sighed, releasing Brandon completely.
"Red," he said, taking off his gloves. He dropped his hands in his lap, stroking Brandon's cheek. "Bring me my things, Brandon."
"What things do you have in my room? There are only my things in there," Brandon said, sitting back on his heels. He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling foolish.
"The crop, the collar," Spencer said, not looking at him. "Mother said to end this. It's obviously not helping you. I can't touch you." Spencer hurt. Spencer wanted to hurt Brandon. Physically. "Maybe I'm the one who needs therapy."
Disappointment flickered on Bran's face, but he shrugged. Maybe Spencer was right. It had seemed forced, the last few times they'd been together. There wasn't passion or fight or fire in it, and that's, well, that's what they needed. He turned, stumbling off the sofa, heading for the stairs. "Alright, fine. I'll give them back tomorrow."
"You'll give them back now, drunk or not," Spencer said, following. "I want them back." I want you back.
"Hey, if you're callin' it quits with this, whatever it is, then you don't get to burst your way into my room. Don't start, Spencer. I'll give them back tomorrow," Bran snapped over his shoulder, pushing his door opened, the dark room waiting for him.
"You're the one calling it quits. You can't stand to be touched. You think you're tainted," Spencer spat, following him up the stairs. "I'll start whatever I damn well please. It's my flat. It's my things. And if you aren't willing to be mine, then give me -" give me my heart back.
"Give you what? The fuck do you want from me, baby boy?" Brandon sneered, feeling hurt for no reason at all.
Spencer reached up to slap Brandon right where his crop had once landed.
"Give me my bloody heart back, you bastard," he hissed. "Go follow Abby, throw that interloper from Finch's life and take up with her. It's her, always her. She simpers how lonely she is. Go be sick together."
"Are you- Are you fucking jealous that we're sick?" Brandon asked, cupping his stinging cheek. "That's ill, Spencer. That's fucking stupid, that is."
"You're both leaving me again," Spencer said, face on fire. "She gave you the cafe. She's sick with you. And you give me nothing, Bran. I can't even snog you anymore!" he growled. "You won't let me. I'm not scared of catching anything because life's bloody well not worth living without my family!"
Brandon's heart thudded in his chest, hands shaking. He gulped in air. "Spence, I-"
"You what, Bran? You what? For God's sake, for once in your liver-pickled life, would you tell me what you want from me?!" Spencer shouted. "I just don't get how Mum does it!"
"Does what?" Brandon asked, lips numb. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheek bones, and he just stood there, statuesque, letting Spencer rail at him. Unable to move an inch. What did he want? What did he want?
"How she has all of them, all of them!" Spencer shook. "I can't manage one. One single relationship. She has five. Five people who love her enough to be bored out of their minds for her health. Finch has two suitors fighting over her now, though she only has eyes for one. She got that from Mum. I got the loneliness."
"You have Abby! Or is a proper girlfriend not good enough for you?" Brandon asked, blinking back to himself. "Can't you be happy with one healthy, normal relationship? I'm sick, Spencer. Even if I'm not sick right now, it's in there, waiting. Even with treatment, it's not like I get a full life span. A fuckin' cold could knock me out-"
"I'm not normal!" Spencer shouted. He flinched back. "God, I know you're sick, and I want to hit you. Hit you, then kiss you. Mum said to stop if I was hurting you, but that's- that's what I want. I want to hurt you, then take care of you. I want- I want you to rely on me." He dropped to his knees, strings cut. "I'm not normal, and Abby is too- I can't."
"This-" Brandon sighed, and then did something drastic. He turned away, and reached into his top drawer for a bottle that he'd hidden there, taking a long pull of tequila. "This talking. This isn't what we do, Spencer. It's never been-" gulp - "What we do."
Spencer surged up tackling the bottle from Brandon's hands, landing them both on the bed as the bottle crashed into the wall. He has his fists in Brandon's shirt and his mouth biting at Brandon's lips. He was straddling the taller boy, shins digging into his thighs. Brandon bucked up in response, strong arms fighting, but not too hard. Not at all discouraging. Brandon's nose pressed into Spencer's cheek with their sloppy, passionate kisses.
Spencer hated the taste of tequila. It always reminded him of a trip - somewhere. He'd fallen in the pool. Chlorine.
He ground against Brandon's body, licking away the liquor in his mouth as he pinned Brandon's wrists against the wall. His cock was hard in an instant, outlined obscenely in his fitted trousers.
"Fuck, you," he hissed, leaning forward to bite Brandon's throat.
"Ah! Ah, y-yeah," Brandon gasped, arching again. His hands flexed, arms locked in Spencer's grasp. "D-Don't-" Brandon panted. "Be careful."
"Don't order me about," Spencer mouthed at Brandon's jaw. He barely held Brandon's wrists with one hand as he shoved his shirt up with the other. He pinched Brandon's nipples to peaks, arching down to suck each one, biting them to keep them hard. Brandon was a humming, gasping mess in his arms, coming undone at a rapid pace. It had been too long, this ban on touching people, and he was overly sensitive for it.
"Spencer-" Brandon whimpered his name.
Spencer had Brandon's fly open and his hand stroking over Brandon's cock swiftly. He arched back to capture his mouth, sucking Brandon's tongue in his mouth, fucking him with his tongue as he wanked him. Brandon's hands tugged at Spencer's curls, gently, not pressing or pulling in any demanding way. Just present.
"Spencer-" Brandon said again, rocking his prick into Spencer's sticky hand. "D-Dangerous-"
"Love danger," Spencer breathed. "You were always a danger. Even just in my fantasies," he said against Brandon's cheek. "Come for me, come in my hand," he growled.
"Y-Yes," Brandon choked out, his orgasm building in his groin. A few more half-arsed thrusts and he was spilling over Spencer's fingers, mouth busy kissing the younger, darker boy. "Spencer-"
Spencer held him in hand, fingers coated in sticky come. "Brandon," he said, kissing him softly. He coaxed more presses of their bitten lips, softening and apologizing with his tongue. He licked Brandon's cheek bone. "Idiot."
"Am not," Brandon sniffed, but he was grinning. "You're the idiot." One of his arms draped around Spencer's waist, holding him close. "Moron."
Spencer pulled his hand from Brandon's pants. "I've come on my hand," he whined, but he had relaxed into Brandon's hold. He nuzzled at Brandon's jaw on the opposite side of the large lovebite. "I love you."
"I-" Brandon didn't know exactly what to say. Or what Spencer wanted to hear, But he took the risk all the same. "I love you, too."
Spencer made a noise like a choked sob. He swallowed back the questions - what? really? me?
"I should clean off," he murmured. "Come back downstairs, I want to pet you awhile."
"What? Like a cat?" Brandon asked, looking down with amusement at the kid on his chest. "I s'pose, y'know. Housecats usually wear a collar."
Spencer flushed, looking away.
"I've had a long day," he said. "I've always wanted to play with your hair with your head in my lap. It- day-dreaming about it relaxed me."
"Wash up first," Brandon said softly, kissing the top of Spencer's mussed head. "Please. I'll wait for you on the sofa."
Spencer shuffled off from Brandon, heading downstairs to the bathroom. He ran the water to hot, and stared at the innocent looking semen on his hand. He sighed, carefully washing up. First his hands, then he shimmied out of his trousers. He'd come with just the pressure of his underwear and trousers rasping against him. He went ahead and changed into soft pyjamas and his dressing gown.
Bare feet padded into the kitchen as he grabbed a glass of water and headed for the den.
He felt like a permanent blush was on his face.
