fic: your clock keeps skipping on forward
your clock keeps skipping on forward
delete_entry
Jon/Spencer
NC-17
6317 words
Spencer loves wearing Jon's clothing. And really, this works out because Jon loves seeing him in them. Call it a small kink perhaps, but Spencer would kill to walk around wearing nothing more then one of Jon's shirts for the rest of his life. They always smelled like the laundry soap he uses and a sensual, manly cologne that Jon would occasionally wear that Spencer hated.
notes: First story in a long ass time. I took a break from ghost!Spencer and straight!Jon to write this out. It turned out far longer then I intended, but oh well. I'm pleased with how it came out. Mil gracias to my lovely beta
gasmsinc. Oh, and some pairings of the Ryan/Brendon, Pete/Patrick, Tom/Greta, Andy/Joe, and William/Travis variety. Comments/Criticism is always appreciated :]
Spencer loves wearing Jon's clothing. And really, this works out because Jon loves seeing him in them. Call it a small kink perhaps, but Spencer would kill to walk around wearing nothing more then one of Jon's shirts for the rest of his life. They always smelled like the laundry soap he uses and a sensual, manly cologne that Jon would occasionally wear that Spencer hated.
They never exactly planned this vacation, but Jon had it in his head ever since Spencer leant over one day on tour in a generic hotel room, a book cracked in front of him on the bed, whispering quietly against Jon's bare shoulder that Barcelona sounded absolutely beautiful. Jon remembers wanting to kiss him (it was months before they actually got together) but instead simply smiled and nodded, promising to take him one day. And here they were.
Spencer hadn't seen much of Barcelona yet... but the hotel ceiling is quite fabulous.
The hotel was located in Ciutat Vella (Jon said it’s name means “old city” in Catalan and Spencer was rather impressed until he saw Jon slide the pamphlet back into the wrong slot.) The sun was setting against the Medditerean, and Jon was still blissfully passed out within a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets. Spencer was resting on a tanning chair, just watching the color against the beautiful city he actually planned on seeing tomorrow. There was a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, as well as a beautiful man in his bed, and Spencer believed this to be what most call heaven on earth. Jon is just the variable to that equation, he thought.
Spencer crossed his ankles on the railing of the balcony, his lean legs spread out straight before him. He was wearing nothing but Jon's white dress shirt from last night. Apparently the wedding of the year was as good of an excuse as any for Jon to get out of the country. Spencer hadn't argued when, two days ago, Jon knocked on his apartment door, soaked to the bone but smiling widely, throwing a plane ticket at him.
If Spencer was honest with himself, which he rarely was, he'd say that he knew exactly what he felt for Jon. It was a strange mix between love and hate. There were so many things he hated about the man (Spencer had a detailed list... for another day) and yet... he was here, getting fucked through a hotel mattress not more then three hours ago. Spencer looked carelessly over his shoulder, through the open balcony doors, staring into the darkness at the equally dark figure settled within the stark white sheets. It was far from their first time, and Spencer was certain it wouldn't be their last. Spencer went to Jon for sex after a break up with yet another girlfriend (the whole rockstar thing), and Jon used Spencer for sex when he was too stressed to do anything else.
(Spencer still remembers the day Tom found out. There was no yelling, no cursing, and really nothing at all dramatic. Tom just pulled Spencer aside, and whispered very softly in his ear, "Hurt him, and you'll know a pain far worse then Hobo chewing on your favorite shoes." And Spencer knew he meant it.)
Spencer tilted his head back against his chair, taking a sip of coffee and topping that off with a slow drag of his cigarette. It was a nasty habit (one that Jon got him into, his mind noted) but Spencer found it helped him calm his nerves, which he also noted increased whenever he and Jon were alone. He looked down to his body--the buttons of the dress shirt hastily done up, barely even covering himself with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His buttons weren't even lined up correctly. Spencer let out a throaty laugh, because really, this never would have happened without Jon around.
