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Race opened the door to Spot’s apartment with his spare key, letting himself in quietly.
The familiar sight of the place he considered to be his second home greeted him, making some of the tension ease from his body. He felt at home here because this was home, Spot was home.
The November air that had been nipping at him the entire walk over was pushed out the door as Race closed it behind him. He sighed, relaxing into the inviting warmth as he made his way over to the sofa. He had been too upset with Jack to bother putting on any warm clothes, and had paid the price for it on his way over. Still, maybe the cold had helped him clear his mind a little. He wasn’t nearly as angry as he had been when he left. He understood where Jack was coming from, why he was being so overprotective, but he still meant everything he said to him. Jack was holding onto old grudges, letting past events influence his view of Spot and his relationship with Race now.
As Race mulled over his complicated web of thoughts and emotions concerning Jack, he heard the sound of the shower that had been running since he got there shut off. He felt his face stretch into a wide grin as he waited for Spot to emerge from the bathroom. He was not disappointed, only needing to wait a few more minutes before the door opened.
Spot Conlon, clad in only a grey linen towel slung low across his hips, stepped out from the room, thin drops of moisture beading his tanned skin and dripping from his dark hair. For a moment he looked to turn toward his bedroom, but stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the blonde haired boy.
He blinked in surprise.
“Race? What are you doing here?”
At Race’s raised eyebrows, he laughed, holding up his hands.
“Hey, I’m not complaining. Just wondering, doll.”
Race smirked, sliding easily off the smooth fabric he was sprawled across and getting to his feet. He took his time walking over to Spot, a coy smile playing about his mouth, stopping only inches from his boyfriend and leaning back against the wall.
“Yeah well, neither am I, Spotty. Maybe I should’ve joined you, huh?”
His boyfriend rolled his eyes at his flirting, his tone light and joking as he pushed past Race to enter the bedroom.
“Maybe, but somehow I don’t think that’s why you’re here, huh?”
From behind the half-closed door, Race pulled a face. Spot had annoyingly good instincts when it came to him, and his normally infallible poker face just didn’t work on his boyfriend.
He sighed. “Alright fine, maybe not. Another time, yeah?”
He could hear Spot’s smirk without even having to see the other man.
“I’ll hold you to that, pretty boy.”
Race was tempted to answer back, to ease into their usual banter, but he held his tongue, waiting patiently for Spot to finish dressing and join him in the kitchen. As he waited, he fixed himself a glass of water, drinking it in slow sips. The walk over had made him parched, more than he realized before. He was filling the glass for a third time when he felt Spot’s arms wrap around him from behind, his head resting against the nape of his neck as his still damp hair pressed against Race’s skin, making him shiver.
His low voice sent vibrations through Race’s body as he murmured teasingly, “Save some water for the rest of us, huh Racer? What, you walk across the Sahara desert to get here or somethin’?”
“Haha, very funny,” Race deadpanned. “No, but I did walk all the way across Central Park.”
Spot released Race from his embrace then, perching languidly on the marbled countertop and scrutinizing him with a keen eye.
“Yeah? And to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Race glanced around, avoiding eye contact.
“Can’t I just visit my boyfriend?” he grumbled, fiddling with the sleeve of his thin sweatshirt.
From his slightly higher vantage point, Spot was able to look down at Race, a rare occurrence due to Spot standing four inches shorter than his boyfriend. He rolled his eyes at the younger boy.
“Sure. But I know you’re not.”
Race grimaced, still refusing to make eye contact. After a few moments, he fidgeted slightly, feeling an incessant need to fill the silence and tell Spot about what had happened.
Finally, Race released a long, drawn out breath.
“Alright, fine. I just think— I’m just sick of Jack acting like he can control me all the time. I mean, I get it. He’s my foster brother, he wants to look out for me. But that doesn’t mean he can tell me what to do whenever he wants, or try to make me see things his way.”
The words came out in a rush, Race trying to get his point across without bringing up Spot himself. His boyfriend didn’t need to know that they were fighting about him, just that Race and Jack were fighting.
Spot was silent, considering his words. His legs swung loosely as they hung down over the counter, bare from the knee down due to the shorts he was wearing. As he processed what Race had said, the other boy busied himself studying the design printed across Spot’s t-shirt, some intricate graphic design logo that appeared to be sponsoring a college club.
Spot cleared his throat, looking faintly amused when Race’s eyes darted up to meet his own. When he spoke, he seemed to choose his words carefully.
“Racer, you and Jack... you’ve fought about things like this before, yeah?”
Race nodded in agreement, not seeing his point.
Spot continued. “Okay, so when you’ve fought before, is it always about the same thing?” He didn’t wait for Race to reply, both men already knowing the answer. “You guys are fighting about me, aren’t you?”
Race sighed, dragging a hand across his face. Spot had always been able to read him like a book, and apparently this was no exception.
