Fic - Picture Me(Jon/Spencer) NC17
Picture Me
Jon/Spencer
NC17
1600+ words
Notes: Just porn. Written for the Kink Bingo prompt "hand fetish." Though I don't know how well that worked out.
bingo card
Spencer has this unhealthy obsession with any and everything having to do with sex. Gay sex, to be specific. It’s all Jon’s fault, it turns out, because Spencer hadn’t spared a single thought to having sex with a dude until Jon.
Currently Spencer’s obsessed with fingers and having them in his ass. He likes his own fingers well enough, they do the trick when he’s alone in his bunk, hand slick with lotion, pushing his index finger in as he grips his dick, pillow shoved between his teeth to hide how much he really fucking loves it.
But what he wants is Jon’s fingers, wants them so bad he’s nearly gagging for it and Jon’s just not giving him what he wants, the fucker.
They make out and Spencer gets all heated up, his clothes too small, his skin too tight, everything hot and frantic and then Jon gives him this sweet smile and goes back to his own bus.
“I hate you,” Spencer groans. He’s got his phone balanced precariously on his ear, his pajama bottoms pushed down around his knees as he braces his feet flat against the mattress and lifts his hips for the right kind of leverage. His index finger pushes in but it’s tight and still foreign, despite how much he wants, how much better it gets when he’s relaxed enough to push in and curl up.
Jon chuckles in his ear, this warm, satisfied sound and Spencer’s picturing him in his own bunk, sleepy soft.
Spencer’s pissed at Jon for leaving him like this, hard and aching. This is only the third time he’s done this, pushed fingers into his ass and fisted his dick until he came, but it’s the first time he’s done it with Jon on the phone.
Though he’s pretty sure Jon has no clue what’s going on because it’s not like Spencer was going to tell him.
But he really doesn’t understand what the fuck is the problem. Spencer’s pretty sure he and Jon are dating, though it’s not like they really go anywhere together, aside from Jon’s band’s bus to make out in the back, or to get popsicles when it’s too hot to breathe, or share turkey subs while listening to Jon’s iPod together. But it’s dating to Spencer, who’s never really dated before and he thinks, being an eighteen year old boy, he’s allowed to want his boyfriend’s hand on his dick, or in this case, his fingers in his ass. But then, Spencer’s not even sure if he’s allowed to call Jon his boyfriend.
So instead, because Jon got him all worked up with nothing but some kisses, Spencer’s lying in his coffin sized bed trying to work a finger into his own ass while his fucking boyfriend falls asleep on the phone.
Spencer doesn’t have the patience. They spent an hour out behind the bus, sitting in the grass, Spencer between Jon’s spread legs, making out all slow and lethargic while Spencer tried to breathe, his heart threatening to beat right out of his chest.
Spencer has long gotten over being embarrassed by his sweaty palms and flushed cheeks, the way his body reacts every time Jon so much as walks through the door. It isn’t like it’s some big secret he’s keeping, but in the beginning he couldn’t have kept it a secret if he’d wanted to. In the beginning, Jon smiled and Spencer turned beet red. Jon touched Spencer, his hip where his t-shirt had ridden up or his wrist when he was trying to get Spencer’s attention and Spencer would go instantly, painfully hard, his dick an obvious line in the seam of his girl jeans.
So sitting between Jon’s spread legs in the early summer dusk with his erection pressing into Jon’s thigh isn’t something that make Spencer uncomfortable. What has him irritated is the fact that Jon had so clearly been hard, too, yet when Spencer had reached between them, he’d casually caught Spencer’s hand to kiss his palm and suggest they head in for the night. Separately.
He’s kind of figured it out, what Jon thinks he’s doing. It doesn’t make it any less annoying, but it’s kind of gratifying to know sending Spencer to his bunk with a painful hard on isn’t because Jon’s not attracted to Spencer.
Admittedly, it took something like three weeks for Spencer to figure out that Jon was trying to woo him with mixed cds and hand-holding and flirting over pineapple smoothies. If Spencer wasn’t so ready for more, he’d find it all sweet and adorable. And it is, so painfully adorable and Spencer’s mostly in love after less than a month. But what he wants is not hearts and flowers and Jon’s giving him the worst case of blue balls.
