Hover Like Bees - Girl!Spencer/Jon - NC-17
Title: Hover Like Bees
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Always a Girl! Spencer/Jon
Summary: She slides into Ryan's bunk that night, presses her self against his side and says without preamble into his shoulder, "I'minlovewithJondon'tgetpissed."
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: General Het sex, descriptions of girly parts, Disney lyrics, the usual.
Author Notes: Baby’s first bandom fic! I’ve been kind of lurking for a while but couldn’t get failboat girl Spencer being totally in love with Jon and COMPLETELY freaked out about it out of my head, so here we go! Songs/movies referenced, in order: “Good Girls Don’t” by The Knack, The Princess Bride, “Kiss The Girl” from The Little Mermaid. Title and cut text are from "Outro With Bees" by Neko Case.
"What's with all the skirts?" Brendon asks one morning between mouthfuls of cereal. "I thought you hated them. Remember, you said, "I fucking hate skirts," when Ryan put you in one for the tour, and now you're wearing them all the time."
"Ryan keeps stealing my pants," Spencer snaps back, trying to control the blush creeping down from the tips of her ears, where it always starts.
"What if I stole your skirts, then what would you wear? I mean, you spend the whole show behind the drums, people probably wouldn't notice if you just didn't wear pants OR a skirt, and I really liked that plaid one."
"Brendon." He looks up from his cereal at her tone, and then says, "Fine, fine. I'm just curious is all."
She tries not to jump when Jon's voice pipes up, "Come on, Ross changes his wardrobe once a month, at least this time it's Spence getting in touch with her feminine side. I don't know if I could take another round of rose vests."
"I can hear you, asshole," Ryan says from the sofa, eyes still closed.
Jon just smirks as he walks towards the cabinets, letting his hand trail lightly across Spencer's back on the way, and she hides her smile around a bite of frosted flakes, because well -
----
"Shh," he whispers against her neck, stubble scraping across her collar bone. It's going to leave big red patches, it always does, but she can't even care right now, because all she can think about is Jon's fingers, which are currently ghosting under her skirt and up her inner thigh, torturously slow until he reaches the crease of her leg and she smiles when he lets out a sound somewhere between a growl and a moan when his fingers encounter her bare skin.
"Spencer Smith," he grits out, face still buried in her neck. "Good girls don't," he says, the melody shaky, and she grins as she whispers back, "But I do."
----
She's not even sure when it happened, when he stopped being just Jon, who was always warm and brought her lattes and borrowed her lotion after swearing her to secrecy to being JON, who knew all the right places to kiss her and all the secret backrooms at every venue and could get her off in a minute if he had to. Not that she's complaining, but really the lines had just kind of blurred. They'd never really talked about it. It's not like he's Brendon, who had shown up to practice three weeks after he'd joined the band with a charm bracelet he got out of a quarter machine and sincerely professed his love as Brent rolled his eyes and dragged him up off his knees.
Jon had left a ring of hickeys around her bellybutton once, so maybe that counts.
It's not like it bothers her, really, and it even kind of makes sense, not realizing that she wanted him until she did, not realizing that. . . well, okay, maybe it was kind of a problem, because -
----
"Spence, JESUS," he pants against her shoulder, and it sounds desperate, almost pained, so she slams her hips down hard one last time, tightens her legs around him while digging her heels into the bed for leverage, and grinds down into his lap. His arms clench around her waist and his teeth drag lightly against her collarbone as he tenses, comes, and lets out a shaky sigh as he drops his head to her chest, breath coming in short, harsh gasps, and she LOVES hotel nights. "Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," he mumbles against her skin, pushing her up the bed with his wide hand flat on her belly, and she shivers as his stubble scrapes a line down her body, his lips kissing a trail behind it. He sweeps his tongue over a hipbone, nuzzles his nose into the crease of her leg, and that's when she hears it, "Spence, love you, Spence," and she comes almost before he can get his mouth on her, shaking so hard it feels like her entire body is going to come apart. He presses light, open mouthed kisses to her inner thigh like he always does as she comes down, then slides back up her body, pulls her against him, solid and warm and reassuring. She's still shaking, and he pulls the bedspread around them, but she's not cold. She's -
---
She's fucked. Spencer is in love with him, and she is FUCKED. Sex is fine, sex isn't what ruins bands, friendships, lives. It's love that fucks everything up. Not to mention she's being a total idiot about it, and has barely spoken to Jon in a week, ever since that damn hotel room, and he's just being so Jon-like about it, not pushing, not speaking, just careful, measured glances and dammit. This is going to fuck it all up. Brendon's going to cry. Dammit.
She slides into Ryan's bunk that night, presses her self against his side and says without preamble into his shoulder, "I'minlovewithJondon'tgetpissed."
She hears his sidekick snap shut, feels his chest heave in a sigh, and braces herself, but all he does is laugh. What?
"WHAT?" She lifts her head and he obviously finds this hilarious, his face is screwed up, one hand flitting about in the air above their heads. She gives him about 30 seconds, then punches him, pretty hard, right in the chest. "Asshole," she whispers, "I'm serious about this. Now stop being a dick and tell me no."
"Oww," he chokes out, rubbing his chest. "That HURT," he pouts in her general direction until she slumps back down against his arm and mumbles a quick sorry, and then says, "What do you mean, tell you no?"
"Tell me no. If you tell me no, then I can't."
"Spence," he turns on his side, drops a too large hand on top of her head, and considers her for a minute. It makes her more nervous than it should, that there's something there Ryan doesn't already know about her, something he has to look for.
"I thought it was just sex," he says, finally, and at her face, adds, "Please, you're not as quiet as you think. I had to take Brendon out for ice cream and give him The Talk."
And, okay, fine, that's pretty funny, so she lets out a laugh, and buries her face into his bony chest when it turns into tears, and it's like they're sixteen again, Ryan petting her hair while she cries over a boy, only this time, this time -
----------
Brendon is mumbling something about gummi bears as Jon steers him towards his bunk, Ryan is shuffling behind them, and she knows she should get up but the couch is so comfortable and her bunk is so far away. She feels a weight plop down beside her, feels Jon's hand start rubbing her upper arm, soft, comforting. "C'mon, Spence, time for good little girls to go to bed."
