Drabbles for you
Here, have some drabbles!
Author: silver_etoile
Disclaimer: Not real.
Summary: A bunch of random drabbles.
Author's Notes: So way back in October I did this writing meme and I got a little over-enthusiastic, and I expanded the one I did for arctic_grey into ten individual drabbles based off my original ten-word ficlets. Yes, I am that crazy. Without further ado...
❶. Angst: No more midnight texts, just strange twitters - miss you lately.
He slept with the phone clenched in his hand, woke with the metal warm to the touch, the screen as dim as ever when he left it on the bed and dragged himself to take a shower.
He kept it in his pocket everywhere he went, just waiting. But he wasn’t really waiting, and they all knew it. None of them were waiting.
The screen never flickered to life after eight PM, never vibrated when he forgot it on the nightstand, never sung out that tune reserved just for him.
When it did ring, he dragged himself to look at the generic ring, shrill in the empty studio.
miss you lately
It was the middle of the day, almost noon on the nose, sun streaming in through the big windows in the front lounge where everyone else was on lunch break, sipping coffee and talking about insignificant things.
The twitter logo flashed bright and blue under the message and he stared.
It wasn’t an onslaught of emotions, just a tight close-up of his throat at he reread the words over and over, wondering, wondering if maybe… maybe they really were meant for him and not someone else.
“Spencer?”
Blinking, he lifted his eyes from the text to stare blankly across the room at Brendon standing in the doorway, one hand still on the knob and a careful look on his face.
“Food’s here,” he said cautiously, and sometimes, Spencer really appreciated that Brendon at least seemed to understand.
“Yeah,” Spencer muttered in response, trying to clear his throat of the block, of the hands that had started to tighten the moment he’d read the words. It was hard, though, as he stared down at his phone.
Brendon didn’t say anything as he backed out the door, closing it but not latching it.
Swallowing thickly, Spencer’s finger hovered over the keys, eyes blurring over the words stuck there, now burned into his memory, stuck forever in a place between for me or for someone else. But he knew, had always known, that it was meant for him.
Biting back the tremble in his lips, he pressed down, the tiny beep filling the room, and the message disappeared, leaving only his generic cell phone background staring back at him.
Closing his eyes, he tried to shake it away, but couldn’t stop the way his hand shook as he slid the phone into his pocket and headed out to the lounge, leaving the empty studio behind.
*
❷. AU: "Puppies love me." Jon opened the gate. "Take your pick."
The ad in the paper just said, ‘I’ve got puppies! Who wants one?’ Spencer wasn’t convinced, and he told Ryan so all the way over to the other side of town, following the directions scribbled on the back of a Target receipt that Ryan had gotten when he called.
“What if it’s a puppy mill?” he asked stubbornly even as they walked up the front walk to the door. The neighborhood was nice enough, and in all honesty, the odds that it was a puppy mill what with the freshly cut lawn and little gnome sitting out front in the garden was unlikely, but Spencer was determined.
Ryan ignored him, ringing the doorbell and stepping back to wait. When they didn’t hear any frantic barks or scrabbling at the door, he gave Spencer a look. “The guy sounded really nice on the phone.”
Spencer scowled and opened his mouth to argue some more, but the front door opened then and a guy wearing jeans and flip flops appeared, trying desperately to hold onto a struggling puppy.
“Uh, hi,” he said, grabbing for the dog’s legs as it tried to wriggle away and nearly fell. “Are you Ryan?”
“Yeah.” Ryan nodded and gave Spencer a nudge from where he was just giving the guy’s flip flops an appraising eyebrow raise. “This is Spencer.”
Spencer looked up finally and blinked as he found a very good-looking guy smiling at him, the puppy finally calming and struggling up to lick his face.
“Hi,” the guy said with that same warm smile. “I’m Jon. And I’ve got puppies.”
“I can see that,” Spencer replied finally, pulling himself back together.
“You want one, right?” Jon asked, stepping outside the door before Spencer could ask.
“He does,” Spencer said, gesturing uselessly at Ryan, who was already peering interestedly at the dog in Jon’s arms.
“I’ve got plenty,” Jon said, already stepping off to the side. “Come around back.”
Spencer and Ryan followed Jon around the side of the house and to a fence gate. Spencer could hear the yips of puppies now, doubtlessly frolicking in the back yard. Spencer wanted to accuse Jon of something, but Ryan elbowed him before he could say anything.
