#spreadsheet fill

[tommybowefuneralattendee]

470 Shayne/Spencer? Because why the hell not

here you go red !! y'all come get y'all juice (very explicit smut) number 470 on the spreadsheet is from this list of prompts the prompt generated in specific is: “It was indeed. The wrong place the wrong time." [partially used, we have fun here]

linked on ao3 || read under the cut || 7.2k, rated E

summary:

The first time really is just a case of wrong place at the wrong time. They've both been on set all day, even Spencer spending most of his time on camera, and neither of them are awake enough for this by the time four in the afternoon hits. Ian had taken a long look at Shayne a few minutes ago and told him to maybe take a minute? A few minutes, even. Maybe go sit in a dark room, drink a hot beverage, whatever he needs. The bags under his eyes must be purple. Ian only gets that worried look to him when somebody is getting bad. Worrying when there's nothing to worry about isn't really his thing. Not that Shayne is in any condition that needs worrying about. He just gets it, right? He looks like death warmed over. || or, it takes a couple of times sleeping together for shayne and spencer to sleep together.

The first time really is just a case of wrong place at the wrong time. They've both been on set all day, even Spencer spending most of his time on camera, and neither of them are awake enough for this by the time four in the afternoon hits. Ian had taken a long look at Shayne a few minutes ago and told him to maybe take a minute? A few minutes, even. Maybe go sit in a dark room, drink a hot beverage, whatever he needs. The bags under his eyes must be purple. Ian only gets that worried look to him when somebody is getting bad. Worrying when there's nothing to worry about isn't really his thing.

Not that Shayne is in any condition that needs worrying about. He just gets it, right? He looks like death warmed over.

Spencer's not in dissimilar condition. It's been a busy fucking week, and it's only Wednesday. So he drags Spencer with him to take a break so he feels less like a piece of shit for not working the entire time he's at work because he'll be making sure that Spencer takes some downtime too. It certainly has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Shayne just wants Spencer around, no thought to what he's doing or how Spencer'll be involved, he just wants him there. It's like the whole world is a little too quiet without Spencer Agnew's color commentary. The world is certainly not quiet now, for instance, as Spencer makes his displeasure clear.

"Dude, you and Ian are totally over-blowing this. I'm fine!" he insists, but honestly, Shayne has to wonder: exactly how much of Spencer's protesting is token? How much of it is productivity guilt? He pulls Spencer into a dark office, knowing he'll find a couch there. It's been the office of two or three people in the company, depending on how long qualifies as having an office. Less than two days is probably too short to say it was their office, right? But they, this last person, had been shuffled to another office, and still the couch stayed behind. Between the seclusion and the comfort factor, this was definitely the best place to go.

"One couch and two dudes, looks like I'm gonna have to go back to work," Spencer says, and Shayne supposes there's that one thing. He's shared a couch with Damien so many times it didn't even really occur to him. He doesn't need a whole couch. Sleeping at a 45 degree angle is totally normal and fine and has never, ever hurt his neck. He shrugs at Spencer.

"Share?" he suggests, raising an eyebrow. The room is dim, but Spencer can still see that and Shayne can still see the eye roll he gets in return as well.

"Shayne-" he starts, but he cuts off when they make eye contact again, something on Shayne's face stopping him in his tracks. "Fine," he says instead, walking over to the couch and laying down. Shayne tilts his head, but Spencer just opens his arms, gesturing for Shayne to lay on his chest. Blinking, Shayne is glad for the dimness of the room in this moment, because it's likely that he's gone a rosy scarlet. He clears his throat, about to decline, but he's the one who started this. And it's Spencer. It's not that big of a deal, right? He walks over to the couch and stands beside it for a moment, unsure of how to continue, but Spencer just pats his chest again, silent but encouraging. Might as well bite the bullet, right? He climbs between Spencer's knees and lays his head down on his chest, surprised when Spencer immediately puts his arms around his shoulders, pulling him just a little closer. He breathes a sigh of relief; he didn't know that he needed to lay down this bad. He didn't know he needed to be held this bad. There's a hand on the back of Shayne's neck, scruffing him like a kitten and massaging the muscle there, and Shayne can't help shuddering, consciously relaxing down against Spencer.

As many jokes and cracks as damn near everybody make about his stature, Shayne's never really been held like this. He's been the holder, the protector, the keeper. He loves holding people. He loves that feeling of knowing that he's providing comfort for someone, knowing that they feel safe to relax with him. He's never really thought about how it feels to be the other person. The held. It's really fucking nice. He feels suddenly and astronomically out of his depth, at the end of the pier and with no way to pull himself up, alone with the terrifying pull of the riptide.

"This okay?" he asks, needing to make sure. Spencer hums in the affirmative, hands smoothing over the planes of Shayne's back. Shayne can't help the way his body wants to magnetize toward that touch, that feeling, the buzzing sensation of skin hunger being fed. He's not an idiot, he's been somewhat aware of the fact that he's been touch starved probably... since the pandemic started, but he didn't know feeding it would feel so calming. Despite his earlier doubts, Shayne can feel his eyelids growing heavier, his breathing becoming slower as Spencer moves a hand up to his hair, tangling his fingers in it.

"All good. Get some sleep, Shayne," he says, the ghost of a smile haunting his voice. Treading water, Shayne does as he's told.

The second time, Spencer doesn't even bother with trying to make it seem like he wants anything else. He's tired, and foul, and he hasn't slept as well as he slept with Shayne on his chest in months. You never realize how shitty something is until you see how it feels fixed, do you? The weight of Shayne on top of him, the smell of his skin, his hair between Spencer's fingers, everything about it made that couch feel like a fucking five star hotel bed, with the chocolates on the pillow and the thousand thread count sheets. It was... distractingly good. As in, Spencer doesn't think he's gone more than an hour without thinking about it since it happened. In a lot of ways, he's just been trying to come up with how to make it happen again. That timetable has been moved up severely by a headache that Kickstart and ibuprofen just aren't killing, and something tells him that sleeping with Shayne would. Not that he's sleeping with Shayne. Not that he wouldn't, but it's just the fact that he's not. Yeah.

He makes excuses to get a few minutes alone with Shayne, dragging him by the hand until they're in the same office they had been in then. They've been touching more often in the past couple of weeks, not enough for Spencer to think this weird thing he has for Shayne is reciprocated, but enough that he keeps getting side-eyed looks from Tommy and Courtney and he can't even defend himself. He recenters himself back on Shayne as they enter the office, pausing in the doorway. If they're going to talk about it, they might as well talk about it where it started. Shayne raises an eyebrow at him, but goes with it when Spencer shoves at it his chest, pushing him around til he's laying out on the couch, arms open. He had thought about this arrangement last time. He doesn't know anyone that isn't at least a little obsessed with Shayne's chest, the roundness of it, the softness. The way you can see his nipples through his shirt sometimes, perky and pink. Everyone thinks about Shayne's chest a little too much.

Or maybe that's just him. No need to unpack that.

Shayne takes it in stride, carding his fingers through Spencer's too-long hair that needs to be cut so bad, but with Shayne playing with it, cutting it seems much less urgent. He likes the feeling of Shayne's hands touching him. His hands are warm and wide, the breadth of his palm nearly enough to cup the entirety of the back of Spencer's head. To be kept in those hands? For those hands to hold him and want him and keep him? Another thing he thinks anyone would be a little bit obsessed with.

"Comfortable?" Shayne asks, amusement coloring his tone. Spencer closes his eyes and hides his face against Shayne's pec, putting his hand on the other. God, Shayne smells good, holy shit. That's not what Spencer chooses to say, though.

"Perfect pillows right here, dude. No complaints from me," he says instead, humor a much easier distraction than anything else he could come up with on the fly. Shayne snorts, pulling his hair just the tiniest bit; it's obvious from the way he tenses that he's not expecting Spencer's reaction. He can't exactly blame him. Spencer whimpers. Shayne tries to urge him into looking up at him, but Spencer hides still, unwilling to be moved. Shayne hums, acquiescing in the form of relaxing his grip and rubbing his hand down Spencer's back. For a brief moment, Spencer is naive enough to hope that they'll be able to move past this without a word about it. Shayne does not agree to do so, however.

"Sorry," Shayne whispers, his breath warm against Spencer's scalp. Spencer shakes his head, effectively nuzzling into Shayne's chest.

"All good, man," he says, letting sleep take the tone from his voice, eyes firmly shut. He could swear he feels a kiss brushed across the crown of his head, but that's just wishful thinking, right? He falls asleep before he can collect himself enough to ask about it.

The first time? Technically on him, even if he wasn't expecting Spencer to take sharing the couch in such a manner. It was, indeed, the wrong place at the wrong time. The second time? Most definitely not his fault. As much as he had been hoping for it silently, Shayne can't say that he was expecting a third time. He rarely expects these things with Spencer, though.

"Hey asshole!" Spencer calls across the parking lot, pulling Shayne out of his head. He raises an eyebrow, not deigning to respond verbally. "Come over, I've slept like shit all week." Oh. So they're still not talking about it, but they're also not ignoring it? Jesus fucking Christ. Sure, why not? Well, except. He walks toward Spencer's car to maybe not have this conversation at thirty paces and eighty decibels. Spencer meets him in the middle, one arm crossed his chest, a little less confident than he was at a distance. Shayne can't help but take a softer tone with him, laying his hand on Spencer's wrist.

"Come over to mine. I have laundry to do," he says, immediately getting an expression of absolute protest.

"Just bring your laundry," Spencer whines dramatically, slipping his hand from beneath Shayne's to shove Shayne in the shoulder. He rolls his eyes, catching Spencer's hand and holding it where it is. He's half a step closer and looking down at Spencer from far too close a distance, using their barely there height difference to his advantage.

"Are you allergic to the idea of sleeping in my bed?" he asks, the mirth there but his voice perhaps pitched a little low to be casual. Spencer's hand briefly tightens, his thumb pressing into Shayne's collarbone. He's got this holographic look like a deer in headlights, Shayne only able to see his fear if he tilts his head a certain way or changes the angle he's looking, but Spencer doesn't linger on it, shaking it off. Shayne lets him.

"Well, no, but- I don't have an argument, but dude, my pillows are better. Your pillows suck," Spencer says, which isn't even true. And how the fuck would Spencer know if it was?

"You've never slept on my pillows, Spencer," he says, that fond little annoyance nearly enough to force him out of character on whatever bit they're doing right now. He's worked with guys where everything always felt like a bit with them. It has rarely in his life been a trait he cultivated in a lasting friendship. Sometimes, he needs a serious conversation. Sue him. But with Spencer, it's like... they can laugh about shit he'd normally need a serious conversation for. They've joked their way through every fight they've ever had, and even if sometimes the jokes could get a little sharp, it's not something Shayne thinks he'll get sick of. He doesn't know what the joke is here, why there's tension in the air that doesn't exactly feel comedic, what the fuck they're doing.

"I can make assumptions," Spencer insists. A giggle bursts from Shayne despite himself, unable to hold it in as he leans down against Spencer's shoulder. It takes him a second to realize what he's doing, just how casual he's being about touch with Spencer, just how much closer the two of them have gotten since they started occasionally sleeping together. Well, not sleeping together. But sleeping together? Between his contemplation and the intimacy of the action, Shayne is about to pull back and apologize, but then Spencer's hand is on the back of his head, blunt nails scratching his scalp.

"Just come over, Spencer," he says softly, a little more vulnerable than he intended to be. Spencer hums, not protesting this time or perhaps just waiting to do so, conscious of the fact that Shayne needs a second, maybe.

"I'll go home, pack a bag, handle my shit. I'll see you in like an hour?" Spencer offers, soothing his hand over the back of Shayne's neck. Shayne nods and backs out of Spencer's hold reluctantly, Spencer's hand catching his own as they separate. Their fingers are linked for a brief second before Spencer clears his throat, taking his hand away to rub at the back of his own neck. "See you, Shayne," he repeats, softer, heading off to get into the front seat of his car. Shayne shakes himself loose of the moment perhaps a second too late as he just watches Spencer walk away from him, flicking a wave at Spencer before heading over to his own car, watching Spencer leave the parking lot before resting his head against the wheel, unsure exactly what he just agreed to. Sitting here won't make him know, though. He starts the car and takes the familiar road home, already planning out something quick to cook for himself and Spencer that won't take long to eat either. He hasn't been ignorant to how tired Spencer has looked all week; he's actually glad Spencer came to him. He had been worried he would have to broach the topic himself.

He never knows how to bring shit up with Spencer. He's always been somewhat avoidant, fixing situations quietly so that no one will be inconvenienced by the mere existence of him. He's trying to get better with that. Smosh makes it easier in a way, taking up space and at the very least acting like he's confident in doing so. It's still hard to take up the time of people he loves. Being burdensome is part of the human condition. Society exists because of this. It's not easy.

Take off your shoes at the door. Go ahead and put a load of laundry together so you don't forget. Pull ingredients for dinner so you can make sure you don't need to ask Spencer to pick up anything. Try not to feel like you're getting ready for a date. Ultimately fail. Change clothes like Spencer didn't see you at work all day, change again so it looks like you changed to be more comfortable. Do a quick clean of the apartment. Talk yourself through worst case scenarios for a few minutes. Check and make sure that your bedroom doesn't have anything sexual out in the open for probably the fifth time. It's not as if you usually leave sex toys, lube and condoms spread out as decor, but you can never be too cautious, right? Tell yourself you're being normal about this. Be intimately aware that you are lying to yourself.

It's almost a relief when he hears Spencer knock on the apartment door, already aware of his approach seeing as he had to buzz him in. He smooths his hands down his sweatpants before he opens the door, conscious of the fact that his palms are sweaty. Why are his palms sweaty? This is just Spencer. He opens the door and Spencer rushes right in.

"Dude, I think I almost hit a former presidential candidate on the way here? Some guy in a suit, and obviously I know Beto O'Rourke is in Texas, but dude, running guy looked so much like him," he rushes out, turning to look at Shayne once he's standing in the living room. Fondness is overwhelmingly sweet in Shayne's mouth, candy melting beneath his tongue. Spencer is wearing different clothes than he was wearing at work too. He seems to have shot for comfort in the same way Shayne did, band cuffed black sweatpants and a hoodie, also black but with the logo of something Shayne's never heard of. Knowing Spencer, it could be anything from advertising material from some obscure manufacturer of novelty mechanical keyboards to a logo from a fictitious brand in a video game.