"Fuck being good," she says around a yawn, wiggles up to lay her head in his lap, "moving is hard."
She feels his leg move beneath her as he laughs, nuzzles her face into the flannel of his pajama pants as he cards his hand through her hair where it's long since fallen out of her ponytail. "You know that if you sleep here, you're going to wake up with a sore neck and then you'll be grumpy and scare Brendon."
And, fine, that's a point. But also, "My bunk is cold. It's warm here."
He sighs, and then all of a sudden she's in the air, and she yelps a little, and Jon's arms tighten around her waist, beneath her knees, and oh.
He gets her into her bunk with only one bumped elbow on her part, and he's tucking the blanket from the couch around her when his hand brushes her hip and she's suddenly very, very awake.
Before her mind catches up with what her body is doing, she's grabbed his wrist, is pulling him down, mumbling, "Still cold, Jon, it's still cold," against the inside of his arm.
"Spence - " but he lets her pull him down, and she presses herself against him, nuzzles her nose beneath the vneck of his t-shirt, and he's always so warm.
"Always so warm, Jon Walker," and her lips brush his chest through the t-shirt when she speaks, and he groans, but he doesn't move.
"Go to sleep, Spencer," he says, and his voice is tight, but he stays perfectly still even when she wraps a leg around his, snuggles deeper into his side.
He's gone when she wakes up the next morning, and she spends the day feeling like she's going to split open or something, awkward and buzzing anytime he's around. She actually uses the separate dressing room the venue provides this time, ignoring Ryan's quirked eyebrow and Brendon's whine at the loss of her far superior eyeliner, ignoring the way Jon's shoulder's tense most of all, until -
------
She's pretty sure she locked the door, but somehow Jon is there anyway, crowding her into the corner of the small room, staring at her in a way that makes her stomach seize up, makes her squeeze her thighs together. "We have ten minutes," he says in a voice that's not entirely his own, and she can feel his breath against her cheek, he's so close. "You need to tell me if I'm wrong about this," and then his lips are on hers, hard and insistent, but his hand on the back of her head is gentle, tangling the strands of her hair between his fingers, and she lets out a moan she didn't know she could make, low and deep and coming straight from the pit of her belly. Jon breaks off at the sound, buries his face in her neck, and gasps out, "Christ, Spencer," broken and deep and something inside of her breaks until she's pressing even more tightly against him, using the little space she has between his body and the wall to wedge herself against his thigh, the fabric of his slacks lightly scratching at the inside of her thighs beneath her skirt and she needs, she needs -
"Son of a bitch," he chokes and then there are hands on the back of her thighs, lifting her up, and she drops her hand to his zipper, and then -
"Five minutes!" accompanies the sharp rap on the door, and she struggles out of his grasp, drops to her knees when Jon sets her feet back on the floor, hisses a hurried "shut up, Jon," at his protests, and pulls his zipper the rest of the way down, wraps her lips around the head of his cock before she even has it all the way out of his pants. He's already leaking and she can taste him, a little bitter against the roof of her mouth.
His cock is heavy on her tongue, and okay, maybe she's only does this once or twice, back in high school, but she remembers, and sometimes she reads back issues of Cosmo, and she only realizes that she's not actually moving when Jon lets out this pained moan above her, a garbled, "Spencer," and right. Right.
She pulls off of him, licks down his shaft, wraps the hand not holding onto his thigh around the base, and okay. She gets her mouth back around him, and he bucks a little when she accidentally presses her tongue right under the head and oh, okay, so she licks around, a little firmer, keeping up the suction and the twist of her hand until she gets a rhythm going. His hands are clenching helplessly against her shoulders and she pulls off, "Jon, Jon, you can touch, touch me," and he lets out this deep groan, shifts a hand up to rub his thumb over the hollow of her cheek, pressing in against it a bit to feel himself moving inside her mouth, the other twining into the hair at her nape, not pulling, just softly tangling, his thumb brushing against the shell of her ear and that, that feels pretty good. She hums out a little noise around him and then, "Shit, Spence," and he's trying to push her away, warn her off, but she pulls him in closer, swallowing when he tenses above her and this is new, she's never . . . it's not bad, it's just a lot and she tries her best but she can feel a little slip out, down the corner of her chin, so she darts her tongue out to catch it because, well, she doesn't exactly want to explain come stains on her stage clothes to Zack. When she looks up, Jon is staring at her, eyes dark and she suddenly feels . . . not scared, maybe exposed. It makes this hot pressure build up in her belly and she feels frozen, pinned by his gaze.
"Spence, seriously, go time," and the loud pounding on the door breaks whatever was building. She springs up, brushes the dust off her knees, and shouts back, "Okay," and it's a good thing she doesn't sing because her voice is kind of wrecked. She spares a quick glance in the mirror, straightens her skirt, finger combs her hair back into place, but Jon's not moving, he's still there just staring, and when she takes a step toward him he grabs out, catches her wrist, and then he's kissing her hot and deep, licking into her mouth, over her teeth, behind her tongue and oh, he can taste -
"After the show," he says, pulling away from her mouth to bury his face in her neck. She can feel the words shape against her skin, and she suddenly feels itchy everywhere, like her skin can't hold her in the way it's supposed to. "After the show, get back here. Not fair, Spencer Smith," and he slides a hand up the outside of her thigh, under her skirt, lets his fingers skim over her, and she knows she's wet, can feel it making her panties stick to her skin, just a little, and she feels this weird mixture of embarrassed and really, really turned on as he breathes out hot against her neck, "Jesus fuck, Spence." She pulls back, she has to, has to clear her head before she walks out of the room, so that everyone doesn't see, "Ask Me About Blowing Jon Walker!" written all over her face.