“Be careful,” was all Jon said as he unlatched the gate and it swung open. He slid in between the tiny gap, letting Ryan and Spencer follow.
The back yard was just like any other backyard that Spencer had ever seen except that a whole side was filled with spotless outdoor kennels, puppies in a few and the rest sprawled out on the lawn. They made a beeline for Jon as soon as they entered, and Jon quickly shut the gate before any could escape. Setting down the squirming puppy in his hands, he turned to Ryan.
“Take your pick.”
Ryan was already wandering off, enthralled as puppies of all shapes and sizes crowded up to him.
Spencer scowled after him, crossing his arms defiantly to show his displeasure. There had to be something strange going on with this many puppies and a guy willing to basically give them away. Sure, there was a small fee of, like, twenty dollars, but that was still ridiculous. What was this guy doing?
Spencer didn’t speak as Ryan wove through the puppies. Jon stood beside him, watching.
“Are you guys together?” Jon asked finally, breaking the silence other than the yips of puppies all clambering for Ryan’s attention.
Glaring at the ground, Spencer shook his head sharply. “He’s my best friend.”
“Oh.” Jon fell silent, kicking the ground, and Spencer’s gaze drifted to his flip flops.
“So what?” he said finally, a little defensively. “Do you, like, breed dogs until they can’t take it and then sell all the puppies to pay for your drug habit?”
Jon stared for a second at Spencer’s question, eyes a little wide with surprise, but then his mouth quirked and he almost laughed.
“Actually, I volunteer for an animal rescue, and I take puppies that they don’t have room for. Some just find me, though.” He shrugged a little and glanced down as a plump brown and white puppy basically sat on his feet and wagged his stubby tail, panting up at him. “I can’t help it. Puppies love me.”
Spencer bit back his curse as Jon stooped down to pick up the puppy, that yapped and licked at his face.
“But that’s a good story. You’re not a writer, are you?”
Spencer felt kind of like an idiot. “No,” he muttered. “And sorry, I didn’t…”
“Yeah, you did,” Jon finished for him, but he was smiling as he set the puppy down and it gamboled off with its fellows. “But I get it. Gotta be careful with these things, I know. Some of these puppies came from the worst places.”
Spencer wanted to say something else that might make up for his horrible lack of social skills or manners, but Ryan appeared with a wriggling beagle in his hands. It was a little older than the rest, but barked at Jon and wagged its tail.
“I like this one,” Ryan said and Spencer could swear the dog smiled.
“She’s a good one,” Jon assured him, patting the dog’s head. “You sure she’s the one?”
Ryan nodded. “Yeah.”
The dog wagged its tail.
Jon grinned, and Spencer felt his stomach twist, half in guilt, half in something else he didn’t care to acknowledge.
“Awesome. If you wanna come inside, we can do the paperwork. It’s easy stuff, don’t worry.”
Ryan nodded in agreement, setting the beagle down and following Jon to the sliding glass door and going inside when Jon opened it for him.
Spencer hung back, feeling like he should still apologize, but Jon smiled and shook his head.
“You’re a good friend, Spencer. Don’t feel bad. But now you know where to come if you want a dog, right?”
“What if I don’t want a dog?” Spencer asked quietly, and Jon glanced back, a curious smile on the edge of his lips now.
“You still know where to come,” he replied after a second, and Spencer was sure he didn’t imagine the way Jon bit back his smile and headed inside to Ryan.
He might come back, Spencer thought as he followed Jon and left the beagle wagging her tail and staring in the door as Ryan filled out the paperwork at the table and Spencer spent the rest of the time watching Jon’s smile.
*
❸. Crack!fic: Spencer couldn't balance. "I like off-balance." Pink feathers flew.
“Do you think maybe he’s sick?”
Spencer glared, ruffling his feathers, as he heard the zookeeper whispering to the volunteer who came by every day at eleven forty-five to give the lecture. He was tempted to fly over there and peck her until she took it back, but instead, he decided to preen and take the high road.
He was not sick. He just couldn’t balance.
Besides, who said they had to sleep on one leg? It was impractical… except for that whole staying warm thing. But it made them look stupid and Spencer wasn’t even sure you could get any stupider than having pink feathers.
“Maybe it’s an inner ear imbalance,” Brendon said knowledgeably, fluttering around Spencer and stretching his neck down to check below.