Brandon was laying on the sofa, a thin black tee shirt covering his chest, soft plaid sleep pants making his long legs look softer than usual. He'd taken his hair out of it's ponytail, and it was falling soft to his shoulders, almost covering the thin, leather collar wrapped around his thin, marked throat.
Spencer's eyes widened and he gasped. His cock twitched despite himself.
He swallowed heavily, walking over to sit at the end of the sofa. He laid a pillow on his lap, knowing his leg would likely fall asleep. Brandon obediently scooted up, laying his head on the pillow, closing his eyes.
Brandon would likely fall asleep faster than Spencer's leg.
Spencer's eyes softened. He threaded Brandon's hair through his fingers. It was like cornsilk. He'd always envied the straight fine hair. "You don't have to do this," he murmured, stroking over the buzzed bits of Brandon's hair, the regrowth just as soft as the rest. He touched the leather, stroking skin, leather, skin.
"I'm doing it anyway," Brandon replied, his voice low and comfortable, sounding too much like Ford's own purr. "Because you like it."
Spencer shivered all the way down his back. He went back to threading Brandon's hair down, removing little snarls. "You're beautiful," he said, admiring. "Beautiful, and just a bit deadly. It makes you impossibly attractive."
"I'm deadly?" Brandon preened, just a little, stretching his neck out. "I'm a flamboyantly gay chef who exists only to consume alcohol and flirt. How is that dangerous?"
"Have you watched yourself with a knife? You're like playing with fire with your ovens," Spencer said stroking the milky white neck. "You burn me up inside," he murmured. "Even now I can't stop thinking about the way you might taste."
Brandon hummed noncommittally, knowing that was never going to happen but not wanting to spoil the mood with any arguments. "You're more dangerous than I am. You're catching internet predators, hacking into large systems- you're the one with the power."
"Dull," Spencer drawled. "They're all boring. Most of them. Even the biggest system has a hole. The coders have to leave themselves a way out. Mum's the one with the real power. She said I couldn't handle it." He was still sore about it. "I could have."
"Maybe she just didn't want you to turn out like her. Your mum, I think, has always kind of regretted her life choices. Oh, sure, her and Mummerz say they're fine, but you know, they seem sad-like. I don't think she wanted you to regret stuff like that," Brandon murmured, his own fingers tracing Spencer's legs. "You could have. Finch could have. Doesn't mean you should, or should want to. That kind of control, it changes a person. On the inside."
"I don't want to regret letting you go," Spencer said, roaming his hand down Brandon's back. "No Regrets. It's what our mums' say right? We're not quitting?"
"No regrets," Brandon agreed with a rumbling hum. He squeezed Spencer's leg. "We're not quitting."
Spencer's chest bloomed with warmth and the feeling of being loved. "Love you, Bran," he said. "Go sleep. I'm just going to watch telly until Abs gets home."
Hours later, when Abby was climbing the stairs, bags of clothes and shoes from Finch looped over her arms (vintage docs! damn, that girl could shop), she peeked her head in to see the two boys curled together. Brandon cuddled in Spencer's embrace, drooling lightly on Spencer's stomach. She smiled to herself and then went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
"Where are you going?" Spencer said, catching Abby by her good arm. His eyes were narrowed as he turned to examine her.
"Finch called. Apparently she has an unwanted house guest I'm gonna go try and remove for her," Abby said, frowning at the look on his face. She nodded to the sleeping (drunk was a sort of sleep) figure on the sofa, lowering her voice. "Though' you migh' want a moment to deal with that."
Spencer's brows pinched. He nodded sharply. "Apologies for him," he said, leaning to kiss her cheek. "Don't be out too late."
"Yeah, I won't be," Abby promised, patting his arm. She darted down the stairs in her fire-stained PJ bottoms and one of his clean shirts.
Spencer let her go, feeling possessive and protective of her. He'd gotten her a mobile the first moment he could. He could always text or call. Instead Brandon was getting out of hand. Spencer picked up a heavy book, dropping it to the coffee table beside Brandon's head. The blond-haired boy started, eyes snapping open.
"God, dammit, Spence," Brandon huffed, rolling over from his back to his belly. He buried his head in the pillow under him. "What are you doin' being so loud for?"
"I think you mean, 'Welcome home, master'," Spencer said arms crossed as he glared from across the table.
"I think you're goin' to be sorely disappointed," Brandon said, words muffled by the fabric under his mouth. He was hiding his face on purpose, knowing what his breath smelled of. "I'm tired. Worked all day. Go away."
"You mean drank all day," Spencer said coldly. "I just spent six hours in a cell. Been nipping at the house wine at work? Don't think I can't smell you."
"I did not drink at work. I promised Finch," Brandon huffed, looking up at Spencer. "Why were you in a cell? Finally get an ASBO?"
Spencer leaned down to sniff Brandon's face. "I was extracting a confession," he sneered. "Tequila. Sit up."
Brandon shifted, wincing through a headache into a sitting position. "I really don't have time for your little games right now, Spencer. Don't you have a purple-haired misfit to follow around?"
"She's busy with Finch," he said, staring Brandon down. He shed his jacket, draping it over the chair by the sofa. He left his gloves on. He sat down on the sofa, arms along the back. "Trousers down," he said, voice low.
"No," Brandon said, feeling a shiver snake through his spine. "I've told you, Spencer. Not with you. Not now."
"Trousers down, across my lap," Spencer repeated. "Or bring me my things from your room."
"Sod off, you're not spanking me like some school kid," Brandon huffed, slouching down in the sofa, defiant.
Spencer reached over with his gloved hand to grasp the back of Brandon's neck. He used the other to swat his arse. "Watch me, you tall slut," he dared.
Brandon squirmed, trying to get out of Spencer's vice-strong grip. "Spencer! What on Earth-"
"You've been pushing me, Bran," Spencer said, twisting his hand to get Brandon's hair wrapped around his leather glove. He wished he'd taken them off now. "You're practically screaming for attention now." He smacked Brandon's hip, missing his arse as he squirmed. "Well, love, you have it."
"Since when-ah!- have I ever pushed you?" Brandon said, sinking his teeth into Spencer's thigh.
Spencer's keen turned into a growl. "Your little flirts of jealousy over my new girl," he said. "Threatening Finch's new toy. Let Vance be a big boy on his own." He tugged at the nape of Brandon's hair. "Stop that, brat. If you want something to do with your mouth, I'll give you something. Aside from pouring poison into it."
"Over your new girl, like we're just property to you," Brandon sneered, biting down again before being tugged away by the roots. His face was inches from Spencer's crotch, and his heart thudded. "I-I- I can-"
"Yesss, my new girl, new girlfriend. She is mine," Spencer hissed. He tilted his hips forward, soft wool of his trousers grazing Brandon's face. "You could-"
"No," Brandon shook his head, nose barely brushing the zipper of Spencer's trousers. "Not- Not like this. Not anymore."
Spencer sighed, releasing Brandon completely.
"Red," he said, taking off his gloves. He dropped his hands in his lap, stroking Brandon's cheek. "Bring me my things, Brandon."
"What things do you have in my room? There are only my things in there," Brandon said, sitting back on his heels. He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling foolish.
"The crop, the collar," Spencer said, not looking at him. "Mother said to end this. It's obviously not helping you. I can't touch you." Spencer hurt. Spencer wanted to hurt Brandon. Physically. "Maybe I'm the one who needs therapy."