"I mean, almost hitting Beto O'Rourke with your car is pretty common in El Paso, from what I hear. Very against running on the sidewalk," Shayne says, grinning as he just jumps right into the batshit insane thread Spencer entered his apartment on. He was building it up in his head again, wasn't he? Spencer is one of his most comfortable people, inarticulable feelings or no. Well, truthfully, Shayne could probably articulate them well enough, it's just that putting a name to this makes it real, and that, he really doesn't know if he can handle right this second. Spencer shrugs a shoulder at him, unaware of Shayne's turmoil.

"Maybe it's a Beto O'Rourke cosplayer who is really committed to the bit," he poses, keeping it together just long enough to get the joke out before he's snorting, bursting into laughter.

"I hate you," Shayne says, not meaning it in the slightest. Spencer just grins at him, moving to sit cross-legged on Shayne's couch. Shayne crosses his arms, raising an amused eyebrow at him. Despite himself, he can't even pretend to actually be irritated with Spencer. "Wanna pick something to watch while I get dinner together?" he asks, to which Spencer frowns.

"I can help," he says, his mouth pulled down into something he would hate to have called a pout, but well, if the shoe fits. Shayne walks closer, bravery thick in his throat, or maybe that's just fear, maybe he shouldn't do this, but he reaches down and he cups Spencer's face, tilting his head up to look at him. Spencer is blinking up at him, pretty eyes a bit surprised but mostly just happy. He reaches out and fists his hand in the bottom of Shayne's shirt, just barely pressing back into Shayne's hand. There's something heady in being able to be this gentle with Spencer, in being able to touch him and have it be with as much care and affection as he'd like to touch him with. Spencer's hand twists in his shirt, pulling him just a bit closer. Spencer wrinkles his nose, embarrassed.

"Put on something brainless, it shouldn't take ten minutes," Shayne says, level and logical, the most persuasive version of him all wrapped up in practicality. Spencer frowns again but settles back on the couch, only keeping two fingers hooked in Shayne's shirt but putting his other hand on Shayne's, maintaining the connection.

"Alright," Spencer says, soft, before he clears his throat. "I'll hold you to that, you know. Ten minutes." There's something all too gentle in interacting with Spencer like this, too close and yet too far from what Shayne will dare to want. Kissing the top of Spencer's head, Shayne clears his throat and leaves the room followed by the sound of Spencer's laughter, likely delighted in the fact that he's made Shayne blush. Collecting himself, Shayne puts together their simple meal through the power of routine alone, following the instructions he had laid out for himself in his head ahead of time, knowledgeable enough of his own nervousness to account for the practical mitigation of it. He's humming to himself when he hears the fucking Friends theme, a smile stretching across his face. Spencer only puts on the dumbest shit when he's planning on talking to Shayne through it. Maybe he's just as ready for this as Shayne is.

And he'd wait. At this point, sometimes he's halfway to sure that Spencer returns his feelings at least somewhat, but feeling the same way is not the same as being ready for a relationship. It's not the same as being willing to open who you are to someone, let them look at the patterns and choices of your life and assess if they want to be part of it, however messier and more emotional that actually is when it happens. He likes the way Spencer reaches for him, the warmth of him tucked into Shayne's side or the comfort of resting against his chest, the thrumming trust Spencer has for him. That he has for Spencer. He knows how to open up around Spencer in a way that's really rare for him, that same old feeling of waiting and waiting and waiting til you feel safe enough to crack everything open to look at, but Spencer doesn't make him feel like that. Spencer makes him feel like letting someone reach into the cage of his ribs and feel around for his heart wouldn't hurt, just introduce that aching kind of newness, the shrapnel bomb spread of affection.

He's pulling a pan off the burner when he feels arms wrap around his waist from behind, Spencer's face pressed into one of his shoulder blades. A smile stretches across Shayne's face as he just continues moving with the weight of Spencer behind him, letting Spencer cling onto his back like a koala. Spencer is grinning so bright and wide that Shayne can feel it against his back. Putting down the pan now that their dinner has been plated, plates still resting on the cooling stove, Shayne puts his hand over one of Spencer's, resting on his stomach.

"Can I help you?" he says, his voice so warm it's hard to even call it a tease. Spencer hums and presses his face into Shayne's shoulder further, his nose tracing a line down the blade.

"'s been eleven minutes," Spencer says, just a little bit of sleep-slur in his voice, just enough to make Shayne feel like his spine is gonna melt out onto the floor. He imagines Spencer like that in the mornings, wrapped around Shayne's back with his nose tucked against the back of Shayne's neck, the heat of his breath on Shayne's skin. With a shudder, Shayne turns in Spencer's grip, making them far too close and yet neither of them moving in the interest of creating space.

"One minute more than I said, huh? Crimes?" he asks, referencing a post that he knows Spencer will remember; it was about cats, and he had been the one to show it to Shayne in the first place, and Shayne's rewarded with his laughter, Spencer's head dropping briefly against his shoulder.

"Crimes. Jail for Shayne. Jail for one thousand years," Spencer says, light and lilting fake Russian accent coating the words. Laughter is so easy in this space with Spencer, so natural. He loves it.

"You know you can't sleep in my bed if I'm in jail, right?" Shayne challenges, raising an eyebrow. Spencer meets him, grinning.

"Sure I can, I'll just also have to go to jail. You'll have to protect me, though, I think they'd probably eat me alive."

"Pretty boy like you? Absolutely, Spence," he says, mostly joking but able to see when it catches the other's attention.

"You think I'm pretty?" Spencer asks, perking up so obviously it's almost amusing, but mostly it just makes Shayne feel on top of the world, knowing he made Spencer look like that. He represses the desire to kiss him, too aware of the detriment of going too fast in a case like this.

"I think a lot of people on the internet would tell you that for free," he remarks, knowing exactly how much people on the internet do tell Spencer how pretty he is.

"I'm not asking people on the internet, Shayne. I'm asking you," Spencer says, taking out that last bit of joking aura they had both been holding onto, keeping Shayne in place with hands resting on the counter on either side of Shayne's hips. Taking a deep breath, Shayne dives.

"Yeah, Spence. I think you're pretty," he says, the rasp of his voice spreading it thin as he leans just a little closer to Spencer, resting their foreheads together. Spencer leans up into it, kissing Shayne so casually on the mouth that it's like they've done it a million times before, so practiced and familiar as it is. He lets Spencer control the flow of this, sleepy and languid, and Shayne just tagging along for the ride. Spencer moves a hand to his chest, splayed flat and holding him there, keeping Shayne right where he wants him. Heat shoots through Shayne's chest at the thought of Spencer wanting him like that, vulnerable and open beneath his hands. He can't help kissing Spencer a little deeper at the notion, his grip on Spencer's hip going just a little tighter before he makes himself loosen it back up.

"I don't mind," Spencer whispers, pressing into another kiss like he'd never broken it in the first place. Pliant, Shayne goes with it, turning them around so that he can lift Spencer onto the counter. Spencer hums, pleased, and closes his knees around Shayne's hips, clinging to him with arms linked around the back of his neck.

"Let me take you to bed," Shayne murmurs, his hands splayed across Spencer's lower back. Spencer pulls back from the kiss just to look at him, far too amused for the situation.

"I thought you wanted to eat dinner first," he asks, eyebrows raised.

"Fuck dinner," Shayne argues, kissing down Spencer's jaw and following the path of his moles, spreading kisses across all that he can reach. Spencer laughs, but his breath hitches when Shayne bites him again, worrying a little mark into his skin. Spencer threads his fingers through the hair at the back of Shayne's head, pulling at it just a little.

"Fuck me, dinner can wait," he says, pulling Shayne up for a kiss. Shayne laughs against his mouth, unable to return the kiss for the size of his grin.

"That was... I can't believe I like you so fucking much," he says fondly, not kissing Spencer but just lingering, their foreheads resting together. Spencer's smile is soft, and Shayne wants a picture of him in this moment, looking up at Shayne flushed and sweet, his lips kiss swollen and bruised, marks from his jawline down to his collarbones.

"Yeah?" Spencer asks, that look getting a little flustered as Shayne keeps the eye contact, and he kisses Spencer briefly, the desire too strong to push down.

"So fucking much, Spencer. 's embarrassing, really. Miss you when you're not at work, wanna sleep in your bed, wanna take showers with you just to wash your hair type bullshit, dude," Shayne promises, grinning widely between feather light and frequent kisses, unable to keep himself from that pretty mouth and that fucking tongue. Spencer's teeth graze across his bottom lip and Shayne picks him up off the counter, self control falling to the wayside.

"Oh, fuck you, why is this hot?" Spencer asks, complaining even as he makes himself easier to carry, clinging onto Shayne without impeding his steps and attaching his mouth to the side of Shayne's neck. Well, he's making himself easier to carry in some ways. Other ways, he's making things harder in more ways than one. 

"Let me fuck you," Shayne says, pressing Spencer to the wall in the hallway. He kisses his way into Spencer's mouth like he's trying to take him apart and maybe he is, maybe he wants to see inside of Spencer like he wants Spencer to see inside of him. Shayne kisses him, kisses him, kisses him, til he's pushed back a little, kiss broken with a grin.

"Eager?" Spencer asks, laughter shot through his voice making it light and airy, like Spencer's floating on air. Shayne tightens his grip on him, moving them into his bedroom and dropping Spencer on the bed. Stripping of his shirt, Shayne grins down at a wide eyed Spencer.

"You could say that," he says, helping Spencer out of his shirt, which becomes a lot easier once the other gets with the program. The desire to touch every inch of Spencer's skin, the desire to hold him and fuck him and make him happy and make him feel so good he cries, it all overlaps over itself, overwhelming rational thought with its ferocity. He kneels between Spencer's knees, pushing him back up against the pillows. "Is this too much?" he asks, suddenly very aware of the fact that they haven't really talked about this, joking aside. Spencer makes a frustrated noise, pulling Shayne closer with greedy hands. Shayne can't help laughing, though it turns quickly into a surprised sort of moan when Spencer grabs at his chest, running his thumbs along Shayne's nipples.

"Fucking obsessed with your chest, fuck," Spencer says. Shayne gasps when he pinches at one, fully moaning when he twists the other. He moves over Spencer til they're face to face, biting his way into Spencer's mouth. He whimpers when Spencer bites back, digging his teeth into Shayne's bottom lip and making Shayne lose some of his focus on holding himself up, thus making him drop to align their hips. Spencer gives him a pleased hum, knees closing around his hips just as they had in the kitchen, holding Shayne close.

"How do you want to do this, Spence?" he asks, pressing kisses to Spencer's jaw, down the side of his throat as Spencer tilts his head to give him room to do so. Spencer's still rubbing at his chest, not really so much his nipples, but rather just cupping the muscle in his palms. It's making Shayne feel something though he could not confidently say exactly what that something is.

"Want you to fuck me. You're gonna finger me, and then fuck me but before you cum, I'm gonna ride you. That sound doable?" Spencer asks, so blase about it, so confident. It's hot, which is surprising seeing as Shayne did not know he was into that. He presses Spencer into his mattress, kissing him hard and fast before he's leaning up, grabbing lube and condoms from the bedside table. The reach puts his chest over Spencer's face, and really he should have saw this coming.

"Fuck, Spencer," Shayne says, his hips canting against Spencer's as the other latches onto his nipple, his lips, tongue and teeth a visceral feeling, especially when unexpected. Though that isn't to say that it's at all unwanted.

"They're so soft, Shayne," Spencer says, looking up at Shayne with round eyes and an overwhelming eagerness, his tongue still laving at Shayne's chest.

"Soft?"

"Your tits, babe. So fucking soft," Spencer says, his eyes closing as he sucks at Shayne's nipple again; arousal shoots through Shayne violently almost, his cock twitching as soon as the word tits came out of Spencer's mouth. He has to move on with what they're doing or this is going to be how they spend tonight, good fucking God. Shayne grabs Spencer by the jaw and pulls him up into a kiss.

"You can play with them when you're riding me, baby. You still want me to fuck you?" Shayne asks, needing to make sure even if he's pretty sure Spencer would kill him if they stopped. Spencer nods, hands dropping from Shayne's chest to his hips. Shayne kisses him again just because he can.

"Get naked, I wanna see you," Spencer says, pushing Shayne up and off of him long enough to shove his own sweatpants down, boxers quickly following them off the side of the bed. Just looking at Spencer makes Shayne want to bite him, suck marks into his skin, make him cry with it. He wants to please Spencer, make him feel good and wanted and desperate and needy and he wants to see that look in his eyes like Shayne is the only person in the world, and he wants Spencer. God, he fucking wants him. He shoves off his pants and boxers as well, crawling back between Spencer's legs as soon as they're both bare. Kissing Spencer briefly on the mouth, he quickly moves on to biting at his jaw, kissing at his neck, sucking marks into his chest. Spencer is pulling his hair and it's keeping Shayne focused, maybe, or maybe it's that it makes him just that much more desperate to see Spencer come apart beneath his hands.

"Can I suck your dick while fingering you?" he asks, figuring you miss all the shots you don't take. Spencer snorts, pressing his face briefly into the pillow beside his head.

"Only if you want me to cum, and I cannot guarantee I will be any fun after that," he says, pretty grin stretching across his mouth.

"Making you cum will be fun for me," Shayne teases, even if he knows that he's gonna do whatever Spencer wants even if it means not having Spencer in his mouth for another night.

"That might be so, but I want your dick inside me, so how about you do as you're told?" Spencer says, probably aiming for sarcastic and joking, but Shayne's head is going fuzzy, and that might be the hottest shit anyone has ever said to him in his life, bar none. Holy fuck. Grabbing the lube from where it's been resting near Spencer's hip, Shayne coats the first three fingers of his right hand. He rubs over Spencer's hole for a few seconds, preparing him for the sensation before he sinks his first finger into Spencer, earning a choked off moan.

"Good?" Shayne asks, needing to be sure even as he continues in movement. Spencer nods again, two or three more times than strictly necessary, so Shayne circles a second finger around his hole, pressing in when Spencer presses down into it. Shayne curls his fingers; he's only ever done this to himself, but he's pretty sure-

"Shayne," Spencer moans, and Shayne grins against his thigh, pressing kisses to the pale skin there.

"Good?" he asks again, though this time more as a tease than anything.

"So fucking good, Shayne. Fucking me so well, can't wait for how your dick is gonna feel. Want you to fuck me, Shayne," Spencer says, like Shayne needs reminding of exactly what he's getting to do here. The praise makes Shayne shiver, but he focuses on the task, well. The task at hand, so to speak. He rubs against Spencer's prostate, biting down on Spencer's thigh. Spencer arches up into him, and so Shayne adds a third finger. Spencer moans, head falling back against the pillows.