She hurries out the door without looking back, lets herself be shuffled toward the stage, just shakes her head when someone asks, "Spence, you seen Jon?" and the entire assumption here was that it would be easier to play wet than it would be to play hard, but about halfway through the set she's starting to seriously rethink that. All she wants to do is cross her legs and bear down, or squeeze her thighs together, and she's pretty much playing on reflex at this point, trying to focus on channeling all the energy that's buzzing inside of her into her sticks and out onto the drums and she is seriously, seriously going to die because she didn't even know it could be like this and that's when she looks up, notices Jon turned, playing at her, and even from her riser she can see the heat in his eyes. She lets herself take a deep shuddery breath, breathes out a little heavier than is proper in polite circles and -
------
She has no idea where Jon is, but she walks toward the small private dressing room on autopilot, if he's not there she's just going to have to make do because Jesus, her entire body feels like it's vibrating. She barely has the door open before he pulls her inside, pushes her back against the door and reaches around to twist the lock. "Shit, shit, Spencer, c'mon, Spence," he's mumbling against her throat, and she realizes his hands are pushing on her waist, trying to guide her, and she convinces her legs to move, let's him guide her over to the vanity table, hops up and spreads her legs, pulling him toward her by the shirt, but he just gives her this smirk, and drops to his knees in front of her and oh. Oh, Jesus.
"Jon, no, no, the show, I'm sweaty and gross and - " she's pretty sure she just cracked her head open on the mirror and also that she made some sort of swamp monster noise, but he just bit her thigh and oh, there were his hands, pulling her panties down, and he moves back just enough to get them free of one leg, and then just kind of, well, buries his face between her legs, and she's never done this before. It feels like he's everywhere, licking and touching and stroking and god, she needs, needs, "Jon, please," and she doesn't know what she's asking for but he closes his lips around her clit and sucks, darting his tongue out and she honestly didn't know she could come this fast.
Jon, apparently, is also impressed. He looks up at her with wide, dark eyes, his mouth and chin a little shiny, says, "Spence, JESUS," and she shivers a little, goosebumps springing up as he trails little kisses to her thigh, the back of her knee. When he stands up again she can feel his erection brush against her and she reaches out a hand, but he pulls back, lets out this pained groan.
"If we - no, no, can't, I have to get back, Ryan'll, shit, Spence," and he presses up against her, places his forehead to hers and just breathes for a second, long, deep breaths and when he pulls back again he looks more collected, more like regular Jon, not this new Jon with flushed cheeks and dark eyes that pin her down. "Get changed, okay? I'll try to save you third shower before the hot water runs out."
He presses a kiss to her temple and slips out the door, and she's sitting there bare assed on the vanity table, panties around one ankle, and she honestly doesn't trust herself to stand up right now, her legs still feel like jello and this, this can't be good. This is going to fuck everything up because -
------
She kind of wants him, all the time now, and this is a problem because Jon is being a great big girl about things. All, "I know we kind of jumped into this and I understand if," and "I just don't want you to feel pressured because," and "We don't have to, Spence," and fuck, fuck, fuck, she mostly just wants to TOUCH him, be touched, and after a week of buddy hugs and overly careful physical contact on his part, she's kind of had it, okay? There's this low, constant thrum of energy beneath her skin, and it's getting really, really old, so one week and two days after the Dressing Room Incident, Spencer breaks her own rule and tries to get herself off in her bunk.
The thing is, these are tight spaces, with curtains for doors, and she can hear the boys. And if she can hear them, she knows they can hear her and it's just kind of embarrassing, no matter how many times Vicky-T has lectured her about embracing her womanhood on her own terms and how they can totally go shopping for vibrators the next time they’re in the same place and the rest of the band can just deal, but, it's just awkward. So far she's gotten by with showers and hotel nights and begging off when the boys go out, but of course this entire week she's had absolutely zero chance for alone time and there's only so much she can take, okay?
She waits until she hears Brendon start to snore and Jon's breathing even out, cringes and plugs her ears while Ryan jacks off with absolutely no qualms right below her, then settles her hand on her belly, beneath the ratty old Blink t-shirt she's using as a nightgown, closes her eyes, and tries her best to think of anything but Jon. It's just some guy who's pressing her tight against a wall when she slips her fingers beneath the elastic of her panties, some dude she's never met who's pressing hot open mouthed kisses to her neck, stubble dragging over her collarbone, wide hands pushing up her skirt, sliding underneath, brown eyes locking onto hers, and dammit, dammit, dammit. She lets out this frustrated little moan as her eyes snap open and her fingers press against the side of her clit because this isn't working. Well, it's working, but not so much with the whole not thinking of Jon thing, and fuck this, fuck it.
She lets her eyes slip back closed, pictures Jon's smile, thinks about it pressed against her thigh, the way his mouth had felt against her, hot and wet and overwhelming, and she starts pressing harder against her clit, moving her fingers faster over the top of it and bites down hard on her lip to stay quiet but she knows some noise is escaping, desperate little gasps, and all of a sudden the curtain of her bunk is pulled back and oh my god, shit, she is never going to live this down, Ryan is going to make fun of her until she dies, and oh.
Oh. Jon is there, and he's pushing her against the wall of her bunk, climbing in, looking down at her with open, hot eyes and her hand is still in her panties, frozen, and she squeezes her eyes shut, squeezes her thighs together, and she wants to die. "Spencer," he says, and she shakes her head a little, screwing her eyes shut tighter. "Spence. Look at me." She can't, she's so close, and then his hand is sliding beneath her panties, fingers tangling with hers, and he's looming over her, talking in her ear, his breath hot and wet as he starts to move his fingers over her. "Jesus, Spence, you can't just. You're killing me here. I'm trying to do the right thing but you can't just - god, the way you sound," and she's about to draw some serious attention to them because his fingers are brushing over her, callused and rough in just the right places, and he's working one short, broad finger inside, crooking it up, so she sinks her teeth into the bundle of muscle between his neck and shoulder, muffles the moan that spills out. She's working herself up against his hand, straining for release, and when he lets out a shuddery groan against her neck, says, "What were you thinking about Spencer?" she raises her head, comes around his fingers, and gaps out, "You," before she can even think to filter herself, and yes, yes -
------
No. No. If she doesn't think about it, it doesn't have to matter. Jon isn't making a big deal about it, but he's doing this thing where he keeps watching her, looking at her like he's studying her, waiting for something to click that makes her make sense. It's surprisingly easy to not love him, though. It's easy to just worm her feet beneath his hoodie when they're all watching movies on the couch, easy to fuck him in hotel rooms and suck him off at venues, easy to let him touch and lick and fuck her until her mind is only focused on more, more, more. It's really easy until it's not anymore, until -
------
She gets crampy and bloated and miserable when she's on her period, and she snaps at Ryan over everything and glares at Brendon when he talks about herbal remedies for her "lady times" and won't let Jon touch her, at all, even though he wants to. They're in the back lounge watching The Princess Bride because it was Brendon's turn to pick, and he's excitedly mouthing along and reenacting sword fights with Ryan using Twizzlers and she hates them both. She's freezing, even under two blankets and one of Jon's hoodies. Ryan had quirked an eyebrow at her, and she had snapped that Jon was the only one who had any actual boy clothes and that had lead to a fifteen minute discourse on whether Brendon's Spiderman briefs could count as boy clothes. The point is, she's cold, so it's not her fault that she gives in right around the sixth time that Jon lightly touches his fingers to the inside of her wrist under the blanket, gestures at his lap with his eyes. It's not her fault even a little, and she has to admit, she feels a little warmer and a lot better when he tips them over so he's spooned up behind her, face resting in her neck and one big, heavy hand sliding beneath the layers of hoodie and tshirt and cami to rest on her aching belly, a warm weight centering her, thumb lightly stroking just below her belly button.
