you know what you want (and that makes you just like me)

Warning for consenual D/s.

As Spencer adjusted his bowtie in the mirror behind the bar, he let the uncertainty that had plagued him for the last week flood his brain just the once before he committed to this.

He let the soda water and lime in the tumbler rest against his hand and looked himself straight in the eye. Did he want this? Yes. Did Brendon want this? Yes. Brendon *asked* for it, with his eyes skittering off to the side like he didn’t think Spencer would bend over backwards to make anything Brendon wanted happen. Just because he asked for it months ago didn’t mean Brendon wanted it less; it only meant there was an element of surprise to things. They both wanted this, Spencer had made things happen, and now he was going to give Brendon what he wanted, because that was what Spencer did.

Closing his eyes against his own dark stare, Spencer pushed the tumbler away and moved from the bar, nodding at the bartender as he left. He rolled his shoulders, unused to the suit that had hung unworn in his closet ever since New Year’s. He didn’t feel quite like himself, as if he was a version of him just a few shades removed from the person he looked at in the mirror every morning. He slid one hand into his pocket, cocking his left hip out as he walked, and ran the other over his beard, a reflexive move that Ryan still made fun of him for.

He was walking towards the poker tables when he caught a tell-tale bark of laughter on his right. Spencer took one deep breath, set his body, and walked into the room as confidently as he could.

Brendon didn’t notice him at first, and Spencer was fine with that, shadowing a waitress who tilted her head at him as she asked if he wanted a drink. He said no, his eyes locked on the expansive smile on Brendon’s face as he pulled in the chips he had just won at the blackjack table. Brendon looked like he could win the table on his charm alone, and Spencer let a little predatory smile color his face. It was possible that this was a better idea than Spencer had given Brendon credit for, because all Spencer could imagine now was how much pleasure he was going to take in reducing this Brendon to the wanton, needy one Spencer knew so very, very well.

As the next hand was being dealt Spencer nodded at the dealer and slid into the seat vacated by the player Brendon had just cleaned out at the far end of the table. Spencer didn’t look up from the felt when he heard Brendon’s quick, indrawn breath; he just let his eyelashes sweep against his cheek and pulled his cards close to his body. It wasn’t a winning hand, but then Spencer wasn’t there to win. He had a different game in mind entirely. He discarded and picked up a card, looking up at the dealer, but very carefully not looking at Brendon, whose eyes kept coming back to stare at Spencer and then flit away as if he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to look or not.

That was good, because it meant that whether Brendon knew it or not he was ready for Spencer, and it meant also that Spencer wouldn’t have to draw things out any longer than this single hand. Spencer was itching to get to the real start of his evening, and while he was generally patient he’d been running this through his mind for far too long.

The waitress brought him an unasked-for soda water and lime, which meant that the bartender had probably recognized him and suggested his drink to her. That was a little unsettling, but Spencer just nodded his thanks and tipped her a five, taking a long sip from his tumbler and knowing Brendon’s eyes were on his throat as he swallowed.

The dealer called for final bets and Spencer pulled something from his pocket. The two other players withdrew, as if feeling the subtle tension cutting across the table. Spencer looked at the dealer, nodding at what he threw on the small pile of chips in the center. The dealer, whose gaze held both understanding and reserve, inclined his head back and turned to Brendon. “Sir?” he said, “final bets?”

Spencer didn’t miss the way Brendon’s breathing had become slightly labored at Spencer’s final bet: a thin, unadorned bracelet of black leather with a silver clasp that glinted in the soft light above the table. Spencer knew Brendon had a better hand than him. The way he’d tried to hide his stupid tell–the chatter of fingers against hardwood over and over again, not at all masked for being against the lip of the table–gave him away enough that Spencer felt confident in the bet. There was no way he’d risk disrespecting Brendon, and Brendon’s leather, otherwise. But this was just calculated enough to achieve what he wanted–Brendon even more off-balance than he was right now–while still signaling exactly what was expected of him that night.