Spencer glared. Brendon wasn’t really one to talk, what with all his stuck-up feathers, crooked and messy. Instead, he kicked at Brendon’s head and ended up wobbling and fell in a splash of water, glaring through dripping feathers.
Brendon left him alone after that.
Ryan picked at Spencer’s feathers, preening him slowly, almost mindlessly as they stood in the pond while a group of school children went running past, sticky hands clasping bright balloons. A few pointed and laughed at them while Spencer glared as best he could.
“I know why you can’t balance,” Ryan said as he smoothed out Spencer’s back feathers.
“Why?” Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to hear, especially when the group of new flamingos wandered over from where they’d been feeding. Jon was amongst them, climbing onto a sunlight rock and perching on one foot.
“You like the new chick.”
Spencer’s wing flashed out, catching Ryan’s beak, but it was Spencer, not Ryan, who wobbled and flapped backwards, pink feathers flying everywhere as he fought to catch himself.
Ryan just gave him a look and wandered off to find Brendon.
Spencer glared after, but stopped when Jon fluttered down next to him, and attempted to stick his foot up again and be dignified. It was hard when he was pink, after all, but he thought he managed until Jon stuck his neck over, staring into Spencer’s eyes, their beaks nearly touching.
“You can’t balance?” Jon asked curiously, and Spencer knew the rest of the new flamingos were watching, probably snickering behind their wings and pointing out the tint of white to his feathers as he blinked at Jon, wobbling dangerously on his one foot.
“I’m not sick,” Spencer said before he could stop himself, ruffling his wings, but that only made the wobble worse, so he stopped. “I’m just off-balance sometimes.”
Jon was silent for a moment, looking Spencer over, and Spencer was glad he couldn’t blush or he’d just turn pinker. Then he pulled his neck back and tucked up his foot.
“I like off-balance.”
Spencer stared and Jon turned to him, beak pushing at his wing for just a split-second. It was all over as Spencer flailed and fell in a crash of feathers and water. Jon didn’t laugh, just gave Spencer a nudge up and tucked his head back against his own wing.
“I like off-balance.”
*
❹. Crossover (with HP): "Disarming is meant for enemies, not clothes!" Hermione reprimanded Spencer.
He was just practicing, after all, and they had O.W.Ls coming up, and Hermione was always pestering him that he needed to study. Sometimes he wished she would just go make out with Ron and leave him alone.
“That’s not what Disarming is for!” Hermione had reprimanded him the moment Jon’s clothes had vanished, ripped across the common room leaving Jon standing in only his boxers (green, Spencer noted with some curiosity).
Jon stared, looking halfway between shock and amusement, but he was in his underwear after all, and half the tower was in the common room feverishly studying for the exams.
“I’m just gonna,” Jon mumbled after a minute, pointing uselessly at the stairway to the dormitories while Hermione turned to Spencer, who was watching Jon hurry away interestedly.
“I should report you,” she said sternly, hands on her hips and giving him that look Spencer had seen her give Harry way too many times.
“Relax, Hermione,” he grumbled. “It was just an accident. Gotta practice for O.W.Ls, don’t we?”
Hermione looked as though she was going to argue the point, but Spencer ducked out before she could.
“Sorry,” he called back. “Got more practicing to do!” As he climbed the stairs two at a time, he hoped Harry or Ron might be able to appease her later. It wasn’t really his problem, though. She took her Prefect duties far too seriously.
At the door to the dormitory, he paused, pushing it open slowly. Jon was standing over by his bed, rummaging in his trunk for a clean shirt. He already had jeans pulled on and straightened up sharply at the sound of the door closing behind Spencer.
Upon seeing him, he sighed, but it was soft and he sounded more resigned than frustrated.
“Did you have to do that?” he asked as Spencer came over, leaning against the bed post. “That was my favorite shirt.”
“Mine too,” Spencer replied seriously, taking a step forward. “But you know how I like your shirts.”
Jon arched an eyebrow as Spencer smirked and backed him up against his trunk.
“Off,” Spencer whispered, sliding his arms around Jon’s neck and smiling when Jon leaned into the kiss.
He’d be practicing a lot more from now on.
*
❺. First Time: Spencer's shaky breath panted against Jon's open mouth. "Please, now."