"You're almost ready. Could stop now, but you're so tight around my fingers still. Would feel like I'm splitting you open on my dick," he says, teasing Spencer with the idea if not with following it through. Spencer's hands clench down on his shoulders, make Shayne look up to see Spencer's face. Spencer pulls at him.

"Fuck me now," he says, shoving Shayne up til he has to pull out his fingers to catch himself above Spencer. He looks down at Spencer with wild eyes, his mouth dry. Spencer kisses him, not lingering before speaking again. "I wanna feel you like that, Shayne. Make me feel you," he says, desire painting his voice so vividly that Shayne can't help himself, lining himself up to fuck into Spencer and only pausing when he's ready to push in.

"Do you want me to put on a condom?" he asks, not willing to overstep that boundary with Spencer even if it seems like they both want this. Spencer moves as if to pull at him, but stops as well, looking up at Shayne with an analytical eye.

"Do you want to put on a condom?" he asks, squinting at Shayne like that'll let him read his mind. Shayne smiles, kissing Spencer in an effort to get that look off his face.

"I'm cool with however you want to do this, Spence," he says, running his nose along Spencer's jaw. Spencer does pull at him then, giving Shayne that last shove he needs to thrust into Spencer, pushing into him slow and steady til he bottoms out. Spencer's face is tucked against Shayne's throat, his whines muffled against Shayne's skin. Shayne tries to give him a moment to adjust, possibly in need of a moment of adjustment himself, and resists Spencer's attempts to push him into movement before either of them are ready. He kisses Spencer instead, slipping his tongue into his mouth and mollifying his partner. Boyfriend? Partner? Guy he's having sex with? They really need to talk about this. Spencer bites his bottom lip and rolls his hips down, removing Shayne of all thoughts concerning anything but exactly what they're doing.

"Move," Spencer says, his voice going thin with desperation. Shayne follows immediately, pulling out in one solid stroke before pushing all the way back in, a quick snap of the hips. Spencer moans and bites down on his shoulder, so Shayne fucks into him the same way, again and again and again. The moans go ragged as Shayne changes the angle of his hips just a bit, and Spencer's grip on him gets tighter, his thighs around Shayne's hips near painful. He maintains that angle, focusing on Spencer's pleasure in an effort to ignore his own; Spencer feels so fucking good around him that Shayne wants to cum inside of him now, get him off with his hands and mouth instead. He's going to do as he's told though, and that means fucking Spencer for as long as he can before letting Spencer ride him. That might not have been exactly what Spencer said, but the intent was there. Or, there enough for Shayne to do it anyway. Flustered but wanting, Shayne grabs one of Spencer's hands, moving it to touch Shayne's chest. Moving to this desire eagerly, Spencer touches and squeezes and pinches and generally makes Shayne feel like his brain is coming out of his ears.

"Need you to ride me," he chokes out, not pausing fucking into Spencer til Spencer tells him to. Spencer clenches around him and Shayne's head falls down against his shoulder, hot breath fanning across Spencer's chest. Spencer grabs his hips and shoves him up again, just a little rough with him in a way that electrifies him as he pulls out of Spencer, rolling onto his back. Spencer follows pretty immediately thereafter, sinking onto Shayne's cock like this isn't the first time he's done it, like this isn't the first time they've done all of this. For a brief moment, Shayne is viscerally overwhelmed, not by the physical sensations as overwhelming as those are, but by having Spencer at all, by making it here. Spencer leans down and cups his face, pressing a kiss to Shayne's mouth. When he pulls back, he sits all the way up, proud like he's holding himself over Shayne in more ways than one. Shayne grins, all too willing to be in this position. Spencer splays his hands on Shayne's chest again, cupping his pecs.

"Fuck, you've got nice tits. I've thought that since the first time I saw you shirtless, and swear, they've only gotten bigger, fuck. And now I get to play with them? So hot, Shayne," he says, all low and rambling and Shayne tilts his head back against the pillows when Spencer puts his mouth to his chest. He arches his back and Spencer gasps, apparently so enraptured with Shayne's chest that he forgot he had a dick inside of him. Shayne grins, but it quickly falls to pieces as Spencer pushes up, grinding down on his cock and biting his chest in the same breath. Shayne's hand moves up to Spencer's hair, gripping at it instinctively.

"Spencer," he says, breathless. Spencer rises and sinks down on his cock again, a little faster this time as he gains his bearings with it. As soon as he seems comfortable, he grins down at Shayne, setting a fast pace and still playing with Shayne's- with Shayne's tits, and fuck it's hot, and Spencer is muttering praise against his chest and Shayne feels floaty, fucked out despite the fact that he's the one theoretically doing the fucking. Spencer makes him feel strung out on it, desperate to please and rung out by it too, vulnerable no matter their positions. His breaths are coming heavy and quick, most of his focus directed on not cumming before Spencer does. In the interest of that, he reaches down, wrapping his right hand around Spencer's cock.

"Fuck, Shayne. So good for me, aren't you, baby? So good for me," he says, the repetition falling out of his mouth as his cum paints Shayne's stomach white, and Shayne keeps stroking him through it. He's still got his hand around Spencer and he's fucking up into him desperately, eager to cum and eager to cum inside of Spencer, the idea of which is driving him just this shade insane. Whining, Spencer closes his teeth around Shayne's nipple, biting down and the pain enough that Shayne is cumming, moaning into Spencer's hair. Spencer stays in his lap, tucking his face down against Shayne's throat as they both work to catch their breath. Inexplicably, a giggle starts up in Shayne's chest, so quick and unexpected that he can't stop himself from bursting into laughter, head falling back against the pillows. Spencer picks his head up to raise an eyebrow at him, but he's smiling too, and there's no way that Spencer isn't feeling this too.

"I really fucking like you, Spencer," he says, Spencer chasing the words with his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to Shayne's lips. This is Spencer's way of saying it back. He lingers, but the kiss stays closed mouth, chaste. Reassuringly innocent with Shayne's dick softening inside of Spencer. As if aware of the thought, Spencer lifts himself off of Shayne slowly, both of them hissing as they separate from one another.

"Come shower with me. Then we can eat? I'm not really that tired anymore," he notes, shrugging a shoulder as if he has no idea why this could be, but grinning at Shayne at the same time, kneeling on the bed and reaching for Shayne.

"Yeah," he says, "me neither." Spencer pulls him up and takes his hand; taking a deep breath, Shayne dives.

[queenoftheimps]

Artistic Expression as a Form of Love: aka Some Meta About Interview with the Vampire

hey guess who spent all of today putting off a really boring work task

So I'm just suddenly just having a lot of feelings about how love is tied to creation in Interview with the Vampire.

Specifically, each character's artistic impulses and what they say about their relationships, and how they use their creative output as a sort of love language.

From the very first episode, we see hints of this. Miss Lilly asks about Lestat's music box, which plays a song he wrote for Nicholas once upon a time, evidence of his love for someone who's been dead for over a century.

He later writes his own song for Louis, 'Come to Me', and Claudia makes the connection explicit while deliberately poking at him -- he wrote a song for each of his true loves, but does one signal love more strongly than the other?

She's being facetious to prod at him, but the show seems to genuinely make the point that we can track each characters' relationships through the art we see them create.

After all, we see it with Claudia herself later -- even before there's any discussion of becoming companions, we can feel Madeleine's compatibility with Claudia in the way she makes dresses for her.

Madeleine dresses Claudia as the grown woman she wants to be seen as, as she really is, even before she fully understands the circumstances of Claudia's age. It's telling that in Madeleine's dying vision, the one that convinces Louis of her love for Claudia, that Claudia is wearing a dress that Madeleine made for her.

By contrast, we see how Claudia is incompatible with the coven in the role that they have quite literally written for her. If Madeleine shows her love by treating Claudia as an adult, the coven shows their lack of caring by creating artwork where Claudia is forced into playing a part that diminishes her.

In turn, we can see Claudia's enthusiasm for the coven tied into her willingness to perform -- she starts off trying to smile her way through the situation, before quickly growing tired of the performance (and, relatedly, the coven itself).

But then again, how does the coven show its real loyalties? Well, with a painting.

We don't know who painted Lestat (Armand, possibly?), but having artwork of him in a place of prominence is pretty telling. But then again, the theater's creation is itself a reflection of art as a signifier of love & bonding -- Lestat suggests a theater to a lonely Armand as a way to regain a family/coven structure, after the last one fell apart.

Which makes particular sense for Armand, the character who most explicitly equates artistic expression with love and understanding. We see him underline it in his own telling of his backstory -- "No one has painted me in over 400 years." He associates painting with being seen and cared for by his maker --

-- and yet we, the audience, can plainly see what a warped, toxic relationship it was from the painting itself : a whitewashed version of Armand's face that doesn't truly look like him.

Hell, we even see Armand's betrayal of Louis in the form of creative expression -- to quote Daniel, "He directed the play!"

His treason isn't just that he sold Louis & Claudia out, it's that he participated in a creation that would condemn them. Artistic expression shows us love and loyalty in this world, yes, but it can also be used as a tool of abuse or betrayal.

Which brings us to Louis, he who has the eye for art but maybe not the skill for it, who never said 'I love you' to Lestat and wouldn't call Armand his companion, who ultimately gives up on creation in favor of becoming a collector.

It's especially interesting that his abandonment of photography is also explicitly tied to the end of his visions of Dreamstat. Even the one photo he takes that garners praise is one he tries taking of Armand & Dreamstat at the same time -- as if the closest he can get to expressing love through creation is something that blurs the lines between both men he has complicated feelings for. (Note that the scene where he develops the photo is directly after the "Show me the only way you know how to love" sequence of Louis bashing some guy's head into a wall.)

Hell, if we want to take it even further, we can even see some of this pretense in the inclusion of the Fred Stein photos (assuming Armand actually did sneak them in). On one level, we can see it as Armand trying to build up Louis' happiness, but on the other, it's him trying to build up the image of their romance.

After all, if artistic creation is a sign of love -- especially to Armand! -- what does it mean if Louis is openly disparaging his own abilities to make anything at all?

Taking it further, what does it say that he and Armand have a collection of photos of various boys over the years and expensive artwork hanging on every wall, but Louis doesn't seem to have taken any pictures of Armand in almost eighty years?

And hey, speaking of fascinating boys: what does it mean when Louis hasn't made anything creative of Armand since the 1940s, but he has no problem writing a book for ten hours with some guy he picked up at the bar?

Hell, writing a book where Louis spends ten hours talking about his life and hasn't even gotten up to the part with Armand yet? The supposed love of his life doesn't even garner a mention, to the point where Daniel didn't even know he existed when he arrives fifty years later.

And what does it mean when that book you never wrote is a giant hanging thread in your life, enough to create a connection strong enough that you remember that guy fifty years later and go back to that writing it? Even over the objections of the love of your life?

Especially when find out that Daniel's entire writing career is sparked in part by inspirational words given to him by Louis -- a sign of their bond withstanding the test of time, enough to make them friends after a fifty year absence.

That said, if we're working with the idea of artistic expression as proof of connection -- especially when it comes to Armand -- then it also makes perfect sense why Armand would insert himself into the interview once he's been revealed.

Then it's no longer about Louis & Daniel, or Louis & Lestat, it's about Louis & Armand and artistic proof of their connection! They're both now creating a story, a book that will include their entire romance! It's the first time that Armand has had the possibility of being an artistic subject in decades, so no wonder he's quick to latch onto it.

Even then, though: I think it's interesting that when Armand is talking to Daniel alone, the first story he thinks to tell him about is his relationship with Lestat. Make of that what you will.

(Also, I've said this before, but I am very curious what Armand's feelings towards Daniel will be after having an entire book written in which he plays a starring role.)

I think that this is all very rich with subtext and possible further progression, especially since we are about to enter a season where a new book is being written by Daniel and there's going to be an entire tour's worth of music being performed, all of it ripe with potential for further relationship nuance.

And while I don't want to wander too far into book spoiler territory, I think this might even neatly factor into a potential Season 4 -- especially since book fans will know that a specific musical performance is the catalyst for a lot of what happens in The Queen of the Damned.

[tgtbata]

for folks like me on the job from 9 to 5

[wheatormeat]

Maybe it's cause I'm surrounded by art people all the time but I feel like math as a school subject gets a bad wrap. Like now that I'm not forced to take classes for it, I just start doing it on my own for fun. It gets my brain stimulated. I'm doing calculus like it's a word puzzle; it's a stress reliever and it's rewarding. It's encountering a problem I already know all the steps to even if I've semi-forgotten them. And there's minimal consequences if I get the answer wrong. I think it's fun to go to town with a ballpoint pen on some dirty scrap paper, just letting the scribbly numbers flow.

[ot3]

i understand if it's too personal and you don't have to answer, but im so curious about your area of work. how were you able to get a job (assumedly) about setting up dates, what's it called? what kinda degree can you get to start working at that kind of stuff?

i am a nepotism hire a childhood friend of mine has been working at this company for a little bit and referred me to the job when they had an opening. so the answer to what kind of degree to get is i guess 'dont get one, start attending your local unitarian church.' i have an associates in studio art and then 180 credits of various animation and polisci classes that do not make up an entire bachelors degree between them. so zero marketable skills other than being on the computer, which is great for this specific job.

anyway i am just a customer support person and up until a couple months ago I did all of the stuff you would normally think of in terms of a customer service job for a website. i answered emails. i deleted peoples accounts. i answered the phone. that kind of horse shit. but then they decided to pretty much restructure the entire way the company actually functions internally in order to cut back on staff and now i spend 8 straight hours a day booking reservations and shit. the volume has been kind of insane because they gave our team a shitload of new work without letting us hire anyone else. its kind of amazing to see just how hard it is for some people to answer the question 'what time are you available for dinner'.

[morganbritton132]

My favorite part about having a job is when you have one (1) thing to do today and it relies on another department to get their shit together.

