Fic: Jon's Bookstore (A Few of My Favorite Things) (2/2)
(continued from part one)
Not only does Patrick cut Jon a deal on the microphones, he gives him musician referrals, if one can call Patrick shyly commenting on the fact that he and Brendon both do gigs around town and neither one of them have been booked recently a referral.
"You both sing?" Jon asks.
Patrick nods eagerly, like he doesn't get to talk about it much. "Brendon and I do gigs together and sometimes solo. He plays piano and guitar, I just do guitar. We've been trying to start up a band, but..." He sighs, motions to the store around them. "Running a business kind of kills all your free time to be rock stars, y'know?"
God, does he know. Well, not the rock star part, but still.
"I was thinking of setting something up for Saturday night, maybe? Nothing fancy, just to test the waters and see if this whole thing's gonna be a spectacular failure." He says it with a smile, but Jon really doesn't want to be The Bookstore Guy Who Tried to Be Cool and Wasn't.
"I, um." Patrick fidgets for a second, going a bit pink around his ears. "I sort of have a date on Saturday night? But I know Brendon's free, and he'll totally be up for it. But don't feed him coffee, god - you'll never get him to leave."
Jon grins. "Awesome, just have him call me and we'll go from there." And then, because he feels like being evil, he adds, casually, "Pete taking you somewhere special?"
Patrick drums his fingers on the counter and clears his throat loudly. "That's none of - " He stops, sighs. "It's a seafood restaurant. I think they have a giant barracuda in a tank? Barracudas are not special, so I'm thinking, um, no."
Jon didn't think it was possible for someone to blush redder than Gerard, but evidently he was completely wrong.
~
At 7:57 on Friday morning, Jon shows up to open the store and finds Spencer sitting on the front steps, bundled up in his coat and curled into a tight ball, knees drawn to his chest.
"Jesus Christ, it's fucking freezing out," Jon says irritably, ignoring the surge in his chest. He hasn't seen Spencer in over two weeks.
Spencer looks up, shakes the hair out of his eyes. "I wanted to make sure I caught you," he replies, getting to his feet. He says his words carefully, as if he's been rehearsing them.
"I'm here all day, you know that." Jon winces internally as he digs out his keys; he doesn't mean to sound so sharp. He unlocks the front door, holds it open and ushers Spencer in.
"Ryan says you're planning a live music night tomorrow?" Spencer leans back against the coffee bar, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. He's looking at the floor and not at Jon.
"Yeah, Brendon, the guy who co-owns the music store next door, is gonna play." Jon really needs to go back to the office and get the register drawer out of the safe so that he can officially open the store, but Spencer doesn't look like he wants to move at all. He figures the store can stay closed another ten minutes; his Friday morning regulars (i.e. the pair of middle-aged ladies needing their weekly Danielle Steele fix) can wait.
Spencer actually raises an eyebrow at the mention of Brendon's name. "You mean Brendon Urie?" He gives a small sound of amusement when Jon nods. "Does Ryan know he's playing?"
"I think so."
He suddenly laughs, and it startles Jon, because he hasn't heard Spencer's laugh in a really long time and it's - it sounds nice. "Oh man, he must be freaking if he didn't even mention it to me." Laughter seems to relax his shoulders, let the tension out of his stance, and Jon, somehow, has really, really missed him. "Brendon played this house party a couple years ago, and Ryan thought he was the shit. Thing is, when Ryan went to introduce himself, Brendon sort of blew him off." Spencer shrugs. "I don't know, I wasn't there, that's only the version I got from Ryan. But, god, when Ryan found out Brendon was Patrick's partner after they bought the space next door...it was priceless." His grin is a little devious, and it makes Jon laugh as well.
"So, you think Ryan's going to spaz out on Saturday?" he asks.
"Quite possibly, which means I'm so going to be there for a front row seat." Then his smile fades a little. "Um, speaking of me being in the store..."
Jon swallows, reaches over without thinking and lays a hand on Spencer's arm. "Hey, I'm sorry, okay? I was a dick, and I shouldn't have taken my stress out on you like that. You're more than welcome to hang out here."
Spencer glances down at Jon's hand and then back up. "You were a dick, but a justifiable dick." He takes a deep breath. "Look, I came by to tell you I'm sorry. I don't have any right to talk about your personal shit, and I should know that. It's just - Ryan tells me things about you and I - " Spencer bites his lip, and Jon thinks there's a "get curious" in there somewhere. "Anyway, I also wanted to, ah. Ask if you'll hire me. That way I'll actually have a real reason to be around the store and not just someone who's in the way all the time." He laughs again, but Jon doesn't think he means to.
"You're not in the way, I swear." Jon realizes, a bit late, that he's yet to drop his hand from Spencer's arm. He promptly does so and takes a step back.
"Is that a no? You won't hire me?" He looks so anxious, Jon has no choice but to smile.
"You can split coffee duty with Gerard," he replies, and there's another weird surge in his chest when he sees Spencer melt in relief. "Deal?"
Spencer smiles back, and wow, okay, Frank doesn't really have the market cornered on sunshine-and-puppies smiles. Since when did Spencer start smiling like that, anyway? "Deal." He sticks his hand out and they shake on it. "Um, can I just start now?"
"Sure, but at nine you'll have to fight Gerard for Frank's coffee. Word of advice - lose."
~
Brendon is scheduled to play at eight o'clock Saturday night. He gets to the store at seven-thirty with nothing but his keyboard.
"I...thought you were singing?" Jon says with only a hint of trepidation. He's having horrible flashes of the episode of Friends where Ross played his keyboard at Central Perk and traumatized everyone. Granted, Patrick did tell him Brendon was a piano player, but the keyboard doesn't look all that fancy, and Jon's maybe starting to panic a little.
Brendon shakes his head sadly and points at his throat. "I'm getting a cold and I seriously sound like shit right now," he says. "But no worries, I'll make up for it, promise." He unfolds his keyboard stand and sets up in the small area facing the front door, nodding at Spencer, who's manning the coffee bar while Gerard's off at some comic book signing thing ("Inventory, man, I'll probably bring back loads of great stuff," he'd told Jon earlier that day, and Jon really wanted to tell him he didn't need to make excuses for wanting to be a geek).
"Hey, where's Ryan?" he asks, and Spencer sort of smirks and glances at Jon. They both know Ryan very indiscreetly glared and took off for the back of the store the second Brendon walked in the door, but Jon's not going to be the one to tell him that. He wonders how bad a brush-off you have to give Ryan in order to completely make him hate your guts.
"Um, he's - around." Spencer fidgets with the dials on the cappuccino machine and tries unsuccessfully not to smirk.
Jon thinks he hears Brendon lean over and ask softly, "Did he ever get my message?", but he can't be sure; he's already down the non-fiction aisle and turning the corner into Gerard's comic section, where Ryan's curled up in the armchair, reading The Stand.
"Hi, you're still on the clock, by the way," Jon says, nudging Ryan's elbow.
Ryan waves him off. "I'm on lunch."
"At eight o'clock at night?"
"Late lunch."