Spencer was in his lap, in his fucking lap, and Jon still wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there, but they were both down to their boxers, rubbing and grinding and everything in between, hands slipping on sweaty skin. Something about Spencer stumbling off stage a half hour ago and in that time finding Jon behind the Academy’s bus and pulling him away, only to end up back in the venue on a ratty old couch in the darkest room they could find almost didn’t surprise Jon, but then, he’d only known Spencer a few weeks, and hey, Spencer was still pretty new at this, Jon reminded himself.
But Spencer was in his lap, fucking grinding his hips down so hard it made Jon’s head spin a little and the room went fuzzy. He was thankful it was dark or it would have been even worse.
“Fucking, Spence,” he tried to say, push through gritted teeth as his fingers tightened over Spencer’s hips and he pushed up to meet them in the slip slide of heat rushing down to the tips of his toes.
Spencer didn’t reply except to moan softly, breath fluttering over Jon’s ear while his hands gripped Jon’s shoulders tightly for leverage.
Jon wasn’t going to push it, not yet, not after only a few weeks of this, of this sort of frantic grinding in dark corners, of kisses pressed in between abandoned stretches of concrete during the day, of figuring out the tour and how things might even begin to work between them.
Spencer’s breath was already hot and panted over his skin as he moved, nose brushing against Spencer’s, swallowing down his heart, the rush of heat and pressure to his groin where Spencer just kept rocking down, so close and yet so far. Jon wasn’t going to last much longer, not like this, not with Spencer leaning in and kissing him, a careful slide of lips that turned into something completely different, something hard and biting, tongues sliding together until Spencer bit down on Jon’s lower lip and pulled.
His hips twisted down almost desperately and his hands tightened on Jon’s shoulders as he pulled back, lips trailing over Jon’s smooth cheek.
“Jon, I want,” he managed, swallowing the last word and gritting his teeth through a groan. “I want you to,” he repeated, covering the last word with a curse as he dug his hips down and tried to still, pressed against Jon, and Jon could feel the throb of Spencer’s cock pressed to his. Groaning, he tried to shift, but Spencer was pinning him down to the couch, pulse fluttering when Jon released one hip to brush his thumb over his neck.
“Want what?” he asked, thinking he knew what, but he didn’t let his rabbiting pulse escape his throat. He could still feel every inch of Spencer sliding against him, skin still slick with sweat from the show, buzzing with adrenaline, the post-show high, the one Jon longed to feel again someday.
“You,” Spencer whispered after a second of controlling himself, of squeezing Jon’s shoulders as he tried to stay still, not to rock into the heat and friction of Jon, not to let himself get lost before he got what he wanted, what he thought he wanted.
“Yeah?” Jon asked, because he had to check. Spencer was new at this, he told himself again, grasping at the edge of rational thoughts, blurred at the edge of his mind. Spencer was new to the whole touring thing, to the whole liking guys thing. There were ways to do this.
“Yeah,” Spencer replied, wiggling his hips down until Jon took a sharp breath and pushed back.
“I don’t have,” he said, but Spencer was already pushing at his boxers, and Jon lost his train of thought the moment bare skin pressed against bare skin, burning hot and pulsing through his body. His moan matched Spencer’s and it hardly mattered that he didn’t have any lube, nothing that would help the stretch.
“You do have,” Spencer mumbled against his jaw, melting against him as Jon thrust his hips up into Spencer’s.
Fumbling, Jon ignored the shake in Spencer voice as he grabbed for his discarded jeans, digging in the back pocket for the condom Tom had once slipped in his wallet as a joke. It was still there, tucked snugly between his Costco card and the Starbucks gift card he’d gotten from his mom on his last birthday. He tore the plastic as Spencer shifted up, knees planted firmly on either side of him on the couch.
Biting his lip, Jon glanced up at him, smoothing Spencer’s hair away from his face and remembering how young he really was.
“This is probably gonna hurt,” he warned him, “a lot.”
Spencer only nodded and watched with wide eyes as Jon coated a few fingers as best he could. It was a bad substitution but it was all they had and he didn’t think Spencer was willing to wait.
He waited as long as he could until Spencer whined against his jaw, whispering, “Jon,” against the skin and sliding a hand down to brush along his cock.
Jon didn’t speak, taking his fingers from his mouth and moving them down as quickly as he could. The first was probably too quick when Spencer sucked in a breath, lifted up on his knees above Jon, arms wrapped around his neck. Jon could feel Spencer’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, the way he let out a trembling breath against his skin when he pushed in the second finger.