Her eyes droop a little, and she's warm and comfortable and about thisclose to falling asleep when Brendon turns around to excitedly shout, "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to - SNUGGLES?"
"That's not how that goes, buddy," Jon says into her neck, and she snorts out a laugh against the arm her head is pillowed on.
"No one told me that this was a snuggles optional viewing, guys," Brendon says, and he sounds honestly pissy about it, which just makes her giggle more, until her belly cramps up a little more, and she hisses out, "Dammit, Brendon, stop it, that made it worse." Which of course earns a pout, which earns a, "These are Spence's snuggles, I'll give you snuggles next time it's your lady times, Bren, promise," from Jon, and when Brendon turns back to the movie with a huff Jon tightens his grip on her, snuffles into her neck a little, whispers, "You okay? Want some tea? I know where Ryan hides his Sour Patch Kids," and his thumb dips a little lower, a firm pressure between her hip and thigh, right where it hurts, and oh, oh.
"I love you," she thinks. "I'm gross and puffy and you love me and I love you," and there's an iron ball in her throat, getting stuck there so she can't talk, just shakes her head no and shuffles back against him, buries her head into the fabric of his hoodie, breathes him in. This is bad, not good at all, and if she's honest -
------
They didn't have any actual sex until about a month after that first time in the dressing room, a combination of Jon trying to be a gentleman and her own stupidity because she's maybe only done this once, and it was kind of a disaster and kind of a long time ago, and when she'd shown up at Ryan's crying, he'd gone to find Chris Johnson and tried to punch him, and his eye had been black and swollen for almost two weeks. She somehow tells Jon all this, all in one breath, almost, as soon as he steps into her hotel room and he just smiles at her, this bright, wide, open thing that makes something twist in her belly, and moves to kiss her. "Spence?" he says into her hair, "It's not - we don't have to do anything you don't want to do," but oh she wants, she wants in a way that's making her whole body feel keyed up and tight, and she pulls him down on top of her, spreading her legs around him, and the second time she has sex is so, so much better than the first time. She comes clutching at his neck with her mouth pressed against his, gasping into it, and it all feels so big that she has the sudden urge to cry, and feels really, really stupid until he moves his hand from her clit to her hip, grips down and oh, she can feel him, feel him go tense inside of her as he comes, and he leans down and kisses her deep before he pulls out. She feels both strangely empty and really full, full of all these big and scary things she doesn't have a name for.
She’s a little awkward after, a little too big for her body, and she wants to stretch out on top of the bed, on top of Jon, and wiggle around, settle back into her skin. She doesn't know if she's supposed to feel like this, what she's supposed to be doing, and then Jon's there, "Spence? Stop freaking. C'mere," and he pulls her down to his chest, wraps a hand around her hip and pulls the comforter over them. "I, Spencer Smith, am a cuddler, and you should just be thankful I'm resisting the urge to talk about my feelings." He's trying to make her feel better, calm her down, but his voice is all slow and floaty and it just starts a slow burn in her belly, and she wants, gets itchy with it, wriggles around at his side until he slits his eyes open, squeezes her hip, "You okay?" and she's okay. She's really, really okay, and then she takes a deep breath and straddles him, leans down, presses her mouth, her skin, her hands against him, and she kind of wants to touch him everywhere, until she knows what to do to get each sound out of him, wants to make them all hers and -
------
So fine, she's kind of an idiot, kind of an idiot who's been in love with Jon Walker for a while, but it doesn't mean she knows what to DO about it. She mostly just keeps her mouth shut, climbs into Ryan's bunk sometimes and presses against him while he texts, lets his bones dig into her, let's Brendon do her hair more often than usual, let's Greta take her shopping, buys ridiculous bras and panties she's too embarrassed to wear, and spends every night climbing into Jon's bunk, wrapping herself around him until her throat hurts with the want of telling him.
She's in the back lounge with Brendon a couple of weeks after her Big Stupid Love Ephinany, singing along loudly and obnoxiously to Kiss The Girl, letting Brendon twirl her around in time to the "sha la la la la las," and on one go around she twirls toward to the door to see Jon, leaning against the door frame, watching, wearing this soft little smile and something bursts open in her chest as Brendon dips her and the rowboat tips over on screen. She's back on her feet, a little flushed and her hair is everywhere, and Jon's still there, still looking, and oh, she loves him. She doesn't mean to but she finds herself walking toward him anyway, leaning up into him, lifting her mouth to his ear, says, "Okay, me too, I love you too." As declarations of love go it's maybe a little lacking, but he circles an arm around her waist, huffs out a laugh against her neck. "Do what the music say, Spencer Smith," he says, and tilts her head toward him, brushes his lips against hers light and easy.
"Guys, guys? I can't promise anything, but I think there's at least a 40% chance I can convince Ryan that our next album should be an epic cartoon musical all about your never ending love," Brendon says from behind them, and she flips him off over her shoulder, buries her face in Jon's neck, presses a smile into his skin.