“No raise,” Brendon said, his voice shaking only slightly. Spencer was absurdly proud of him, and let the bare hint of a smile crease his face. He didn’t watch the dealer unfold the remaining cards and declare Brendon the winner, his mind already three steps ahead. He finished his drink, waved his hand in thanks to the dealer, and left the table, knowing Brendon’s eyes were glued to his retreating back even as he tried to cash out and leave.

Spencer walked slowly to let him catch up.

It only took a leisurely stroll towards the bank of elevators before Brendon nearly stumbled into him. He must have left the dealer an exorbitant tip, Spencer thought, amused. Brendon was breathing hard, and he looked at Spencer in confusion, reaching up to touch Spencer’s shoulder. “Spence?” he said as Spencer stepped smoothly out of reach and into the elevator.

“Going up?” Spencer said, almost incapable of restraining his grin but managing as Brendon stepped into the elevator with him.

“Spence, what–” Brendon started.

“Show me your wrist,” Spencer said calmly, staring Brendon straight-on for the first time that night.

Wordlessly, Brendon extended his right arm. The sleeve caught up enough at his elbow that the thin cuff could be seen easily against Brendon’s too pale skin. He should really go outside more, Spencer thought as he grasped Brendon’s hand, running a thumb roughly over the leather just to watch Brendon’s eyes flutter closed.

“Who told you my name?” Spencer murmured, keeping his fingers wrapped around Brendon’s wrist to feel the pulse point flutter there.

“I–what?” Brendon said, obviously struggling to understand what Spencer meant.

“Who,” Spencer said again, tugging Brendon close to whisper in the shell of his ear, “told you my name? Was it the waitress? I only said I was here looking for something to play with. I didn’t know a toy would present itself so,” he paused, running his eyes down Brendon’s tuxedo and back up to meet Brendon’s briefly, “immediately to me.”

Brendon’s eyes fell and he moved a little so he could drop his forehead to Spencer’s shoulder, Brendon’s hand still clasped in Spencer’s between their bodies. “No one,” he said in a whisper, “I knew who you were. Everyone does.”

Spencer let his smile swell against Brendon’s ear. “Right answer,” he said as the elevator announced their arrival. He let go of Brendon’s hand and swung himself out of their casual embrace, not looking back as Brendon nearly fell down without the support of Spencer beneath him.

Brendon caught himself and made it out of the elevator before the doors started to close, and Spencer opened the door with the room key from his breast pocket, gesturing for Brendon to enter first. Brendon spared him a glance, and Spencer could read fear, and confusion, but mostly importantly, the hot thread of lust that Spencer himself had been feeling for days as he’d waited for this to play out the way he’d planned. He’d thought about this too much, on too many nights cooped up on the bus with other people and no space to do anything, anything at all. But finally they were here, and Spencer planned to take his time, because for once he *could.*

Spencer followed Brendon in, shutting the door behind him, watching Brendon take in the twenty-sixth floor suite with wide eyes. Spencer had splurged, a little, but they only had tonight and tomorrow, and Spencer was willing to go all out if it meant he could have Brendon in a room all to themselves with absolutely no interruptions. Spencer threw the keycard on the nearby table, strode up to Brendon, spinning him around and pushing him up against the door. Spencer wrapped his hand around Brendon’s neck, his thumb and index finger against Brendon’s jaw, forcing his head upwards but not pushing against his airway.

“If you know who I am, then you must know how I play,” Spencer growled against the side of Brendon’s face. He ran his other hand down Brendon’s arm, feeling how his hands were scrabbling against the door and hooking a finger against the leather on Brendon’s wrist again. “And you’re wearing something of mine, so I can only assume that you’re begging to be mine, too. Is that correct?”