“Spence?” he asked, trying to pull back to look at him, but Spencer’s mouth was there, dragging him into a hot, desperate kiss as he pushed his fingers in through the tight muscles.
Spencer pulled back panting, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing against Jon’s open mouth, stopping just long enough to choke out a shaky, “Please, now,” before his fingers trembled and he pushed back against Jon.
Jon’s fingers were gone soon and the condom was rolled on his aching cock. He waited for Spencer to move first while he did his best without lube to make things smooth. Spencer lifted up first on his knees, waiting for Jon to reach down and position him, guiding his hips down, pressing in.
He could feel the tense line of Spencer’s body, the slow slide, the hard push in as Spencer whimpered but didn’t stop, just let Jon press in as slowly as possible.
“Spence?” he asked again when he could feel Spencer shift around him, muscles tightening and working hard against him.
Spencer was silent, breath slow and ragged against Jon’s neck, then he let out a long, hot breath, fingers digging into the back of Jon’s neck as he whispered, “Yeah, okay... yeah, okay.”
Yeah, Jon thought, pulling out and loving the tremble of Spencer’s body before he pushed back in and, okay.
*
❻. Fluff: Best thing about waking up: Jon's coffee in his cup.
It smelled like coffee. The whole apartment did, which wasn’t really that strange, except that it didn’t usually happen before Spencer even woke up.
Rolling over in bed, he blinked against the sun streaming in through the east-facing window and nearly groaned, but there was still the glorious smell of coffee permeating his bedroom, so he didn’t, blinking at the rumpled comforter on the other side of the bed slowly.
There weren’t any sounds from the kitchen but Spencer managed to pull himself out of bed a few minutes later, stumbling over shoes by the bedroom door and out into the living room that was attached to the kitchen. The television was on in the living room, but it was on low and Spencer could barely hear what the newswoman was saying as he crossed to the kitchen where Jon was standing with his back to Spencer.
“I smell coffee,” Spencer said, and maybe he sort of mumbled it sleepily, but it didn’t really matter when Jon turned and smiled at him, the same smile Spencer could definitely get used to seeing every day for the rest of forever. And maybe he already had.
“Just the way you like it,” Jon said, handing over a mug of freshly brewed coffee. It was in the mug with big blue snowflakes on it and Spencer arched an eyebrow at it before he took a sip.
Jon poured his own cup of coffee and turned to lean against the counter, sipping it quietly.
Spencer went to take another sip, but his eyes fell on the cup Jon had used, the one that was white with rounded edges and a troop of dancing penguins on the side, holding flippers and wearing Santa hats. Christmas was two months away, but there Jon was using the Christmas mug like every day was Christmas.
“What?” Jon asked when he caught Spencer staring. He looked at the mug curiously.
“Why did you pick that mug?” Spencer asked after a second, and Jon shrugged.
“I liked it. Why?”
Spencer shook his head, setting down his mug and coming over to Jon. “I’ve had that mug since I was six and my mom used it for hot chocolate every year at Christmas.”
Jon smiled slowly. “Should I stop using it?”
Leaning in, Spencer shook his head again. “You should use it every day,” he said instead, and Jon smiled as Spencer kissed him softly in the morning sunlight filling the tiny kitchen.
“Maybe I will.”
*
❼. Humor: "It keeps spell-checking 'joncer'!" Spencer nearly broke Brendon's computer.
The worst combination in the world, Spencer decided, was Pete Wentz, Brendon Urie, and Mac spell-check function. Of course, he also blamed Ryan and his tendency to lurk on Livejournal, which Brendon obviously picked up from him.
Spencer was also convinced that wi-fi on a tour bus was now the worst idea ever.
Pete started it, really, back before the tour started when he had dragged Brendon over to the computer and began explaining, in big words and wild gestures, something that Spencer didn’t pay attention to, but it had become obvious since then that he should have paid attention.
“And it’s called peterick,” Brendon explained, waving the poptart in his hand around wildly, crumbs spreading on the tiny table where he was squished in next to Ryan. Ryan attempted to drink his coffee dignifiedly, but it was hard with Brendon’s elbow knocking into him every two seconds. Spencer was across from them, an eyebrow arched as he listened dubiously.
Jon wasn’t up yet, or if he was, he was staying far away from the kitchenette, smart bastard.
Spencer was just thinking of going to find him when Brendon scooted out from the bench and grabbed his laptop off the couch.