Disappointment flickered on Bran's face, but he shrugged. Maybe Spencer was right. It had seemed forced, the last few times they'd been together. There wasn't passion or fight or fire in it, and that's, well, that's what they needed. He turned, stumbling off the sofa, heading for the stairs. "Alright, fine. I'll give them back tomorrow."
"You'll give them back now, drunk or not," Spencer said, following. "I want them back." I want you back.
"Hey, if you're callin' it quits with this, whatever it is, then you don't get to burst your way into my room. Don't start, Spencer. I'll give them back tomorrow," Bran snapped over his shoulder, pushing his door opened, the dark room waiting for him.
"You're the one calling it quits. You can't stand to be touched. You think you're tainted," Spencer spat, following him up the stairs. "I'll start whatever I damn well please. It's my flat. It's my things. And if you aren't willing to be mine, then give me -" give me my heart back.
"Give you what? The fuck do you want from me, baby boy?" Brandon sneered, feeling hurt for no reason at all.
Spencer reached up to slap Brandon right where his crop had once landed.
"Give me my bloody heart back, you bastard," he hissed. "Go follow Abby, throw that interloper from Finch's life and take up with her. It's her, always her. She simpers how lonely she is. Go be sick together."
"Are you- Are you fucking jealous that we're sick?" Brandon asked, cupping his stinging cheek. "That's ill, Spencer. That's fucking stupid, that is."
"You're both leaving me again," Spencer said, face on fire. "She gave you the cafe. She's sick with you. And you give me nothing, Bran. I can't even snog you anymore!" he growled. "You won't let me. I'm not scared of catching anything because life's bloody well not worth living without my family!"
Brandon's heart thudded in his chest, hands shaking. He gulped in air. "Spence, I-"
"You what, Bran? You what? For God's sake, for once in your liver-pickled life, would you tell me what you want from me?!" Spencer shouted. "I just don't get how Mum does it!"
"Does what?" Brandon asked, lips numb. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheek bones, and he just stood there, statuesque, letting Spencer rail at him. Unable to move an inch. What did he want? What did he want?
"How she has all of them, all of them!" Spencer shook. "I can't manage one. One single relationship. She has five. Five people who love her enough to be bored out of their minds for her health. Finch has two suitors fighting over her now, though she only has eyes for one. She got that from Mum. I got the loneliness."
"You have Abby! Or is a proper girlfriend not good enough for you?" Brandon asked, blinking back to himself. "Can't you be happy with one healthy, normal relationship? I'm sick, Spencer. Even if I'm not sick right now, it's in there, waiting. Even with treatment, it's not like I get a full life span. A fuckin' cold could knock me out-"
"I'm not normal!" Spencer shouted. He flinched back. "God, I know you're sick, and I want to hit you. Hit you, then kiss you. Mum said to stop if I was hurting you, but that's- that's what I want. I want to hurt you, then take care of you. I want- I want you to rely on me." He dropped to his knees, strings cut. "I'm not normal, and Abby is too- I can't."
"This-" Brandon sighed, and then did something drastic. He turned away, and reached into his top drawer for a bottle that he'd hidden there, taking a long pull of tequila. "This talking. This isn't what we do, Spencer. It's never been-" gulp - "What we do."
Spencer surged up tackling the bottle from Brandon's hands, landing them both on the bed as the bottle crashed into the wall. He has his fists in Brandon's shirt and his mouth biting at Brandon's lips. He was straddling the taller boy, shins digging into his thighs. Brandon bucked up in response, strong arms fighting, but not too hard. Not at all discouraging. Brandon's nose pressed into Spencer's cheek with their sloppy, passionate kisses.
Spencer hated the taste of tequila. It always reminded him of a trip - somewhere. He'd fallen in the pool. Chlorine.
He ground against Brandon's body, licking away the liquor in his mouth as he pinned Brandon's wrists against the wall. His cock was hard in an instant, outlined obscenely in his fitted trousers.
"Fuck, you," he hissed, leaning forward to bite Brandon's throat.
"Ah! Ah, y-yeah," Brandon gasped, arching again. His hands flexed, arms locked in Spencer's grasp. "D-Don't-" Brandon panted. "Be careful."
"Don't order me about," Spencer mouthed at Brandon's jaw. He barely held Brandon's wrists with one hand as he shoved his shirt up with the other. He pinched Brandon's nipples to peaks, arching down to suck each one, biting them to keep them hard. Brandon was a humming, gasping mess in his arms, coming undone at a rapid pace. It had been too long, this ban on touching people, and he was overly sensitive for it.
"Spencer-" Brandon whimpered his name.
Spencer had Brandon's fly open and his hand stroking over Brandon's cock swiftly. He arched back to capture his mouth, sucking Brandon's tongue in his mouth, fucking him with his tongue as he wanked him. Brandon's hands tugged at Spencer's curls, gently, not pressing or pulling in any demanding way. Just present.
"Spencer-" Brandon said again, rocking his prick into Spencer's sticky hand. "D-Dangerous-"
"Love danger," Spencer breathed. "You were always a danger. Even just in my fantasies," he said against Brandon's cheek. "Come for me, come in my hand," he growled.
"Y-Yes," Brandon choked out, his orgasm building in his groin. A few more half-arsed thrusts and he was spilling over Spencer's fingers, mouth busy kissing the younger, darker boy. "Spencer-"
Spencer held him in hand, fingers coated in sticky come. "Brandon," he said, kissing him softly. He coaxed more presses of their bitten lips, softening and apologizing with his tongue. He licked Brandon's cheek bone. "Idiot."
"Am not," Brandon sniffed, but he was grinning. "You're the idiot." One of his arms draped around Spencer's waist, holding him close. "Moron."
Spencer pulled his hand from Brandon's pants. "I've come on my hand," he whined, but he had relaxed into Brandon's hold. He nuzzled at Brandon's jaw on the opposite side of the large lovebite. "I love you."
"I-" Brandon didn't know exactly what to say. Or what Spencer wanted to hear, But he took the risk all the same. "I love you, too."
Spencer made a noise like a choked sob. He swallowed back the questions - what? really? me?
"I should clean off," he murmured. "Come back downstairs, I want to pet you awhile."
"What? Like a cat?" Brandon asked, looking down with amusement at the kid on his chest. "I s'pose, y'know. Housecats usually wear a collar."
Spencer flushed, looking away.
"I've had a long day," he said. "I've always wanted to play with your hair with your head in my lap. It- day-dreaming about it relaxed me."
"Wash up first," Brandon said softly, kissing the top of Spencer's mussed head. "Please. I'll wait for you on the sofa."
Spencer shuffled off from Brandon, heading downstairs to the bathroom. He ran the water to hot, and stared at the innocent looking semen on his hand. He sighed, carefully washing up. First his hands, then he shimmied out of his trousers. He'd come with just the pressure of his underwear and trousers rasping against him. He went ahead and changed into soft pyjamas and his dressing gown.
Bare feet padded into the kitchen as he grabbed a glass of water and headed for the den.
He felt like a permanent blush was on his face.
Brandon was laying on the sofa, a thin black tee shirt covering his chest, soft plaid sleep pants making his long legs look softer than usual. He'd taken his hair out of it's ponytail, and it was falling soft to his shoulders, almost covering the thin, leather collar wrapped around his thin, marked throat.
Spencer's eyes widened and he gasped. His cock twitched despite himself.
He swallowed heavily, walking over to sit at the end of the sofa. He laid a pillow on his lap, knowing his leg would likely fall asleep. Brandon obediently scooted up, laying his head on the pillow, closing his eyes.
Brandon would likely fall asleep faster than Spencer's leg.