Hot lips were pressed against the side of his throat and all Spencer could do was tilt his head away from them, offering more of his skin to Jon's hungry mouth. There were still bites and bruises from a few hours ago, but as soon as those lips touched his skin, Spencer's eyes fell shut and his mouth open.
"What's so funny?" Jon's sleep roughen voice rumbled through him and made Spencer tremble just slightly. He shifted to cover his crotch a bit better, slightly ashamed at just how quickly Jon affected him still.
"Just thinking about how you've ruined my life," Spencer murmured, watching as Jon's hands began working inside the shirt, sliding it up over his thighs. He couldn't stay clothed for longer then five seconds with Jon around. Jon gave another growl, and Spencer couldn't tell if it was him being preditorial or just laughing. He did, however, snag Spencer's cigarette, took a long drag, and settled beside Spencer in another tanning chair.
"I suppose I have," Jon stated after a long moment, disregarding the multitude of curses that passed through Spencer's lips as he fumbled to light another cigarette. Spencer covered himself with the shirt once more, placing his cold coffee beside Jon, because with experience he knew that Jon liked cold coffee just as much as hot coffee.
"You're not going to deny it?" Spencer asked, resting his cheek against the chair to look at Jon. Stark naked, golden in the setting sun. He was as shameless as the statues that lined the street and Spencer both loved and hated it. He found he felt that way about most things these days.
"Nope." Jon shook his head, grinning faintly, the tips of his hair dancing unevenly. It was so mismatched, chunks of hair longer then others that somehow meshed together well enough to look presentable. He refused to cut it. ("Makes me look badass," Jon explained one time. It made the most sense in the world when drunk.) "I always take solace in the fact that being a rockstar ruins your life in ways that I couldn't even touch upon."
Well... that was true.
They settled into a comfortable silence, save for the clink of the coffee cup against the tiles of the balcony and the slow drags of their cigarettes. Spencer could have done with a bit of sleep, but he knew Jon's pattern by now. Sex, recuperation in the form of sleep, cigarette, sex, maybe food. Considering they knocked out the first three, it was time for more sex.
Spencer could understand, really. They used each other for their bodies, and somehow still held the same friendship as always-Spencer being an utter bitch and Jon watching silently from behind his lense with knowing, amused eyes. Now, there was just sex as well. Amazing sex, Spencer might admit to one day. Jon was a stress-fucker. And now with Tom ‘gone’... he was uncertain. Above all, Spencer was Jon's friend, and he knew just how upset Jon was at the thought of losing Tom to a woman. Even if said woman was Greta. (“Tom and Greta’s marriage is going to kill my friendship with him,” Jon confided in Spencer the night Tom had told him of the engagement, breathing the words into Spencer’s skin as he fucked him. Spencer can still taste and smell the bacardi.)
Therefore, Spencer stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray, stood, swung a leg over Jon's hips to straddle them, and just sat. Jon looked up at him with those lazy eyes, placing down the coffee cup with another clink and flicking his cigarette over the railing. "Go figure, you're even hotter in Barcelona," Spencer commented, dipping his head to bite at Jon's collarbone. Jon's hands cradled Spencer's hips, they always seemed to gravitate there anyway, tilting his head back to provide Spencer with more room.
"Go figure, you still steal my clothing with a suitcase filled with your own far more expensive ones in Barcelona..." Spencer hid a guilty smile within Jon's neck, and Jon just arched a brow and squeezed Spencer’s hips tighter, more possesively, working over the bruises already there from his hands with no remorse whatsoever.
"Think you're up to going out for dinner?" Spencer asked, sitting back to look down at Jon. In response, Jon looked down the length of their bodies, Spencer's erection heavy against his stomach from under Jon's shirt, and Jon just shook his head.
"No, no I don't think I am."
Spencer couldn't complain, really, because then Jon was taking one of his hands into his own, sucking on each lengthy digit with enough pressure and swirling tongue to leave Spencer a whimpering, incoherent mess. Which is exactly how Jon likes him, so it works out well once more.