“It’s all over LiveJournal,” Brendon continued, and Spencer shot Ryan a look. Ryan shrugged helplessly around his coffee. It wasn’t like he’d told Brendon about that too.
“Brendon,” Spencer started as Jon emerged into the living room rubbing his eyes and yawning, heading for the coffee. “You shouldn’t be on those websites. They write all sorts of crazy things.”
Brendon didn’t reply, though, his eyes following Jon across the living area and even after he grabbed a cup of coffee and slid onto the bench next to Spencer, nudging him over and resting his head against his shoulder.
“Sun,” Jon mumbled tiredly, closing his eyes and Spencer flashed him a small smile.
Eyes wide, Brendon turned and typed something furiously into his computer. Spencer wasn’t paying attention, though, nudging Jon up from his shoulder. Jon made a noise and just buried his nose in Spencer’s shirt, sighing deeply, hands clutched around his coffee cup.
Spencer rolled his eyes and glanced at Ryan, but Ryan was watching Brendon. Spencer followed his gaze.
“What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously when Brendon huffed and clicked something on the computer.
“It keeps spell-checking ‘joncer’!”
Even Jon stirred at that, although it may have been because Spencer jerked up.
“What?” he demanded, ready to climb over the table, even if it would mean kneeing someone in the chest and probably spilling coffee everywhere.
“You guys have a pretty big fanbase,” Brendon continued as though he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. Then he smirked. “But ryden is much bigger.”
Ryan choked on his coffee and Spencer glared. Jon just mumbled something into his coffee cup and nudged Spencer when Brendon was typing again.
“It’s true,” he mumbled, leaning back against Spencer’s shoulder, all warm and heavy. “We make one awesome couple, Spencer Smith.”
Spencer almost smiled, but then Brendon made another noise.
“Aw, they have fic-approval! I’ll have to wait for comments, but then at least we can make a fair assessment of who they like better.”
Spencer was going to kill him… after the comments came in.
*
❽. Hurt/Comfort: "Poor baby." Jon touched gently. Spencer sighed and leaned closer.
There was a reason Spencer didn’t play sports, especially with any of the bands that always played on Warped Tour. He should have known better when Gabe suggested a game of soccer. He should have known it would end this way, him being dragged off the field by Pete, who then dumped him on the sidelines and went back to the game.
Possibly, he should put some ice on the bruise starting to swell on his ankle, but moving was not really an option when there wasn’t anything to help pull himself up with, and the rest of the guys were still on the field. Spencer was going to get Gabe back for this someday.
“You okay?”
Looking up, Spencer found himself looking up at Jon, who had somehow miraculously avoided being called upon to play.
“No,” he replied honestly, grimacing as he tried to drag his foot up, but he was pretty sure his ankle was twisted, and it hurt too much, so he just left it at the strange angle it was in and sighed down at it.
By the time he looked back up at Jon, Jon was halfway across the field. Feeling petty and annoyed, Spencer huffed and crossed his arms, not even bothering to try to look less like a petulant child. He’d been abandoned by everyone now.
He could see Brendon flailing after the ball on the field and Ryan standing a little ways off, clearly inspecting his nails.
“Here.” Jon was back, surprising Spencer as he dropped down to sit next to him, placing an ice-pack over Spencer’s ankle.
“Where did you get that?” Spencer asked, too surprised to be annoyed that Jon had abandoned him.
Jon shrugged, molding the pack to Spencer’s ankle. “Zach’s always got stuff like this stashed in the freezer just in case.”
Spencer wanted to complain that he didn’t need to be taken care of like a five year old, but it hurt to move and Jon was just sitting next to him, shoulder almost pressed to his.
So he sighed and leaned in closer, glaring out at the field.
“I hate Gabe,” he muttered, hissing as Jon pressed a little too hard.
“Poor baby,” Jon murmured, and Spencer could hear the smile in his voice. His mouth quirked, wanting to scowl, but he didn’t, just blinked and was glad when Jon’s arm slid around his shoulders and he was allowed to hate Gabe in peace.
*
❾. Smut: The groan was lost to Jon's mouth, biting down, wet.
They weren’t alone, they knew that, but Jon’s fingers were stretching down, sliding under the waist of his jeans as he crowded Spencer into a dark corner.
“Jon,” Spencer gasped into Jon’s mouth, lips bitten and sore already, red and pretty as he panted breaths against fevered skin.