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Always a Girl! Spencer/Jon
Summary: She slides into Ryan's bunk that night, presses her self against his side and says without preamble into his shoulder, "I'minlovewithJondon'tgetpissed."
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: General Het sex, descriptions of girly parts, Disney lyrics, the usual.
Author Notes: Baby’s first bandom fic! I’ve been kind of lurking for a while but couldn’t get failboat girl Spencer being totally in love with Jon and COMPLETELY freaked out about it out of my head, so here we go! Songs/movies referenced, in order: “Good Girls Don’t” by The Knack, The Princess Bride, “Kiss The Girl” from The Little Mermaid. Title and cut text are from "Outro With Bees" by Neko Case.
"What's with all the skirts?" Brendon asks one morning between mouthfuls of cereal. "I thought you hated them. Remember, you said, "I fucking hate skirts," when Ryan put you in one for the tour, and now you're wearing them all the time."
"Ryan keeps stealing my pants," Spencer snaps back, trying to control the blush creeping down from the tips of her ears, where it always starts.
"What if I stole your skirts, then what would you wear? I mean, you spend the whole show behind the drums, people probably wouldn't notice if you just didn't wear pants OR a skirt, and I really liked that plaid one."
"Brendon." He looks up from his cereal at her tone, and then says, "Fine, fine. I'm just curious is all."
She tries not to jump when Jon's voice pipes up, "Come on, Ross changes his wardrobe once a month, at least this time it's Spence getting in touch with her feminine side. I don't know if I could take another round of rose vests."
"I can hear you, asshole," Ryan says from the sofa, eyes still closed.
Jon just smirks as he walks towards the cabinets, letting his hand trail lightly across Spencer's back on the way, and she hides her smile around a bite of frosted flakes, because well -
----
"Shh," he whispers against her neck, stubble scraping across her collar bone. It's going to leave big red patches, it always does, but she can't even care right now, because all she can think about is Jon's fingers, which are currently ghosting under her skirt and up her inner thigh, torturously slow until he reaches the crease of her leg and she smiles when he lets out a sound somewhere between a growl and a moan when his fingers encounter her bare skin.
"Spencer Smith," he grits out, face still buried in her neck. "Good girls don't," he says, the melody shaky, and she grins as she whispers back, "But I do."
----
She's not even sure when it happened, when he stopped being just Jon, who was always warm and brought her lattes and borrowed her lotion after swearing her to secrecy to being JON, who knew all the right places to kiss her and all the secret backrooms at every venue and could get her off in a minute if he had to. Not that she's complaining, but really the lines had just kind of blurred. They'd never really talked about it. It's not like he's Brendon, who had shown up to practice three weeks after he'd joined the band with a charm bracelet he got out of a quarter machine and sincerely professed his love as Brent rolled his eyes and dragged him up off his knees.
Jon had left a ring of hickeys around her bellybutton once, so maybe that counts.
It's not like it bothers her, really, and it even kind of makes sense, not realizing that she wanted him until she did, not realizing that. . . well, okay, maybe it was kind of a problem, because -
----
"Spence, JESUS," he pants against her shoulder, and it sounds desperate, almost pained, so she slams her hips down hard one last time, tightens her legs around him while digging her heels into the bed for leverage, and grinds down into his lap. His arms clench around her waist and his teeth drag lightly against her collarbone as he tenses, comes, and lets out a shaky sigh as he drops his head to her chest, breath coming in short, harsh gasps, and she LOVES hotel nights. "Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," he mumbles against her skin, pushing her up the bed with his wide hand flat on her belly, and she shivers as his stubble scrapes a line down her body, his lips kissing a trail behind it. He sweeps his tongue over a hipbone, nuzzles his nose into the crease of her leg, and that's when she hears it, "Spence, love you, Spence," and she comes almost before he can get his mouth on her, shaking so hard it feels like her entire body is going to come apart. He presses light, open mouthed kisses to her inner thigh like he always does as she comes down, then slides back up her body, pulls her against him, solid and warm and reassuring. She's still shaking, and he pulls the bedspread around them, but she's not cold. She's -
---
She's fucked. Spencer is in love with him, and she is FUCKED. Sex is fine, sex isn't what ruins bands, friendships, lives. It's love that fucks everything up. Not to mention she's being a total idiot about it, and has barely spoken to Jon in a week, ever since that damn hotel room, and he's just being so Jon-like about it, not pushing, not speaking, just careful, measured glances and dammit. This is going to fuck it all up. Brendon's going to cry. Dammit.
She slides into Ryan's bunk that night, presses her self against his side and says without preamble into his shoulder, "I'minlovewithJondon'tgetpissed."
She hears his sidekick snap shut, feels his chest heave in a sigh, and braces herself, but all he does is laugh. What?
"WHAT?" She lifts her head and he obviously finds this hilarious, his face is screwed up, one hand flitting about in the air above their heads. She gives him about 30 seconds, then punches him, pretty hard, right in the chest. "Asshole," she whispers, "I'm serious about this. Now stop being a dick and tell me no."
"Oww," he chokes out, rubbing his chest. "That HURT," he pouts in her general direction until she slumps back down against his arm and mumbles a quick sorry, and then says, "What do you mean, tell you no?"
"Tell me no. If you tell me no, then I can't."
"Spence," he turns on his side, drops a too large hand on top of her head, and considers her for a minute. It makes her more nervous than it should, that there's something there Ryan doesn't already know about her, something he has to look for.
"I thought it was just sex," he says, finally, and at her face, adds, "Please, you're not as quiet as you think. I had to take Brendon out for ice cream and give him The Talk."
And, okay, fine, that's pretty funny, so she lets out a laugh, and buries her face into his bony chest when it turns into tears, and it's like they're sixteen again, Ryan petting her hair while she cries over a boy, only this time, this time -
----------
Brendon is mumbling something about gummi bears as Jon steers him towards his bunk, Ryan is shuffling behind them, and she knows she should get up but the couch is so comfortable and her bunk is so far away. She feels a weight plop down beside her, feels Jon's hand start rubbing her upper arm, soft, comforting. "C'mon, Spence, time for good little girls to go to bed."