"How sore are you from earlier?" Jon asked, moving Spencer's soaked fingers between his legs, and Spencer oblidged, easily slipping a finger up into himself and then two.
"I don't know if it's really settled in yet," Spencer mumbled in his sex voice. It was much like Spencer’s normal voice, except a deeper timbre with brighter eyes. Jon loved it whenever he could get Spencer like this, so needy and wanton that he'd do almost anything. Sex worked as well as shoes or a good book with Spencer on the happiness ladder. A perfect ten.
Spencer swayed and rolled his hips slowly, and Jon really wished that his shirt wasn't in the way from seeing what exactly was happening. Spencer sat back a bit, his knees on either side of Jon's hips, rising up on his knees before thrusting down against his own fingers, and Jon gave a quiet moan.
"Go figure, you still moan like a pathetic voyuer whenever I do this, even in Barcelona..." Spencer huffed out a breath, and Jon could literally see him arch his fingers within himself, and that was enough. Jon grabbed Spencer's hips roughly, enough for the man to give a quiet growl, before Jon ripped his fingers out of him. Spencer obliged, grabbing the base of Jon's erection, sinking down onto it with practiced ease.
"Go figure, you're still a needy whore, even in Barcelona," Jon rumbled, arching his hips up to slide fully into the younger male. Spencer tried, he really did, but the pleasure made him tremble and his jaw go slack until he could do nothing else but moan. Jon hiked up the dress shirt, giving Spencer a bit more room to work as he began to bounce on his cock in earnest.
Jon remembered back when Spencer as actually a virgin, as well as straight. It all seemed so distant now, watching the man fuck himself almost brutally on Jon's dick. He remembered the hushed moans and trust they had shared their first time. The trust was still there, strengthened with their friendship, but the slight moans had turned unabashed at some point, and Jon loved it. Spencer watched Jon with lidded eyes, his thin fingers gripping tightly onto Jon's shoulders for perchase as he trembled and moaned and moved gracefully, his eyes shutting at every stroke to his prostate.
"You're gorgeous," Jon mumbled, and Spencer opened an eye to a slant, the blue so bright Jon's breath caught in his throat. So, in return, Jon leant forward, licking a thick stripe over one of the more sensitive areas of Spencer’s neck. Spencer buckled, whimpered loudly, and came in several lengthy spurts against Jon's stomach. He fell forward, forehead against Jon's chest as he continued to work his hips until Jon's breath hitched and he came as well, lodged possesively within Spencer's tight body.
Neither of them were post-sex cuddlers, not really, but Jon ran his fingers through Spencer's lengthy hair, messying the silkly locks slowly. They stayed like that for a few minutes or so, the sky dark by now and the city bustling with life and lights.
"You know we just had sex where people could easily watch us," Jon commented after a moment, Spencer making a noise in the back of his throat that said he just thought about that as well. Jon chuckled thickly, shaking his head and letting Spencer sit up, the man looking thoroughly debauched and pleased.
"I'm going to go take a shower," Spencer stated, both men wincing as Jon slid out of him wetly. Spencer gave Jon a knowing look as his stomach grumbled loudly. Like clockwork. "Can you order some room service for the two of us?"
Jon nodded, watching Spencer stand, stretch languidly, the shirt hitching up to around his hipbones. There was a telltale shine to his inner thighs, and then Jon gave a simply possessive smile in pleasure at the sight of his own seed making a wet trail down Spencer's legs.
Jon ordered the food for them (Pasta for him, a BLT salad for Spencer without tomatos or green peppers), waited until the shower was running, and then opened the door easily enough. He needed to get clean, too, afterall.
---
"Do you have any idea where we're going?" Spencer asked for what seemed like the hundredth time, but in reality was probably only the third. They were in a foreign country with hundreds of people surrounding them all chatting in a strange, beautiful language. (Jon argued that he took Spanish throughout high school, and Spencer, who had taken French, just gave him a skeptical look.)