“Sean-“
The other man frowned and held up a hand, effectively cutting Race off. He hopped off the counter in a fluid motion, taking a step toward Race and grasping his hand. Spot led the two of them to the couch Race had been sitting on when he first came in, sitting down and waiting for his boyfriend to settle across from him. Once he did, Spot reached out to take Race’s hand again, holding it loosely, tenderly. He rubbed his thumb across the top of it in soothing circles, trying to ease some of the tension.
“Anthony. Hey, look at me. I know you and Jack are fighting about me, there’s nothing else he would have a problem with you about.”
Race grimaced. He hadn’t really wanted to let Spot know they were fighting about him, hadn’t wanted to make him feel bad, but as long as he knew, they might as well talk about it. Maybe it would help, give Race a more detailed explanation of why Jack hated Spot so much. He knew they had been high school rivals, and he thought he knew just about everything about his boyfriend’s past, but somewhere, something had to have slipped through the cracks. Something he hadn’t asked Spot about, something Jack wouldn’t tell him.
Race reluctantly nodded at Spot, and the other man continued.
“Okay. So tell me why he’s upset. I’m assuming he started the fight? Did I do something or is it just the principle of the matter?”
Race rolled his eyes slightly, feeling some of his annoyance at Jack resurface.
“Yeah, basically. He’s mostly just upset that I’m dating you, which isn’t exactly a new development or anything.”
He leaned forward to pick at a loose thread, not meeting Spot’s gaze. When he glanced back up, his boyfriend was studying him intently.
“Is that all?” the dark haired boy prodded.
Race groaned, almost regretting coming to Spot’s apartment in the first place. This was turning into a freaking therapy session, not the laidback night he had envisioned. Making an effort to tamp down his frustration, he reminded himself that they had to talk about it eventually, and now was as good a time as any.
Tugging at the sleeves of his jacket, Race mumbled, “Maybe not?” He screwed his face up, continuing in a somewhat embarrassed tone, “It’s kinda dumb, and definitely none of his business, but he wanted to know— well, he wanted to know if we were fucking.”
The last words came out in a rush, Race ducking his head and then peeking back up through the hair falling in his eyes. He knew it was stupid to feel embarrassed about this, but it wasn’t as if they talked about their sex life all the time. Sure, they had talked about what they were comfortable with, and what they liked, and obviously they talked during sex and flirted all the time. But it was a whole other thing to say that his older brother was asking about their sex life.
Before Spot could say a word, Race popped his head back up and blurted out, “And it’s not like he didn’t already know, I mean it’s obvious, I sleep over here sometimes and come home with hickeys and we both knew that he knew, he just wanted to make me say it. Which is so stupid and pointless, and I don’t know why he had to ask. I mean, I don’t care. I just think it’s dumb that he started a fight over it.”
When Race looked up again, Spot was smiling gently, his lips curving into an amused smile. He caught Race’s eye, shaking his head slightly and chuckling. Feeling slightly defensive, Race frowned. “What?”
Spot shook his head again, still smiling.
“Nothing, I just— God, I love you.” He squeezed Race’s hand, untangling his fingers from the hem of his sleeve.
“Just the way you were talking about it, it was so you, so genuine,” he explained. “And then I could tell you were getting embarrassed, over something Jack did which, trust me, you don’t need to be embarrassed about Racer.”
Race exhaled, leaning into the simple touch.
“I know, I just— it’s none of his business, you know? And he doesn’t really want to know, he just wants to keep telling me how much he hates you and why I shouldn’t be dating you. It’s just another thing he can use to tell me how reckless I’m being and how you’re not right for me.”
A frown stretched across Spot’s face, his jaw working slightly as he appeared to struggle for the right words to say. After a moment, he sighed, raising his free hand in defeat.
“I don’t know what to say, Racer. Obviously, neither of us agree with Jack, and I’m pretty sure we’re both sick of him offering up unwanted opinions on our relationship.”
Race tilted his head in silent agreement.
“Okay, so I understand how you’re feeling, completely. I just don’t know— is there anything you want me to do, that could make it better or? I’ll do anything for you, I’m just not sure I can fix this. I think it has to be Jack.”
Slowly, Race nodded again. Spot was right, and he was essentially saying what Race already knew. The problem wasn’t really stemming from him or Spot, it was caused by Jack. And until Jack was able to let go of his resentment, his relationship with Spot and subsequent opinion of Race and Spot’s relationship wasn’t going to get better. Race glanced down, then back up again, thinking. He still wanted to know the reason for the original conflict between the two boys, but that could wait for another day. Right now, he just wanted comfort.
His voice came out low and hoarse as he answered his boyfriend.
“Can you just hold me?”
Spot smiled gently, shifting the pair so they could curl into each other on the small couch.
“Yeah. I got you, sweetheart.”
And as Race rested his head on the other boy’s shoulder, fingers tenderly combing through his hair, he knew it was true.
No matter what, Spot would be there for him.