He felt more than saw Brendon struggle to nod his head. In a quick motion he let go of Brendon’s neck, turning to walk in the opposite direction, knowing Brendon had crumpled to the floor behind him. “Up,” he said. Spencer waited a few seconds and then turned around. Brendon was standing, Spencer had to give him credit it for that, but he looked absolutely wrecked. His suit was rumpled and he had a dazed look on his face. His eyes weren’t tracking completely and Spencer could see him working hard to breathe, the red mark where Spencer’s thumb had been standing out violently against Brendon’s skin. He was leaning towards Spencer, as if he wanted to come but hadn’t been called yet.

Spencer’s breath caught. This was exactly how he imagined Brendon on all the days he couldn’t have him. He hoped Brendon knew how much Spencer wanted him. Spencer was never very good at saying things like that; he just tried to show Brendon in the best way he knew how.

“What should I call you?” Spencer asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yours,” Brendon answered quietly, focusing on Spencer’s hands.

“Good,” Spencer said. “Come here.”

Brendon walked very carefully and stopped half a foot in front of Spencer, his arms resting at his sides. Spencer reached one hand out to cup the side of Brendon’s face, relishing the way Brendon turned into the touch. “Strip,” he said, taking another step back.

He watched Brendon unbutton his jacket and throw it carelessly over the chair in the corner. He started at the top of his shirt, pausing to pull loose his tie, letting it hang, before working the buttons out and exposing inches of beautiful unmarked flesh. Spencer’s mouth watered looking at it. Brendon shrugged out of the shirt, letting it fall down to his elbows and then drift soundlessly to the floor, never once looking up to seek Brendon’s approval. Spencer gave him credit–no matter the situation, Brendon was always a consummate performer.

Brendon thumbed the top clasp of his pants, letting the zipper creep slowly down. The trousers hung off his hips, clinging to his ass, and Spencer’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. God, it had been too fucking long. Almost a month since they’d had more than handjobs in an empty room at a venue, or far-too-quick blowjobs in the van when they paid Zack in action figures to distract Ryan and Jon. Far too fucking long since they had done anything properly, and Spencer knew it made Brendon off-kiltered and irritable the same way it pushed Spencer from his normal good humour to morose fits of temper. They never explained what they did, but Spencer suspected they didn’t have to. Everyone breathed more easily when Spencer and Brendon got this out of their systems.

Brendon bent to untie his shoes, giving Spencer the long, lean line of his back, with just the barest hint of his ass beyond, and when Brendon straightened, stepping out of his shoes, his pants fell to the floor and Brendon was suddenly free of clothing, gorgeous in the city lights that flooded the room like a two-am sunrise.

“Lovely,” Spencer said, letting his appreciation show. Brendon was still under Spencer’s gaze, and Spencer took a moment to review what he was going to do next. He thought Brendon would go along with it–he was so close to dropping into the right headspace that Spencer was certain it would push Brendon there–but he’d have to frame it perfectly, with just enough of an out that Brendon could change the scene if he wanted, but without too much give to throw Brendon in the wrong direction.

“You want to please me,” Spencer stated plainly, watching Brendon’s head bob up and down in response. “I want to see you illumnated. I want you to be my canvas. You have a choice: go to the window and kneel for me on the windowseat, and I will probably fuck you this evening. Or you can lie facedown on the bed, and I make no guarantees.”

He watched Brendon waver in his decision, his hands clenching and unclenching in stark contrast to his serenity under Spencer’s regard just moments ago. Spencer’s own hands flexed in sympathy, but he hid them in his arms, waiting impassively for Brendon’s decision. Finally, Brendon seemed to come to a conclusion, and when he looked up his eyes were dark and languid. He walked past Spencer, and climbed up onto the windowseat, bracing his hands against the cool glass, spreading his legs enough that Spencer could see the shadow of his balls and the outline of his cock against the city lights.