Jon rolls his eyes. "Dude, whatever beef you've got with Brendon, it can't be all that - "
Ryan's eyes snap up and fix Jon with a rather scary glare. "You don't know the details, so drop it, please," he replies, and each word is clearly defined and sharp around the edges.
Jon has a comment ready on how Ryan can take his pouty girl ass home, but in the next moment the store is filled with the sounds of a piano, a real piano playing something classical.
It can't possibly be that scrawny keyboard, but unless Brendon also hauled in a baby grand, there's no other explanation.
Jon and Ryan blink at one another for a second, and then Ryan's grumbling something under his breath and ducking back down into his book. It's dark in this back corner, but Jon swears he can see a pink tinge to Ryan's cheeks.
When Jon makes his way back to the front, a small group of customers are gathered around Brendon, and he notices people outside pausing at the window to glance in, to see where the gorgeous music is coming from.
Brendon finishes with a flourish and the whole store erupts in applause. He catches Jon's eye and says, loudly, "Chopin's not a party starter, but I hope it's still okay?"
Jon gives him two thumbs up. Brendon grins.
It was supposed to be an hour set, since the store closes at nine. But the crowd gets bigger, and Brendon starts taking requests at around nine-fifteen, and pretty soon it's almost ten and the store hasn't even begun to clear out.
Ryan tries to show his face at ten-thirty ("Someone needs to start counting the drawer down," he says matter-of-factly to Jon, his back to Brendon) and Brendon immediately says, "Ryan!" and starts playing the theme from Cheers for some reason.
Ryan takes the drawer out of the register and marches back to the office without a word.
Spencer smirks.
The last person gets (politely) kicked out fifteen minutes later, and once Jon has the door closed and locked, he says, "Okay. So. I'm a bit in shock, but I'd say music night was a roaring success." He points a finger at Brendon. "I don't care if Ryan hates you, you're amazing and I want to book you for the next ten million years, okay?"
Brendon's in the process of packing up his keyboard, but he freezes, face falling. "Ryan hates me?"
"Ryan doesn't hate you," Spencer replies, like he's stating the obvious. "He just hates the fact that he wants to get in your pants, is all."
Jon's really glad he's not drinking coffee at the moment, or he'd be choking.
Brendon's eyes go wide. "Really? I always thought - he never returned my calls - "
"I'm thinking he confused 'surrounded by people and really occupied' with 'blow off'. Ryan's kind of obtuse sometimes," Spencer says dryly.
It may or may not be a coincidence that Ryan chooses that moment to come out of the office in his coat and scarf, tugging his hat down low over his eyes. He mumbles something that sounds like "g'night" and aims a very pointed glare at Spencer, who purses his lips and doesn't flinch at all.
But before Ryan can make a complete escape, Brendon calls out, "I didn't blow you off, okay? It was just bad timing."
Ryan pauses with his hand on the doorknob.
"God, if I'd known you'd been avoiding me this whole time because of some stupid gig I played forever ago, I would've said something sooner." Brendon sounds incredibly earnest; Jon doesn't really know if it's enough. Ryan tends to be impervious to earnestness.
Ryan takes a deep breath, shoulders expanding and contracting, and just as Jon thinks maybe he's about to be proven wrong, he looks back over his shoulder at Spencer and hisses, "I am not obtuse."
The way Brendon visibly deflates as Ryan storms out the door is probably one of the saddest things Jon's ever seen.
~
The Christmas cards start arriving the third day in November, addressed to Kat Walker & Between the Lines Books. Each time one comes in the mail, Jon holds the envelope in his hand, runs the tips of his fingers over her name, and then sticks it in the top drawer of his desk, unopened.
A few weeks later, Gerard mentions something to Jon about getting the decorations out, and Jon sort of nods vaguely and wishes he didn't have so many memories of hanging slightly dusty garland threaded with rumpled red velvet ribbon from the bookcases. Kat used the same garland until Jon left for college, and even then it was at his grandfather's insistence that she throw it out. He can't quite remember what the new garland looks like.
"Yeah, you go ahead," Jon says to Gerard, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He also can't remember a good night's sleep. "I'm taking the rest of the day off. Call my cell if you need anything."
He goes home and tries to sleep, but his brain won't turn off; it's always a constant series of bills and inventory and paychecks and whether or not the coffee bar needs more skim milk.
His doorbell rings just after five, and Jon is still in his blue plaid pajama pants and long-sleeved gray t-shirt, hair a bit rumpled, looking like he never even made it out of bed today, let alone went into work for the morning. He opens the door as he yawns, and is suddenly face to face with Spencer.
"Are you sick?" Spencer asks. He doesn't exactly look worried, but there's something lurking in his eyes that hints at concern. He's holding a Styrofoam cup wrapped in plastic wrap.
Jon shakes his head. "No, just trying to catch up on sleep." He leans against the door, watches Spencer chew his lower lip and basically look uncomfortable. "Did you need something?"
"Ryan wanted to know if we could buy more Christmas lights." Spencer keeps turning the cup in his hands.
"And he couldn't call me himself?"
Spencer huffs. "No, he - look." He finally holds out the cup to Jon. "I thought you were sick, so I stopped at that deli down the street and got you some of that homemade chicken noodle soup. But you're not sick, so, um." He shrugs, fidgeting his way from uncomfortable to embarrassed. "Anyway, I'm gonna go back to the store now. Gerard had to go teach a class and Ryan's there all by himself, and god only knows what kind of lattes he's making."
Jon is still stuck back at the part where Spencer brought him soup. "Uh, thank you?"
Spencer shrugs again. He hasn't looked Jon in the eye once. "It's not a big deal. Can we get the extra lights?"
"Yeah, sure." The soup cup is warm in Jon's hand; he wonders if Spencer carried it here himself, or if he drove his car.
"Okay. I'll...see you tomorrow."
"Okay."
The corner of Spencer's mouth tilts up a fraction, but he ducks his head and leaves Jon standing in the doorway without saying goodbye.
~
Kat always threw a Christmas party for all of her best customers. She had invitations made and served champagne with hors d'oeuvres and put everything in the store fifty percent off for one night only, usually a few days before Christmas.
Jon remembers all this a week before Christmas. He totally blames Ryan and Gerard for not reminding him; instead, it's little Mrs. Danforth, who comes in every Saturday to peruse The Cat Who... selection.
"You are having the Christmas party, right?" she asks, hands folded neatly over her cane as she stares up at Jon through her double bifocals. "I haven't received my invite yet, Jonathan." She's the only regular who calls him by his first name. His entire first name. Jon really feels like he's in deep shit.
"Oh, of course we're having it," he replies hastily, giving Gerard a look of loathing (he holds out his hands, mouthing "I forgot!"). "There was, um, a problem with the mail, and all the invitations got mixed up. You should be getting yours soon." He nods with every word, as if agreeing with himself will somehow make everything magically happen.
Mrs. Danforth smiles. "Wonderful, I'd hate to see Kat's party fall by the wayside."
Jon mentally cringes. Six months in, and he still doesn't know what the hell he's doing.