[batsplat]

i will be in permanent agony next year when marc squeezes pecco like a bug, unless it happens aragón 2021 style, where the unstoppable force (marc) meets an immovable object (passing pecco bagnaia), and marc has to really throw everything at it to come out on top. mostly because marc has a twinkle in his eyes when he looks at pecco, like he sees some sort of a challenge he’d enjoy to take on, and pecco just refuses to look at him 💀

also, martin said pecco plays the most amount of mind games, and i need to see that in 2025 before coming to a conclusion, otherwise it’s just jorge writing fanfiction about bagnaia as the ultimate bad guy of his life (i get it, jorge, next time pecco dnf’s i’ll choose to start stanning you, unlike the ducati bosses)

I think pecco does play mind games! admittedly if you're setting the standard at 'valentino', sure, he's pretty harmless, but pretty much every top level athlete will do a little of this! he does put some thought into how to manage expectations, what he's saying about his own chances and his opponents' chances going into weekends, that kind of thing. generally he might not outright attack his rivals, but he's not opposed to dropping the occasional snide remark. that being said, of course it's quite funny and revealing that jorge zeroed in on pecco as the mind games guy. pecco's very much his personal antagonist... such a good figure to externalise all those knotty feelings of being under-valued and under-appreciated and underrated... it's fairly natural that if you're fighting someone for a title, you get a bit of tunnel vision for them, so it's not that surprising a pick from martin. still fun! I absolutely buy martin's built pecco up a bit too much in his mind, is prone to reading malice into stuff where it probably wasn't intended on pecco's part. sometimes you end up playing mind games on yourself and the other guy doesn't really need to contribute

anyway, about the pecco/marc thing - yeah, look, obviously marc is the favourite in that title battle. that being said, if you look at marc's historical record, I wouldn't be all that surprised if aragon 2021 and jerez this year aren't the outliers. it's completely plausible marc wins that teammate battle quite comfortably but continues to lose in their actual one-on-one duels... because that did often happen during his prime. in 2013, sure, he won that early battle in jerez (which was just kinda building throughout to that one overtake), but he lost the rematch at silverstone. 2014 is the one where he was just kinda winning everything - so this one's kinda the exception, where he might lose some scraps like brno and misano but the extended battles in qatar, mugello, silverstone all go his way. from then on, the most memorable one-on-one duels with his big rivals are pretty often not working out in his favour. 2015 obviously a few with valentino, though he also doesn't win the title there so let's skip that, but 2016? the two duels everyone remembers from that year are mugello and catalunya - both go against him, both are defeats inflicted by his two main title rivals in jorge and valentino respectively, but it doesn't matter because afterwards the rest of the season goes his way. 2017 you've got austria and motegi where he takes on dovi and loses both times - but it doesn't change the momentum of the season and marc still wins in the end. 2018 doesn't really have a title fight, but again he's losing austria to jorge (before winning thailand so that's something). 2019, again not really a title fight, but he loses austria and silverstone before winning a couple of duels against rookie fabio at misano and thailand. in both those seasons, he's not really being challenged for the title - but if you looked just at the duels, you'd think the competition was a lot closer than the reality

none of this is to say that marc is bad at wheel-to-wheel racing, because he very obviously is not. (which by the way you can tell the moment you stop looking just at one-on-one's and include dogfights - sure, he's not won all of them, but pi '15 pi '17 assen '18 are all super memorable for a reason.) it's just an interesting pattern in his career: when he gets himself involved in extended duels with a single rival, he loses quite frequently, but it still doesn't hurt his title campaign. that's excellent mental resilience! it does, however, show that he doesn't really build his title campaigns around those big dramatic victories, around inflicting a dramatic and demoralising defeat on his rival in one-to-one combat. in this sense, he is obviously different from valentino: for instance 2004 is a title campaign that was built entirely around that trio of races early in the season (mugello, catalunya, assen) where he reclaims the championship lead and dulls sete's confidence by winning successive tight one-to-one battles. (also of course 2008/09, but those almost feel too obvious to mention.) when you look at marc's title campaigns, what they really rely on more than anything else is... well, consistency. the fact that he's basically always fast - and that generally speaking, he's finding himself in last lap duels at circuits where he shouldn't be able to contend for the victory at the last lap in the first place. (obviously qatar and austria, but also for instance honda was having a rough one at misano 2019, which is traditionally one of his strongest tracks but can be quite quirky.) (just saying, misano's a really good pecco track too... wouldn't that be fun...) it's relentless, intimidating pace that he's using to win all those titles... if you look at the races that changed the momentum in his various title winning seasons, it's not actually ever one-on-one duels, it's races where he won or was even just on the podium where all his rivals for one reason or another weren't there. maybe jorge and dani are injured, or maybe his rivals are having some horror show flag-to-flag races, or maybe ducati's having an off-weekend, or maybe everyone who isn't marc just refuses to stop crashing, or maybe jorge's decided to skittle the field

with the one-on-one battles themselves, sometimes it's kind of like... 'okay, sure, you won, but the fact I was even there probably isn't great news for you'. this is what jerez this year was about, right - of course, that was an important win for pecco, but also the fact that marc is fighting with him this early into his ducati career on a year old bike is certainly... a concern. obviously marc does want to win those duels, but he does also seem pretty capable of bouncing back after losing them. some of them have bothered him, sure - the worst was probably assen 2015, where there was obviously a lot of other stuff going on... and because it was that bit of the year where he was finding his feet again with that honda and they headed to the sachsenring next, his on-track performances didn't take a hit. you can argue that argentina 2015 did negatively affect his results... but that was also just a bit of the panic of 'I need to make up points now' in response to his first real adversity in the premier class - and anyway, everyone knows that wasn't a perfect marc season, the point is he was a lot better at managing this stuff going forwards. in 2016 and 2017 in particular, he really does do an excellent job of taking these close defeats in his stride

this is a long way of saying, look, I could easily imagine a version of 2025 where pecco wins a dramatic duel against marc at catalunya and then another one at mugello, and yet marc still wins that season pretty comfortably. that's basically the season I'm expecting... I'd quite like to have something different, because honestly I do enjoy it when the on-track battles actually affect title fights a bit more substantially! that being said, marc definitely wants to beat pecco in a one-on-one duel (though I'm sure that lovely le mans last lap pass will have gone a long way towards cheering him up) - and hey, interpersonal emotional stakes are a lot of fun too. hopefully even if there isn't much of a title fight they can still snap at each other a bit... as a treat

[doghokage]

where are my tummy ache warriors? IBS has been waging a war on my stomach since 6 am

[alpineshift]

Number 6, Jack and Nico as members of an interdepartmental team (be it paranormal or otherwise)

buzzfeed unsolved/ghost files au perhaps?? hear me out for a moment... 👻

6. “I appreciate the effort but this is all wrong.” 

There's a lot more administrative work that goes into ghost hunting than most people realize.

That's to say, about eighty percent of their work is mainly administrative clutter, five percent is actual ghost hunting, and the other fifteen is sitting around in the cold and the dark for hours on end wishing for a cup of hot coffee or an extra blanket.

It's a testament to how great Nico is as an admin team lead that everything goes to shit the second he calls out sick for the day. And oh, they're a hot mess.

Nico "Workaholic" Hischier actually tapping out to recover is about as rare as a Bigfoot sighting. They'd probably have more luck getting a clear FBA on camera. Or Nessie swimming up to say hi.

Jack's a seasoned pro when it comes to ghost hunting and when he's got a camera pointed in his face, but he sure as fuck doesn't know how to use formulas in an excel spreadsheet (what the fuck is a =SUMIF even supposed to mean.)

Still. Jack won't let that deter him for his next goal: surprising Nico by helping him clear out the admin stuff for their next leg of the ghost hunting tour in (checks his smudged, hastily copied notes) Australia. Damn.

It's a good thing Nico labels all his files. Jack sometimes just leaves the transfers from his handheld in his download folders until Jesper yells at him for not labeling footage again.

There's absolutely no ulterior motives for him taking this task on, no, not at all. Jack's definitely not trying to impress Nico with his deep understanding of expense tracking sheets (zero), or his organizational skills (abysmal), and his ability to cut the per diem cheques (he fucked up and had to void so many cheques Jonas shoved him out the door and told him to look up hotels and flights instead.)

It's the thought that counts, right?? Nico takes care of them so often, it's only right that Jack tries to help out. Sure, he's already texted Nico twice this morning to check in, then ordered him a surprise delivery of chicken noodle soup and immune-boosting smoothies, and then sent some get well soon flowers too because his mom once told him flowers are always a sweet gift. But this is practical. And Nico is nothing if not a practical dude.

Jack doesn't manage to make the excel file look good, but at least he's got colour coded columns and he's managed to find a few good deals through their frequent flyer points. Something's bound to be useful.

And so, Nico returns the next day, not 100% yet but clearly over whatever twenty-four hour bug he's got going on. He's bundled up in a sweater and he's sipping a herbal tea, voice a little scratchy but his sincerity evident when he thanks Jack for the care goodies.

"Really, you shouldn't have, I would've been fine sleeping it off--"

"Neeks, babes, just shut up and let me look after you, yeah?"

(Nico's face had gotten really red at that, and Jack was worried his fever was back before Nico's cheeks returned to their normal colour.)

He'd been hopeful when he eventually forwarded Nico the link to his spreadsheet, stuttering through his explanation of the flight options he's gathered, rental cars, and hotels that are close to the airport. He's even made a list of late-night restaurants, because everyone's starved for greasy takeout after a long overnight shoot. Nico is staring, wide-eyed, at the file when Jack's finally done explaining. And he's quiet for a long, long pause.

"I. Jack. Thank you, this is--so incredibly kind of you. I really appreciate the effort, but this is all wrong."

The words would've been utterly devastating if Jack didn't see Nico's enormous, genuine smile, clearly holding back a laugh but not because he's making fun of Jack. Instead, he gestures for Jack to pull up a chair, making room for him behind the desk, and leans over to show Jack the itinerary saved in his perfectly organized OneDrive. (Jack tries very, very hard not to shiver at their close proximity, and the comforting scent of Nico's shampoo in such close quarters.)

"Our next shoot is in Austria, not Australia."

"Oh, for FUCK'S sake--"

send me a jacknico prompt!

[nephriteknight]

don't you just love finding a book of advice written for you by your long-dead predecessor that teaches you about magic inks and also the mysterious thing in the cellar that escaped containment and killed him?

[tommybowefuneralattendee]

shayncer 274?

number 274 on the spreadsheet is from this list of prompts the prompt you generated in specific is: you're my everything also partially inspired by this ask

linked on ao3 || read under the cut || 10.6k, rated E

summary

"Sure, Spencer. We'll call what I am mad. Like when I called what we had a relationship, and how you refer to it as fucking. I'm gonna head out." || Or, Spencer and Shayne don't communicate clearly and more people face consequences for that than you think.

The worst thing about fighting with Spencer is that he's nothing less than professional the entire time. They haven't had a real conversation in at least a month, a few days before they broke whatever they had going on off, and it's been all business ever since. He doesn't act like he's mad at Shayne, he doesn't ignore him, he just acts like Shayne is his coworker. Even if their relationship wasn't exactly what Shayne wanted it to be, they had always had a really good time hanging out together. It seems like that's over now. He's never been a particularly talented hand at losing and furthermore mourning friendships; he's been friends with Damien for their entire adult lives, friends with Courtney and Ian for years, friends with everyone on the goddamn cast because he has a nearly pathological need for everyone to like him.

That's not really what it's about with Spencer, though, is it? Things are fucked because of how different what he wants from Spencer is from the rest of his friends. He wanted more than Spencer could give. It is what it is. He's been a bit of a fucking wreck since everything happened. Since Spencer broke up with him. Whatever the fuck you want to call it.

"Hey bud, Spencer asked me to come grab you for the meeting that started a few minutes ago?" Damien says, knocking his knuckles against the desk Shayne has his head down on. He rests his hand on the back of Shayne's neck, squeezing briefly, comforting. He knows that Damien wants to help. It still cracks him in half that Damien needed to come tell him instead of Spencer opening up their text thread and messaging him directly for the first time since he fucked everything up. Still, he gets up, moving himself out from under Damien's hand, which is retracted out of his way. "You okay?" Damien asks, his voice far too gentle. Shayne forces a smile, nearto gritting his teeth from the effort of it. From the raise of Damien's eyebrows, the effort is most definitely wasted.

"I'm fine, man. Just tired. I'll head that way," he says, making that forced smile softer. He doesn't know why he's trying. Damien has always known when something was going on with him. It doesn't help that Damien was his first phone call when everything went down, his violent sobs moving Damien to be waiting at Shayne's apartment when he was finally able to calm himself enough to drive home. It was a casual thing. It shouldn't have hurt as bad as it did. We do not want the same things. Spencer had been so sure of it, so convicted, as if Shayne's feelings for him were plastered across the wall, bold font. Even when he had tried to argue his case, he could tell that Spencer just wanted him to go. To let it go. To let them go. To admit that there was never a them in the first place.

"Text me if you need me, okay? I've gotta leave for my thing, but I'm around for you. You know that," Damien says, pulling Shayne out of his head with that and a quick kiss to his temple. He gives Shayne one of those significant looks before he's heading out and a genuine smile pulls across Shayne's face for perhaps the first time all day. Not to be the allistic best friend, but quirks he's always fondly thought of as just Damien are apparently autistic traits (revelation to both of them, really) and his fondness for them has not waned in the slightest. That's his best fucking friend.

He's distracting himself. It's on purpose.

"Hey guys, sorry I'm late," he says as he ducks into the meeting room, directing an awkward smile to the entire room. Spencer is looking at him, eyebrows raised and eyes hard behind his glasses.

"Glad you finally decided to show up. Back to my thing-" Spencer continues like he hadn't missed a beat, such a clear dismissal that it pangs in Shayne's chest. He's not sure what would have been ideal for Spencer to do there, though. Interrupt the meeting to get Shayne back up to speed? Fuck no. Maybe it's that he covets what he used to have: that easy rapport with Spencer, access to his dumbest one liners and wittiest quips, front row seats to the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs at his own jokes. It's his fault. He made it weird. He did too much. This isn't Spencer's fault.

Take accountability for your actions. Follow the lead of the person you fucked up with. Be willing to earn their trust again. He doesn't know if he could be more willing, but it doesn't seem like Spencer is open to opening back up that door.

"Shayne?" Spencer calls, pulling Shayne out of his thoughts succinctly. Shayne clears his throat, sitting up straighter.

"Yeah, yeah. Got, uh. Got lost in thought," he stutters, not quite making eye contact with Spencer but coming closer than he has in a few days. Spencer hums, looking to everyone else in the room as if to commiserate with them. He puts his hand up beside his mouth and speaks then at full volume. Everybody loves a bit.

"This guy never listens when I talk, can you believe him?" he says. It shouldn't even bother Shayne. In fact, he had thought he would enjoy it if Spencer made fun of him again. Guess it's different when he doesn't feel like he's in on the joke. It is not that serious. So why does Shayne feel like he's about to start tearing up?

"I'm, um. I don't think I'm going to be of any use and I don't want to slow you guys down, so I'm just gonna head out," he says, smiling even though he knows it doesn't reach his eyes. He hears Spencer say his name but he's already out of the door, and down the hall by the time he hears it the second time. He stops in his tracks anyway. He never was good at taking the easy way out.