“Shh,” Jon murmured, kissing Spencer long and hard, biting down on his lower lip, his free hand clenched in Spencer’s hair, angling his head into the kiss even as Spencer gasped at the feel of Jon’s fingers pressing.
“Fuck, fuck,” he cursed, pulling Jon closer, out of the sliver of light and deeper into the shadows. He couldn’t really move, couldn’t make it easier for either of them, but Jon was sucking on his jaw while he shifted, fingers wriggling inside Spencer.
Spencer didn’t curse again when Jon thrust his fingers in deeper and a flash of heat stole through his body, curling his toes. Instead, he swallowed the noise, dragging Jon’s mouth to his as he licked Jon’s bottom lip, biting down hard and wet against him, stifling more noises, as Jon finger-fucked him slow and good in the back corner.
Techs were still milling around, murmurs penetrating their bubble about guitars and amps. But Spencer tried to push them out, knowing they could get caught, knowing what they currently looked like, his hair a mess and lips kiss-stung.
“Fuck, Jon,” he mumbled when he pulled away for breath, but Jon’s fingers thrust in deeper and he nearly squeaked, clinging to Jon’s back. “You’ve gotta-”
Jon never replied, kissing him hard and fast, pouring everything into the kiss as he twisted his fingers and Spencer’s whole body tightened, screaming for something more.
“Jon, Jon,” he tried to warn him, words lost to Jon’s mouth, a wet mumble that Jon kissed away, fucking Spencer with three fingers now, pushing with purpose into his body until Spencer was mumbling nonsense in between curses and arching up against him, the inside of his boxers covered in hot, sticky come. “You, shit,” Spencer panted, trying to catch his breath and check that no one saw.
But they were still alone in their corner, Jon’s hand stuffed down his pants, fingers shifting and pulling out slowly.
“I,” Jon echoed, hand resting on Spencer’s hip now, “win.”
He won, Spencer would agree, won that bet about dark corners and not getting interrupted, which meant, he got to claim his prize. Spencer’s groan was lost to Jon’s mouth as Jon leant in and bit down, hard and wet, and Spencer could lose this once.
*
❿. UST: Girl jeans were most definitely his style, Jon thought, staring.
It was initiation, Brendon told him, but Jon was starting to think it was torture, or that no one else wanted to do it and because he was new, he got to.
It wasn’t all bad until they came to the jeans store and Jon collapsed in a chair near the dressing room, ready to take a well-deserved nap, but this was Spencer he was shopping with, and Spencer wasn’t done.
Then again, it was Spencer, the guy whose smile made Jon want to take pictures of it all day long, who pranced around in pink tee shirts two inches too short and bent over his drum kit to retrieve sticks, giving Jon the perfect view of his ass in too-tight jeans.
Speaking of jeans, Spencer pushed aside the curtain and stared down at Jon in the chair.
“What do you think?” he asked, turning around to look at himself in the mirror.
Jon tried not to stare, really, but Spencer was standing there in a pair of girl jeans that hugged his ass, complete with sparkly pink glitter on the back pockets.
Spencer glanced back. “You think they look okay?”
Shaking himself, Jon nodded finally. “Yeah, they’re, uh, great.”
Spencer paused, lifting his arms to adjust the tag on his shirt and Jon knew that staring at his bandmate’s hips was something he shouldn’t do, but fuck if Spencer didn’t do that on purpose, especially when he smirked a little in the mirror and turned around.
“You don’t think it makes my ass look big? Brendon will kill me if it’s bigger than his.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Jon tried to reply normally, and Spencer laughed.
“Yeah, probably not, but they’re okay?”
“Yeah.” Jon nodded, not thinking about how much better they would look on the dressing room floor, how Spencer’s cheeks might get the same shade of pink as the glitter if he pushed him inside and kissed him hard. No, he didn’t think about that, especially when Spencer bent over straighten out the cuffs.
“I think I’ll get them,” Spencer said finally, straightening up and casting a glance at Jon, who cleared his throat and tossed him a smile.
“Yeah, they’re good.”
Later when Spencer was paying for the jeans, Jon leaned on the counter next to him, watching the clerk fold up the jeans and put them into a bag.
“You’ve got a thing for pink, don’t you, Smith?” he asked as Spencer handed the girl his credit card.