Spencer’s listening to Jon’s sleepy voice, talking at him about something Bill said, and he relaxes into it, heat sliding down his spine as Jon’s voice goes soft, kind of raspy with exhaustion.
He’s got the tip of his finger pushing into him, slick with Ryan’s minty, organic lotion, his other hand curled loosely around his dick, not stroking, just holding himself.
He lets his thighs fall open, ankles crossed, hips pushing up as his finger slip slides in, an almost painfully tight press.
“Oh shit, shit,” he mumbles, teeth digging into his lower lip. He’s trying to breathe and trying to relax his muscles so it’s not such a squeeze but there’s that tingling feeling that starts in his belly and spreads to his balls, already. It doesn’t take him much time at all to come when he’s got his fingers in his ass and combined with Jon’s voice in his ear he’s worried he’s going to come before he’s worked up to two fingers.
“Spence?” Jon says in his ear, more alert and louder and Spencer jerks, startled as his finger pushes in at an angle that makes his eyes roll back in his head.
“Ah, ‘m here,” he breathes and mutters a curse because there’s no way that sounded normal. He’s flushed all over, sweat gathering in the backs of his knees and his forehead and he has to squeeze his dick hard to gather himself and keep from coming.
“Spencer,” Jon says again, making a rough noise. “What are you doing?” He sounds like he knows exactly what Spencer’s doing but Spencer blurts out anyway, or tries to, “fingers--ah!” His hips push down as he tries to work a second one in.
“Jesus,” Jon groans and Spencer feels embarrassed suddenly, out of nowhere because he hadn’t planned on blurting that out but he’s got no brain-mouth filter where his dick and ass are involved, he can’t really help it. But now, despite the burn in his belly, the way his dick’s leaking at the tip and the stretch around his fingers, he feels a little embarrassed.
“I swear you’re trying to kill me,” Jon says on a sigh that slips into something like a growl and Spencer’s belly swoops at that, heat in his thighs, his hips rocking against his fingers.
Spencer wants to roll his eyes at that. He’s not the one with a grip on the reigns here. But he can’t focus on that, can’t focus on anything past the way his ass feels as he tries to work his fingers apart, loosen himself up enough so he can start to fuck himself.
“Jon,” Spencer whispers. He starts to stroke his palm over his dick, working up to the head to smear through the clear pre-come leaking from the tip to make the slide easier. “Please,” he mumbles but beyond fuck me, damn it he’s not sure what he’s asking for.
“How many, Spence,” Jon breathes and his voice is kind of rough like maybe he’s touching his dick. Spencer wants to see so badly, wants to know what Jon looks like when he comes.
“Just two,” he mumbles, eyes pressed tight against the sudden embarrassment at admitting he’s fucking himself on his fingers. “I can’t take more yet, but two’s really ah, really good.”
“God, Spencer, I want to do that to you.” Jon’s voice is low on a whisper and it sounds like a confession. And that’s what Spencer wants, all he can think about, the way Jon’s fingers could feel, pushing into him, blunt pressure, touching him from the inside where he’s hot and slick.
Spencer comes. It lands on his stomach where his t-shirt’s rucked up his belly and the crease of his thigh. He can feel it, the way he tightens around his fingers and it makes him so hot, the idea of Jon in him like that, that his dick jerks again like he’s trying to come all over again.
He can’t catch his breath. He presses an arm to his eyes and pulls gulps of air into his lungs because he’s shaking through it, aftershocks as his hips and thighs jerk. He pulls his fingers out, wipes them on the blanket.
“Sorry, sorry,” Spencer whispers, reaching for the phone and trying to resist the urge to crawl under a rock.
Jon’s quiet on the other end, but Spencer can hear him trying to steady his own breathing.
“Jon?” Spencer says quietly, tentative. Now that he’s post-orgasm and the haze is clearing, he feels like maybe he did something wrong.
“The buses are stopping for gas in an hour,” Jon says then, around an exhale. “I’m coming over.”
