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Spencer sighs and clicks “Submit Payment” way more forcefully than he needs to when a hard thrust rocks the table and knocks the stack of papers he needs all over the place. “Can’t you do that somewhere else?”
“Probably,” Nicole says, and grinds into Brendon until his mouth drops open and his eyes flutter shut. “But we’re trying to get you to take a break and join us.”
“Most of these are due today,” Spencer says. Nicole pulls out and pushes back in so hard the stack of already-paid bills falls onto the floor.
“It’s not our fault you waited until the last minute.”
“It must have been someone else who tied me up so I couldn’t get out of bed yesterday?”
“Oh,” Nicole says, “right. That’s not my fault, though, fuck-and-cuddle day is an important post-tour tradition.”
Spencer rolls his eyes. Brendon whimpers and thrusts back against Nicole.
“Don’t let him come on those,” Spencer says, “that’s the stuff I can’t pay online.”
“You heard him,” Nicole says; her hand disappears under the table and Brendon cries out. “Don’t come.”
She winks, and Spencer grins. He can definitely get on board with paying the bills to a soundtrack of Brendon’s increasingly desperate whines. Nicole’s thrusts keep jarring the table, but not so much his careful stacks of papers and envelopes get messed up any more, and Spencer tries to race through paying the bills so he can join in while looking to Brendon like he’s taking his sweet time.
“Please,” Brendon gasps, just as Spencer’s signing the last check; he thinks, briefly, about making Brendon wait just a little longer while he tidies up, but he can smell how turned on they both are, and from the noises Nicole’s making it sounds like she’s not letting herself get off until Brendon does.
Tidying up can fucking wait. Spencer slides under the table and sucks Brendon’s leaking dick into his mouth, working the head over sloppy and eager until he hears Nicole gasp out permission overhead and Brendon comes in his mouth.
When he crawls out from under the table - without licking the little bit of come that had spilled from his lips, he knows how Nicole likes the visual - she’s clutching Brendon’s hips so hard her knuckles are white, and her legs are shaking from how badly she needs to come. She pulls out of Brendon with a slick sound that goes right down Spencer’s spine to his aching dick, and he barely lets her back up to lean against the wall before he’s eating her out, smearing Brendon’s come all over her.
*
When Nicole gets back from walking the dogs - well, Fendi and Bogart, no way does she take Spencer’s monsters out on her own - there’s smoke and two sets of giggles seeping out under the bedroom door. Assholes.
“You couldn’t have waited for me to - what are you doing?” They’re surrounded by action figures and sex toys, and the book case they usually keep those toys on is empty.
“Making Spiderman ride that dick,” Brendon explains, which is accurate - he’s going to break Spiderman trying to get its legs far enough apart to straddle Spencer’s favorite monster dildo, but whatever - but not exactly what she meant.
“I see that. Why?”
“I thought the bookcase would look cooler if it wasn’t segregated. They’re all toys, y’know?” Spencer says earnestly.
“Oh yeah? Do you think if I tried to put Spiderman in your ass, you’d understand why there’s a distinction?”
Spiderman’s left leg snaps off, and Brendon giggles so hard he falls over. It’s a good thing he’s so stupidly adorable when he’s this high.
“I would really appreciate if you didn’t put Spiderman in my ass,” Spencer says. Nicole rolls her eyes and tries to pick her way across the room without stepping on any toys of either variety; it’s harder than it looks. Possibly because she’s already getting a contact high.
“Fresh air!” Brendon shouts when she gets the windows open. He hasn’t bothered to sit up, and doesn’t appear to have noticed he broke his toy. “Fresh air is great.”
“Yes,” Nicole agrees. “We need it to live, which is why you shouldn’t replace all the air in the house with smoke.”
“Smoke is also great.”
“In moderation.” She’s not sure why she’s trying to be the voice of reason, if she’d been here she would have gladly joined them in their mission to make their bookcase weirder and their bedroom uninhabitably smoky. “Let go of my ankle.”
“Cuddles.”
“Cuddle Spencer.”
“Spencer’s busy.” Nicole looks over, and Brendon’s right, Spencer’s busy setting up an elaborate tableau on the top shelf with their Doctor Who figures.
“Is that butt plug supposed to be the TARDIS?”
“Yes!” he says, proudly. “The anal beads are an alien monster.”
That is not the sort of thing that should make affection swell up hot and bright in Nicole’s chest, but it does, and for a second all she can think of is how much she loves these idiots.
“Cuddles?” Brendon tries again.
“No,” Nicole says, “I have some pleather left over from your Halloween costume, I think I can use that and some cardboard to make a little paddle for Applejack.”
Brendon punches her in the calf when he throws his arms over his head in delight; she lets it slide, but makes a mental note to punish him for it later with the paddle she’s about to recreate in miniature.
*
There had been a lot of reasons Brendon put his foot down about it being on the beach when he and Nicole talked about building their own house, even though it meant a handful of fights about what they could afford (well, what they could afford to contribute equally to, since Nicole had a Thing about contributing as much, or at least almost as much, as Brendon to the initial cost) and a much longer search for the perfect property.
Some of them were obvious, some of them less so, and a couple he never talked about, even after he admitted them to himself, even after he and Nicole had The Spencer Talk.
They’d stopped playing around in the waves long enough ago that Brendon’s hair is dry and Spencer’s is almost there, long enough the sun’s chased away everything but the memory of how cold the water was on his skin, long enough they probably need to reapply sunscreen, or accept that they’re going to have really weird sunburns from the way they’re cuddled up on the lounge chair.
“You little shit,” Nicole hollers at Bogart from somewhere down on the beach - it has to be Bogart, since Boba and Milo are both, “you big idiot,” and Fendi is without exception, “Mama’s good boy.” Brendon likes that he knows that.
“Your dog’s being an asshole,” Spencer mutters. Brendon loves that Spencer knows that.
Brendon just nods, tucks his face into Spencer’s neck, and tries to think of a way to say it, to explain that this is why they live on the beach, why this is their deck and these are their lounge chairs and how he’s never wanted anything but this, Spencer’s salty skin and Nicole’s laughter and the way he can almost hear Spencer weighing getting up to get more sunscreen against how much whining it’ll take to get Nicole to rub aloe on them later and just this, all of this, every day forever.
“I love you,” he says, because he can’t think of the words for that but he thinks maybe those come close; when Spencer kisses the top of his head Brendon’s pretty sure he can feel the way Spencer’s smiling.