"Fuck being good," she says around a yawn, wiggles up to lay her head in his lap, "moving is hard."
She feels his leg move beneath her as he laughs, nuzzles her face into the flannel of his pajama pants as he cards his hand through her hair where it's long since fallen out of her ponytail. "You know that if you sleep here, you're going to wake up with a sore neck and then you'll be grumpy and scare Brendon."
And, fine, that's a point. But also, "My bunk is cold. It's warm here."
He sighs, and then all of a sudden she's in the air, and she yelps a little, and Jon's arms tighten around her waist, beneath her knees, and oh.
He gets her into her bunk with only one bumped elbow on her part, and he's tucking the blanket from the couch around her when his hand brushes her hip and she's suddenly very, very awake.
Before her mind catches up with what her body is doing, she's grabbed his wrist, is pulling him down, mumbling, "Still cold, Jon, it's still cold," against the inside of his arm.
"Spence - " but he lets her pull him down, and she presses herself against him, nuzzles her nose beneath the vneck of his t-shirt, and he's always so warm.
"Always so warm, Jon Walker," and her lips brush his chest through the t-shirt when she speaks, and he groans, but he doesn't move.
"Go to sleep, Spencer," he says, and his voice is tight, but he stays perfectly still even when she wraps a leg around his, snuggles deeper into his side.
He's gone when she wakes up the next morning, and she spends the day feeling like she's going to split open or something, awkward and buzzing anytime he's around. She actually uses the separate dressing room the venue provides this time, ignoring Ryan's quirked eyebrow and Brendon's whine at the loss of her far superior eyeliner, ignoring the way Jon's shoulder's tense most of all, until -
------
She's pretty sure she locked the door, but somehow Jon is there anyway, crowding her into the corner of the small room, staring at her in a way that makes her stomach seize up, makes her squeeze her thighs together. "We have ten minutes," he says in a voice that's not entirely his own, and she can feel his breath against her cheek, he's so close. "You need to tell me if I'm wrong about this," and then his lips are on hers, hard and insistent, but his hand on the back of her head is gentle, tangling the strands of her hair between his fingers, and she lets out a moan she didn't know she could make, low and deep and coming straight from the pit of her belly. Jon breaks off at the sound, buries his face in her neck, and gasps out, "Christ, Spencer," broken and deep and something inside of her breaks until she's pressing even more tightly against him, using the little space she has between his body and the wall to wedge herself against his thigh, the fabric of his slacks lightly scratching at the inside of her thighs beneath her skirt and she needs, she needs -
"Son of a bitch," he chokes and then there are hands on the back of her thighs, lifting her up, and she drops her hand to his zipper, and then -
"Five minutes!" accompanies the sharp rap on the door, and she struggles out of his grasp, drops to her knees when Jon sets her feet back on the floor, hisses a hurried "shut up, Jon," at his protests, and pulls his zipper the rest of the way down, wraps her lips around the head of his cock before she even has it all the way out of his pants. He's already leaking and she can taste him, a little bitter against the roof of her mouth.
His cock is heavy on her tongue, and okay, maybe she's only does this once or twice, back in high school, but she remembers, and sometimes she reads back issues of Cosmo, and she only realizes that she's not actually moving when Jon lets out this pained moan above her, a garbled, "Spencer," and right. Right.
She pulls off of him, licks down his shaft, wraps the hand not holding onto his thigh around the base, and okay. She gets her mouth back around him, and he bucks a little when she accidentally presses her tongue right under the head and oh, okay, so she licks around, a little firmer, keeping up the suction and the twist of her hand until she gets a rhythm going. His hands are clenching helplessly against her shoulders and she pulls off, "Jon, Jon, you can touch, touch me," and he lets out this deep groan, shifts a hand up to rub his thumb over the hollow of her cheek, pressing in against it a bit to feel himself moving inside her mouth, the other twining into the hair at her nape, not pulling, just softly tangling, his thumb brushing against the shell of her ear and that, that feels pretty good. She hums out a little noise around him and then, "Shit, Spence," and he's trying to push her away, warn her off, but she pulls him in closer, swallowing when he tenses above her and this is new, she's never . . . it's not bad, it's just a lot and she tries her best but she can feel a little slip out, down the corner of her chin, so she darts her tongue out to catch it because, well, she doesn't exactly want to explain come stains on her stage clothes to Zack. When she looks up, Jon is staring at her, eyes dark and she suddenly feels . . . not scared, maybe exposed. It makes this hot pressure build up in her belly and she feels frozen, pinned by his gaze.
"Spence, seriously, go time," and the loud pounding on the door breaks whatever was building. She springs up, brushes the dust off her knees, and shouts back, "Okay," and it's a good thing she doesn't sing because her voice is kind of wrecked. She spares a quick glance in the mirror, straightens her skirt, finger combs her hair back into place, but Jon's not moving, he's still there just staring, and when she takes a step toward him he grabs out, catches her wrist, and then he's kissing her hot and deep, licking into her mouth, over her teeth, behind her tongue and oh, he can taste -
"After the show," he says, pulling away from her mouth to bury his face in her neck. She can feel the words shape against her skin, and she suddenly feels itchy everywhere, like her skin can't hold her in the way it's supposed to. "After the show, get back here. Not fair, Spencer Smith," and he slides a hand up the outside of her thigh, under her skirt, lets his fingers skim over her, and she knows she's wet, can feel it making her panties stick to her skin, just a little, and she feels this weird mixture of embarrassed and really, really turned on as he breathes out hot against her neck, "Jesus fuck, Spence." She pulls back, she has to, has to clear her head before she walks out of the room, so that everyone doesn't see, "Ask Me About Blowing Jon Walker!" written all over her face.