"Nope," Jon finally answered, and Spencer stopped. Stopped and stared at the back that continued to walk through the crowd. A curious pigeon cooed sympathetically at Spencer, who in turned contemplated the pros and cons of throwing the damned street rat at Jon. Jon was leading him blind.
"Jonathan!" Spencer yelled, kicking at the pigeon in his frustrations. The bird squawked and moved quickly, leaving behind a present on Spencer’s shoe that made the man even more disgruntled. He joined up with Jon soon enough, Jon just slinging an arm around his shoulders, and Spencer in turn stood with his arms to his sides, watching their legs move.
"You worry too much, Spence. I like you better when you’re smoking. Or post-coital..." Jon added in an after thought, giving Spencer a bright smile that would have crowds melting and or undressing.
Spencer simply huffed.
"I like you better when your tied and gagged, but we can't always get what we want, can we?" Spencer mumbled bitterly, although his arm wound around Jon's waist on it's own accord. He hated when his body betrayed him, but it more often then not did so.
"You're a prime counter-example."
And with that, Spencer forgave him. For now.
"So where are we going?" Spencer asked after a long moment, and Jon snorted again. It was roughly lunchtime--he could tell by the variety of people that were milling around and eating at outdoor tables since they stepped off the metro.
Jon took a deep breath in through his nostrils, causing Spencer to look up to the man. "No where.” He paused. “Somewhere.” Another pause, more assured. “Anywhere."
Spencer knew he'd follow him all three places.
---
"Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Jon was chanting loudly enough for the entire world to hear, Spencer's heels digging into the sensitive skin at the small of his back, right where the sweat is pooling and dripping down into the cleft of his ass. They'd been at this for hours it seems (at least long enough to saturate them both in both sweat and all kinds of fluids), but youthful vitality was on their side tonight and they had came an accumulated six times already.
Spencer purred, giving a lengthy stretch before throwing his weight to pin Jon to the bed, the man giving a soft 'oomph!' in response before the noise melted into a moan as Spencer corkscrewed himself on his cock. Spencer knew Jon loved watching himself disappear within his tight body, when his long legs were wrapped around his waist. He knew all the right buttons to press. One thin finger pressed against the pulse at the top of Jon's leg and then Jon was screaming and coming and Spencer was smirking in self-satisfaction before letting go on Jon's stomach.
They didn’t cuddle, and there were no words whispered against each other's skin, not tonight. Jon rested on his back and Spencer slid off him, resting on his knees for a moment, reveling in the sensation of being filled. Spencer gets off just as much as Jon does whenever there's wetness between his thighs. He feels claimed. He feels safe. However, he gets off the bed eventually to grab a warm cloth to clean them both up with.
"Remember when you were actually a virgin?" Jon stated with a laugh, moving to rest nakedly on his hip, watching as Spencer emerged from the bathroom. Spencer snorted, mopping the cloth delicately over Jon’s stomach before taking care of himself, tossing the cloth over to the growing pile of dirty clothing.
"Remember when you were a decent human being?" Spencer countered, grabbing his book and heading back to bed. He slipped in, easing down into the sitting position, ignoring Jon's look of pure satisfaction at his slight wince. Jon's head settled heavily in his lap as soon as Spencer cracked his book. One hand went to propping the book up while the other made work with Jon's hair, scraping his nails along the man's scalp until he was happily purring.
“I am a decent human being,” Jon murmured sleepily, an arm curling around Spencer’s waist, his fingers stroking over his bruised hips with enough intimacy to make Spencer’s heart ache.
Spencer’s fingers trailed from the nape of Jon’s neck down to his strong back, between the dip of his shoulder blades to trace the lines there. “Yes, yes you are.”
Jon pressed a warm kiss to the top of Spencer’s thigh, and Spencer waited until he was sure Jon was asleep before returning it gently to the top of his head.