Spencer's eyes softened. He threaded Brandon's hair through his fingers. It was like cornsilk. He'd always envied the straight fine hair. "You don't have to do this," he murmured, stroking over the buzzed bits of Brandon's hair, the regrowth just as soft as the rest. He touched the leather, stroking skin, leather, skin.
"I'm doing it anyway," Brandon replied, his voice low and comfortable, sounding too much like Ford's own purr. "Because you like it."
Spencer shivered all the way down his back. He went back to threading Brandon's hair down, removing little snarls. "You're beautiful," he said, admiring. "Beautiful, and just a bit deadly. It makes you impossibly attractive."
"I'm deadly?" Brandon preened, just a little, stretching his neck out. "I'm a flamboyantly gay chef who exists only to consume alcohol and flirt. How is that dangerous?"
"Have you watched yourself with a knife? You're like playing with fire with your ovens," Spencer said stroking the milky white neck. "You burn me up inside," he murmured. "Even now I can't stop thinking about the way you might taste."
Brandon hummed noncommittally, knowing that was never going to happen but not wanting to spoil the mood with any arguments. "You're more dangerous than I am. You're catching internet predators, hacking into large systems- you're the one with the power."
"Dull," Spencer drawled. "They're all boring. Most of them. Even the biggest system has a hole. The coders have to leave themselves a way out. Mum's the one with the real power. She said I couldn't handle it." He was still sore about it. "I could have."
"Maybe she just didn't want you to turn out like her. Your mum, I think, has always kind of regretted her life choices. Oh, sure, her and Mummerz say they're fine, but you know, they seem sad-like. I don't think she wanted you to regret stuff like that," Brandon murmured, his own fingers tracing Spencer's legs. "You could have. Finch could have. Doesn't mean you should, or should want to. That kind of control, it changes a person. On the inside."
"I don't want to regret letting you go," Spencer said, roaming his hand down Brandon's back. "No Regrets. It's what our mums' say right? We're not quitting?"
"No regrets," Brandon agreed with a rumbling hum. He squeezed Spencer's leg. "We're not quitting."
Spencer's chest bloomed with warmth and the feeling of being loved. "Love you, Bran," he said. "Go sleep. I'm just going to watch telly until Abs gets home."
Hours later, when Abby was climbing the stairs, bags of clothes and shoes from Finch looped over her arms (vintage docs! damn, that girl could shop), she peeked her head in to see the two boys curled together. Brandon cuddled in Spencer's embrace, drooling lightly on Spencer's stomach. She smiled to herself and then went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
***
Spencer had woken up with his leg asleep, but Brandon had left an indention in the pillow and a drool stain on Spencer's shirt. Spencer's neck ached. He groaned as he got off the sofa. Sleeping sitting up wasn't good no matter how old you were, but he felt warm and satisfied after last night's break through.
He poked his head into Abby's bedroom- wait! His bedroom, his!
"Abs?" he called out.
Her toes peeked out of the sheets, and they curled and flexed as she stretched. "Too early. G'the'f'ck'way."
Spencer giggled, reaching to tickle her toes as he headed towards her head.
"What time did you get home, sweetheart?" he chuckled. "I didn't bother you, did I?"
"Hmm? No. Wasn' too late. Finch bought me clothes, Thad made tea," Abby said, rolling over to look at him. "Get everythin' sorted?"
"Ish," Spencer said noncommittally. "I think he'll settle down for a bit, but God, he got me so fuckin'-" He bit off his moan at the memory. "Well, it's a good thing I get off on other peoples' feelings, hmm?" He tugged the blanket up to slide in beside her. "How's my sister handling her house guest?"
"Not well. She's havin' a proper fit over the whole thin'," Abby replied, her voice groggy with sleep. She gave him a tired smile, blinking in the morning light. "Apparently he just moved in, without tellin' her, and then the boyfriend and her Da said he has to stay 'cause of her 'eart."
"Not inclined to disagree with them," Spencer hummed. "If I had turned out ill, I would've wanted someone to stick around. Her boyfriend won't give up his job for her. Smart as he's capable of being. He's an idiot. She bought you clothes?" He frowned. "I should've done that."
"Yeah, well, you're more keen on keepin' me out of my clothes, so it wouldn't occur to ya," Abby teased, hands sliding suggestively over his stomach, down his thighs. She winked. "Still, I understand how she feels. I wouldn't like it if some blokes just rolled in and took over, just when I was gettin' my independence."
"I suppose now would be a poor time to ask for you to be my escort tonight to Paddles," Spencer laughed, squirming closer. He nosed at the warm smell at the crook of Abby's neck. He licked her. "Mmm, Bran's such a tease- fucking cock tease," he shuddered out. "You feel good."
"Bran, Bran, Bran. You're always thinkin' of 'im when you're with me.You sure you want two and no' just the one?" Abby asked, her body budged up tight against his. She tugged him closer, her hand stroking the small of his back.
Spencer moaned. "Jealous?" he said, teasing her throat with his teeth. He nibbled her ear, cupping her breast through her shirt. "I talk about you all the time with him. You're my family," he murmured into her ear, nudging his knee between hers. He rubbed against her. "Don't be jealous, you're the one in my bed."
"Only because he was the one on you," Abby countered, gasping. When had the virgin gotten so good at this? She moved her hips, sliding his thigh between her legs, her pants brushing over his trousers gently. "Maybe I'm a little jealous. But he don't like me none, so I don't feel bad."
"Only because you've got the wrong bits," Spencer said, rolling over on top of her. He pulled her in for a kiss. Oh yes, if she had a cock, Brandon would've stolen her long ago. "Mmnn," he moaned into their kiss. "I like jealous," he said huskily. "You want me?"
"Yeah," Abby licked the side of her mouth, eyes wide and staring at his face equal intensity and fervor. "I want you."
Spencer cracked a grin, descending back into a heated kiss. She felt so good as he stroked over her body, rocking against her hip. He mouthed over her jaw. "Feel okay?" he asked, touching her arm lightly. "Up for this? I didn't want to hurt you."
"Yeah, yeah. Weren't like I was burned down here," Abby gasped. She shivered, hands twisting in his hair, bringing their mouths together again. "It's been a long time, too. Since I've been hurt, and before that, it's been ages."
Spencer grinned into the kiss. "Then you're well enough to come out with me tonight," he said, lifting his hips. "You promised."
Abby blinked, clearly confused. "I promised that? When did I promise that?"
Spencer sat back on his haunches. "In lieu of punishment," he said, holding up a finger to poke her nose. "You're coming with me to a club. Well, technically just a bar, as my sub."
Abby propped herself up on her elbows, purple hair falling over her shoulders where it wasn't burnt to a crisp. She jutted out her lower lip. "An' why would you want to do an' do that for? Why a bar?"
Spencer crossed his arms across his body as he sat on the bed. "An excuse to pretty you up? You let my sister dress you up," he countered. "Boyfriends take girlfriends out, right? Well, I've wanted to go to a place, and Doms aren't really welcome alone."
Abby raised her eyebrows, feeling entirely caged in, but she nodded. "I want you to go out. I want to go out with you."
Spencer crooked his finger at her. "Besides, your hair is in dire need of trimming away the burnt bits," he said, winking at her. "Let me have a shot at it." Not to mention, Brandon in a bar? Terrible combination. "I want to play with you," he said, rocking back on his heels like an excited kid.
"Spencer, darlin', I hate to break it to you, bu' that was a wee bit gay," Abby giggled, cheeks flushing. A haircut would be nice. She'd tried to get some of it, but with her arm all crispy...