Jon/Spencer
NC17
1600+ words
Notes: Just porn. Written for the Kink Bingo prompt "hand fetish." Though I don't know how well that worked out.
bingo card
Spencer has this unhealthy obsession with any and everything having to do with sex. Gay sex, to be specific. It’s all Jon’s fault, it turns out, because Spencer hadn’t spared a single thought to having sex with a dude until Jon.
Currently Spencer’s obsessed with fingers and having them in his ass. He likes his own fingers well enough, they do the trick when he’s alone in his bunk, hand slick with lotion, pushing his index finger in as he grips his dick, pillow shoved between his teeth to hide how much he really fucking loves it.
But what he wants is Jon’s fingers, wants them so bad he’s nearly gagging for it and Jon’s just not giving him what he wants, the fucker.
They make out and Spencer gets all heated up, his clothes too small, his skin too tight, everything hot and frantic and then Jon gives him this sweet smile and goes back to his own bus.
“I hate you,” Spencer groans. He’s got his phone balanced precariously on his ear, his pajama bottoms pushed down around his knees as he braces his feet flat against the mattress and lifts his hips for the right kind of leverage. His index finger pushes in but it’s tight and still foreign, despite how much he wants, how much better it gets when he’s relaxed enough to push in and curl up.
Jon chuckles in his ear, this warm, satisfied sound and Spencer’s picturing him in his own bunk, sleepy soft.
Spencer’s pissed at Jon for leaving him like this, hard and aching. This is only the third time he’s done this, pushed fingers into his ass and fisted his dick until he came, but it’s the first time he’s done it with Jon on the phone.
Though he’s pretty sure Jon has no clue what’s going on because it’s not like Spencer was going to tell him.
But he really doesn’t understand what the fuck is the problem. Spencer’s pretty sure he and Jon are dating, though it’s not like they really go anywhere together, aside from Jon’s band’s bus to make out in the back, or to get popsicles when it’s too hot to breathe, or share turkey subs while listening to Jon’s iPod together. But it’s dating to Spencer, who’s never really dated before and he thinks, being an eighteen year old boy, he’s allowed to want his boyfriend’s hand on his dick, or in this case, his fingers in his ass. But then, Spencer’s not even sure if he’s allowed to call Jon his boyfriend.
So instead, because Jon got him all worked up with nothing but some kisses, Spencer’s lying in his coffin sized bed trying to work a finger into his own ass while his fucking boyfriend falls asleep on the phone.
Spencer doesn’t have the patience. They spent an hour out behind the bus, sitting in the grass, Spencer between Jon’s spread legs, making out all slow and lethargic while Spencer tried to breathe, his heart threatening to beat right out of his chest.
Spencer has long gotten over being embarrassed by his sweaty palms and flushed cheeks, the way his body reacts every time Jon so much as walks through the door. It isn’t like it’s some big secret he’s keeping, but in the beginning he couldn’t have kept it a secret if he’d wanted to. In the beginning, Jon smiled and Spencer turned beet red. Jon touched Spencer, his hip where his t-shirt had ridden up or his wrist when he was trying to get Spencer’s attention and Spencer would go instantly, painfully hard, his dick an obvious line in the seam of his girl jeans.
So sitting between Jon’s spread legs in the early summer dusk with his erection pressing into Jon’s thigh isn’t something that make Spencer uncomfortable. What has him irritated is the fact that Jon had so clearly been hard, too, yet when Spencer had reached between them, he’d casually caught Spencer’s hand to kiss his palm and suggest they head in for the night. Separately.
He’s kind of figured it out, what Jon thinks he’s doing. It doesn’t make it any less annoying, but it’s kind of gratifying to know sending Spencer to his bunk with a painful hard on isn’t because Jon’s not attracted to Spencer.
Admittedly, it took something like three weeks for Spencer to figure out that Jon was trying to woo him with mixed cds and hand-holding and flirting over pineapple smoothies. If Spencer wasn’t so ready for more, he’d find it all sweet and adorable. And it is, so painfully adorable and Spencer’s mostly in love after less than a month. But what he wants is not hearts and flowers and Jon’s giving him the worst case of blue balls.