---
The more time they spend in Barcelona, the more Spencer sees the subtle changes in Jon once more. He’s more open, friendlier, smiling whenever he got the chance to show off his Spanish prowess. With Tom forgotten, Spencer can relax for five seconds without worrying about getting jumped and fucked raw in a public bathroom, or the dark corner of the flower shop they had visited two days ago. Jon touches him in public more freely, resting a hand on the small of Spencer’s back, or pressing a quick kiss to his temple. It’s strange for them, sure, but it’s nothing new.
Occasionally (meaning more often then not) whenever Spencer caught Jon alone, he was brooding. There was always a dark look to his eyes, looking over to the waterfront from their balcony. That was when Spencer would wrap his arms around Jon’s waist from behind and just press a kiss to his shoulder blade before resting his head against Jon’s warm back.
Spencer never pretended to understand the relationship that was Jon and Tom. As far as he was concerned, it was all about embarrassing each other and alcohol. (Or both at the same time. Spencer remembered one time Jon brought Tom home, both of them completely plastered. Tom passed out on their couch, only to wake up to a multitude of penises drawn all over his back with “PUT DICKS HERE” drawn over his shoulder blades with arrows pointing to his ass.) Then again, he never really asked Jon in all the time they’ve been together. It just didn’t seem right. Jon never asked him about him and Ryan before he joined the band.
The one thing that Spencer knew was Tom was the only person in the world that could make Jonathan Walker cry. He knew this partially because Jon had told him, but also because he’d seen it first hand. Jon’s devotion to his friends was no secret-he’d do anything for practically anyone. But the few that were exceptionally close to him, it went far, far deeper then that. Tom was one of those people. So when Tom announced that Greta and he were to marry, Spencer watched the cloud fall over Jon. Jon had spent far too long putting effort into a friend he thought he would have forever.
(Spencer didn’t see the point in telling Jon that he really hadn’t lost Tom, he’d just have to share him. Then again, Spencer had never seen Jon so selfish then when Tom was mentioned.)
However, Jon was still the best man at their wedding. He kissed Greta and wished them good luck. He patted Tom on the back and congratulated him on finally finding someone to put up with his ass for the rest of his life. And every ten minutes or so, Jon would find Spencer and in turn they’d find a bathroom. By the time both of them got home, Spencer could barely walk.
“I can see the gears turning.”
Spencer shook his head hard, looking over to Jon as he lounged in the bathroom doorway. Spencer smiled gently, taking in the picture of him. Jon, wet and flushed from the hot water, a towel slung low around his hips in a way that spoke to Spencer. It told him that towel was meant to be ripped off, by his hands and his hands alone.
“You know me too well,” Spencer countered, opening his arms as Jon made his way over to the bed. Jon settled within them comfortably enough, all muscle and golden skin that Spencer hated (loved). Spencer’s hand made quick work with the towel, tossing it aside and wrapping his lean legs around Jon’s waist instead.
“What were you thinking about?” Jon mumbled, settling his head into the crook of Spencer’s neck. Spencer’s eyes fell shut at the feeling.
“You and Tom.” Spencer cracked an eye to look down at Jon even as he said this, raising a hand up to stroke over Jon’s back. Jon gave a snort, shaking his head a bit.
“What about him?” Jon asked, propping himself up on his elbows now, hands gently cradling Spencer’s face. Spencer kept his eyes closed, soaking up the feeling of Jon’s fingers across the skin of his lips, jaw, and cheeks.
“I’m just wondering if he’s handling this better then you did.” Spencer cracked an eye as Jon began laughing.
“I think we’re safe. He can’t get married again. Greta probably just wants to kick his ass.”
---
“So, how’s paradise?” Spencer was on speakerphone with Ryan and Brendon, Ryan doing dishes from what he could hear, while Brendon chatted animatedly with Hobo in the background.
“Paradise-tastic,” Spencer replied, switching his cell phone to the other ear. He bit down hard on his lips to hold back a moan, his fingers twisting and practically ripping at Jon’s face between his legs.