Spencer cackled. "Well considering, I'm one for one, I'm not raising any judgements," he said, pulling her from the bed. He led her to the bathroom, having her sit backwards on the closed toilet and pulled out his sharp scissors.
"Nobody knows how to cut curls, and don't let my father know I told you, but the secret is cutting my own hair," he said, shaking his faux-hawk of curls. He snipped damaged hair bit by bit. "Mum taught me and I'd pay money that she did his hair a million times. He only looks half decent if she's been around."
He tried to take as little hair as possible, but left her with an edgy hair cut that would look more lovely as a bright purple. It looked incredible with her washed out dove-purple hair. He clapped his hands..
"Okay, take a look," he said, putting away his gear.
Abby grinned at him, wringing her hands. "I'm half-scared to-" She looked in the mirror, leaning towards the glass. "Oh, Spencer, it's nice. I like it." She shook her hair, sending little cut pieces flying in all directions. "I like it a lot."
Spencer dragged his hand through it. "It'll look better once it grows back out a bit, but there's nothing I can do about the singed bits," he murmured. "Shower, pet, and we'll go shopping for your debut outfit."
"Pet?" Abby said, eyes narrowing. She tilted her head to the side. "Shower. You should make some tea."
Spencer's head tilted. "Yes, my lady," he said, bending to kiss her cheek. Abby would be a struggle to keep, he could tell. He was trying to understand why it was so important to him to keep them both, but he still had the occasional nightmare about fire - and he wasn't even the one in it.
Her toes peeked out of the sheets, and they curled and flexed as she stretched. "Too early. G'the'f'ck'way."
Spencer giggled, reaching to tickle her toes as he headed towards her head.
"What time did you get home, sweetheart?" he chuckled. "I didn't bother you, did I?"
"Hmm? No. Wasn' too late. Finch bought me clothes, Thad made tea," Abby said, rolling over to look at him. "Get everythin' sorted?"
"Ish," Spencer said noncommittally. "I think he'll settle down for a bit, but God, he got me so fuckin'-" He bit off his moan at the memory. "Well, it's a good thing I get off on other peoples' feelings, hmm?" He tugged the blanket up to slide in beside her. "How's my sister handling her house guest?"
"Not well. She's havin' a proper fit over the whole thin'," Abby replied, her voice groggy with sleep. She gave him a tired smile, blinking in the morning light. "Apparently he just moved in, without tellin' her, and then the boyfriend and her Da said he has to stay 'cause of her 'eart."
"Not inclined to disagree with them," Spencer hummed. "If I had turned out ill, I would've wanted someone to stick around. Her boyfriend won't give up his job for her. Smart as he's capable of being. He's an idiot. She bought you clothes?" He frowned. "I should've done that."
"Yeah, well, you're more keen on keepin' me out of my clothes, so it wouldn't occur to ya," Abby teased, hands sliding suggestively over his stomach, down his thighs. She winked. "Still, I understand how she feels. I wouldn't like it if some blokes just rolled in and took over, just when I was gettin' my independence."
"I suppose now would be a poor time to ask for you to be my escort tonight to Paddles," Spencer laughed, squirming closer. He nosed at the warm smell at the crook of Abby's neck. He licked her. "Mmm, Bran's such a tease- fucking cock tease," he shuddered out. "You feel good."
"Bran, Bran, Bran. You're always thinkin' of 'im when you're with me.You sure you want two and no' just the one?" Abby asked, her body budged up tight against his. She tugged him closer, her hand stroking the small of his back.
Spencer moaned. "Jealous?" he said, teasing her throat with his teeth. He nibbled her ear, cupping her breast through her shirt. "I talk about you all the time with him. You're my family," he murmured into her ear, nudging his knee between hers. He rubbed against her. "Don't be jealous, you're the one in my bed."
"Only because he was the one on you," Abby countered, gasping. When had the virgin gotten so good at this? She moved her hips, sliding his thigh between her legs, her pants brushing over his trousers gently. "Maybe I'm a little jealous. But he don't like me none, so I don't feel bad."
"Only because you've got the wrong bits," Spencer said, rolling over on top of her. He pulled her in for a kiss. Oh yes, if she had a cock, Brandon would've stolen her long ago. "Mmnn," he moaned into their kiss. "I like jealous," he said huskily. "You want me?"
"Yeah," Abby licked the side of her mouth, eyes wide and staring at his face equal intensity and fervor. "I want you."
Spencer cracked a grin, descending back into a heated kiss. She felt so good as he stroked over her body, rocking against her hip. He mouthed over her jaw. "Feel okay?" he asked, touching her arm lightly. "Up for this? I didn't want to hurt you."
"Yeah, yeah. Weren't like I was burned down here," Abby gasped. She shivered, hands twisting in his hair, bringing their mouths together again. "It's been a long time, too. Since I've been hurt, and before that, it's been ages."
Spencer grinned into the kiss. "Then you're well enough to come out with me tonight," he said, lifting his hips. "You promised."
Abby blinked, clearly confused. "I promised that? When did I promise that?"
Spencer sat back on his haunches. "In lieu of punishment," he said, holding up a finger to poke her nose. "You're coming with me to a club. Well, technically just a bar, as my sub."
Abby propped herself up on her elbows, purple hair falling over her shoulders where it wasn't burnt to a crisp. She jutted out her lower lip. "An' why would you want to do an' do that for? Why a bar?"
Spencer crossed his arms across his body as he sat on the bed. "An excuse to pretty you up? You let my sister dress you up," he countered. "Boyfriends take girlfriends out, right? Well, I've wanted to go to a place, and Doms aren't really welcome alone."
Abby raised her eyebrows, feeling entirely caged in, but she nodded. "I want you to go out. I want to go out with you."
Spencer crooked his finger at her. "Besides, your hair is in dire need of trimming away the burnt bits," he said, winking at her. "Let me have a shot at it." Not to mention, Brandon in a bar? Terrible combination. "I want to play with you," he said, rocking back on his heels like an excited kid.
"Spencer, darlin', I hate to break it to you, bu' that was a wee bit gay," Abby giggled, cheeks flushing. A haircut would be nice. She'd tried to get some of it, but with her arm all crispy...
Spencer cackled. "Well considering, I'm one for one, I'm not raising any judgements," he said, pulling her from the bed. He led her to the bathroom, having her sit backwards on the closed toilet and pulled out his sharp scissors.
"Nobody knows how to cut curls, and don't let my father know I told you, but the secret is cutting my own hair," he said, shaking his faux-hawk of curls. He snipped damaged hair bit by bit. "Mum taught me and I'd pay money that she did his hair a million times. He only looks half decent if she's been around."
He tried to take as little hair as possible, but left her with an edgy hair cut that would look more lovely as a bright purple. It looked incredible with her washed out dove-purple hair. He clapped his hands..
"Okay, take a look," he said, putting away his gear.
Abby grinned at him, wringing her hands. "I'm half-scared to-" She looked in the mirror, leaning towards the glass. "Oh, Spencer, it's nice. I like it." She shook her hair, sending little cut pieces flying in all directions. "I like it a lot."
Spencer dragged his hand through it. "It'll look better once it grows back out a bit, but there's nothing I can do about the singed bits," he murmured. "Shower, pet, and we'll go shopping for your debut outfit."
"Pet?" Abby said, eyes narrowing. She tilted her head to the side. "Shower. You should make some tea."
Spencer's head tilted. "Yes, my lady," he said, bending to kiss her cheek. Abby would be a struggle to keep, he could tell. He was trying to understand why it was so important to him to keep them both, but he still had the occasional nightmare about fire - and he wasn't even the one in it.