He sends Gerard upstairs (i.e. home), tells him to spend the rest of the day designing an invitation worthy of Mrs. Danforth and also a flyer to put up around the block. This, of course, requires copies to be made, which means a lengthy trip to Kinko's. Gerard is more excited that he normally would be over the thought of drawing Santas and reindeer.
Jon calls Brendon, begs him and Patrick to play last minute. "It's just Christmas songs, that's all."
"Dude, we'll do it, we love doing Christmas songs, oh my god." Brendon sounds beside himself with glee. "You can pay us in gingerbread and eggnog."
He goes the eggnog route, actually, instead of champagne (read: cheap and bought more easily in bulk). Annette, the part-time retired school teacher, offers to bake snickerdoodles and pumpkin bread. And Patrick mentions something about Pete bringing his "famous" sugar cookies, which could literally mean anything.
Luckily, the store is already decorated to the hilt, thanks to Ryan and Gerard insisting that Kat would want the walls covered in lights and tinsel (Jon doesn't remember there being this many lights, but whatever). Everything's ready to go when five o'clock rolls around the day of the party; the table full of hors d'oeuvres is set (complete with a gigantic punch bowl full of eggnog), the 50% discount signs are clearly marked, and Brendon and Patrick are warming up, Patrick humming the chorus of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" as he tunes his guitar.
He doesn't think they're missing anything until Frank bursts through the door, exclaims, "Awesome, I'm not late!", and holds up a sprig of green.
"I brought mistletoe!" he says, grinning. "Since, y'know, I just got off work and can't bake for shit."
Gerard had invited the entire Kinko's staff, because inviting Frank alone would've caused way too much angst and anxiety on Gerard's part, even though it's obvious to everyone in the room when Frank slaps the thing above the door with a piece of duct tape (which Jon promptly changes to clear Scotch tape later - he doesn't want Kat's ghost haunting him) that's it's more of an incentive to get Gerard to kiss him than anything else. Gerard, however, seems utterly oblivious and just stays behind the coffee bar, blushing and trying to be inconspicuous with his smiles.
Frank brings another co-worker, Joe, whom Jon suspects is high and has weed on him at this very moment. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't concern Jon in the slightest, but he can't have pot and Mrs. Danforth in the same room with Annette's pumpkin bread. Kat's ghost really will fucking track him down.
"Dude," Jon whispers to Frank. "He can't have weed in here."
Frank pats his shoulder. "Don't worry, he's got plenty to go around." Jon dies a little inside.
And then, during Patrick's first chorus of "Happy Xmas," Jon catches Pete spiking the eggnog.
"I have eighty-year-old ladies in here, for fuck's sake," he moans, staring dejectedly at the huge punch bowl now laced with Southern Comfort.
Pete beams. "Where the hell do you think I got the recipe from? My grandma is badass."
Jon's pretty sure his grandmother's ghost will kick Pete's grandma's ass.
So now he's got the scent of pot floating lightly through the air and a punch bowl full of eggnog and whiskey. Thank god said little old ladies are smiling at Patrick and Brendon with happy approval in their eyes. Jon figures it has to be better than a Christmas CD on repeat.
The next few hours go...relatively well. Yes, he starts to get a buzz off the eggnog (and, okay, he did sneak into the back with Joe for a quick hit, but it wasn't anything serious, and Mrs. Danforth had already left for the evening), and yes, Pete drags Patrick away from the mic mid-song to kiss him soundly underneath the taped mistletoe (Brendon finishes the rest of "Last Christmas" with a huge grin), and yes, they run out of cookies. But he manages to make plenty of sales (Frank discovers Gerard's comic section and literally swoons) and everyone seems happy and contented and full of stereotypical holiday cheer.
Then, at one point in the night, when Brendon's got the whole store chiming in on a rousing rendition of "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas," Annette takes Jon aside and says, fondly, "I've got something I've been meaning to give you."
She leads him back to the office, rummaging around in her purse for a moment before pulling out a worn, yellowed photograph. "I found this the other night while going through some old boxes. I thought you should probably have it." She gives him the photograph, and Jon holds it flat in his hands.
He can't be more than three years old, sitting on the counter by the register - the store is unmistakable, since it hasn't changed in years. Kat has her arm around him, pulling him close into a hug. She's wearing a Santa hat, and the puffy, white ball at the end is hanging in Jon's eyes, making him giggle and lean against her. He flips the photo over and reads the handwritten scrawl across the back: Kat and Jon, Christmas Eve, Between the Lines.
"Your grandfather took that photo," Annette says. "I think I somehow got it when I started working on a scrapbook project for Kat a few years ago - she wanted a memory book of the store." She pats Jon's arm. "She loved you very, very much, and I know she'd be so proud to see that you've kept her store thriving."
Jon doesn't reply. He honestly doesn't have words. All he can focus on is the photograph in his hands and the sudden assault of memories, all at once, flashes of moments he hasn't wanted to dwell on since the funeral, because it would mean giving in, admitting that she's really, truly gone, not just away for an indefinite period of time.
Annette leaves him alone, standing in the middle of Kat's office with his back to the laughter of the party. Eventually he drops down onto the couch and lays the picture on the cushion beside him as he folds his arms over his knees. He stares at nothing, just breathes slowly as his eyesight starts to blur a little.
"Hey, Jon, I'm gonna run out and get some more - " Spencer freezes in the doorway. "Hey. Is everything - are you okay?" He takes a cautious step toward him.
Jon looks up, blinks twice and feels the dampness of his eyelashes. "I'm..." He takes another deep breath, whispers, "She's gone, Spence. She's gone, and I - " He bites his lip, digs the heel of his hand against his eyes. His voice is starting to catch. "This is all I have left of her and I'm so fucking scared I'm gonna fuck it all up."
He doesn't look at Spencer. He's not asking for sympathy or comfort; if anything, he just needs to say it out loud to someone, make it real. His eyes are closed and his face is hidden in his hands, but when he hears Spencer pick up the photograph, he sighs, a loud whoosh of air, and then, suddenly, he hopes Spencer will stay.
The couch dips beside him, and Jon is wrapped in the warmth of Spencer's arm sliding around his shoulders, his breath gentle against Jon's cheek as he says softly, "No, you're not. She knew you wouldn't." He kisses the corner of Jon's mouth, just a soothing brush of lips, but it makes Jon gasp and turn his head.
"Spence - " It's not what he intended, the kiss, but it's happening, and Spencer's shaking his head as his hands come up to cup Jon's cheeks, thumbs framing his jaw. He kisses Jon back, slow and easy, and Jon thinks he might still be crying, but doesn't care.
Slow and easy gradually becomes deep and breathless, becomes Spencer pushing him slowly back against the arm of the couch, becomes Spencer straddling his hips as he slips his hands under Jon's shirt, cold palms on hot skin.
Jon whimpers into Spencer's mouth, and then promptly remembers where they are. "I - I can't do this in front of..." He flails his hand around the office, at the framed pictures on the wall of Jon and his brothers. "Third grade pictures, Spencer. They can't see me naked."
Spencer chuckles against his mouth, pulls back enough to nuzzle Jon's chin. "Am I getting you naked? This is news to me."