"Shayne," Spencer says again, quieter this time. Clearing his throat, Shayne turns around. Spencer is frowning at him. Despite everything, that little frown takes Shayne's guard right down. He's missed the warmth of Spencer's concern. "What's wrong with you?" Spencer says, and the guard goes right back up like it never came down in the first place. Be safe or be happy? Shayne doesn't know that either are in the cards for today.

"Nothing. Tired. Can I go?" he says shortly, brusquely. Spencer furrows his brow.

"Yeah, man? How the fuck would I stop you?" he says, still giving Shayne that analytical look like Shayne is a problem to solve. He clears his throat again.

"Cool," he says, turning back around and heading down the hallway again. Spencer isn't quiet in following behind Shayne, so he's almost expecting it when a hand closes on his elbow.

"Dude, what is your fucking problem?" Spencer asks, spinning Shayne around with more strength than Shayne knew he had. He pictures a wall between Spencer and his feelings. It's so much harder to be hurt when every soft spot about you is covered in stone. They never tell you how hard it is to be loved like that. Hurt is an ugly thing pacing the cage of his ribs, festering as it has been for the past month, and Shayne doesn't know how much longer he can keep making it smaller and making it smaller and making it smaller before the pressure of it kills him, his grief diamond hard and shiny. Sparkling.

"Why the fuck do you care, Spencer?" he asks flatly, steam shooting out the pressure valve as he moves out from under Spencer's hand, frowning. Spencer has the audacity to look like Shayne has said something out of pocket, as if there's a reason he should think Spencer cares what his fucking problem is. Like there's a reason he should think Spencer even cares if he's okay.

"We were in the middle of a meeting," Spencer says, even this protestation a little weak. Shayne closes his eyes for a second, breathing out through his nose deeply. Composing himself. Putting the pieces of armor back together.

"I know, and I'm sorry that I won't be able to be present, but you all should continue without me. They're waiting for you," he says diplomatically, pulling the public persona back together even if he is off camera. Spencer makes a face at him, his confusion plain.

"Who cares? They'll wait," he says, which is likely true. There's an hour booked out for this meeting despite everyone attending being aware of the fact that it would only take maybe forty minutes, if Spencer was slow about it. That's always how it is when Spencer is conducting a meeting. He gets nervous or excited or just Spencer and he starts talking a little too fast, running through trains of thought like he never has to change stations to get from place to place. Still, he's not sure why Spencer is protesting so much. Shayne's giving them both an out here.

"Why?" he asks, unable to just keep the question to himself even if he'd rather be anywhere else. If he texts Courtney, they'll almost definitely be willing to pick up whatever slack he'd be leaving by peeling out of the parking lot right now. Instead, it feels like he's frozen to this spot, caught in this moment.

"Because I want to know what your fucking problem is."

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to, Spencer," he begs, steeling his voice in the hopes that it sounds like something different from what it is, but to himself he can admit: it's begging. Spencer narrows his eyes and catches Shayne by the wrist, pulling him into an unused office and staring him down.

"Are you that mad that I'm not gonna fuck you anymore? We want different things, Shayne. I'm trying to protect us both," he insists; it's the same thing he said then. It's so fucking corny. Breaking it off with someone and saying you're doing it to protect them. From what? Just admit that you don't want it. He just wants Spencer back. Even if it's just as a friend. Still, he's not even nearly mentally collected enough to start this conversation, let alone end it, so he might as well cut it off now. The hurt turns to vitriol in his throat and he casts it out, bitter and rotten.

"Sure, Spencer. We'll call what I am mad. Like when I called what we had a relationship, and how you refer to it as fucking. I'm gonna head out," he repeats, ducking out of the office and making his way down the hall much faster than before. He hates that little part of himself that wishes Spencer would follow this time too. He makes it all the way to his car without interruption. He texts Courtney. He drives home.

In the coming weeks, it's more Shayne avoiding Spencer than it is the other way around. At least, according to Damien, that's the case. While Shayne is ducking out of rooms when he hears Spencer down the hall and taking his lunch at his desk so that he doesn't run into Spencer when neither of them are on the clock, Spencer is apparently looking for Shayne now. He doesn't ask all the time, of course, but Damien says they don't talk for more than a few minutes before Spencer asks where he is, how he is. Every time Damien tells him about it, that little bit of excitement ("He likes me, he cares about me, he wants to know how I am," bullshit) hits Shayne hard enough to make him nauseous, or maybe that's just the self disgust. He wants to be over this more than he's ever wanted to be over anything.

He wishes Damien was here. Everybody always seems to think it's him acting as a social buffer for Damien, but really, that shit is reciprocal as fuck. Even a thread of discomfort on Shayne's face, Damien is making excuses and flashing sweet smiles, charming enough that no one even thinks to get pissed off. Even when Shayne is the social buffer, it never feels like he does it so smoothly, so naturally. Years and years of acting, and all it's done is make him more comfortable in front of a camera than he is without one. It's easier when there's an audience to play to; he already knows he doesn't play well to this one.

He hates that he's not good at being alone with Spencer anymore. He hates that this feels like a skill he'd have to relearn.

Courtney had invited him out, said Tommy was coming too. Tommy apparently invited Spencer. Court said they didn't know, and it was all very sudden. He doesn't blame Tommy. Tommy doesn't even know. Probably? Oh god. Shayne definitely hasn't told him, but Spencer is closer with Tommy anyway, and he's already told Courtney he'd stay. If he walked out on them now, when Tommy and Spencer are supposed to arrive in the next five minutes? Never gonna fly. He sits next to her reluctantly, resignedly. He's nursing what may be the worst beer of all time, but Courtney ordered it for him to cheer him up, so he'll pretend to like it for as long as it takes to finish it. He didn't come here to get drunk anyway. He came here so Courtney and Damien would stop giving him that you can talk to me look, tiptoeing around him like Spencer broke his fucking heart or some shit like that.

Even if it's true, they shouldn't say it.

It's like he can feel it when Spencer walks in the room, his gaze pulled to the door just as Spencer crosses the threshold of it. Fuck, he looks good. He's wearing one of his stupid little button-ups, jeans that are just a little too long for him, the same boots he always wears. And yet, Shayne doesn't know if he could take his eyes off of him if he tried. He can't even make himself try.

He's grateful when Courtney grabs his arm, refocusing his attention on them. They raise an eyebrow.

"You gonna be okay? I'm not gonna make you stay here if you're not gonna be okay, dude," she says, words perhaps a little casual for the burning in his chest, but the sentiment appreciated all the same. Courtney has no idea that it's sentiments like that one that will keep Shayne in his seat, beer in his hand, for as long as she's worried about him. Court and Damien care about him so much. The least he can do is try to be okay for them.

"I'll be fine, Courtney. Don't worry," he says; Courtney meets Tommy's gaze from across the room, communicating silently for a moment before Courtney nods.

"We're finding a booth. Tommy and Spencer are ordering, then they'll come find us," Courtney says; Shayne just shrugs, following their lead. They end up choosing a table with high seats instead of a booth, picked for its distance from the nearest other patrons. Spencer and Tommy follow sooner than he expects, setting a tray of drinks on the table before claiming their seats. Courtney and Shayne are sitting next to each other, and Tommy takes the seat across from Courtney, so that leaves Shayne avoiding eye contact with Spencer fucking Agnew. He gives Tommy a lackluster smile, even the pantomime of his happiness water thin and washed out like this. The smile Tommy hands back to him is gentled, a little worried, but Tommy recovers quickly, sliding into a grin and passing Courtney a shot.

"This has been one hell of a week, babe. You deserve this," he says, grabbing another shot for himself, "And so do I." Courtney taps the table three times and they down their shots at the same time, their strange synchronicity bringing a smile to Shayne's face. There are four more shots on the tray, as well as Spencer's drink, likely a light soda but they use opaque cups here so who could tell, and a few fruity cocktails. Tommy likes to try specials when the bars in town have them, kitschy little gimmick cocktails and twists on old classics, anything that sounds fun. It's something Shayne admires about Tommy, his ability to step outside of his comfort zone. Speaking of which. Tommy and Courtney both stand, about to make their first pass over the dance floor. Their tenacity is admirable. Courtney goes immediately, but Tommy stays behind a moment, leaning on the chair he just vacated to support him while he speaks.

"Either one of you, feel free to grab a shot or a drink, but don't feel pressured either, okay? I only ordered as much as Courtney and I could drink ourselves if you're not feeling it, Shayne," Tommy says, addressing Shayne directly as everyone and their mother knows Spencer's not gonna get into any of what's available. He gives Tommy a grin and bear it kind of smile, waving him off when he pauses, brows drawn together. Tommy hesitates, but ultimately follows after Courtney, seeming to be able to spot her on the floor even when it just looks like a sea of people to Shayne. It's possible that he's just looking out at the crowd, after Courtney, after Tommy, because he doesn't want to look at the person right in front of him. He doesn't know how to start. They sit silently for a long time, neither of them leaving but neither of them speaking either, awkward tension an overbearing weight compared to the past frivolity of their interactions.

Something about that tips him over the edge of it, falling from that fear directly into resignation; he just wants it to be over. He just wants to know where the fuck he stands. He just wants to have an adult conversation about this instead of feeling like he's walking on eggshells in his own head trying to avoid the stovetop burn of this, the sting of hurt that he hasn't been able to make himself let go of. He wants to feel normal, and nothing has been normal since they broke things off, and he misses his fucking friend and he wishes they were talking about this. Talking about things is a two way street. Somebody has to start the conversation, though. Somebody has to be brave.

Tipping his bottle to take one last sip, Shayne fortifies himself.

"Can I say something?" he asks, unwilling to just ambush Spencer in public like this, but needing to know where the lines are anyway. Spencer heaves a heavy sigh but looks at Shayne for the first time all night, nodding and seeming to steel himself. “I have no idea what happened with us but even if you don’t want to date me, I still loved being your friend, and I’d like to go back to that,” Shayne rushes out all at once, not letting himself leave any of it out. Spencer is still looking at him, but his brow is furrowed, his eyes narrowed, his head tilted. Is it really that crazy of an idea? They were good as friends. They were happy, even. Before Shayne fucked everything up.

"Even if I don't what," Spencer says, his tone so flat that it doesn't really seem like a question. Shayne presses his lips together, unable to stomach the fact that the thought of it is apparently so outlandish that it had never even occurred to Spencer. He forces a calming breath out through his nose, forcing the hurt down into his stomach, leaching the cold from around his heart. Still, he stands. He doesn't want to do this anymore.

"I'll see you at work, Spencer," he says, final, but not final enough to leave Spencer with the idea that things won't be okay come Monday. Because no matter how hurt Shayne is, if Spencer wants to be okay, they'll be okay. If he doesn't, they won't. He doesn't know when he became so resigned to this. He turns around, but he doesn't even get a pace away from the table before Spencer's catching him by the shoulder, desperate fingertips digging into his collarbone. He stops. He turns. He looks at Spencer. He waits. Spencer is looking at him askance, as if Shayne should know what he's trying to say here. He shakes off the hand on his shoulder. Spencer goes with it, hand dropping to grab at Shayne's shirt, pulling him closer. Not expecting it, Shayne stumbles and follows the motion, lets himself be pulled close enough to stand between Spencer's knees. What?

"I didn't know that dating you was an option," Spencer says, pulling Shayne in to kiss him on the mouth, hard and claiming and not tentative at all, like they had never broken it off in the first place. Given his givens, Shayne thinks it's fair that it takes him a second to register what Spencer even said. He pulls back when he does, breathing hard and cupping Spencer's face between his hands. Overwhelmed. Both of Spencer's hands are balled in the fabric of his shirt.

"What?" he asks, a little too overwhelmed to articulate what he's asking better. Spencer kisses him again before answering, licking into Shayne's mouth. There's more desperation in it than either of them were aware they had to give. You always think the sexual tension is going to go away after the first good fuck, the first time you have sex and you really feel like you're reaching your full potential together. Spencer is kissing him like he's trying to climb inside of Shayne's mouth, knees closed around Shayne's hips, still pulling him in as if Shayne is going anywhere. Which, actually. He breaks the kiss and holds himself back from Spencer, not letting the other man try to distract him enough to let this go. The way Spencer whines, put out, is almost enough to make him go right back to it. Almost. "What?" he repeats. He's sure the desperation to know, to understand, is written all across his face.

"I didn't know that dating you was an option," Spencer repeats, his shoulders dropping. Hope flickers flame hot in Shayne's chest.

"You wanted dating me to be an option, though?" he asks, unable to crush that pathetic thing in him, that need to know everything in extremely explicit terms, just to make sure he's wanted. Spencer makes a frustrated noise, one of his hands unclenching from Shayne's shirt to slide up and grab Shayne's jaw, grip gentle, sure, but firm. He's holding Shayne in place, making sure he's looking at him. He doesn't know that he would be able to look away anyway.

"Yes, Shayne. God, dude. You're- you're everything. You're my everything. Of course I wanna fucking date you," Spencer says, his thumb sweeping over Shayne's skin, stroking his face. Oh. Shayne swallows around the lump in his throat, willing himself not to tear up. Everything. He leans forward, kissing Spencer carefully, gently, as if for the first time. Doubt still crawls in, insecurity as good a home for it as any.

"But you were okay," he says, frowning. Spencer's head tilts to the side, silent question communicated when Shayne can actually make himself look Spencer in the eye. "When you broke up- when you called it off. You were acting totally normal. Well, except not talking to me. That part sucked." He shrugs a shoulder, gaze darting across Spencer's face. He feels like he needs to memorize every feature of him this close, every flit and fancy of expression in case he loses this again.

"Broke up. You- you were serious. About us being in a relationship," Spencer says, muted horror taking over his features. Unable to make himself lie, Shayne nods. "I did a really shitty thing, didn't I?" he asks, though from his tone, he's already come to the conclusion of that thought by himself. Shayne looks down; it's not like he can say it didn't hurt. It's not like he can that in some ways it didn't shatter him like glass, shards falling to the ground. Spencer tilts his face up, studying him briefly. "I'm so sorry, dude," he says, pulling Shayne in for a hug not just with arms around his shoulders but knees closing around his hips as well. Tucking his nose into Spencer's throat, Shayne shudders as the scent of him hits for the first time in months. He can link his forearms behind Spencer's back when they're this close, an impulse he's always pushed down because it felt restrictive, but with Spencer holding on in such a way that it would be easier to pick Spencer up than to extricate himself from this embrace, he's a little braver than he's been in the past.