“Good,” Spencer breathed, and let his arms fall. He was itching to touch, to run his hands all over the expanse of skin, but he made himself look for a few long minutes to let Brendon get used to the whole of the Las Vegas strip leering up at him (in Brendon’s mind, Spencer knew thousands of eyes were pinned on him, though they were so far up that no one could see even if they squinted; they’d tried to give him the fourth floor when he booked the room, but he’d vetoed that immediately). Finally he couldn’t keep himself back anymore and he ran a possessive hand from Brendon’s ass up to his neck, enjoying the way Brendon flinched and then caught himself.

“You were made to be looked at, I think,” Spencer whispered against his skin, using the words like carefully aimed bullets against the last of Brendon’s restraint. It worked best when it was just a little bit true. “But all those people out there,” Spencer continued, moving his hand around to Brendon’s front, pressing firmly against his stomach, “they can’t have you, as much as they want you. But I can,” he said, mouthing the words against the skin stretched over Brendon’s shoulder where he trembled slightly. “Why is that? Tell me again.”

“Yours,” Brendon gasped out, “Yours, Spencer, please, Spencer–”

“Yes,” Spencer hissed out, fisting Brendon’s cock once before letting go and pushing Brendon against the glass. With one hand firm between Brendon’s shoulder blades, Spencer used the other to pull the lube packet from his pocket and to undo his pants. The sound of the zipper was loud in the room, a sharp counterpoint to Brendon’s hurried pants, and Spencer couldn’t wait anymore. He tore open the packet with his teeth, squeezing enough of it onto his cock, digging his fingers into Brendon’s skin when Brendon let out a low moan at the familiar sound. Getting one knee behind Brendon’s on the windowseat, Spencer lined himself up and started to push in.

They hadn’t done this in awhile, but Spencer knew Brendon liked it rough, liked feeling Spencer make room for himself inside Brendon. Spencer still took it slow, though, because he’d give Brendon whatever he wanted but he wouldn’t hurt Brendon, unless Brendon asked.

Brendon was bent at an impossible angle, face smashed against the glass and body arched to try and take more of Spencer in. Spencer held Brendon as still as he could, trying to control both himself and Brendon, who was making these broken, keening noises that Spencer lived for. He wasn’t making it easy to maintain control, that was for fucking sure, and Spencer let out a grunt of his own when he was finally all the way inside.

Spencer moved his hand from Brendon’s back to brace both his hands on Brendon’s shoulders, securing his knee more firmly on the windowseat and keeping Brendon from wiggling back on Spencer’s cock. Spencer held him there until Brendon was used to the feel of him inside and around, and then just when Brendon began to relax, Spencer pulled out and slammed back in, hard, loving the way Brendon writhed in shocky pleasure.

“Spencer, Spencer,” Brendon breathed out every time Spencer thrust in, “Spencer, please, Spencer–”

“I love how you say my name,” Spencer ground out, thrusting shallowly against Brendon’s prostate until he was shaking and pushing himself against the window to get some relief from the pleasure Spencer was pulling from him. “You sound so good when you say my name. Say it again.”

“Spencer,” Brendon gasped, “Spencer, can I, please, Spencer, can I?”

“You want to come, is that it?” Spencer asked, stilling until Brendon started to shift back impatiently. Spencer gave him a quick swat. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes, please, please, Spencer,” Brendon said, uselessly trying to dig his fingers into the window.

“If you can come on my cock, you can come,” Spencer said, grasping Brendon’s waist, holding him there, unmoving.

“I can, Spencer, please let me Spencer,” Brendon said, contorting himself again to try and get closer.

In one fast, careful move, Spencer pulled Brendon close, shoving in deep, and braced Brendon in his arms, moving them around so that Spencer was seated on the windowseat, his back to the window, and Brendon was seated on him. Spencer spread his own legs wide, so that Brendon’s legs, on the outside of Spencer’s, were stretched even wider and Brendon could only keep his balance by pushing against the windowseat and going up on the balls of his feet. Spencer curled his hands under Brendon’s shoulders to provide more support and also to show Brendon how he wanted him to move.