Jon does not blush easily, but he's emotionally vulnerable right now, so. "Either way, I'm not making out in my grandmother's office." He traces a finger over Spencer's lower lip, likes watching the way his eyes flutter shut like that.
"I've, um." Spencer licks his tongue out, sucks Jon's finger into his mouth quickly before letting it slide back out with a soft pop. "I've got a really great bed in my apartment. Feather bed, even. It's awesome."
"Good to know." Jon is having a hard time breathing and talking at once.
Spencer kisses him again, chastely. "Come home with me?" he whispers. "Don't force me to make a lame joke about you being my Christmas present."
"Sing me some Mariah Carey and I'll think about it." He nips at Spencer's mouth, thinks they should've been doing this ages ago.
"How 'bout I get Brendon to sing it and you come home with me anyway?"
Jon grins, feeling happy, really happy, as in down to his toes, for the first time in weeks, maybe even months. "Yeah, he'd probably sound prettier."
Spencer gives him one last peck on the cheek and rolls off of him, offering Jon his hand when he's finally standing over the couch. "I originally came by to tell you we're out of cups, so I was going to run down to the store and get some more. Think I still should?"
The laughter coming from the front is loud, matching the sounds of Brendon and Patrick singing harmonies on "This Christmas." Jon decides he's going to keep the store open for as long as it takes the last person to leave.
He lets Spencer pull him to his feet. "Yeah, I think you should."
~
Three things happen before Jon shuts the store up for the night.
First, Frank kisses Gerard, and it's nowhere near the mistletoe. It's actually in the middle of a loud, slightly drunk (but good-natured) argument between Pete and Gerard over the latest Batman movie versus the comics.
"I don't give a flying fuck if it's the best thing ever - you don't just randomly throw in fucking ninjas and expect real fans to say dick about it," Gerard says, gesturing like mad and sloshing a bit of eggnog on the coffee bar, voice echoing through the room. Brendon and Patrick have since stopped singing, and now it's just Brendon playing selections from A Charlie Brown Christmas (Pete will later tug Patrick outside and say something about "snow kisses," which will make Patrick blush but smile smittenly as they tumble out the door).
Pete opens his mouth with an obvious retort, but it's mostly forgotten when Frank suddenly swoops in and kisses Gerard, tongue and all, standing slightly on tiptoe. Gerard's hand flails out to brace himself against the coffee bar, but he leans into the kiss eagerly, eventually cupping the back of Frank's head to pull him closer, make the kiss deeper. There are whistles and catcalls, but Frank happily holds up his middle finger to the room and keeps kissing him. (Mikey, Gerard's brother who happens to be in town, makes a comment about needing a room for the night, since he's not about to stay in Gerard's loft when all that's going on.)
Second, Ryan talks to Brendon (with the help of a lot of Spencer nudging). It's awkward and a little adorable, since it's so rare to see Ryan fumble around for words. He apologizes to Brendon, who is sitting absolutely still at his keyboard as he patiently waits for Ryan to finish.
"So, um. In conclusion, I'm stupid and obtuse and I'm sorry for thinking you were some dickwad musical talent with no social skills," Ryan says, fingers drumming nervously against his leg.
Brendon's eyes widen. "You think I'm a musical talent?" he whispers.
Ryan sighs, rolls his eyes. "That's not exactly what I - "
It's a moot point, though, because Brendon's already lunging across the keyboard and kissing Ryan straight on the mouth. Ryan blinks, stumbles backward.
"Ryan Ross, you like me, admit it!" Brendon is smiling so hard, Jon wonders if his face hurts.
"I - I don't - " The speechlessness is a dead give away, of course, and Brendon tackles him into a hug that makes Ryan grunt, but not unhappily.
Third, Jon and Spencer have sex. Sort of.
Jon locks the door and shuts the lights off as he listens to Frank and Gerard climb the stairs up to Gerard's loft (Mikey ended up crashing at Ryan's - "There will absolutely be no sex happening at my place, trust me," Ryan had said, looking straight at Brendon, who was hanging off his shoulder), all drunken giggles and soft kisses.
Spencer's sitting on the counter by the register, idly swinging his legs as he watches Jon close up. "Tonight went well, yeah?"
Jon points to the empty hors d'oeuvres table, along with the empty punch bowl. "I'd say hell yeah." He's still a little tipsy and ridiculously proud of himself; for once, he feels like he knows what he's doing with this whole crazy place.
He pulls the drawer out of the register. "I just need to count this down and then we're done."
"You sure you can still count?" Spencer smirks.
Jon scrinches his nose at him. "You're driving me home. But yes, I can still handle a register drawer, thanks." He motions for Spencer to follow him back to the office, but when he gets there, Spencer's not behind him. He skips counting the money (tomorrow, everything can wait until tomorrow) and just sticks the drawer in the safe.
"Spence?" He leans out the office doorway, looks down the aisles.
"Over here."
He follows the sound of his voice through the stacks and eventually finds Spencer peering intently at a shelf of self-help books. It's really dark in this corner of the store, so he can't possibly see much.
"What, you decided to consult Dr. Phil before taking me home?" Jon says, knocking their shoulders together.
Spencer looks over at him, hair in his eyes, sticking to his lashes. He blinks slowly, with purpose, and his smile is even slower. And completely full of want.
"No. I just wanted to get you out of the office so I could do this." He's leaning as he says the last few words, and Jon barely has time to register the incoming kiss until it's happening, faster and deeper than anything they'd shared earlier. Spencer backs him up against the bookshelf and splays his hands over Jon's stomach, slides them higher, over shoulders, biceps, pectorals. He's not even touching skin, and yet Jon's already desperate, pushing into him, moaning his approval of every touch into Spencer's mouth.
It's not pretty, and maybe even a bit awkward when they finally get their jeans open and boxers shoved down far enough. Their hands knock into each other, and they fumble with the rhythm at first, Jon's hand wrapped around both of their too-dry cocks while Spencer thrusts up too quickly. But it's perfect anyway, because the rhythm finds itself and eventually there's enough precome between the two of them to make everything slick and hot. It's frantic and sharp and full of things yet to be said, but still kissed into a collarbone somehow, or sighed against a cheek. They don't last long, and when Spencer comes, he accidentally slams his head into the shelf.
"Fuck, Jon" becomes "ow, fuck", and then the shelf promptly gives way and spills a stream of paperbacks onto the floor, but not before every one of them hits Jon and Spencer on the way down.
Jon isn't even finished gasping through his own orgasm, but he still bursts out laughing, kissing the look of pissy dismay off Spencer's face.
"I think Kat's trying to tell us something," he mumbles into Spencer's mouth, breathless and flushed.
"You did not just insinuate that you think your grandmother saw us having sex." But Spencer is smiling, eyes drowsy and sated, his thumbs rubbing contented circles along Jon's hipbones.
They leave the books scattered on the floor, along with the broken shelf. If Ryan wants to ask in the morning, Jon thinks he's more than welcome to. He highly doubts they'll get more than an eye roll, and maybe, maybe, a blush.
That night, wrapped up in down blankets and Spencer, his body half-sunk into Spencer's feather bed, Jon sleeps the whole night through.