"I've really fucking missed you, Spencer," he admits, his voice breaking. Spencer hugs him closer like he's trying to pull Shayne into his chest. He's tearing up again, and swear to fucking God, he's cried more in the past couple of months than he has in the past couple of years. It hasn't been pretty. Spencer's hands are careful as he starts carding his fingers through Shayne's hair, gentler maybe than they've ever been with each other. He's not sure how long he stands between Spencer's thighs with his nose tucked against Spencer's skin, but it's likely more than is socially acceptable. When he tries to pull away, though, Spencer gives a protesting noise.

"I just got you back, dude, give me a minute," he says, his voice a low murmur against Shayne's throat that makes him shiver. He drops a kiss on Shayne's skin, not in any kind of suggestive manner, but like he just wants to feel Shayne beneath his mouth. Shayne chuckles, dropping a kiss on Spencer as well.

"We could get out of here," he says, no mind for the implication before it's already dropped out of his mouth. "Not that I think just because you would be okay with dating, then you obviously want to sleep with me, it's just-" Spencer laughs outright, interrupting Shayne by pulling back a little, leaning down to kiss him.

"We need to talk more, buddy," he says, peppering kisses on Shayne's mouth. It's overwhelming is what it is. Still, Shayne raises an eyebrow, a silent request for elaboration. Spencer sighs. "I wouldn't be okay with dating you. I would be fucking ecstatic to date you. I would be honored. It's really shitty that I made you feel like that was anything less than the truth. I want to do better. Treat you better. Actually act like we're dating instead of just bitterly pining for you while having you in my bed twice a week. I like you, like. An embarrassing amount, dude. I don't ever wanna hurt you like that again." That word, hurt, it makes it sound so serious. Already, Shayne's mind is putting it behind him, moving around the obstacle and running full tilt into trying to milk as much happiness from this as possible.

"Is that a yes to getting out of here?" he asks, pitching his voice low just because he knows it'll make Spencer laugh. It does exactly as designed, bringing a smile to Shayne's face as well before he backs away a little. Spencer actually lets him go this time, though his expression makes it quite clear what his real thoughts are on the matter. Stifling preemptive laughter, Shayne takes Spencer's hand in his, kissing the back of it and offering his arm for Spencer to use as a crutch when he slides off the high seat.

"You're going to be that boyfriend, aren't you?" Spencer asks, setting his hand on Shayne's forearm and actually getting up in the manner proposed. Shayne, trying not to react visibly to the thrill he gets at the idea of being Spencer's boyfriend, grabs Spencer by the belt loops, pulling him closer just to lean into his space.

"And what boyfriend is that?" he asks, amused flirtation coating his voice. Spencer grabs onto the lapels of his jacket, holding Shayne in his orbit. Shayne doesn't know if he's ever understood the tide so well.

"Chivalrous and shit. Guy who treats me right. The guy you wanna take home to your mom," Spencer explains, shrugging a shoulder as if this is all a very easy conclusion to reach and he's not sure why he's having to explain this to Shayne himself. As if that's just something that people say. Maybe it's growing up in a military family, but he's never felt quite good enough to be brought home to the parents. It's never been something so openly refuted. His face is getting red, he can tell, but it's not so embarrassing this close to Spencer's face. He leans down to kiss him again, careful, sweet. Spencer breaks it off with a smile and a roll of his eyes, shoving at Shayne's chest half heartedly. "You're only proving my point, you know," he says, and Shayne wants to kiss him again, so he does. Because he can. He can have this. He doesn't want to leave Tommy and Courtney's drinks unattended, though, so he pauses, leaning against the table. Spencer raises an eyebrow.

"I don't wanna leave their drinks unattended, alcohol is expensive," Shayne says, wrinkling his nose. He wants to leave with Spencer, yeah, but he's not gonna be trusted to watch somebody's drinks and leave. Spencer grins, sitting back down and patting the seat that was taken by Tommy previously.

"I'll text Courtney, because you know Tommy isn't gonna check his phone, and we'll wait til one of them comes back, okay?" he proposes, to which Shayne nods gratefully. Anxiety would eat at him all night if they just left without seeing Courtney or Tommy anyway. Losing someone while they're out always freaks him out, though. He sits down in Tommy's seat, turning toward Spencer to face him instead of the table. Spencer follows his lead, their knees in an every-other arrangement, denim against denim. It's so fucking nice just to have Spencer in his space again, beneath his hands. He wants to trace over every piece and part of Spencer, afraid of the things his hands might have forgotten. Spencer laces their fingers together on his lap, staring down at their hands in a way that makes it quite obvious he's only staring to avoid something else. Not knowing what to say and not wanting to interrupt this much more comfortable silence with something trivial, Shayne runs the conversation back through his head, matches it up with pieces of others.

"When you said we didn't want the same things... you thought I didn't want you," he says, piecing together this conclusion while speaking it aloud. Spencer's gaze snaps up to his, the unique, wild eyed look of being caught for something you never thought anyone would notice. Shayne squeezes his fingers, heart squeezing in his chest. "Spencer," he says, letting his hand go to cup his face again. Shayne couldn't tell you what song is playing, how many people are here, whether anyone else is close, his entire focus is narrowed down to this right here. The idea that Spencer fucking Agnew has been walking this earth under the impression that Shayne doesn't want him all the time, the idea that Spencer didn't know he's the only thing Shayne wants.

"Don't make a big deal of it, dude," he says, eyes darting to the floor. Shayne tilts his face up, about to kiss him again, when a hand claps down on his shoulder. Fucking Christ. It's just Courtney.

"Oh my god," they say, eyebrows raised and grin huge on their face. Shayne leans down against Spencer's shoulder, intimately aware of the fact that he's about to be roasted til he dies. "Finally!" they continue, "Fuck, I'm glad you guys got your shit together. It was getting sad. On both sides."

"Wait-" both he and Spencer say at once, sitting up to fully look at Courtney. Shayne looks at Spencer again, gaze shooting back and forth before he realizes.

"You told Courtney too, didn't you?"

"Too?"

"Too! Tommy, Damien and I have been trying to work this out forever," they say, loose lipped from the drink and shot through with laughter.

"Wait, you told Damien?" Spencer asks, not directed at Shayne but at Courtney. Why would Courtney need to- oh, did they tell Damien about Spencer's feelings, that's what they're talking about. Actually, Shayne wants to know that too. He's really fucking pleased with how it turned out, so he can't fault Courtney for meddling, but that is like. A little bit not cool. Courtney rolls her eyes.

"No, Spencer, Damien's eyes told Damien," she says, tone making it very clear that this should have been obvious. Spencer goes a flattering shade of pink, the spread of it disappearing beneath his shirt, and isn't that something he'd like to revisit.

"I didn't want to leave without making sure one of you guys had eyes on your drinks. Be safe, call me if you need anything, try not to need anything," Shayne rushes out quickly, kissing Courtney on the top of her head before taking Spencer by the hand and heading for the door. An excited trill Shayne honestly thinks he would recognize anywhere pierces through the sound of the music as Tommy walks into their path. He looks like the cat that got the fucking cream.

"Tommy, I love you, I haven't gotten laid in months, see you Monday," Spencer says, picking up the slack where Shayne had slowed down at Tommy's approach. Tommy laughs, loud and bright, and Shayne doesn't have to look to know that Spencer is grinning too. They make it out the door but don't let go of each other's hands, fingers staying laced and comfortable. Being able to feel Spencer there at the end of his fingertips settles some part of Shayne that he didn't know had been ruffled with the rest of it, something clingy and warmed by the connection, something insecure and small being fed for the first time in a while. He doesn't realize he's being led until they get to Spencer's car, looking over to find his companion looking as if he's bracing for an argument. Anxiety coils in Shayne's gut.

"I know you've only had one beer, but. Let me drive?" Spencer requests, leaning against his driver's side door trepidatiously. The release of tension is profound.

"Sure, Courtney and I ubered," Shayne says easily, crossing to the passenger side. When they're both settled in their seats, buckled, Spencer backs out of his parking space, clearing his throat.

"Yeah, Tommy ubered too, but I knew I'd still be able to drive, so. Anyway. My place or yours?" he asks, immediately cringing at how classic that line is. Shayne snorts, which can't have been attractive, but Spencer smiles at him anyway, ducking his head.

"Mine? If that's cool?" Shayne asks, unable to kill that tiny bit of fear that this isn't going to go in his favor, at which point he'd rather be at his own apartment than someone else's, even if someone else is Spencer. Spencer hums and turns out of the parking lot. He hasn't been to Shayne's apartment since their whole thing. Oh fuck. He hasn't cleaned his apartment in weeks. He can't help himself, so everything is relatively organized and nothing is gross, but like. There are dishes. Laundry in places where laundry should not be. Spencer reaches for him across the gear shift.

"Quit freaking out, I've seen you do way more embarrassing things on Games than having a messy living room," he says, tangling their fingers. Shayne rolls his eyes. "Talk or something, dude. I'll level with you, I'm trying very hard not to freak out. Not like in a bad way but in a like I thought I'd never have this again way, and I need you to just. Talk. Or whatever."

"Does talking about the last couple of months count as distraction talking, or is it too related?"

"Depends? I guess?"

"Well I mean.... you haven't gotten laid in months? Hung up, Spencer?" Shayne asks, shooting for teasing and landing somewhere between that and flirtation. Spencer breaks into a grin, openly relieved to be in less serious territory.

"Yeah, dude. Down completely bad. Tommy and Courtney kept throwing me little surprise parties in my own apartment like I didn't know it was an excuse to look for-" Spencer cuts himself off, abruptly going vividly red.

"Look for?" Shayne asks, halfways between curiosity and concern. Stopped at a red light, Spencer puts his head down on the wheel for a second.

"I write songs. With, like, big emotions, I just sit down and write a song. Get it out and get it over with and move on, you know? So, like. They were checking the trash, like I saw both of them do it. They're not subtle," Spencer says, shrugging as he lets off the break, hitting the gas when the light turns green. "I get it, like. I was acting weird. I would have been like that with either of them. It's just weird to be on the receiving end of."

"Weird to have someone care?" Shayne asks, familiar with that particular struggle. Spencer hums affirmatively. "Do you always throw them away? The songs?" he clarifies, stroking his thumb across Spencer's. Spencer clears his throat, squeezing Shayne's hand briefly. He squeezes back.

"Not always, I guess. If it's not, like, completely shit, sometimes I'll leave it in the notebook."

"There's a notebook?"

"Hey, don't make it sound like a thing. It's not a thing."

"I think it might be a thing, dude."

"Babe, you can just ask me if I write songs about you," Spencer says, shooting Shayne a grin. Shayne raises an eyebrow.

"Babe?" he asks, watching with delight as Spencer's face goes pink. Affection burns hot in Shayne's chest. "You really like me, don't you?" he says, halfway to wonder and not really a question at all. Spencer likes him. He writes songs about him and talks to Tommy and Courtney about him and he turns a sweet, rosy pink when called out on it.

"Yeah, man," Spencer says with a weak laugh, squeezing Shayne's hand in his own. Shayne lifts their connected hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of Spencer's hand. Spencer sputters, clearing his throat, but doesn't make any move to take his hand back, so Shayne isn't worried about overstepping.

A quiet settles over them with them both pink cheeked, pointedly looking anywhere but each other. Spencer can pretend he's fully focused on the road, but Shayne pulls out his phone to serve as distraction for himself. He snorts as soon as he wakes his screen, a text from Damien reading Don't do anything I wouldn't do reading across the top notification. Rolling his eyes, he types in response Dames, I'm planning on having sex with Spencer. Immediately, three dots pop up followed very quickly by Peace was never an option. Shayne looks up after typing a quick fuck you, looking over to find Spencer looking amused, eyebrows raised but eyes on the road.

"Something funny?" he asks, flicking on his turn signal. Only a few minutes til they reach his place. Holy shit.

"Apparently Damien has been informed of the success of their plan," Shayne says with a little bit of put on grandiosity. Spencer snorts, but then he hums. Shayne hums back a questioning noise.

"If Damien was in on this, why do you think he wasn't like. Present?" Spencer contemplates in that Spencer way where he's mostly just thinking aloud and not really expecting an answer. Unfortunately, Shayne is pretty sure he knows this one.

"Because Damien knows that if he was there, I would have hidden behind him. And he would have covered for me because that's what we do. I wouldn't have said anything," Shayne says, cringing at the idea of his own realistic assessment of how that situation would have played through. Spencer hums, nodding his head.

"Yeah, that makes sense. I don't think I'd have said anything at all ever, so you're braver than any U.S. Marine for that, my guy," he says, still nodding to himself as if this is the most sensical thing that has ever been said. God, he loves this idiot. He doesn't realize he's quiet and staring until Spencer cuts eyes at him, raising an eyebrow. He squeezes Spencer's hand.

"'s worth it, you know," he says, "being brave." Spencer parks in Shayne's guest space probably a little faster than would fly in a driver's ed class, but Shayne's not a fucking cop and even if he was, he doesn't know that anybody could remember to say something about it with Spencer's tongue in his mouth. Spencer unbuckles both of their seatbelts and slips his hand directly up the back of Shayne's shirt, solid on his lower back.

"You make me fucking crazy, dude," Spencer says, pressing the words into his mouth with teeth biting into his bottom lip. Shayne makes a noise equal parts laughter and overwhelm, dragging himself away from Spencer by opening his door, nearly rolling out of it in his haste. The soundtrack of Spencer's laughter cracks through the quiet as Shayne gets steady on his feet, walking around the car to open Spencer's door. The look Spencer gives him, pleasant bemusement or confused amusement maybe, is priceless as he offers him his hand.

"Well, I figure if I'm gonna be that boyfriend, I might as well go ahead and get a head start," he says, shithead grin wide. Spencer rolls his eyes but he takes Shayne's hand anyway, letting himself be pulled all the way up to Shayne's apartment.

His back hits the door maybe a second and a half after the lock clicks shut behind them. Spencer's hands are up his shirt, greedy in touching everything that's been unavailable to him, bold in rediscovering territory. Not exactly satiated either, Shayne flips them around, pressing Spencer against the door and up it a little, catching the back of Spencer's thigh in his hand. Spencer gives a pleased hum, wrapping his arms around Shayne's neck and pulling a little. Used to this kind of wordless communication from Spencer if not all others, Shayne hooks his other hand behind Spencer's other knee, lifting him to put his legs around Shayne's waist. Would fucking Spencer against the wall count as a day's cardio? Questions for a different day. For the first time, he actually lets himself imagine waking up with Spencer. Sleepy sex with the morning sun hanging low in the sky still, sharing a shower so they won't be late. His mouth goes soft against Spencer's, kisses becoming slower and more languid as he presses Spencer's shoulders back against the wood.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," Spencer says impatiently. Shayne grins, kissing him a few times in short, quick bursts.