***
Spencer spent the day spoiling Abby. Cutting her hair wasn't the first thing he did. He used lotions and potions on her hair and skin, petting and washing and cleaning her until her flaky burnt skin was supple and soft again. He lightly redyed her hair, keeping it a dusty purple. He rewrapped her arm, checking the healing.
Then, he pulled out the dress.
She'd pulled a face, but he begged - yes, begged - her to put on the ruffled get up with leggings. He'd found a pair of Doc Martens his sister had gotten for her and paired with the whole look. His own hair slicked back and Nobody persona in place, Spencer drove Abby to Paddles, a themed bar - not quite a dungeon. They even did teaching nights.
Tonight was meant to be a social one though. Music, half price drinks for subs, and no cover charge. Spencer expected a lot of new people to the scene, some ooglers who weren't into the lifestyle, but wanted to rub elbows with the dirty people.
Spencer had Abby hold him by the elbow.
"Tonight, you're my princess, alright?" he said, settling a twig-and-pearl tiara on her head.
"I can try. I ain't much of a princess, though," Abby said, more than a little flustered at all he pampering and gentle demands. "Feel a little weird, actually."
"You look beautiful," Spencer said, plying her with praise. He found her flustered face alluring. She was so tough on the outside. He led them to the bar.
"What's your drink?" he asked.
"Erm, rum an' coke?" Abby said, looking around with interest. Sure, she'd done crime. That was one thing, but sex, it had always been something either normal and occasionally fun, or somewhat abusive. All this talk about pets and doms had her on edge. She fingered the edge of her frilled dress. Well, he had said punishment. "What do you drink?"
"Water," Spencer said with a smirk. He ordered her drink and passed it to her gently. Slow music played, and people in stranger get-ups than they were wearing were dancing on the floor. Several groups stood around chatting. "Tonight we're going to play a game. It's one my father taught me," he murmured in her ear.
"A game?" Abby asked, cheeks flushing sweetly at his closeness. Whoever this darker Spencer was, he intrigued her and frightened her a little bit. Either way, her blood was made of butterflies. "What do I get if I win?"
"Anything your heart desires," Spencer laughed, kissing her cheek. He led her to a high top table, perching on a stool. "Remain standing. You're only playing sub, but it also gives me an excuse to whisper in your ear," he said.
"I s'pose I can go along with that," Abby giggled, sipping her drink. "What's the game, then?"
Spencer's eyes roamed over the group in front of them. He spotted several serial adulterers, twelve switches, and one very pleased man - dressed as a unicorn- whose wife was going to leave him after their night out. He leaned close, stroking her neck. "Spot the woman who will leave her husband tomorrow," he said. "Two guesses."
Abby's lips twisted to the side, her dark eyes scanning the crowd, tapping a finger on his suit. "Which one?"
"No, no," he said, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist. "You guess. Is it the redhead with the pup? The gawker pair over there?"
"No, definitely no' the puppy person. They're lookin' too happy. The gawkers will probably go home and shag themselves silly, happy to return to their.. what's tha' word you use? Vanilla?" Abby guessed with a shrug. "Vanilla sex life. I think it's..."
Spencer laughed at the phrase vanilla sex. His eyes caught on a trio - a male with two girls on leashes, and his arm tightened around Abby's waist hard. She leaned into him, her head brushing against his.
"Alright?" she asked.
"Forget the game," he hissed. "We're about to play a new one. This one - I'm winning. See those three, the one with the leashes. Take a look at the blonde."
"Well, it was the unicorn anyway," Abby huffed, but her gaze followed his. She toyed with the gelled hair that was dragging around the collar of his shirt. "Yeah, I'm lookin'."
Spencer threw her a proud grin as he slid from his chair. He turned in towards her, kissing her cheek to whisper. "Black eye. That's not from play," he murmured. "She keeps hiding her face. Care to help me hunt?"
"I-" Abby stammered over the answer. She was skittish to get involved in anything after the fire, especially if it could potentially involve the police. She swallowed, hard. It weren't her place to get involved in other people's problems, but- even she could see how that girl was cowering. "How could I 'elp you?"
"Just try to be friendly towards her," he said. "Slip her this." He gave her one of his cards. If a paramedic could pull it, so could he. "If you can. If not, try to get a name."
Spencer kept his arm around her as he sauntered towards the Dom. He had a cocky smile on his face.
"James Morstan," he said, holding out his hand to the spiky haired older Dom.
As expected he sneered at Spencer's approach, tugging the leashes in his hand a bit too hard.
"They do let anyone in these things, don't they, whores?" the Dom said. Abby's eyes flickered, turning hard, but she kept silent at Spencer's side.
"Unfortunately," Spencer said, blowing off the slight. "Gawkers who go home and shag in their safe vanilla homes. My princess and I were hoping to see some new faces."
"Haven't seen you before," the Dom said.
"We're not from London, originally," Spencer lied. "We're traveling, hoping to get some tips on better dungeons."
"Blue Palace isn't anything special," the Dom said.
"Been there done that," Spencer interrupted. "And Cecile's and Mad Mary's."
The Dom's brows rose. "How'd you get an invite to Mads?" he asked, leaning forward. The leashes dropped from his hand to loop around a chair back.
Spencer rolled his shoulders. "It's all in the people you know."
It was enough for Abby to catch the blond girl's frightened gaze. Her voluminous princess skirts hid their hands exchanging the card, and a gentle squeeze.
"Aaron Mengel," the guy said. "Could you get us in?"
Spencer hummed, flicking out a different sort of business card. He had two mobiles now. Always.
"We'll talk," he said, a Cheshire grin on his face. "This place is dull, dull, dull, princess. Don't you think?" He reached up to pet Abby's bare neck. It was almost strange in this place with the way her dress exposed her decolletage.
Abby yawned sweetly, like she'd seen a lady do once with her palm out, wrist exposed. She fluttered her lashes at him. "Am I Sleepin' Beauty today? Boring places are good for naps."
Spencer gave an indulgent grin. "She's been so good lately," he said, wrapping his arm back around her. "Come on then, Princess. Back to the hotel."
"I'll be in touch, Mr. Morstan," the Dom said, almost reaching out for Spencer as Spencer purposefully turned his attention towards his 'sub'.
Outside, Spencer laughed, picking up Abby with his arms around her waist. Her skirts twirled prettily. "Beautiful! Oh, brill!" he giggled, sitting her down. "Doms are so easy to play."
Abby laughed, squeezing his shoulders. "There. I like this one better."
Spencer grinned. "Me, too," he agreed. "This lifestyle isn't all whips and blood letting. It certainly isn't giving poor girls black eyes. I hope she calls. I've got a mate on the force. Wrong division, but he could get me to the right people." He nuzzled Abby's cheek. "He was terribly jealous of you. Imagining me taking you to Mad Mary's! Hah! As if I'd ever."
"What's Mad Mary's? Izzat a real place?" Abby asked, shivering at the thought of that other man near her. "I din' like him. You ain't gotta hit people to make a poin'."
"Sometimes you do," Spencer said distractedly. "But not without their consent. Mad Mary's is a very high class, very invitation only BDSM club. Founded by my mother's lover. More than likely because she was pissed that she was on a job." He laughed. "I've never been, but I've spoke with a lot of people at Angelina's. A sex shop - of sorts. She does leather goods, latex clothes. But more couture than crap."