**
Not only does Patrick cut Jon a deal on the microphones, he gives him musician referrals, if one can call Patrick shyly commenting on the fact that he and Brendon both do gigs around town and neither one of them have been booked recently a referral.
"You both sing?" Jon asks.
Patrick nods eagerly, like he doesn't get to talk about it much. "Brendon and I do gigs together and sometimes solo. He plays piano and guitar, I just do guitar. We've been trying to start up a band, but..." He sighs, motions to the store around them. "Running a business kind of kills all your free time to be rock stars, y'know?"
God, does he know. Well, not the rock star part, but still.
"I was thinking of setting something up for Saturday night, maybe? Nothing fancy, just to test the waters and see if this whole thing's gonna be a spectacular failure." He says it with a smile, but Jon really doesn't want to be The Bookstore Guy Who Tried to Be Cool and Wasn't.
"I, um." Patrick fidgets for a second, going a bit pink around his ears. "I sort of have a date on Saturday night? But I know Brendon's free, and he'll totally be up for it. But don't feed him coffee, god - you'll never get him to leave."
Jon grins. "Awesome, just have him call me and we'll go from there." And then, because he feels like being evil, he adds, casually, "Pete taking you somewhere special?"
Patrick drums his fingers on the counter and clears his throat loudly. "That's none of - " He stops, sighs. "It's a seafood restaurant. I think they have a giant barracuda in a tank? Barracudas are not special, so I'm thinking, um, no."
Jon didn't think it was possible for someone to blush redder than Gerard, but evidently he was completely wrong.
~
At 7:57 on Friday morning, Jon shows up to open the store and finds Spencer sitting on the front steps, bundled up in his coat and curled into a tight ball, knees drawn to his chest.
"Jesus Christ, it's fucking freezing out," Jon says irritably, ignoring the surge in his chest. He hasn't seen Spencer in over two weeks.
Spencer looks up, shakes the hair out of his eyes. "I wanted to make sure I caught you," he replies, getting to his feet. He says his words carefully, as if he's been rehearsing them.
"I'm here all day, you know that." Jon winces internally as he digs out his keys; he doesn't mean to sound so sharp. He unlocks the front door, holds it open and ushers Spencer in.
"Ryan says you're planning a live music night tomorrow?" Spencer leans back against the coffee bar, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. He's looking at the floor and not at Jon.
"Yeah, Brendon, the guy who co-owns the music store next door, is gonna play." Jon really needs to go back to the office and get the register drawer out of the safe so that he can officially open the store, but Spencer doesn't look like he wants to move at all. He figures the store can stay closed another ten minutes; his Friday morning regulars (i.e. the pair of middle-aged ladies needing their weekly Danielle Steele fix) can wait.
Spencer actually raises an eyebrow at the mention of Brendon's name. "You mean Brendon Urie?" He gives a small sound of amusement when Jon nods. "Does Ryan know he's playing?"
"I think so."
He suddenly laughs, and it startles Jon, because he hasn't heard Spencer's laugh in a really long time and it's - it sounds nice. "Oh man, he must be freaking if he didn't even mention it to me." Laughter seems to relax his shoulders, let the tension out of his stance, and Jon, somehow, has really, really missed him. "Brendon played this house party a couple years ago, and Ryan thought he was the shit. Thing is, when Ryan went to introduce himself, Brendon sort of blew him off." Spencer shrugs. "I don't know, I wasn't there, that's only the version I got from Ryan. But, god, when Ryan found out Brendon was Patrick's partner after they bought the space next door...it was priceless." His grin is a little devious, and it makes Jon laugh as well.
"So, you think Ryan's going to spaz out on Saturday?" he asks.
"Quite possibly, which means I'm so going to be there for a front row seat." Then his smile fades a little. "Um, speaking of me being in the store..."
Jon swallows, reaches over without thinking and lays a hand on Spencer's arm. "Hey, I'm sorry, okay? I was a dick, and I shouldn't have taken my stress out on you like that. You're more than welcome to hang out here."
Spencer glances down at Jon's hand and then back up. "You were a dick, but a justifiable dick." He takes a deep breath. "Look, I came by to tell you I'm sorry. I don't have any right to talk about your personal shit, and I should know that. It's just - Ryan tells me things about you and I - " Spencer bites his lip, and Jon thinks there's a "get curious" in there somewhere. "Anyway, I also wanted to, ah. Ask if you'll hire me. That way I'll actually have a real reason to be around the store and not just someone who's in the way all the time." He laughs again, but Jon doesn't think he means to.
"You're not in the way, I swear." Jon realizes, a bit late, that he's yet to drop his hand from Spencer's arm. He promptly does so and takes a step back.
"Is that a no? You won't hire me?" He looks so anxious, Jon has no choice but to smile.
"You can split coffee duty with Gerard," he replies, and there's another weird surge in his chest when he sees Spencer melt in relief. "Deal?"
Spencer smiles back, and wow, okay, Frank doesn't really have the market cornered on sunshine-and-puppies smiles. Since when did Spencer start smiling like that, anyway? "Deal." He sticks his hand out and they shake on it. "Um, can I just start now?"
"Sure, but at nine you'll have to fight Gerard for Frank's coffee. Word of advice - lose."
~
Brendon is scheduled to play at eight o'clock Saturday night. He gets to the store at seven-thirty with nothing but his keyboard.
"I...thought you were singing?" Jon says with only a hint of trepidation. He's having horrible flashes of the episode of Friends where Ross played his keyboard at Central Perk and traumatized everyone. Granted, Patrick did tell him Brendon was a piano player, but the keyboard doesn't look all that fancy, and Jon's maybe starting to panic a little.
Brendon shakes his head sadly and points at his throat. "I'm getting a cold and I seriously sound like shit right now," he says. "But no worries, I'll make up for it, promise." He unfolds his keyboard stand and sets up in the small area facing the front door, nodding at Spencer, who's manning the coffee bar while Gerard's off at some comic book signing thing ("Inventory, man, I'll probably bring back loads of great stuff," he'd told Jon earlier that day, and Jon really wanted to tell him he didn't need to make excuses for wanting to be a geek).
"Hey, where's Ryan?" he asks, and Spencer sort of smirks and glances at Jon. They both know Ryan very indiscreetly glared and took off for the back of the store the second Brendon walked in the door, but Jon's not going to be the one to tell him that. He wonders how bad a brush-off you have to give Ryan in order to completely make him hate your guts.
"Um, he's - around." Spencer fidgets with the dials on the cappuccino machine and tries unsuccessfully not to smirk.
Jon thinks he hears Brendon lean over and ask softly, "Did he ever get my message?", but he can't be sure; he's already down the non-fiction aisle and turning the corner into Gerard's comic section, where Ryan's curled up in the armchair, reading The Stand.
"Hi, you're still on the clock, by the way," Jon says, nudging Ryan's elbow.
Ryan waves him off. "I'm on lunch."
"At eight o'clock at night?"
"Late lunch."