"You're the one who asked me to pick you up," he reminds him. Spencer makes a skeptical noise.

"Well, actually-" 

"Do not buzz me on a technicality right now, Spencer," Shayne murmurs into his partner's neck, kissing his way down Spencer's throat.

"I might stop making fun of you if I was otherwise occupied..." Spencer says, his contemplative tone broken by a high gasp when Shayne bites down on his skin.

"Now, we both know that's not true," Shayne says, but he puts Spencer down anyway, taking him by the hand. Once they reach his bedroom door, however, Spencer releases his hand, turning to face him. Shayne raises an eyebrow but Spencer just grabs his other hand, backing up til Spencer's falling back on the bed, settling before he's pulling Shayne with him, on top of him, on his hands and knees with Spencer's thighs splayed around his hips. Shayne loses his shirt pretty quickly thereafter, thrown somewhere across the room in the mad scramble of kissing and touching and stripping off clothes to be as close as possible. They spend a silent second just looking at one another, taking in the sights. There are so many things he wants here, so many things he wants to give to Spencer and take from Spencer, and Shayne couldn't choose with a gun to his fucking head.

"Do you. How do you want to do this?" he asks, confidence waning now that they're actually here in his bedroom with Spencer's hands on his skin. Spencer's hands are heavy on his biceps, squeezing just a little bit like he's weighing them in his grip. He looks up at Shayne with this sweet kind of wildness, like a jar full of fireflies, light and alive and so incredibly precious. He can't help leaning down to kiss him. Spencer smiles against his mouth, biting down on Shayne's bottom lip.

"I want you in me, Shayne. I wanna feel you," he says, making Shayne's heart stutter in his chest. They've done it both ways, but he's always been somewhat under the impression that Spencer liked the other way around more. He was always quieter, his typical talkative-during-sex nature dulled by what Shayne had always assumed was a slight discomfort.

"Are you sure?" he asks, concern coloring his tone. Spencer closes his eyes, taking one of those long blinks that always means he's about to admit something he finds embarrassing. Fondness for him lights Shayne up from the inside out, so thick in his head that it feels like he should be seeing everything in washed out pink.

"I like it. Bottoming. I like it a lot," Spencer says, like admitting that he enjoys sex is something that he should be ashamed of. It's not about sex, though, is it? It's about the vulnerability of penetration, the construction of masculinity as a lack of vulnerability. Stepping back from the psychological lens, something that Shayne can only do so much to tune out, the words hit Shayne and his brow furrows, trying to figure it out in his head. Spencer sighs, opening his eyes. "Ask," he says, and Shayne nods.

"You're always quieter when I fuck you, though," he says, the question clear even if he doesn't exactly ask it. Spencer pulls him down to kiss him briefly, almost like he's gathering bravery in the press of their lips.

"I didn't want to make it a thing, but I get uh. I get overwhelmed. When you're in me. It always feels so good," Spencer answers, his face burning a brilliant red. Already hard, Shayne's cock twitches at that fucking word. Good. He wants to make Spencer feel good. He wants to be good.

"Can I eat you out?" he asks, kissing a trail down Spencer's neck. Spencer gasps, grip on Shayne going tight for a moment before he actively loosens it. He wants to make Spencer hold onto him like that all night, so lost in what Shayne does to him that he can't even keep up his usual color commentary. Even if he does want Spencer to talk during. Hard to admit the things he'd like him to say, though. Spencer's fingers slip into Shayne's hair and tug just a little, the pain of it so electrifying it hardly feels fair to just call it pain. Spencer uses that grip to guide him downwards, to hip level where Shayne hooks his fingers in the waistband of Spencer's underwear, raising an eyebrow in question. The pull he gets in return is communicative enough in that it pulls an embarrassing noise from Shayne's throat, flushing down to his chest as he pulls the garment down, tossing them off the bed to be found eventually. Sliding back between Spencer's knees, he gives Spencer one last look up, one last time to tell him no beforehand. Spencer's hand slips into his hair again, blunt nails digging in just a little. Shayne pushes into it, relishing the feeling.

"Yes, Shayne. I'm yours, do whatever you want," Spencer says, enough to make Shayne's head go a little fuzzy before he even starts. He holds Spencer's thighs open with a hand on the inside of each, lowering to his chest before he licks into Spencer's hole without preamble. The noise Spencer makes is high pitched and Shayne wants to make him make more like it, so he keeps up that energy, swirling his tongue and moving his hands to grip at Spencer's hips, sliding Spencer's thighs over his shoulders. "Fucking hell, so good, Shayne. So good," Spencer stutters, already overwhelmed from the tone of his voice. The words themselves have Shayne hips twitching, thrusting into the sheets and bringing more embarrassing noises out with it. Spencer laughs deep in his throat, pleasure mixed with pleasure. He sounds fucking incredible.

"You like that, huh, babe? You want me to tell you how good you are, how good you're making me feel?" Spencer asks, breathless. Breathless would be an accurate word to describe Shayne with as well, but that's mostly because eating someone out and being so fucking turned on you're groaning like you've been stabbed uses up the lung capacity a little. That laughter bounces off the walls again and Shayne feels drunk on it, drunk on being exactly where he wants to be. Making Spencer feel good. There's more he could be doing, though.

"Pass me the lube? Same place it always is," he asks shortly, not with any malice but just unable to string any more words together in a satisfactory manner. Everything feels that gentle kind of foggy and Spencer is pushing back his hair, stroking over his scalp. Spencer tries to hand him the lube, but Shayne is sinking his teeth into his thigh, sucking a mark into his skin. If Shayne weren't actively holding him down, the little rolls of Spencer's hips would likely be full on thrusts. He sinks his teeth in a little deeper before pulling off, just to be sure to leave a mark. Spencer's dropped the lube by now, so Shayne has to find it in the sheets, kissing Spencer's thighs while coating his fingers til they're dripping.

"Start with two. I want you," Spencer says, the command in his voice enough to send a shiver down Shayne's spine. Figuring that Spencer probably knows what he can and can't handle, Shayne follows that command, circling his fingers over Spencer's rim before pushing inside, steady and slow. Spencer's head falls back against the pillows, his groan loud and a bit higher pitched with Shayne's fingers pressing deeper and deeper. "Fuck, Shayne. I love your hands. God, fuck, right fucking there," he pants, pressing down onto Shayne's hand. Saliva pooling in his mouth at the sight of Spencer riding his fingers, Shayne meets him thrust for thrust, rubbing over his prostate with purpose. Spencer's hand clenches in his hair hard enough to pull him back a little. Shayne's vision gets a little fuzzier.

"Please," he says, nonsensical when he's the one who's theoretically in a dominant position here. The way Spencer looks down at him, soft eyed and smiling, warms Shayne down to his toes.

"Add another finger, Shayne. Fuck me open," Spencer says, halfway between teasing and soothing, even just the tone enough to send more shocks through his body. When he adds a third finger, Spencer cups Shayne's face in his hands, tracing his thumb over Shayne's bottom lip. Awash in the feeling of this, Shayne drops his mouth open, allowing Spencer's thumb to rest on his tongue. Spencer presses down on his tongue, so Shayne closes his lips around it, sucking gently. He follows it up with a purposeful brush of Spencer's prostate. "You're gonna fucking kill me," Spencer mutters, hand trailing from Shayne's face down to his shoulder, holding on tight as Shayne rubs at him. He's barely giving Spencer a break, sucking marks into his chest as he relishes in making Spencer's voice go up in octave.

"You're so pretty," he says, pressing it into Spencer's skin, taking Spencer's nipple between his teeth. Spencer's nails dig into his collarbone, sending a shiver down Shayne's spine.

"I'm ready, Shayne. Fuck, I'm ready. Come on," he says, pulling Shayne up with his grip on his shoulder. Shayne chuckles and pulls his fingers out, following the direction of Spencer's hands til they're face to face, close enough to kiss. So, Shayne does. Kiss him, that is, or rather, Spencer kisses him, licking into Shayne's mouth again, taking up that space inside of him that has felt so empty in Spencer's absence. He reaches to grab a condom, but Spencer grabs his wrist.

"Condom?" he says, reminding Spencer if nothing else. Spencer brings Shayne's hand to his face, pressing a kiss to his palm.

"Do we- uh. Do we have to?" Spencer asks, visibly cringing at the vulnerability. Shayne furrows his brow.

"Are you sure?"m

"I mean, yeah, if you're cool with it. I got tested before we started- anyway- and I haven't been with anyone but you since. You, um. Obviously I wouldn't be mad because I'm not an asshole but in the interest of the concept of sexual safety-"

Shayne can't help taking pity on him, briefly putting his hand over Spencer's mouth. "I haven't been with anybody else either." Spencer just stares at him for a second, eyes round, before he nods, continues nodding, nods for perhaps a bit too long. Shayne grins, huffing his amusement out through his nose. He trails his nose up Spencer's jaw. "You don't want a condom, then?" he asks, his voice gravelly with arousal. Spencer nods and then shakes his head, confusion furrowing his brow.

"I'm not sure how to answer a don't question, dude, just fuck me," he says, exasperated. Chuckling, Shayne lines himself up obediently, pressing in slowly. Spencer's nails dig into his shoulders and Shayne shudders beneath that attention, a grounding point to anchor himself in the rolling waves trying to crest over his head. He goes slow, because he's not an asshole, but he can admit to being relieved when Spencer tries to hurry him with eager hands. He bottoms out in a single, solid push, sinking into Spencer not just at the point they're connected but all over, tucking his face against his throat as he tries to calm himself down. Spencer's nails scratch gently at his scalp, soothing, and Shayne presses kisses against his collarbones, grateful if nothing else. Spencer's other hand on his lower back, steadying and gentle, sends Shayne chuckling, tucking his face against Spencer once more.

"We're about to have the sappiest missionary sex of all time for a while, aren't we?" he asks, as cognizant of his own desire as he is of the weight of Spencer's hands on his skin. Spencer pulls him up, meeting him in a kiss that is equal parts sweetness and languid desire, sure of itself. He pulls away smiling.

"Well, we've fucked nasty enough times, I figure we have some catching up to do in the sappy bullshit department," Spencer quips, giving him a shorter kiss before he's rocking his hips down, moving Shayne to move. "Doesn't mean we can't hurry things along, though." Shayne laughs but follows directions, pulling out about halfway before rocking his hips, a short thrust enough to brush against Spencer's prostate, based on the noise he makes alone, sweet and high and pretty. He rolls his hips, grinding against it as best he can and dragging a longer moan from Spencer's chest. He bites down on the pale skin beneath his mouth, marking Spencer's shoulder with the imprint of his teeth. Spencer pulls his hair but doesn't protest, instead encouraging him to stay exactly where he is. He fucks into Spencer faster, the tight heat of him too tempting to stay at that slow pace. Spencer digs his heels into Shayne's ass impatiently still, making Shayne pull back a little just to laugh at him, pressing kisses to Spencer's face and eventually his mouth.

"Tell me how you want this," he whispers against Spencer's cheek, the mingling of their breaths warm and so, so intimate. Spencer turns his head just a bit, catching Shayne's lips with his own. He licks into Shayne's mouth like he's got something to say and only this to communicate it, a claim to stake and only this to make it. Shayne, for his part, lets himself be claimed, lets Spencer do whatever the fuck he pleases and goes along with the ride. Spencer puts a hand on his chest.

"Make me feel it. Make me feel you. Wanna feel you for fucking days, dude," Spencer says; heat pools within Shayne, the snap of his hips less purposeful and more instinctual. Spencer's responding laugh turns quickly into a moan, continuing at a low level as Shayne loses himself to this, to obedience and feeling and the biting desire to make Spencer feel good. His thrusts are getting rougher, less controlled, but Spencer doesn't seem bothered by it, in fact still pulling at Shayne, overt in trying to move him to go faster, be rougher, fuck Spencer like he means it. And, well. Who is Shayne to tell him no? Spencer is so tight it feels like Shayne is being pulled in, like the piston of his hips still isn't enough to satisfy either of them. Pulling out makes Spencer whine, hands tight in Shayne's hair and on his shoulder, knees unforgiving around his hips. Shayne presses a chaste kiss to his mouth.

"Let me up," he says, his tone gentle enough to make it clear that nothing is actually wrong, just in want of change. Reluctantly, Spencer releases him, frown making his displeasure clear. Amused, Shayne rolls off the bed and onto his feet, grabbing Spencer by the hips and pulling him to the edge of the bed. Spencer always goes a little breathless when Shayne manhandles him, and this time is no different.

"Woah," he says, legs wrapping around Shayne's hips and dragging him closer. Shayne goes willingly, still standing but pressing into Spencer, now able to get enough force behind fucking into him to make Spencer keen. Both of Spencer's hands wrap around his forearms, grip probably hard enough to bruise, but Shayne is just far gone enough to hope it does.

"Spencer," he groans, wishing he had a better angle to hide his face against Spencer's skin. Spencer looks up at him with a wild grin, the expression quickly dissolving in the torrent of pleasure given by Shayne's relentless assault against his prostate. When Shayne leans down to kiss him, Spencer bites into his mouth, teeth and tongue aggressive in their pursuit of overwhelming Shayne even more than he already is. Shayne pours worship down Spencer's throat, his hips rough, almost mechanical, but his mouth open against Spencer's, recipient. There's always a sort of thought that comes with pleasure like this- if I could do nothing but this- but never before has it felt so potent beneath his skin, the electrifying desire to serve and the fulfillment of that desire in Spencer's moans and eager hands and sweet little whimpers when Shayne thrusts into his prostate just a little too hard.

It's one of those particularly hard thrusts, hard and fast, that has Spencer shooting across his own stomach untouched, bearing down on Shayne's cock. He looks so pretty when he feels so good he can't speak, with his lips pretty and parted and pink and his face flushed red, blush trailing almost down to his nipples. Remembering himself, Shayne starts to pull out, but Spencer's legs around his hips do not loosen, holding him in place.

"Want you to come in me," Spencer says, his voice shaky but sure. Shayne's hips rock, involuntary.

"You sure?" he asks, his hips still moving in micro fractions of inches at a time, unable to stop himself from seeking out that steady pleasure. Spencer squeezes his forearms, pulling at him until Shayne is brought up on the bed with him, kneeling between his knees.

"Please, Shayne, fuck," Spencer says, voice going high and reedy as Shayne brushes over his prostate. Something animalistic in Shayne goes crosseyed at that and he fucks into Spencer hard, holding his hips in hard hands. Spencer is laughing, but the breaths between are high pitched and overwhelmed, the laughter itself aroused and strained. Shayne loses himself again to the motion of it, to the sound and feel and taste of Spencer, eyes closed as he bends close to bite into Spencer's shoulder again, grounding himself. Spencer's hand is on the back of his head, encouraging, when Shayne cums, biting down hard enough that it likely wouldn't take much more for blood to flood his mouth. Spencer pulls his hair and digs his nails into his back and Shayne is afloat in this, lost in it.