“Brendon finally annoyed the shit out of me and made me call. I didn’t want to disrupt the obvious love fest that is occurring in Barcelona,” Ryan dropped something, swearing loudly and Spencer just gave a husky laugh.
“There’s no love fest,” Spencer sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes as Jon’s cheeks hollowed and he sucked. Hard. “We’re just taking a vacation. Together. With nude beaches.”
“And a lot of fucking?” Brendon called from the background, and at least Ryan attempted to be a good friend by shushing him.
“Well,” Spencer began, watching as Jon rose from the position at the foot of the bed, grabbing each one of Spencer’s ankles and spreading them as wide as he could go. Spencer vaguely remembered a time when he was shy about these sorts of things, like Jon staring at him with that look in his eye, or Jon seeing him in this position like a wanton whore. “Not exactly a lot of fucking.” Spencer made a point to look at Jon as he said this, and Jon raised an eyebrow, accepting the challenge and arching his hips forward to slide the blunt tip of his cock against Spencer’s entrance. Sometimes Spencer wondered why he teased himself. “How is it back home?”
“We’re doing good. Brendon is refusing to shave.” There was a muffled ‘Yep!’ in the background that made Spencer wonder if Brendon was eating or just pulling a Jon Walker. Said Jon Walker arched his hips again in a lazy circle, his dick now sliding against Spencer’s balls, his hands sliding to push Spencer’s knees up and back. Spencer’s eyes gave an annoyed just do it already and Jon was more then happy to oblige, sliding into him to the hilt. “I’m beginning to develop a bit of a beard burn. I’m not used to it.”
“I am.” Spencer knew his voice was deep and gruff, but Jon was fucking him shallow and deep, exactly how he liked it, and Spencer was squirming beneath his strong hands. Hobo barked in the background and Jon laughed and leant forward over Spencer.
“Tell Hobo I said hi,” Jon rasped into the phone and Spencer mentally smacked himself because Jon’s sex voice was far, far, more obvious then his own. It was sensual and deep, with a thick roll and a purr and Ryan was gasping in mock surprise.
“SPENCER SMITH, YOU ARE TOTALLY GETTING FUCKED RIGHT NOW.”
“Bye Ry!” Spencer squeaked, turning off his phone and letting Jon throw it away before building up a rhythm hard enough to slam Spencer up forward. Just how he liked it.
“So how are the boys?” Jon’s biceps were bulging from holding Spencer’s legs wide, and Spencer loved the sweat rolling from Jon’s temple to jaw line.
“Fine, fine,” Spencer grunted in concentration and his arms went above his head to grip tightly onto the hotel comforter. He tilted his face up, licking a bead of sweat from Jon’s upper lip. “They say hi.”
“I would return the favor, however someone hung up.” Jon pressed his hips tight against Spencer’s ass, causing the other man to groan and squirm beneath him. Jon smirked, grinding his hips in tantalizingly slow circles until Spencer raked his nails from the nape of his neck all the way to the small of his back. This caused Jon to wince, growling deep within his throat before thrusting forward, deep and hard.
“You want to claw and scratch like an animal, then I’ll treat you like one.” And with that, Jon was just gone. Spencer gave a needy whimper, bucking his hips up and opening his eyes to glare heavily at Jon. Jon just stared, kneeling at the edge of the bed, dick heavy and dripping.
(The thing was, Spencer was a bitch. A complete and utter bitch. He ordered people around, he snapped at anything that irritated him even the slightest, he always had to insert a witty two cents or a scathing remark. Some would say that all Spencer needed was a good punch to the face, but Jon knew what he really needed. To be dominated, to be told and shown exactly who was in charge of who. To feel the burden of his life lifted from his shoulders, if only for just five minutes. Of course, Jon normally lasted longer. He still remembered the first time Spencer had actually hurt him in bed and he had told him no. The amount of trust in Spencer’s eyes was enough to make Jon’s head fuzzy, realizing just how much he loved and needed it. Jon liked being loved and needed.)