Jon rolls his eyes. "Dude, whatever beef you've got with Brendon, it can't be all that - "
Ryan's eyes snap up and fix Jon with a rather scary glare. "You don't know the details, so drop it, please," he replies, and each word is clearly defined and sharp around the edges.
Jon has a comment ready on how Ryan can take his pouty girl ass home, but in the next moment the store is filled with the sounds of a piano, a real piano playing something classical.
It can't possibly be that scrawny keyboard, but unless Brendon also hauled in a baby grand, there's no other explanation.
Jon and Ryan blink at one another for a second, and then Ryan's grumbling something under his breath and ducking back down into his book. It's dark in this back corner, but Jon swears he can see a pink tinge to Ryan's cheeks.
When Jon makes his way back to the front, a small group of customers are gathered around Brendon, and he notices people outside pausing at the window to glance in, to see where the gorgeous music is coming from.
Brendon finishes with a flourish and the whole store erupts in applause. He catches Jon's eye and says, loudly, "Chopin's not a party starter, but I hope it's still okay?"
Jon gives him two thumbs up. Brendon grins.
It was supposed to be an hour set, since the store closes at nine. But the crowd gets bigger, and Brendon starts taking requests at around nine-fifteen, and pretty soon it's almost ten and the store hasn't even begun to clear out.
Ryan tries to show his face at ten-thirty ("Someone needs to start counting the drawer down," he says matter-of-factly to Jon, his back to Brendon) and Brendon immediately says, "Ryan!" and starts playing the theme from Cheers for some reason.
Ryan takes the drawer out of the register and marches back to the office without a word.
Spencer smirks.
The last person gets (politely) kicked out fifteen minutes later, and once Jon has the door closed and locked, he says, "Okay. So. I'm a bit in shock, but I'd say music night was a roaring success." He points a finger at Brendon. "I don't care if Ryan hates you, you're amazing and I want to book you for the next ten million years, okay?"
Brendon's in the process of packing up his keyboard, but he freezes, face falling. "Ryan hates me?"
"Ryan doesn't hate you," Spencer replies, like he's stating the obvious. "He just hates the fact that he wants to get in your pants, is all."
Jon's really glad he's not drinking coffee at the moment, or he'd be choking.
Brendon's eyes go wide. "Really? I always thought - he never returned my calls - "
"I'm thinking he confused 'surrounded by people and really occupied' with 'blow off'. Ryan's kind of obtuse sometimes," Spencer says dryly.
It may or may not be a coincidence that Ryan chooses that moment to come out of the office in his coat and scarf, tugging his hat down low over his eyes. He mumbles something that sounds like "g'night" and aims a very pointed glare at Spencer, who purses his lips and doesn't flinch at all.
But before Ryan can make a complete escape, Brendon calls out, "I didn't blow you off, okay? It was just bad timing."
Ryan pauses with his hand on the doorknob.
"God, if I'd known you'd been avoiding me this whole time because of some stupid gig I played forever ago, I would've said something sooner." Brendon sounds incredibly earnest; Jon doesn't really know if it's enough. Ryan tends to be impervious to earnestness.
Ryan takes a deep breath, shoulders expanding and contracting, and just as Jon thinks maybe he's about to be proven wrong, he looks back over his shoulder at Spencer and hisses, "I am not obtuse."
The way Brendon visibly deflates as Ryan storms out the door is probably one of the saddest things Jon's ever seen.
~
The Christmas cards start arriving the third day in November, addressed to Kat Walker & Between the Lines Books. Each time one comes in the mail, Jon holds the envelope in his hand, runs the tips of his fingers over her name, and then sticks it in the top drawer of his desk, unopened.
A few weeks later, Gerard mentions something to Jon about getting the decorations out, and Jon sort of nods vaguely and wishes he didn't have so many memories of hanging slightly dusty garland threaded with rumpled red velvet ribbon from the bookcases. Kat used the same garland until Jon left for college, and even then it was at his grandfather's insistence that she throw it out. He can't quite remember what the new garland looks like.
"Yeah, you go ahead," Jon says to Gerard, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He also can't remember a good night's sleep. "I'm taking the rest of the day off. Call my cell if you need anything."
He goes home and tries to sleep, but his brain won't turn off; it's always a constant series of bills and inventory and paychecks and whether or not the coffee bar needs more skim milk.
His doorbell rings just after five, and Jon is still in his blue plaid pajama pants and long-sleeved gray t-shirt, hair a bit rumpled, looking like he never even made it out of bed today, let alone went into work for the morning. He opens the door as he yawns, and is suddenly face to face with Spencer.
"Are you sick?" Spencer asks. He doesn't exactly look worried, but there's something lurking in his eyes that hints at concern. He's holding a Styrofoam cup wrapped in plastic wrap.
Jon shakes his head. "No, just trying to catch up on sleep." He leans against the door, watches Spencer chew his lower lip and basically look uncomfortable. "Did you need something?"
"Ryan wanted to know if we could buy more Christmas lights." Spencer keeps turning the cup in his hands.
"And he couldn't call me himself?"
Spencer huffs. "No, he - look." He finally holds out the cup to Jon. "I thought you were sick, so I stopped at that deli down the street and got you some of that homemade chicken noodle soup. But you're not sick, so, um." He shrugs, fidgeting his way from uncomfortable to embarrassed. "Anyway, I'm gonna go back to the store now. Gerard had to go teach a class and Ryan's there all by himself, and god only knows what kind of lattes he's making."
Jon is still stuck back at the part where Spencer brought him soup. "Uh, thank you?"
Spencer shrugs again. He hasn't looked Jon in the eye once. "It's not a big deal. Can we get the extra lights?"
"Yeah, sure." The soup cup is warm in Jon's hand; he wonders if Spencer carried it here himself, or if he drove his car.
"Okay. I'll...see you tomorrow."
"Okay."
The corner of Spencer's mouth tilts up a fraction, but he ducks his head and leaves Jon standing in the doorway without saying goodbye.
~
Kat always threw a Christmas party for all of her best customers. She had invitations made and served champagne with hors d'oeuvres and put everything in the store fifty percent off for one night only, usually a few days before Christmas.
Jon remembers all this a week before Christmas. He totally blames Ryan and Gerard for not reminding him; instead, it's little Mrs. Danforth, who comes in every Saturday to peruse The Cat Who... selection.
"You are having the Christmas party, right?" she asks, hands folded neatly over her cane as she stares up at Jon through her double bifocals. "I haven't received my invite yet, Jonathan." She's the only regular who calls him by his first name. His entire first name. Jon really feels like he's in deep shit.
"Oh, of course we're having it," he replies hastily, giving Gerard a look of loathing (he holds out his hands, mouthing "I forgot!"). "There was, um, a problem with the mail, and all the invitations got mixed up. You should be getting yours soon." He nods with every word, as if agreeing with himself will somehow make everything magically happen.
Mrs. Danforth smiles. "Wonderful, I'd hate to see Kat's party fall by the wayside."
Jon mentally cringes. Six months in, and he still doesn't know what the hell he's doing.