Spencer’s listening to Jon’s sleepy voice, talking at him about something Bill said, and he relaxes into it, heat sliding down his spine as Jon’s voice goes soft, kind of raspy with exhaustion.
He’s got the tip of his finger pushing into him, slick with Ryan’s minty, organic lotion, his other hand curled loosely around his dick, not stroking, just holding himself.
He lets his thighs fall open, ankles crossed, hips pushing up as his finger slip slides in, an almost painfully tight press.
“Oh shit, shit,” he mumbles, teeth digging into his lower lip. He’s trying to breathe and trying to relax his muscles so it’s not such a squeeze but there’s that tingling feeling that starts in his belly and spreads to his balls, already. It doesn’t take him much time at all to come when he’s got his fingers in his ass and combined with Jon’s voice in his ear he’s worried he’s going to come before he’s worked up to two fingers.
“Spence?” Jon says in his ear, more alert and louder and Spencer jerks, startled as his finger pushes in at an angle that makes his eyes roll back in his head.
“Ah, ‘m here,” he breathes and mutters a curse because there’s no way that sounded normal. He’s flushed all over, sweat gathering in the backs of his knees and his forehead and he has to squeeze his dick hard to gather himself and keep from coming.
“Spencer,” Jon says again, making a rough noise. “What are you doing?” He sounds like he knows exactly what Spencer’s doing but Spencer blurts out anyway, or tries to, “fingers--ah!” His hips push down as he tries to work a second one in.
“Jesus,” Jon groans and Spencer feels embarrassed suddenly, out of nowhere because he hadn’t planned on blurting that out but he’s got no brain-mouth filter where his dick and ass are involved, he can’t really help it. But now, despite the burn in his belly, the way his dick’s leaking at the tip and the stretch around his fingers, he feels a little embarrassed.
“I swear you’re trying to kill me,” Jon says on a sigh that slips into something like a growl and Spencer’s belly swoops at that, heat in his thighs, his hips rocking against his fingers.
Spencer wants to roll his eyes at that. He’s not the one with a grip on the reigns here. But he can’t focus on that, can’t focus on anything past the way his ass feels as he tries to work his fingers apart, loosen himself up enough so he can start to fuck himself.
“Jon,” Spencer whispers. He starts to stroke his palm over his dick, working up to the head to smear through the clear pre-come leaking from the tip to make the slide easier. “Please,” he mumbles but beyond fuck me, damn it he’s not sure what he’s asking for.
“How many, Spence,” Jon breathes and his voice is kind of rough like maybe he’s touching his dick. Spencer wants to see so badly, wants to know what Jon looks like when he comes.
“Just two,” he mumbles, eyes pressed tight against the sudden embarrassment at admitting he’s fucking himself on his fingers. “I can’t take more yet, but two’s really ah, really good.”
“God, Spencer, I want to do that to you.” Jon’s voice is low on a whisper and it sounds like a confession. And that’s what Spencer wants, all he can think about, the way Jon’s fingers could feel, pushing into him, blunt pressure, touching him from the inside where he’s hot and slick.
Spencer comes. It lands on his stomach where his t-shirt’s rucked up his belly and the crease of his thigh. He can feel it, the way he tightens around his fingers and it makes him so hot, the idea of Jon in him like that, that his dick jerks again like he’s trying to come all over again.
He can’t catch his breath. He presses an arm to his eyes and pulls gulps of air into his lungs because he’s shaking through it, aftershocks as his hips and thighs jerk. He pulls his fingers out, wipes them on the blanket.
“Sorry, sorry,” Spencer whispers, reaching for the phone and trying to resist the urge to crawl under a rock.
Jon’s quiet on the other end, but Spencer can hear him trying to steady his own breathing.
“Jon?” Spencer says quietly, tentative. Now that he’s post-orgasm and the haze is clearing, he feels like maybe he did something wrong.
“The buses are stopping for gas in an hour,” Jon says then, around an exhale. “I’m coming over.”