It takes a few minutes for Spencer to pull him back down, stroking his fingers through Shayne's hair and holding him against his chest. He's still inside of Spencer, for fuck's sake. Shayne clears his throat, pressing kisses to Spencer's chest. Spencer gives him a pleased hum and tilts his head back, inviting Shayne to trail more kisses up his throat as well. Shayne follows as directed and kisses his way up to Spencer's mouth, kissing him slow and gentle before pulling back with a smile.

"I'm gonna pull out now," he says. Spencer rolls his eyes.

"If you must," he says, though he's smiling as well. Shayne kisses him again and pulls out slowly, not wanting to jolt Spencer too much. Spencer makes a high noise, which is very cute, and Shayne's outright grinning as he goes to his en-suite, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it before bringing it back to the bed. Spencer is amenable to having his own cum cleaned off his chest and stomach, the sweat as well, but protests when Shayne goes to clean between his legs.

"Babe, I've gotta clean you up. You'll be so pissed off if you wake up like this," Shayne says, raising his eyebrows at Spencer. Spencer sighs, likely knowing he's right but not wanting to admit such a thing.

"But I like it," he says, pink and looking blankly up at the ceiling. Shayne hums and bites his hip, not particularly hard, just for fun. Spencer hums back.

"We can do this whenever you want, you know," Shayne says, dropping kisses where he had just bitten.

"Oh, you do not want to tell me that," Spencer laughs, fingers curling in Shayne's hair. His knees fall open anyway, letting Shayne wipe at the mess of his cum spilling out of Spencer slowly, dripping onto the bed sheets.

"How much of a fucking horndog do you think you are?" he asks, half distracted by the sight of it but still amused. With a final swipe, he tosses the washcloth across the room and into his dirty clothes basket. He does so just in time for Spencer to drag him up to kiss him, gentle but forceful.

"Dude, you've only dealt with don't wanna look too eager Spencer. Now that you know that I'm stupid for you? Don't expect to get much done," he says, grinning and kissing Shayne again, again, again.

"Bring it on."

[aniron48]

Headcanon: Q Can Dance!

You wouldn't think it, to look at him, but then, maybe there's a lesson in that. He's all limbs, yes, a skinny frame capped with unruly hair and a pair of glasses that slide up and down his nose with the regularity of a lenticular Sisyphus. But there's grace there, too, the ease of a body that knows itself, and invites you to know it in return.

You wouldn't think it to know him, either, not at first, and there's a lesson in that, too. Because when you know him better, the pieces fit perfectly, a fractal pattern that you can't unsee: music is math, after all, and movement is physics, and Q on the dance floor seems like the embodiment of both. He knows how to feel the beat precisely because he knows how to think, and if, when you see him, you make the mistake of thinking that this, this is Q finally getting out of his own head, you would be forgiven for the error. But this is Q in his head, in his head and in his body, knowing the beat will come even before it arrives, and when, a moment before it hits, he opens his eyes, he is looking at you as if he knew you would be there.

[teecupangel]

I searched far and wide hoping to quench my insatiable need to read, but none of the books in an archive of our own have satisfied me. In an effort to read more I traveled all around the world be it by land to visit the vast city of Wattpad, but I was not satisfied. I traveled by water to visit the islands of Nets, famous for their so called "Fanfictions" but I was not satisfied. I traveled by air to visit a place called Tumblr and began losing hope until I heard it, whispers of an author who takes requests and being on my last string I searched for them. I searched for clues on who it could be, only hearing the name Angel who likes Teacups, and vague as it may be I did not give up until the day I had found you, I cried in joy as I write this and hand you my request,

"Desmond but with fangs and claws like a cat, harem with maybe Haytham"

(Sorry for being long and unnecessary)

(Please don’t apologize, I enjoy getting asks and comments no matter what length they are)

Dear traveler, it appears that the rumors of my capabilities have been greatly exaggerated. I can only assume that it is due to the praises of my followers both here and in the archives of which I am also a weekly peddler of my wares. I am but a humble alchemist forever learning the ways of the legends and old ones. My alchemic priority will always be the wares I freely give to the archives and I am chained to my capricious mind which dictates what I shall synthesize to its full completion next.

What I can offer you, my dear traveler, is a small gift, synthesized from the ingredients I have that I believe you would enjoy.

And with that…

Let’s give Desmond fangs and claws like a goddamn cat.

.

Since this is meant to be a harem and I haven’t made any modern-day setup for a harem for a while now, we’re going full-on modern-day setting.

(not gonna lie, if you had requested cat ears as well, this would have been more like a kept pet kind of scenario)

Let’s say that Desmond lives on the Farm where it is common for people to have small fangs. Not that noticeable but certainly something that most humans do not have. When Desmond was born, they noticed his fangs were much longer than the rest, more cat-like, yet they weren’t worried about it. Maybe it was a quirk in their genes, who knows?

Then Desmond gets old enough to start crawling around.

He reached the sofa and… an urge takes over.

By the time his parents found him, he had been scratching the sofa with his suddenly sharp curved nails.

No.

Claws.

They had him checked out by the Farm’s doctor, of course, and they learn that the claws were retractable. With enough practice, Desmond learned how to bring out his claws at will.

Most of the time, he only showed his nails.

It has been drilled into his mind to hide his claws. To never show his fangs.

It was stifling. The claws gave him an advantage in training. Sometimes, he would lose himself and try to claw his own father.

He was told it was a dangerous weapon.

But Desmond simply saw it as a part of himself.

For it to be called a weapon…

It made Desmond feel like he was the one being called the weapon himself.

Or maybe it would be more accurate to use the word ‘itself’?

Did… did his father even see him as a person?

Years passed and his training continued. He grew older and, with age, comes more duties. More responsibilities.

The fear of the outside world has been drilled into his mind for so long. The Templars became background noise. He was told to fear humans in general.

They wouldn’t understand you.

They would fear you.

They will hurt you.

Desmond knew that.

All of his sparring partners, both the adults and the kids, would always have fear in their eyes whenever Desmond would use his hands during their spars. Even if he had clenched them into fists…

So he learned to use his legs more often yet the fear remained in their eyes.

They fear him.

And so… Desmond used their fear to take them down.

Sparring became boring after that.

No.

He hated sparring.

He hated the fear in the eyes of the people that were supposed to be on the same side as him.

That was when he appeared.

He was perhaps a year or two older than Desmond.

Bill whispered to him who he was.

An orphan born and raised by the Brotherhood, given the name of the legendary Master Assassin and mentor: Altaïr, the supposed best of the current children of the Brotherhood.

Not that they were still children… they were already teenagers yet the adults still liked to group them up as ‘children’.

He had an impressive blank expression that Desmond was quite jealous of. Bill always told him that he needed to work on his expressions.

They sparred and Desmond was caught off guard by how fast he was. He could see why Bill had brought him here to spar with Desmond.

He was faster than any of the adults Desmond had sparred with.

And ruthless with his strikes.

He aimed to take Desmond down as quickly as possible.

Without a hint of hesitation or fear in his eyes.

His mind seemed just as quick as his strikes, immediately realizing that Desmond primarily used his legs to attack.

So he kept closing the distance between them, not giving Desmond any time or distance for his kicks.

It was bound to happen.

He had been pushed into a corner.

A corner he didn’t even know existed until now.

Instincts and the thrill of finally having a sparring partner that didn’t look at him with fear in his eyes made his claws make an appearance before he knew what was happening.

Altaïr’s eyes widened for a moment before…

He slapped Desmond’s hand before it could scratch his face.

He jumped back, creating distance between them for the first time since he notice Desmond’s heavy reliance on his legs.

Desmond’s heart began to beat faster as he felt a coldness wrap around him when he saw Altaïr lower his head to stare at his claws.

The sting of his slap didn't even hurt. It was a quick move meant to stop Desmond. It was not meant to hurt him.

Yet... Desmond bit his bottom lip.

He didn’t want to see it.

He didn’t want to see those golden eyes turn fearful.

Altaïr raised his head and…

Desmond’s eyes widened as he saw the most beautiful smile he had ever seen in his entire life.

His own lips curved into a wide smile, showing his fangs.

Yet Altaïr’s smile didn’t falter.

And that was the day…

Desmond fell in love with Altaïr.

Unorganized Notes (and set up for the Harem):

The beautiful smile Altaïr gave Desmond is seen as creepy by pretty much everybody else. It’s more on the side of feral and unnerving.

Altaïr and Desmond grow close because Altaïr regularly visits. The excuse is to spar with Desmond but they usually just hang out afterwards and talk. Altaïr would bring Desmond books whenever he visits after Desmond admits how bored he was on the Farm.

Desmond didn’t have the heart to tell Altaïr that the books he kept giving were a bit hard to understand and he kept reading them anyway, even going as far as talking to another kid (Shaun) that was the smartest kid on the Farm to ask help for the words that he couldn’t understand.

When Altaïr learned about it, instead of giving Desmond easier books to read, he made Desmond promise that he’d ask him instead for help and Desmond agreed because it means Altaïr would get closer to see which part Desmond has a hard trouble getting and he likes Altaïr’s warmth.

When they became Assassins, Altaïr and Desmond were put on the same team together with Malik and Kadar. Mostly, Altaïr and Desmond are the ones on the field, with Malik acting as backup, distraction, or additional ‘backend’ support. Kadar is their tech guy.

Malik and Kadar came from the same orphanage as Altaïr and they’re not scared of Desmond’s claws and fangs because “Altaïr waxes poetry about you whenever he returns from visiting you… very bad poetry” “I think it’s sweet.” “It paints you less as a monster and more as a cat.” “A very beautiful cat.” “Malik… Kadar… shut up.”

You can add Malik and Kadar to the harem if you want. If they’re not, Malik is forever suffering from the fluff and Kadar is 100% AltDes shipper only until it’s clear that Altaïr is okay with sharing Desmond and then he became 100% on board with shipping everyone with Desmond… even his own brother. (“I stop trying to make him stop. Ignoring him is better for my health.”)

Ezio gets transferred into their team later (if you want angst, the Auditore execution still happens but it’s with guns now, if you don’t want angst, Ezio got transferred because Giovanni thinks it would be better if he learns how it’s like to have non-family team members). Regardless, Ezio and Altaïr get competitive.

Desmond and Ezio start out as friends and Ezio know Desmond and Altaïr have a thing going on. It doesn’t stop him from falling for Desmond but he doesn’t do anything about it because he knows Altaïr is Desmond’s most important person.

Desmond does feel some attraction to Ezio but he ignores it. It actually takes Altaïr out right stating that he knows Desmond is falling in love with Ezio for him to acknowledge it. Desmond promises that he’ll love Altaïr the most and Altaïr just goes “Okay. I’m fine with that.”

Of course, this confuses Desmond so Altaïr had to explain that he was fine if Desmond wants to be with Ezio too, as long as he remains Desmond’s number one. (“Like… you’re at first place and Ezio is the runner-up?” “… I’m not using your love for us to compete against Ezio.” “You sure…?” “As long as you love me the most, I’m fine with you loving other people.” “Oh.”)

Ezio’s a bit reluctant at the beginning but seeing Altaïr okay with it, he does start to pursue Desmond.

They do end up competing for Desmond’s affection at times and it does get very competitive. Malik has to suffer thru it as the referee because Desmond is useless during these times, simply too happy with all the attention.

One of their competitions ends up with them talking about how much they love feeling Desmond’s fangs on their skin. Malik suffers listening to the many ways Desmond has used his fangs to pleasure these two idiots just to make sure they don’t start throwing punches (or suddenly telling Desmond to use his fangs on them). Kadar has been roped into judging them with the criteria: use of words, how vivid the picture they make in their speech, passion, and overall structure of the speech. Desmond is too embarrassed to even function at that point.

Ratonhnhaké:ton would join their team the last and he’s a year or two younger than Desmond. He’s been trained by an old Assassin veteran named Achilles and his grandfather without any other kids so he was transferred to the so-called ‘misfit’ team after initiation.

Ezio tends to go all big brother on him which Ratonhnhaké:ton appreciates but, sometimes, he feels that Ezio’s actions could be interpreted as babying him.

Ratonhnhaké:ton knows that Desmond is with both Altaïr and Ezio and Kadar had made it perfectly clear that “you can fall in love with Desmond too!”, much to Malik’s continuous suffering and embarrassment.

Unlike Ezio’s which has a bit of angst sprinkled in the ‘I’m falling in love with him and I know I shouldn’t’ miniplot, Ratonhnhaké:ton knows it’s okay to fall in love with Desmond. He falls in love quite quickly because… it’s Desmond… and he tells Altaïr and Ezio first.

Altaïr just tells him that it’s Desmond’s choice if he would love him back. And… that he’ll always be the one that Desmond loves the most. Ezio just sighs and tells Ratonhnhaké:ton to not be discouraged by those words. If Desmond loves him back, they’d accept him as well.

Desmond does fall in love with Ratonhnhaké:ton as well.

And everyone’s happy… except Malik who now has to deal with four people in love and his brother living vicariously thru Desmond.

As for adding Haytham to the harem, we can go three different routes: (1) Haytham remains a Templar and he becomes sorta like their archnemesis and he’s that polite flirting type to Desmond (with maybe a bit of questionable touching), (2) Haytham remains a Templar but they captured him and try to ‘unconvert’ him from his Templar indoctrination (“This is a stupid idea” “Maybe but it’s not a bad idea” “No, it is. The fact that I’m just letting you do this is a testament to how far I’ve fallen.” “Relax, Malik. It’ll be fine”) and they notice he’s attracted to Desmond and… stuff happens???, and (3) Haytham is an Assassin in this one and is part of a different team and much much older than them because he is Ratonhnhaké:ton’s dad so… sugar daddy tiimmmeeeee!

(btw, all the characters that speak with a Welsh accent have cat ears in Xenoblade so my parting gift to you: Edward Kenway with cat ears)

[altschmerzes]

I personally would love to see how you’d take on a bad things bingo with Jamie tartt

Feel like his dad and his cronies could have a few bad thing squares up their sleeves and I’d love to see how you weave your magic in the circumstance

oh best believe that is on the agenda lmaoo we've got that in there for SURE. i'm a multifandom bitch at all times and there is a..... fair bit of ted lasso no doubt

[inspiredrawaw]

Excel spreadsheets my beloved

[alientiime]

world trigger au