He sends Gerard upstairs (i.e. home), tells him to spend the rest of the day designing an invitation worthy of Mrs. Danforth and also a flyer to put up around the block. This, of course, requires copies to be made, which means a lengthy trip to Kinko's. Gerard is more excited that he normally would be over the thought of drawing Santas and reindeer.
Jon calls Brendon, begs him and Patrick to play last minute. "It's just Christmas songs, that's all."
"Dude, we'll do it, we love doing Christmas songs, oh my god." Brendon sounds beside himself with glee. "You can pay us in gingerbread and eggnog."
He goes the eggnog route, actually, instead of champagne (read: cheap and bought more easily in bulk). Annette, the part-time retired school teacher, offers to bake snickerdoodles and pumpkin bread. And Patrick mentions something about Pete bringing his "famous" sugar cookies, which could literally mean anything.
Luckily, the store is already decorated to the hilt, thanks to Ryan and Gerard insisting that Kat would want the walls covered in lights and tinsel (Jon doesn't remember there being this many lights, but whatever). Everything's ready to go when five o'clock rolls around the day of the party; the table full of hors d'oeuvres is set (complete with a gigantic punch bowl full of eggnog), the 50% discount signs are clearly marked, and Brendon and Patrick are warming up, Patrick humming the chorus of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" as he tunes his guitar.
He doesn't think they're missing anything until Frank bursts through the door, exclaims, "Awesome, I'm not late!", and holds up a sprig of green.
"I brought mistletoe!" he says, grinning. "Since, y'know, I just got off work and can't bake for shit."
Gerard had invited the entire Kinko's staff, because inviting Frank alone would've caused way too much angst and anxiety on Gerard's part, even though it's obvious to everyone in the room when Frank slaps the thing above the door with a piece of duct tape (which Jon promptly changes to clear Scotch tape later - he doesn't want Kat's ghost haunting him) that's it's more of an incentive to get Gerard to kiss him than anything else. Gerard, however, seems utterly oblivious and just stays behind the coffee bar, blushing and trying to be inconspicuous with his smiles.
Frank brings another co-worker, Joe, whom Jon suspects is high and has weed on him at this very moment. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't concern Jon in the slightest, but he can't have pot and Mrs. Danforth in the same room with Annette's pumpkin bread. Kat's ghost really will fucking track him down.
"Dude," Jon whispers to Frank. "He can't have weed in here."
Frank pats his shoulder. "Don't worry, he's got plenty to go around." Jon dies a little inside.
And then, during Patrick's first chorus of "Happy Xmas," Jon catches Pete spiking the eggnog.
"I have eighty-year-old ladies in here, for fuck's sake," he moans, staring dejectedly at the huge punch bowl now laced with Southern Comfort.
Pete beams. "Where the hell do you think I got the recipe from? My grandma is badass."
Jon's pretty sure his grandmother's ghost will kick Pete's grandma's ass.
So now he's got the scent of pot floating lightly through the air and a punch bowl full of eggnog and whiskey. Thank god said little old ladies are smiling at Patrick and Brendon with happy approval in their eyes. Jon figures it has to be better than a Christmas CD on repeat.
The next few hours go...relatively well. Yes, he starts to get a buzz off the eggnog (and, okay, he did sneak into the back with Joe for a quick hit, but it wasn't anything serious, and Mrs. Danforth had already left for the evening), and yes, Pete drags Patrick away from the mic mid-song to kiss him soundly underneath the taped mistletoe (Brendon finishes the rest of "Last Christmas" with a huge grin), and yes, they run out of cookies. But he manages to make plenty of sales (Frank discovers Gerard's comic section and literally swoons) and everyone seems happy and contented and full of stereotypical holiday cheer.
Then, at one point in the night, when Brendon's got the whole store chiming in on a rousing rendition of "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas," Annette takes Jon aside and says, fondly, "I've got something I've been meaning to give you."
She leads him back to the office, rummaging around in her purse for a moment before pulling out a worn, yellowed photograph. "I found this the other night while going through some old boxes. I thought you should probably have it." She gives him the photograph, and Jon holds it flat in his hands.
He can't be more than three years old, sitting on the counter by the register - the store is unmistakable, since it hasn't changed in years. Kat has her arm around him, pulling him close into a hug. She's wearing a Santa hat, and the puffy, white ball at the end is hanging in Jon's eyes, making him giggle and lean against her. He flips the photo over and reads the handwritten scrawl across the back: Kat and Jon, Christmas Eve, Between the Lines.
"Your grandfather took that photo," Annette says. "I think I somehow got it when I started working on a scrapbook project for Kat a few years ago - she wanted a memory book of the store." She pats Jon's arm. "She loved you very, very much, and I know she'd be so proud to see that you've kept her store thriving."
Jon doesn't reply. He honestly doesn't have words. All he can focus on is the photograph in his hands and the sudden assault of memories, all at once, flashes of moments he hasn't wanted to dwell on since the funeral, because it would mean giving in, admitting that she's really, truly gone, not just away for an indefinite period of time.
Annette leaves him alone, standing in the middle of Kat's office with his back to the laughter of the party. Eventually he drops down onto the couch and lays the picture on the cushion beside him as he folds his arms over his knees. He stares at nothing, just breathes slowly as his eyesight starts to blur a little.
"Hey, Jon, I'm gonna run out and get some more - " Spencer freezes in the doorway. "Hey. Is everything - are you okay?" He takes a cautious step toward him.
Jon looks up, blinks twice and feels the dampness of his eyelashes. "I'm..." He takes another deep breath, whispers, "She's gone, Spence. She's gone, and I - " He bites his lip, digs the heel of his hand against his eyes. His voice is starting to catch. "This is all I have left of her and I'm so fucking scared I'm gonna fuck it all up."
He doesn't look at Spencer. He's not asking for sympathy or comfort; if anything, he just needs to say it out loud to someone, make it real. His eyes are closed and his face is hidden in his hands, but when he hears Spencer pick up the photograph, he sighs, a loud whoosh of air, and then, suddenly, he hopes Spencer will stay.
The couch dips beside him, and Jon is wrapped in the warmth of Spencer's arm sliding around his shoulders, his breath gentle against Jon's cheek as he says softly, "No, you're not. She knew you wouldn't." He kisses the corner of Jon's mouth, just a soothing brush of lips, but it makes Jon gasp and turn his head.
"Spence - " It's not what he intended, the kiss, but it's happening, and Spencer's shaking his head as his hands come up to cup Jon's cheeks, thumbs framing his jaw. He kisses Jon back, slow and easy, and Jon thinks he might still be crying, but doesn't care.
Slow and easy gradually becomes deep and breathless, becomes Spencer pushing him slowly back against the arm of the couch, becomes Spencer straddling his hips as he slips his hands under Jon's shirt, cold palms on hot skin.
Jon whimpers into Spencer's mouth, and then promptly remembers where they are. "I - I can't do this in front of..." He flails his hand around the office, at the framed pictures on the wall of Jon and his brothers. "Third grade pictures, Spencer. They can't see me naked."
Spencer chuckles against his mouth, pulls back enough to nuzzle Jon's chin. "Am I getting you naked? This is news to me."