"Your mum, she's 'ad a weird life, yeah?" Abby asked, looking up at him. "So. You into leather goods, then?" Her hand brushed over the waistband of his expensive trousers. "Ink, and leather, and whippin' bad boys. And you're worried about shite I've gotten mixed in. You are a bundle of trouble."
"I'm worried about the poor quality of the shite you're mixed in," Spencer said, dancing her down the side walk. "If you do bad, do it right. Be very bad," he purred. "But if I'm being bad, I'm going to do good too. Leather is like sex for the skin. Not the cheap stuff you buy on high street, but real buttery soft textiles. My gloves came from Angelina. Custom made for my hands. Sue me, I'm spoilt."
"You really are," Abby agreed, following his steps. "But, I think, it's well deserved. Considerin' what you do." His body was like a long shadow in the night, swaying in the darkness.
"What I do?" Spencer hummed curiously, sending Abby into a twirl. "What do I do?"
"Abou' what?" Abby asked, feeling dizzy and a little breathless. She'd been in bed too long. It was going to make her slow.
"Considering what I do?" Spencer said, pulling her to him as they reached his car. "What is it I do, princess? And why do I deserve such amazing people in my life?"
"Oh, that. Y'know. Helpin' people. Like that girl in there," Abby said, leaning on him, noting how perfectly their bodies seemed to slot together. She wished he'd wash his hair, though. "You take care of the bad 'uns. That's good. You should get good things because of it."
Spencer picked up her hand to kiss. "Some might say I deserve nothing, that I ought to be doing those things," he hummed. "I might not be able to help her. She might not call. She and her other sub, they'll have to make the call. I can only offer them an out. You know, you've helped me tonight."
"I helped you? I stood there and looked like a bloody fool in this get-up," Abby said, but her shy smile and pretty rosy cheeks told another story. "If I've learned anythin', it's that even if you should do something, nothing is free. It's always tit for tat, Spencer. So you help those girls and you want to buy fancy gloves? That's what you pay yourself. Even heroes get paid."
"People aren't heroes, Abby. They don't exist," Spencer said, face going slightly sad. He stroked her sides. "You helped me realize as much as I want control, I want to dominate and have the occasional scene - that back there - isn't for me. It felt wrong, didn't it?"
"It weren't us, if that's what you're askin'," Abby agreed with a grimace. "But I don' know what us is righ' now. Do you?"
Spencer shook his head. "I think we'll need to find that out. Outside of you being ill or injured. Or coerced. Well - other than into the flat. I'd rather keep you close in case someone slips my mother's grasp. Unlikely, but it's possible. That Thaddeus is still a McCannady. Do you trust him?"
"Trust 'im or no', he's gone from shaggin' my sister to tryin' to shag yours," Abby teased, shrugging. "He's always seemed 'armless enough. Not into being part o' the family."
"The family," Spencer said. "You realize you've left one Family and joined another. We are, all of us, Moriarty." He leaned down to brush her lips with his. "We know the world isn't black and white. There are a million shades of grey, and when love is involved, grey becomes even greyer."
"I know," Abby replied, her fingers touching his jaw, brushing softly at the soft skin there. "I know wha' I'm gettin' into with you, Spencer. I just dunno how long I can manage to stay involved. We'll have to work on it."
"I'm not afraid of work. The work is all I have after all," Spencer said, closing his eyes. "Just promise you'll say goodbye, if you ever leave. And I'll promise I'll make your way safe." He licked his lips, barely grazing Abby's as he did. "Mum didn't tell my dads goodbye. Not sure Dad - John - ever forgave her."
"Hey now, none of that talk of good-byes. You're gettin' all maudlin on me and we had a good night," Abby said, tapping at his throat. She rubbed their noses together, trying to grin. "We have time. Let's just go home and shag, and forget right now. I know you've wanted to take this rag off me since you put me in it."
"Guilty as charged," Spencer cackled, pulling her flush against him as he pressed her against the car for a deep snog. Panting softly. "Time with you - considering you wouldn't even take my money - I'm honored, my lady. Your carriage awaits."
"Then take your princess home, Mr. Prince," Abby said, smiling and kissing him at the same time. "Before she turns back into a pumpkin."
"Impossible," Spencer said. "You aren't spelled." He winked, opening the door for her. Warm shivers ran all over his body. Brandon could throw all the strops about Spencer's "normal" relationship, but there was nothing normal about the girl. Danger surrounded her. He adored it.
"I can try. I ain't much of a princess, though," Abby said, more than a little flustered at all he pampering and gentle demands. "Feel a little weird, actually."
"You look beautiful," Spencer said, plying her with praise. He found her flustered face alluring. She was so tough on the outside. He led them to the bar.
"What's your drink?" he asked.
"Erm, rum an' coke?" Abby said, looking around with interest. Sure, she'd done crime. That was one thing, but sex, it had always been something either normal and occasionally fun, or somewhat abusive. All this talk about pets and doms had her on edge. She fingered the edge of her frilled dress. Well, he had said punishment. "What do you drink?"
"Water," Spencer said with a smirk. He ordered her drink and passed it to her gently. Slow music played, and people in stranger get-ups than they were wearing were dancing on the floor. Several groups stood around chatting. "Tonight we're going to play a game. It's one my father taught me," he murmured in her ear.
"A game?" Abby asked, cheeks flushing sweetly at his closeness. Whoever this darker Spencer was, he intrigued her and frightened her a little bit. Either way, her blood was made of butterflies. "What do I get if I win?"
"Anything your heart desires," Spencer laughed, kissing her cheek. He led her to a high top table, perching on a stool. "Remain standing. You're only playing sub, but it also gives me an excuse to whisper in your ear," he said.
"I s'pose I can go along with that," Abby giggled, sipping her drink. "What's the game, then?"
Spencer's eyes roamed over the group in front of them. He spotted several serial adulterers, twelve switches, and one very pleased man - dressed as a unicorn- whose wife was going to leave him after their night out. He leaned close, stroking her neck. "Spot the woman who will leave her husband tomorrow," he said. "Two guesses."
Abby's lips twisted to the side, her dark eyes scanning the crowd, tapping a finger on his suit. "Which one?"
"No, no," he said, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist. "You guess. Is it the redhead with the pup? The gawker pair over there?"
"No, definitely no' the puppy person. They're lookin' too happy. The gawkers will probably go home and shag themselves silly, happy to return to their.. what's tha' word you use? Vanilla?" Abby guessed with a shrug. "Vanilla sex life. I think it's..."
Spencer laughed at the phrase vanilla sex. His eyes caught on a trio - a male with two girls on leashes, and his arm tightened around Abby's waist hard. She leaned into him, her head brushing against his.
"Alright?" she asked.
"Forget the game," he hissed. "We're about to play a new one. This one - I'm winning. See those three, the one with the leashes. Take a look at the blonde."
"Well, it was the unicorn anyway," Abby huffed, but her gaze followed his. She toyed with the gelled hair that was dragging around the collar of his shirt. "Yeah, I'm lookin'."
Spencer threw her a proud grin as he slid from his chair. He turned in towards her, kissing her cheek to whisper. "Black eye. That's not from play," he murmured. "She keeps hiding her face. Care to help me hunt?"
"I-" Abby stammered over the answer. She was skittish to get involved in anything after the fire, especially if it could potentially involve the police. She swallowed, hard. It weren't her place to get involved in other people's problems, but- even she could see how that girl was cowering. "How could I 'elp you?"
"Just try to be friendly towards her," he said. "Slip her this." He gave her one of his cards. If a paramedic could pull it, so could he. "If you can. If not, try to get a name."