“Jon,” Spencer breathed out, looking to Jon with such tender eyes that Jon’s chest tightened as well as his fingers on the covers. His resolve held, and it wasn’t until Spencer choked out an, “I’m sorry, we’ll do it your way, just anything, just get back inside me” did he once more fall back into the tangle of Spencer’s legs. He sank into Spencer once more, and the man arched and groaned beneath him. Spencer gave a relieved sigh, his eyes falling shut as Jon’s lips gently nuzzled at his jaw line.
It always amazed Spencer just how quickly things between the two of them could change, just by Jon’s moods. Sometimes he was rough and hard, leaving bruises and bite marks. Sometimes he was his normal self, all happy smiles and sparkling eyes. And then sometimes - just sometimes, he was like this. Sweet, tender, with his whole body making love to Spencer, as if his whole body was inside him instead of just his dick.
Because that was exactly what it was. Love.
Spencer kept Jon close, his legs wound tightly around his narrow waist, and his arms locked tightly around his back. Jon breathed in the scent of him, his faced pressed tightly against Spencer’s neck, his strong arms locked around Spencer’s waist. It was building again, that intense coil of pressure that caused Jon to tighten the muscles of his stomach and Spencer to clamp down tight around him.
Neither Spencer nor Jon counted exactly how many times they came, or just how long they stayed like that, entwined within each other. Jon spent the entire night, nestled protectively within Spencer’s warmth. They still didn’t cuddle, Spencer would never admit to being a cuddler, but that was just fine with Jon, who slept with the taste of Spencer on his tongue.
---
Jon was staring intently at the fish swimming happily within their tank. It was a dark, dank day in Barcelona, so the aquarium seemed to make perfect sense in Jon’s mind. He watched as the vibrant, tropical fish swam and swam and swam, in circles, up to the surface to gather some food, turning to chase each other.
He looked to his left, smiling faintly at what he saw. Spencer was crouching before a little girl (it was amazing he didn’t bust a seam, his pants were so tight) talking in broken Spanish he’d picked up. He tugged at the girl’s ponytail slightly, smiling at her as she giggled and he murmured, “Me encanta su cola de caballo, mija,” while her mother watched with a faint smile from beside neon yellow fish. The little girl, who he vaguely heard Spencer refer to as Nina, carefully reached her arms up and wrapped them around Spencer’s neck, carefully keeping her doll within her grasp. Spencer’s arm snaked around her waist, standing up and holding her carefully. He returned the little girl to her mother, paused, gave a genuine smile and said, “Mil gracias, señora, mil gracias.”
Jon readily accepted Spencer into his arms as soon as he was back over, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of Spencer’s jaw. He buried his face within Jon’s shoulder, and Jon could feel the smile there. “I love kids, Jon,” he murmured, and Jon’s smile faltered just slightly. “I want kids.”
He was pretty sure that was what love was.
---
“I don’t understand you, Jon,” Tom hissed through clenched teeth, attempting to remain somewhat quiet, unlike Jon.
“I don’t understand you!” Jon shouted, voice horse and sore from the hours of alcohol consumption. Tom shushed him loudly, looking to the hallway which he knew held the bedroom Spencer was sleeping in.
“Be quiet, do you really want to wake Spencer and have him see you like this?” Tom attempted to reason, reaching out and pressing a hand to Jon’s hot cheek. Jon jerked away sharply, as though he’d be slapped instead of carefully caressed, stalking angrily to the other side of the kitchen.
“Fuck Spencer, fuck Greta, fuck you!” Jon turned once more, eye blazing, “I can’t believe you’re getting married. What about our friendship, Tom? We can barely see each other as is, and now you’ll be with Greta every second you get free from The Academy.”
Tom sighed, long and hard. He was never the reasonable, logical one in this relationship. Never. “I’m growing up Jon, what do you expect from me?”
“I expect you to be there for me!”
“And I will,” Tom snapped, narrowing his eyes. “As much as I can, believe me, I will be. But I want a family, Jon. I want a family and a wife and the house with a family pet. I want that.”