Jon does not blush easily, but he's emotionally vulnerable right now, so. "Either way, I'm not making out in my grandmother's office." He traces a finger over Spencer's lower lip, likes watching the way his eyes flutter shut like that.
"I've, um." Spencer licks his tongue out, sucks Jon's finger into his mouth quickly before letting it slide back out with a soft pop. "I've got a really great bed in my apartment. Feather bed, even. It's awesome."
"Good to know." Jon is having a hard time breathing and talking at once.
Spencer kisses him again, chastely. "Come home with me?" he whispers. "Don't force me to make a lame joke about you being my Christmas present."
"Sing me some Mariah Carey and I'll think about it." He nips at Spencer's mouth, thinks they should've been doing this ages ago.
"How 'bout I get Brendon to sing it and you come home with me anyway?"
Jon grins, feeling happy, really happy, as in down to his toes, for the first time in weeks, maybe even months. "Yeah, he'd probably sound prettier."
Spencer gives him one last peck on the cheek and rolls off of him, offering Jon his hand when he's finally standing over the couch. "I originally came by to tell you we're out of cups, so I was going to run down to the store and get some more. Think I still should?"
The laughter coming from the front is loud, matching the sounds of Brendon and Patrick singing harmonies on "This Christmas." Jon decides he's going to keep the store open for as long as it takes the last person to leave.
He lets Spencer pull him to his feet. "Yeah, I think you should."
~
Three things happen before Jon shuts the store up for the night.
First, Frank kisses Gerard, and it's nowhere near the mistletoe. It's actually in the middle of a loud, slightly drunk (but good-natured) argument between Pete and Gerard over the latest Batman movie versus the comics.
"I don't give a flying fuck if it's the best thing ever - you don't just randomly throw in fucking ninjas and expect real fans to say dick about it," Gerard says, gesturing like mad and sloshing a bit of eggnog on the coffee bar, voice echoing through the room. Brendon and Patrick have since stopped singing, and now it's just Brendon playing selections from A Charlie Brown Christmas (Pete will later tug Patrick outside and say something about "snow kisses," which will make Patrick blush but smile smittenly as they tumble out the door).
Pete opens his mouth with an obvious retort, but it's mostly forgotten when Frank suddenly swoops in and kisses Gerard, tongue and all, standing slightly on tiptoe. Gerard's hand flails out to brace himself against the coffee bar, but he leans into the kiss eagerly, eventually cupping the back of Frank's head to pull him closer, make the kiss deeper. There are whistles and catcalls, but Frank happily holds up his middle finger to the room and keeps kissing him. (Mikey, Gerard's brother who happens to be in town, makes a comment about needing a room for the night, since he's not about to stay in Gerard's loft when all that's going on.)
Second, Ryan talks to Brendon (with the help of a lot of Spencer nudging). It's awkward and a little adorable, since it's so rare to see Ryan fumble around for words. He apologizes to Brendon, who is sitting absolutely still at his keyboard as he patiently waits for Ryan to finish.
"So, um. In conclusion, I'm stupid and obtuse and I'm sorry for thinking you were some dickwad musical talent with no social skills," Ryan says, fingers drumming nervously against his leg.
Brendon's eyes widen. "You think I'm a musical talent?" he whispers.
Ryan sighs, rolls his eyes. "That's not exactly what I - "
It's a moot point, though, because Brendon's already lunging across the keyboard and kissing Ryan straight on the mouth. Ryan blinks, stumbles backward.
"Ryan Ross, you like me, admit it!" Brendon is smiling so hard, Jon wonders if his face hurts.
"I - I don't - " The speechlessness is a dead give away, of course, and Brendon tackles him into a hug that makes Ryan grunt, but not unhappily.
Third, Jon and Spencer have sex. Sort of.
Jon locks the door and shuts the lights off as he listens to Frank and Gerard climb the stairs up to Gerard's loft (Mikey ended up crashing at Ryan's - "There will absolutely be no sex happening at my place, trust me," Ryan had said, looking straight at Brendon, who was hanging off his shoulder), all drunken giggles and soft kisses.
Spencer's sitting on the counter by the register, idly swinging his legs as he watches Jon close up. "Tonight went well, yeah?"
Jon points to the empty hors d'oeuvres table, along with the empty punch bowl. "I'd say hell yeah." He's still a little tipsy and ridiculously proud of himself; for once, he feels like he knows what he's doing with this whole crazy place.
He pulls the drawer out of the register. "I just need to count this down and then we're done."
"You sure you can still count?" Spencer smirks.
Jon scrinches his nose at him. "You're driving me home. But yes, I can still handle a register drawer, thanks." He motions for Spencer to follow him back to the office, but when he gets there, Spencer's not behind him. He skips counting the money (tomorrow, everything can wait until tomorrow) and just sticks the drawer in the safe.
"Spence?" He leans out the office doorway, looks down the aisles.
"Over here."
He follows the sound of his voice through the stacks and eventually finds Spencer peering intently at a shelf of self-help books. It's really dark in this corner of the store, so he can't possibly see much.
"What, you decided to consult Dr. Phil before taking me home?" Jon says, knocking their shoulders together.
Spencer looks over at him, hair in his eyes, sticking to his lashes. He blinks slowly, with purpose, and his smile is even slower. And completely full of want.
"No. I just wanted to get you out of the office so I could do this." He's leaning as he says the last few words, and Jon barely has time to register the incoming kiss until it's happening, faster and deeper than anything they'd shared earlier. Spencer backs him up against the bookshelf and splays his hands over Jon's stomach, slides them higher, over shoulders, biceps, pectorals. He's not even touching skin, and yet Jon's already desperate, pushing into him, moaning his approval of every touch into Spencer's mouth.
It's not pretty, and maybe even a bit awkward when they finally get their jeans open and boxers shoved down far enough. Their hands knock into each other, and they fumble with the rhythm at first, Jon's hand wrapped around both of their too-dry cocks while Spencer thrusts up too quickly. But it's perfect anyway, because the rhythm finds itself and eventually there's enough precome between the two of them to make everything slick and hot. It's frantic and sharp and full of things yet to be said, but still kissed into a collarbone somehow, or sighed against a cheek. They don't last long, and when Spencer comes, he accidentally slams his head into the shelf.
"Fuck, Jon" becomes "ow, fuck", and then the shelf promptly gives way and spills a stream of paperbacks onto the floor, but not before every one of them hits Jon and Spencer on the way down.
Jon isn't even finished gasping through his own orgasm, but he still bursts out laughing, kissing the look of pissy dismay off Spencer's face.
"I think Kat's trying to tell us something," he mumbles into Spencer's mouth, breathless and flushed.
"You did not just insinuate that you think your grandmother saw us having sex." But Spencer is smiling, eyes drowsy and sated, his thumbs rubbing contented circles along Jon's hipbones.
They leave the books scattered on the floor, along with the broken shelf. If Ryan wants to ask in the morning, Jon thinks he's more than welcome to. He highly doubts they'll get more than an eye roll, and maybe, maybe, a blush.
That night, wrapped up in down blankets and Spencer, his body half-sunk into Spencer's feather bed, Jon sleeps the whole night through.
**