“Like this,” Spencer said against Brendon’s neck, licking a long stripe there. “Come like this,” he said, watching Brendon’s eyes flutter as he shifted back and forth, torn between wanting Spencer to stay deep inside him and wanting to fuck. Spencer pulled him up and then let Brendon fall back down, loving the way Brendon’s breath escaped his throat like he didn’t mean to breathe, but couldn’t help it.

Spencer relaxed his grip and slowly, shakily, Brendon started to move himself up and down on Spencer’s cock, moaning every time the angle was just right and clenching down on Spencer hard enough that Spencer closed his eyes, hard, to keep from coming.

It seemed to take only seconds of Brendon pushing himself away and falling back again, his chest expanding crazily with every sharp breath under Spencer’s hands, before Brendon went rigid and striped himself with his come. Spencer couldn’t help himself–he came as Brendon contracted on his cock, and he pulled Brendon down onto him hard, one last time, just to hear the stuttered shout Brendon made when Spencer hit his prostate again.

Brendon slumped in Spencer’s arms, his head rolling back to rest on Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer carefully pushed Brendon’s legs back over his own, scooting back on the windowseat so he could roll them both over to pull out. Brendon grunted and shuddered when he did, but let Spencer pull him close again. Spencer fumbled for Brendon’s wrist, feeling for the clasp of the leather cuff without seeing it, and dropping it to rest on the other side of their bodies.

“C’mon, bed,” Spencer whispered, kissing the skin available to him reverentially.

Brendon groaned. “Don’ wanna,” he mumbled.

Spencer laughed against his back. “You will in about ten minutes,” he said. “Come on, Brendon.”

Brendon turned in Spencer’s arms and kissed him chastely. “Carry me,” he said, the teasing light back in his eyes, if a little dim.

Spencer rolled his eyes in response. “You weigh like two hundred pounds,” he said, pushing at Brendon until he finally gave in and sat up.

They made it to the bed, but only barely, and Brendon muttered, “One-sixty, tops,” as Spencer threw aside the covers and poured Brendon in. He trotted to the bathroom and ran a washcloth under the water, wiping down his own cock and then going back into the bedroom to clean Brendon’s stomach. Brendon wriggled under the attention, stretching out so his stomach muscles were taut. Spencer placed a kiss on Brendon’s bellybutton, and Brendon’s hand threaded through his hair.

“That was nice,” Brendon said happily.

Spencer laughed against Brendon’s skin. “I hope it was better than nice,” he protested. “That took me a week to put together!”

Brendon was smiling at him when Spencer looked up. “Nice is a very important compliment, Spencer Smith. It can mean a lot of things. In this case, it means thank you for being a very good planner and executor of plans.”

“If you can still form multisyllabic words, I’m not so sure it was well-excuted,” Spencer grumbled.

Brendon tugged on Spencer’s hair, pulling him up to kiss him deeply, pressing their bodies flush against each other. “It was,” he whispered against Spencer’s mouth. “I totally didn’t know that’s what was going on when you had that suit delivered to my room. I thought the note was just that you wanted to celebrate finally being legal in our hometown.”

“Element of surprise,” Spencer said, kissing Brendon again. “I bet you thought I forgot what you told me in Colorado, too.”

Brendon blinked. “I don’t think you forget anything, Spencer,” he said seriously.

Spencer looked away, but smiled.

“Besides, it was just like Ocean’s Eleven,” Brendon continued, stroking up Spencer’s sides.

Spencer turned to look at him incredulously. “What? I think I’d remember if kinky gay sex had happened in Ocean’s Eleven, Brendon. We watch it enough times.”

“It’s how it always happened *in my head,*” Brendon clarified, drawing Spencer down for a kiss again.

Spencer figured there were worse things than being compared to George Clooney, and let himself be pulled in.