Tight Quarters (Out of Uniform 6)

“I do like to dance some.” Del studied him carefully. “Didn’t exactly bring club clothes, though.”

“That’s okay.” Spencer had a feeling he was blushing despite his best efforts. “I might have bought you something.”

“You did?” Del’s eyes went wider than the bagels. “Seriously? Like you’re playing fairy godfather or something, getting me all ready for the ball?”

Spencer had to laugh. “Maybe I want you all dressed up for my own nefarious purposes.”

“Oooh. I like this.” Del’s grin was seriously the best thing ever. “So I get to go as your boy toy in clothes you want to fuck me in later? I’m in.”

“Had a feeling you might be.” Spencer pressed a kiss to his forehead. “But I’m still up for mattress incinerating this morning. I’ll show you the killer arabesque leg lift she had us practice.”

“Oh yes, please.” Del was so damn eager that all Spencer could do was laugh. And despite doing anything public with Del being a risk, he was looking forward to that night, to showing off this beautiful man who he was rapidly coming to care far too much for. He told himself to slow down, harden his heart, but then Del carefully set the tray aside before pouncing on him like an eager kitten, and he knew he was lost.

* * *

“I heated up some food for us,” Spencer called from the kitchen. “I know these types of parties and I can’t guarantee there will be more than nibbles. And I know you by now too—you need way more calories than that to keep going. So I did some fast chicken-and-roasted-pepper paninis for us.”

“Sounds amazing,” he yelled back from where he was getting dressed in the bedroom. Bacon could seriously get used to Spencer’s fancy cooking. And his lifestyle. Usually, when he had leave, he got antsy after a few hours and headed for the hills—literally, going camping or rafting or something to get him out of his own head. After all the times he’d hidden in tight spaces as a kid, he found himself craving wide open spaces as an adult, with buildings often feeling claustrophobic when he had too much time on his hands.

But Spencer’s place didn’t feel confining, especially with the hot-as-fuck guy bringing him breakfast in bed and offering up his body as a buffet afterward. They’d fucked and then he’d dozed some more. When he woke, Spencer was typing away at his laptop on the couch. He’d given Bacon his access code to the gym and rooftop pool, so he’d enjoyed his first non-mandatory swim in forever, glad he’d packed some trunks. And then he’d come back and messed with Spencer’s TV offerings, Spencer leaning against him while he wrote, just like they’d done this hundreds of times before. It was cozy, and lovely, and he could have stayed like that for days.

Now, however, he was wiggling his way into black skinny jeans and the silver shirt Spencer had picked out. It was a clingy metallic mesh fabric, with an almost holographic effect when the light hit it. The deep V of the neck gave it an androgynous look and showed off his chest in a way that made him wonder if he should wax or shave his rogue chest hairs. He’d added a chunky belt he’d found in Spencer’s vast closet and his own boots to give the whole outfit the sort of punk-emo vibe he really dug.

Spencer had clearly been thinking along those lines too as the bag had contained eyeliner and hair glitter. That made him laugh.

“Hair glitter?” he called out to Spencer. “Am I not sparkly enough for you?”

“I was worried about any temporary hair dye washing out completely for you, but the clerk said that stuff comes out in a single good washing. And you seemed to have a...thing about your hair color, wishing you could change it. Thought you might find it fun.” Bearing two plates with sandwiches, Spencer came back into the bedroom.

“I do hate my hair color,” Bacon admitted. “Reminds me too much of my dad and brothers. It’s how the whole town knew I was one of them. Junior, another redheaded Bacon boy.” He sighed as he sprayed the glitter stuff in his hair, which as promised, did darken it, changing it from auburn to more of a shimmery brown. He spent a bit more time styling it than usual—spiking the front so that it would look good with the eyeliner. Which, lord, he hadn’t used in years, but his inner Adam Lambert did a little happy dance as he opened the bottle.

“You need earrings,” Spencer said, giving him a critical-but-appreciative once-over. “And I knew that shirt was going to be hot as hell on you.”

“My earring holes closed years ago.”

“I’ve got magnetic studs around here somewhere...” Spencer set the sandwiches on the nightstand and rooted around in the top drawer of his dresser. “I got them as samples when I did a piece on people who believe in the healing qualities of magnets. Glad I didn’t pitch them now.”