“Well, I can’t have that!” Jon was pacing now, angry, jerky pacing that only broke when he occasionally stumbled, eyes wild and raw. He paused for a minute, looking down, and repeated softly, “I can’t have that.”
And it all made sense. Jon was jealous and scared. Of Tom.
“Yes you can. You can adopt, and you would love that child as much as anything in the world.”
“But would it love me?” Jon asked, looking up slowly to Tom. “Will Spencer always love me? Would that child love me? Tom, I get nervous whenever Dylan doesn’t come to me when I call. I want to be loved.”
“Of course Spencer would love you for as long as you let him,” Tom murmured quietly, looking to this broken man that was his best friend. This man that held all the capability of love, however refused to accept it. Whose fear was letting him get the better of him, time and time again.
“You’re the only one I’m sure of, and now you’re off, loving Greta.”
“Jon, I still lo-“
“Go.”
Tom’s brows furrowed, attempting to catch Jon’s eyes but got nothing but his finger pointing to the door. “Go.”
He didn’t need to be told a third time.
That was when Jon ran to the bathroom, dropped to his knees, and buried his face within the toilet, emptying all the cake, shitty appetizers, and anything else he’d consumed at the bachelor party. Spencer gave him a courtesy five minutes before walking into the bathroom, dropping to his knees beside Jon, and pressing his cool hands to Jon’s hot face. Jon resisted at first, shoving him away roughly enough that he would bruise, but Spencer came back every time.
When Jon was done, Spencer simply stood and slid out of the t-shirt of Jon’s he was wearing. Jon wearily watched the perfect curve of his ass, knowing that he’d walk into the bedroom to discover Spencer on his hands and knees, wide open for him to take.
He was pretty sure that was what love was.
---
When they return home, a full two weeks later, they will bust through the door to their apartment just to see everyone they know (and or ever introduced themselves to, Spencer’s pretty sure) crowded around in their living room, yelling a loud “Surprise!”
Ryan will get up to hug Spencer, and Brendon will run and pounce on Jon, legs around his waist and arms tight around his neck. They’ll both say hi to everyone-Patrick lounging on their couch, slightly flushed, his hand on Pete’s leg, Pete chatting animatedly with Spencer’s sister as Patrick’s thumb gently swiped over his ankle bone. Jon will laugh as Will attached himself to his side, while Spencer will mock glare as Travis ruffles his hair. Joe will be blazed, eyes bloodshot, but shoot them a happy go lucky smile that reaches his eyes and genuinely touches their hearts, nestling his head into Andy’s shoulder. The Butch will stumble from their bathroom, waving his hands in front of the door, shouting for no one to go in there, and then pull Jon and Spencer into a generous hug.
Everyone will ask them how it was, tell Spencer how he looks a bit paler then when he left, and Spencer and Jon will just smile. When Jon finally gets to where Tom and Greta will be, they’ll both ask him how his honeymoon was. Jon will eye Greta, as well as her growing belly beneath the soft, gray pregnancy shirt, and give her a genuine smile and a hug. Then Jon will turn to Tom, and they’ll both get lost within a hug until Jon can feel Spencer’s delicate fingertips on wrist and Jon will allow himself to be lead away.
Ryan will tell them he took good care of their rings, and that he didn’t allow Brendon to touch them whatsoever, and he even cleaned them. Jon will, once more, slide the simple silver band onto Spencer’s left hand, and Spencer will return the favor with a smile that nearly blinds Jon.
They’ll have cake, festivities, and alcohol. And when everyone leaves, they’ll make it to the bedroom (eventually, they’ll probably make it to the kitchen, living room floor, and hallway wall first) to make love. Spencer will chant his name like a prayer, and Jon will be humbled by Spencer’s body all over again.
When they’re done, they’ll probably cuddle, Spencer’s fingertips tracing I love yous over Jon’s forearm and Jon pressing I love you toos into Spencer’s shoulder.
They’re both sure that’s what love feels like.