Mercy [boyxboy]

Chapter Eight

Sunday morning greets Mercy with a pounding headache and the shrill sound of Bentley's phone ringing. He props himself up to glare at the offending piece of technology, still half asleep and beyond irritated. Bentley's sprawled out on his bed, mouth open wide as he inhales and exhales—totally and completely oblivious to the noise. "Bentley," Mercy says through a stifled a yawn. "Your phone's ringing." Bentley doesn't move. "Bentley!" Mercy calls again, this time louder. Still no response. Thankfully, the phone goes silent, allowing Mercy to roll over with a disgruntled sigh. And, really, who would be calling at—he strains his eyes to peer at the digital clock on his nightstand—nine in the morning?

It's not two seconds later that the phone begins shrieking again, the noise like nails on a chalkboard.

Someone impatient, then.

When Bentley doesn't stir, Mercy throws his covers off himself, stalks across the room, and shakes Bentley a little harsher than necessary. "Bentley," he grumbles, "phone."

"Uwa—?" Bentley mumbles, blinking bleary eyed up at him. "Nooooo, five more minutes, ugh, Mercy, go away." He rolls over, further cocooning himself in his blankets.

Mercy scowls, grabs Bentley's phone from his nightstand, switches it to silent, and half-stumbles back to his bed, far too annoyed for so early in the morning. He slides back underneath his covers, relishes in the warmth, and tries in vain to fall back asleep. He's almost managed just that when there's a loud, angry pounding on their door.

"Buzz, I know you're fucking in there," Spencer's familiar cadence rings out, harsh and raised to an earsplitting octave. "Answer your damn phone!"

Mercy exhales, murder on the mind. If he didn't already dislike Spencer, this sure as hell would have sealed the deal. If he'd the energy, he would roll back over and glared Bentley into wakefulness. That proves not to be necessary as, a few moments later, he hears signs of life from his stirring roommate.

"Spencer?" Bentley murmurs incoherently, feet shuffling noisily against the coarse carpet as he meanders towards the door.

"Buzz, I swear to all that is fucking holy if you don't open this door right now I'm going to—"

The door opens with a silent whoosh. "Going to what?" Bentley demands tiredly. "Spencer, it's nine in the morn—mmph!—" Thud. Slam. "—S-Spencer, I d-don't think—mmph—Spencer, seriously!—"

Untoward sounds fill the room. They're suspicious in origin and Mercy really, really doesn't want to be subjected to such obscene things before he's had his morning dose of caffeine. He sits up in his bed, tired eyes darting to the doorway. He finds that Spencer has pinned Bentley to the door and is trying to, quite enthusiastically, devour his face. Wonderful.

Mercy clears his throat.

Bentley goes red and tries—unsuccessfully—to push Spencer away.

Spencer, the bastard, just growls into Bentley's mouth and continues carrying on like he doesn't have an audience.

"I didn't know you were into exhibitionism, Ross," Mercy says, reasonably irked.

That, at least, gets Spencer's attention. He pulls away from Bentley with a jerk and turns a glare on Mercy, clearly vexed. "Shut the fuck up, Doyle. This doesn't involve you."

"Obviously," Mercy retorts. "You're only mauling my roommate in our shared living space. But please, do continue."

Spencer's lips rear back into a snarl as he thrusts a threatening foot forward. Bentley stumbles after him and encircles his arms around Spencer's torso to halt his movement. "Crap—Spencer, stop! Let's, um," he licks his lips self-consciously. "Let's go somewhere else, okay?"