Spencer kept his arm around her as he sauntered towards the Dom. He had a cocky smile on his face.
"James Morstan," he said, holding out his hand to the spiky haired older Dom.
As expected he sneered at Spencer's approach, tugging the leashes in his hand a bit too hard.
"They do let anyone in these things, don't they, whores?" the Dom said. Abby's eyes flickered, turning hard, but she kept silent at Spencer's side.
"Unfortunately," Spencer said, blowing off the slight. "Gawkers who go home and shag in their safe vanilla homes. My princess and I were hoping to see some new faces."
"Haven't seen you before," the Dom said.
"We're not from London, originally," Spencer lied. "We're traveling, hoping to get some tips on better dungeons."
"Blue Palace isn't anything special," the Dom said.
"Been there done that," Spencer interrupted. "And Cecile's and Mad Mary's."
The Dom's brows rose. "How'd you get an invite to Mads?" he asked, leaning forward. The leashes dropped from his hand to loop around a chair back.
Spencer rolled his shoulders. "It's all in the people you know."
It was enough for Abby to catch the blond girl's frightened gaze. Her voluminous princess skirts hid their hands exchanging the card, and a gentle squeeze.
"Aaron Mengel," the guy said. "Could you get us in?"
Spencer hummed, flicking out a different sort of business card. He had two mobiles now. Always.
"We'll talk," he said, a Cheshire grin on his face. "This place is dull, dull, dull, princess. Don't you think?" He reached up to pet Abby's bare neck. It was almost strange in this place with the way her dress exposed her decolletage.
Abby yawned sweetly, like she'd seen a lady do once with her palm out, wrist exposed. She fluttered her lashes at him. "Am I Sleepin' Beauty today? Boring places are good for naps."
Spencer gave an indulgent grin. "She's been so good lately," he said, wrapping his arm back around her. "Come on then, Princess. Back to the hotel."
"I'll be in touch, Mr. Morstan," the Dom said, almost reaching out for Spencer as Spencer purposefully turned his attention towards his 'sub'.
Outside, Spencer laughed, picking up Abby with his arms around her waist. Her skirts twirled prettily. "Beautiful! Oh, brill!" he giggled, sitting her down. "Doms are so easy to play."
Abby laughed, squeezing his shoulders. "There. I like this one better."
Spencer grinned. "Me, too," he agreed. "This lifestyle isn't all whips and blood letting. It certainly isn't giving poor girls black eyes. I hope she calls. I've got a mate on the force. Wrong division, but he could get me to the right people." He nuzzled Abby's cheek. "He was terribly jealous of you. Imagining me taking you to Mad Mary's! Hah! As if I'd ever."
"What's Mad Mary's? Izzat a real place?" Abby asked, shivering at the thought of that other man near her. "I din' like him. You ain't gotta hit people to make a poin'."
"Sometimes you do," Spencer said distractedly. "But not without their consent. Mad Mary's is a very high class, very invitation only BDSM club. Founded by my mother's lover. More than likely because she was pissed that she was on a job." He laughed. "I've never been, but I've spoke with a lot of people at Angelina's. A sex shop - of sorts. She does leather goods, latex clothes. But more couture than crap."
"Your mum, she's 'ad a weird life, yeah?" Abby asked, looking up at him. "So. You into leather goods, then?" Her hand brushed over the waistband of his expensive trousers. "Ink, and leather, and whippin' bad boys. And you're worried about shite I've gotten mixed in. You are a bundle of trouble."
"I'm worried about the poor quality of the shite you're mixed in," Spencer said, dancing her down the side walk. "If you do bad, do it right. Be very bad," he purred. "But if I'm being bad, I'm going to do good too. Leather is like sex for the skin. Not the cheap stuff you buy on high street, but real buttery soft textiles. My gloves came from Angelina. Custom made for my hands. Sue me, I'm spoilt."
"You really are," Abby agreed, following his steps. "But, I think, it's well deserved. Considerin' what you do." His body was like a long shadow in the night, swaying in the darkness.
"What I do?" Spencer hummed curiously, sending Abby into a twirl. "What do I do?"
"Abou' what?" Abby asked, feeling dizzy and a little breathless. She'd been in bed too long. It was going to make her slow.
"Considering what I do?" Spencer said, pulling her to him as they reached his car. "What is it I do, princess? And why do I deserve such amazing people in my life?"
"Oh, that. Y'know. Helpin' people. Like that girl in there," Abby said, leaning on him, noting how perfectly their bodies seemed to slot together. She wished he'd wash his hair, though. "You take care of the bad 'uns. That's good. You should get good things because of it."
Spencer picked up her hand to kiss. "Some might say I deserve nothing, that I ought to be doing those things," he hummed. "I might not be able to help her. She might not call. She and her other sub, they'll have to make the call. I can only offer them an out. You know, you've helped me tonight."
"I helped you? I stood there and looked like a bloody fool in this get-up," Abby said, but her shy smile and pretty rosy cheeks told another story. "If I've learned anythin', it's that even if you should do something, nothing is free. It's always tit for tat, Spencer. So you help those girls and you want to buy fancy gloves? That's what you pay yourself. Even heroes get paid."
"People aren't heroes, Abby. They don't exist," Spencer said, face going slightly sad. He stroked her sides. "You helped me realize as much as I want control, I want to dominate and have the occasional scene - that back there - isn't for me. It felt wrong, didn't it?"
"It weren't us, if that's what you're askin'," Abby agreed with a grimace. "But I don' know what us is righ' now. Do you?"
Spencer shook his head. "I think we'll need to find that out. Outside of you being ill or injured. Or coerced. Well - other than into the flat. I'd rather keep you close in case someone slips my mother's grasp. Unlikely, but it's possible. That Thaddeus is still a McCannady. Do you trust him?"
"Trust 'im or no', he's gone from shaggin' my sister to tryin' to shag yours," Abby teased, shrugging. "He's always seemed 'armless enough. Not into being part o' the family."
"The family," Spencer said. "You realize you've left one Family and joined another. We are, all of us, Moriarty." He leaned down to brush her lips with his. "We know the world isn't black and white. There are a million shades of grey, and when love is involved, grey becomes even greyer."
"I know," Abby replied, her fingers touching his jaw, brushing softly at the soft skin there. "I know wha' I'm gettin' into with you, Spencer. I just dunno how long I can manage to stay involved. We'll have to work on it."
"I'm not afraid of work. The work is all I have after all," Spencer said, closing his eyes. "Just promise you'll say goodbye, if you ever leave. And I'll promise I'll make your way safe." He licked his lips, barely grazing Abby's as he did. "Mum didn't tell my dads goodbye. Not sure Dad - John - ever forgave her."
"Hey now, none of that talk of good-byes. You're gettin' all maudlin on me and we had a good night," Abby said, tapping at his throat. She rubbed their noses together, trying to grin. "We have time. Let's just go home and shag, and forget right now. I know you've wanted to take this rag off me since you put me in it."
"Guilty as charged," Spencer cackled, pulling her flush against him as he pressed her against the car for a deep snog. Panting softly. "Time with you - considering you wouldn't even take my money - I'm honored, my lady. Your carriage awaits."
"Then take your princess home, Mr. Prince," Abby said, smiling and kissing him at the same time. "Before she turns back into a pumpkin."
"Impossible," Spencer said. "You aren't spelled." He winked, opening the door for her. Warm shivers ran all over his body. Brandon could throw all the strops about Spencer's "normal" relationship, but there was nothing normal about the girl. Danger surrounded her. He adored it.
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