She hurries out the door without looking back, lets herself be shuffled toward the stage, just shakes her head when someone asks, "Spence, you seen Jon?" and the entire assumption here was that it would be easier to play wet than it would be to play hard, but about halfway through the set she's starting to seriously rethink that. All she wants to do is cross her legs and bear down, or squeeze her thighs together, and she's pretty much playing on reflex at this point, trying to focus on channeling all the energy that's buzzing inside of her into her sticks and out onto the drums and she is seriously, seriously going to die because she didn't even know it could be like this and that's when she looks up, notices Jon turned, playing at her, and even from her riser she can see the heat in his eyes. She lets herself take a deep shuddery breath, breathes out a little heavier than is proper in polite circles and -
------
She has no idea where Jon is, but she walks toward the small private dressing room on autopilot, if he's not there she's just going to have to make do because Jesus, her entire body feels like it's vibrating. She barely has the door open before he pulls her inside, pushes her back against the door and reaches around to twist the lock. "Shit, shit, Spencer, c'mon, Spence," he's mumbling against her throat, and she realizes his hands are pushing on her waist, trying to guide her, and she convinces her legs to move, let's him guide her over to the vanity table, hops up and spreads her legs, pulling him toward her by the shirt, but he just gives her this smirk, and drops to his knees in front of her and oh. Oh, Jesus.
"Jon, no, no, the show, I'm sweaty and gross and - " she's pretty sure she just cracked her head open on the mirror and also that she made some sort of swamp monster noise, but he just bit her thigh and oh, there were his hands, pulling her panties down, and he moves back just enough to get them free of one leg, and then just kind of, well, buries his face between her legs, and she's never done this before. It feels like he's everywhere, licking and touching and stroking and god, she needs, needs, "Jon, please," and she doesn't know what she's asking for but he closes his lips around her clit and sucks, darting his tongue out and she honestly didn't know she could come this fast.
Jon, apparently, is also impressed. He looks up at her with wide, dark eyes, his mouth and chin a little shiny, says, "Spence, JESUS," and she shivers a little, goosebumps springing up as he trails little kisses to her thigh, the back of her knee. When he stands up again she can feel his erection brush against her and she reaches out a hand, but he pulls back, lets out this pained groan.
"If we - no, no, can't, I have to get back, Ryan'll, shit, Spence," and he presses up against her, places his forehead to hers and just breathes for a second, long, deep breaths and when he pulls back again he looks more collected, more like regular Jon, not this new Jon with flushed cheeks and dark eyes that pin her down. "Get changed, okay? I'll try to save you third shower before the hot water runs out."
He presses a kiss to her temple and slips out the door, and she's sitting there bare assed on the vanity table, panties around one ankle, and she honestly doesn't trust herself to stand up right now, her legs still feel like jello and this, this can't be good. This is going to fuck everything up because -
------
She kind of wants him, all the time now, and this is a problem because Jon is being a great big girl about things. All, "I know we kind of jumped into this and I understand if," and "I just don't want you to feel pressured because," and "We don't have to, Spence," and fuck, fuck, fuck, she mostly just wants to TOUCH him, be touched, and after a week of buddy hugs and overly careful physical contact on his part, she's kind of had it, okay? There's this low, constant thrum of energy beneath her skin, and it's getting really, really old, so one week and two days after the Dressing Room Incident, Spencer breaks her own rule and tries to get herself off in her bunk.
The thing is, these are tight spaces, with curtains for doors, and she can hear the boys. And if she can hear them, she knows they can hear her and it's just kind of embarrassing, no matter how many times Vicky-T has lectured her about embracing her womanhood on her own terms and how they can totally go shopping for vibrators the next time they’re in the same place and the rest of the band can just deal, but, it's just awkward. So far she's gotten by with showers and hotel nights and begging off when the boys go out, but of course this entire week she's had absolutely zero chance for alone time and there's only so much she can take, okay?
She waits until she hears Brendon start to snore and Jon's breathing even out, cringes and plugs her ears while Ryan jacks off with absolutely no qualms right below her, then settles her hand on her belly, beneath the ratty old Blink t-shirt she's using as a nightgown, closes her eyes, and tries her best to think of anything but Jon. It's just some guy who's pressing her tight against a wall when she slips her fingers beneath the elastic of her panties, some dude she's never met who's pressing hot open mouthed kisses to her neck, stubble dragging over her collarbone, wide hands pushing up her skirt, sliding underneath, brown eyes locking onto hers, and dammit, dammit, dammit. She lets out this frustrated little moan as her eyes snap open and her fingers press against the side of her clit because this isn't working. Well, it's working, but not so much with the whole not thinking of Jon thing, and fuck this, fuck it.
She lets her eyes slip back closed, pictures Jon's smile, thinks about it pressed against her thigh, the way his mouth had felt against her, hot and wet and overwhelming, and she starts pressing harder against her clit, moving her fingers faster over the top of it and bites down hard on her lip to stay quiet but she knows some noise is escaping, desperate little gasps, and all of a sudden the curtain of her bunk is pulled back and oh my god, shit, she is never going to live this down, Ryan is going to make fun of her until she dies, and oh.
Oh. Jon is there, and he's pushing her against the wall of her bunk, climbing in, looking down at her with open, hot eyes and her hand is still in her panties, frozen, and she squeezes her eyes shut, squeezes her thighs together, and she wants to die. "Spencer," he says, and she shakes her head a little, screwing her eyes shut tighter. "Spence. Look at me." She can't, she's so close, and then his hand is sliding beneath her panties, fingers tangling with hers, and he's looming over her, talking in her ear, his breath hot and wet as he starts to move his fingers over her. "Jesus, Spence, you can't just. You're killing me here. I'm trying to do the right thing but you can't just - god, the way you sound," and she's about to draw some serious attention to them because his fingers are brushing over her, callused and rough in just the right places, and he's working one short, broad finger inside, crooking it up, so she sinks her teeth into the bundle of muscle between his neck and shoulder, muffles the moan that spills out. She's working herself up against his hand, straining for release, and when he lets out a shuddery groan against her neck, says, "What were you thinking about Spencer?" she raises her head, comes around his fingers, and gaps out, "You," before she can even think to filter herself, and yes, yes -
------
No. No. If she doesn't think about it, it doesn't have to matter. Jon isn't making a big deal about it, but he's doing this thing where he keeps watching her, looking at her like he's studying her, waiting for something to click that makes her make sense. It's surprisingly easy to not love him, though. It's easy to just worm her feet beneath his hoodie when they're all watching movies on the couch, easy to fuck him in hotel rooms and suck him off at venues, easy to let him touch and lick and fuck her until her mind is only focused on more, more, more. It's really easy until it's not anymore, until -
------
She gets crampy and bloated and miserable when she's on her period, and she snaps at Ryan over everything and glares at Brendon when he talks about herbal remedies for her "lady times" and won't let Jon touch her, at all, even though he wants to. They're in the back lounge watching The Princess Bride because it was Brendon's turn to pick, and he's excitedly mouthing along and reenacting sword fights with Ryan using Twizzlers and she hates them both. She's freezing, even under two blankets and one of Jon's hoodies. Ryan had quirked an eyebrow at her, and she had snapped that Jon was the only one who had any actual boy clothes and that had lead to a fifteen minute discourse on whether Brendon's Spiderman briefs could count as boy clothes. The point is, she's cold, so it's not her fault that she gives in right around the sixth time that Jon lightly touches his fingers to the inside of her wrist under the blanket, gestures at his lap with his eyes. It's not her fault even a little, and she has to admit, she feels a little warmer and a lot better when he tips them over so he's spooned up behind her, face resting in her neck and one big, heavy hand sliding beneath the layers of hoodie and tshirt and cami to rest on her aching belly, a warm weight centering her, thumb lightly stroking just below her belly button.
Her eyes droop a little, and she's warm and comfortable and about thisclose to falling asleep when Brendon turns around to excitedly shout, "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to - SNUGGLES?"
"That's not how that goes, buddy," Jon says into her neck, and she snorts out a laugh against the arm her head is pillowed on.
"No one told me that this was a snuggles optional viewing, guys," Brendon says, and he sounds honestly pissy about it, which just makes her giggle more, until her belly cramps up a little more, and she hisses out, "Dammit, Brendon, stop it, that made it worse." Which of course earns a pout, which earns a, "These are Spence's snuggles, I'll give you snuggles next time it's your lady times, Bren, promise," from Jon, and when Brendon turns back to the movie with a huff Jon tightens his grip on her, snuffles into her neck a little, whispers, "You okay? Want some tea? I know where Ryan hides his Sour Patch Kids," and his thumb dips a little lower, a firm pressure between her hip and thigh, right where it hurts, and oh, oh.
"I love you," she thinks. "I'm gross and puffy and you love me and I love you," and there's an iron ball in her throat, getting stuck there so she can't talk, just shakes her head no and shuffles back against him, buries her head into the fabric of his hoodie, breathes him in. This is bad, not good at all, and if she's honest -
------
They didn't have any actual sex until about a month after that first time in the dressing room, a combination of Jon trying to be a gentleman and her own stupidity because she's maybe only done this once, and it was kind of a disaster and kind of a long time ago, and when she'd shown up at Ryan's crying, he'd gone to find Chris Johnson and tried to punch him, and his eye had been black and swollen for almost two weeks. She somehow tells Jon all this, all in one breath, almost, as soon as he steps into her hotel room and he just smiles at her, this bright, wide, open thing that makes something twist in her belly, and moves to kiss her. "Spence?" he says into her hair, "It's not - we don't have to do anything you don't want to do," but oh she wants, she wants in a way that's making her whole body feel keyed up and tight, and she pulls him down on top of her, spreading her legs around him, and the second time she has sex is so, so much better than the first time. She comes clutching at his neck with her mouth pressed against his, gasping into it, and it all feels so big that she has the sudden urge to cry, and feels really, really stupid until he moves his hand from her clit to her hip, grips down and oh, she can feel him, feel him go tense inside of her as he comes, and he leans down and kisses her deep before he pulls out. She feels both strangely empty and really full, full of all these big and scary things she doesn't have a name for.
She’s a little awkward after, a little too big for her body, and she wants to stretch out on top of the bed, on top of Jon, and wiggle around, settle back into her skin. She doesn't know if she's supposed to feel like this, what she's supposed to be doing, and then Jon's there, "Spence? Stop freaking. C'mere," and he pulls her down to his chest, wraps a hand around her hip and pulls the comforter over them. "I, Spencer Smith, am a cuddler, and you should just be thankful I'm resisting the urge to talk about my feelings." He's trying to make her feel better, calm her down, but his voice is all slow and floaty and it just starts a slow burn in her belly, and she wants, gets itchy with it, wriggles around at his side until he slits his eyes open, squeezes her hip, "You okay?" and she's okay. She's really, really okay, and then she takes a deep breath and straddles him, leans down, presses her mouth, her skin, her hands against him, and she kind of wants to touch him everywhere, until she knows what to do to get each sound out of him, wants to make them all hers and -
------
So fine, she's kind of an idiot, kind of an idiot who's been in love with Jon Walker for a while, but it doesn't mean she knows what to DO about it. She mostly just keeps her mouth shut, climbs into Ryan's bunk sometimes and presses against him while he texts, lets his bones dig into her, let's Brendon do her hair more often than usual, let's Greta take her shopping, buys ridiculous bras and panties she's too embarrassed to wear, and spends every night climbing into Jon's bunk, wrapping herself around him until her throat hurts with the want of telling him.
She's in the back lounge with Brendon a couple of weeks after her Big Stupid Love Ephinany, singing along loudly and obnoxiously to Kiss The Girl, letting Brendon twirl her around in time to the "sha la la la la las," and on one go around she twirls toward to the door to see Jon, leaning against the door frame, watching, wearing this soft little smile and something bursts open in her chest as Brendon dips her and the rowboat tips over on screen. She's back on her feet, a little flushed and her hair is everywhere, and Jon's still there, still looking, and oh, she loves him. She doesn't mean to but she finds herself walking toward him anyway, leaning up into him, lifting her mouth to his ear, says, "Okay, me too, I love you too." As declarations of love go it's maybe a little lacking, but he circles an arm around her waist, huffs out a laugh against her neck. "Do what the music say, Spencer Smith," he says, and tilts her head toward him, brushes his lips against hers light and easy.
"Guys, guys? I can't promise anything, but I think there's at least a 40% chance I can convince Ryan that our next album should be an epic cartoon musical all about your never ending love," Brendon says from behind them, and she flips him off over her shoulder, buries her face in Jon's neck, presses a smile into his skin.