Spencer glanced over and smirked. “Yeah, I like seeing how pink things can get,” he replied, tucking the card back into his wallet and grabbing the bag. “You coming, Walker?”
If Jon blushed, he’d blame it on the heat in the store and not the way Spencer arched an eyebrow and swung his hips as they left the store.
*
FIN.
Author: silver_etoile
Disclaimer: Not real.
Summary: A bunch of random drabbles.
Author's Notes: So way back in October I did this writing meme and I got a little over-enthusiastic, and I expanded the one I did for arctic_grey into ten individual drabbles based off my original ten-word ficlets. Yes, I am that crazy. Without further ado...
❶. Angst: No more midnight texts, just strange twitters - miss you lately.
He slept with the phone clenched in his hand, woke with the metal warm to the touch, the screen as dim as ever when he left it on the bed and dragged himself to take a shower.
He kept it in his pocket everywhere he went, just waiting. But he wasn’t really waiting, and they all knew it. None of them were waiting.
The screen never flickered to life after eight PM, never vibrated when he forgot it on the nightstand, never sung out that tune reserved just for him.
When it did ring, he dragged himself to look at the generic ring, shrill in the empty studio.
miss you lately
It was the middle of the day, almost noon on the nose, sun streaming in through the big windows in the front lounge where everyone else was on lunch break, sipping coffee and talking about insignificant things.
The twitter logo flashed bright and blue under the message and he stared.
It wasn’t an onslaught of emotions, just a tight close-up of his throat at he reread the words over and over, wondering, wondering if maybe… maybe they really were meant for him and not someone else.
“Spencer?”
Blinking, he lifted his eyes from the text to stare blankly across the room at Brendon standing in the doorway, one hand still on the knob and a careful look on his face.
“Food’s here,” he said cautiously, and sometimes, Spencer really appreciated that Brendon at least seemed to understand.
“Yeah,” Spencer muttered in response, trying to clear his throat of the block, of the hands that had started to tighten the moment he’d read the words. It was hard, though, as he stared down at his phone.
Brendon didn’t say anything as he backed out the door, closing it but not latching it.
Swallowing thickly, Spencer’s finger hovered over the keys, eyes blurring over the words stuck there, now burned into his memory, stuck forever in a place between for me or for someone else. But he knew, had always known, that it was meant for him.
Biting back the tremble in his lips, he pressed down, the tiny beep filling the room, and the message disappeared, leaving only his generic cell phone background staring back at him.
Closing his eyes, he tried to shake it away, but couldn’t stop the way his hand shook as he slid the phone into his pocket and headed out to the lounge, leaving the empty studio behind.
*
❷. AU: "Puppies love me." Jon opened the gate. "Take your pick."
The ad in the paper just said, ‘I’ve got puppies! Who wants one?’ Spencer wasn’t convinced, and he told Ryan so all the way over to the other side of town, following the directions scribbled on the back of a Target receipt that Ryan had gotten when he called.
“What if it’s a puppy mill?” he asked stubbornly even as they walked up the front walk to the door. The neighborhood was nice enough, and in all honesty, the odds that it was a puppy mill what with the freshly cut lawn and little gnome sitting out front in the garden was unlikely, but Spencer was determined.
Ryan ignored him, ringing the doorbell and stepping back to wait. When they didn’t hear any frantic barks or scrabbling at the door, he gave Spencer a look. “The guy sounded really nice on the phone.”
Spencer scowled and opened his mouth to argue some more, but the front door opened then and a guy wearing jeans and flip flops appeared, trying desperately to hold onto a struggling puppy.
“Uh, hi,” he said, grabbing for the dog’s legs as it tried to wriggle away and nearly fell. “Are you Ryan?”
“Yeah.” Ryan nodded and gave Spencer a nudge from where he was just giving the guy’s flip flops an appraising eyebrow raise. “This is Spencer.”
Spencer looked up finally and blinked as he found a very good-looking guy smiling at him, the puppy finally calming and struggling up to lick his face.
“Hi,” the guy said with that same warm smile. “I’m Jon. And I’ve got puppies.”
“I can see that,” Spencer replied finally, pulling himself back together.
“You want one, right?” Jon asked, stepping outside the door before Spencer could ask.
“He does,” Spencer said, gesturing uselessly at Ryan, who was already peering interestedly at the dog in Jon’s arms.
“I’ve got plenty,” Jon said, already stepping off to the side. “Come around back.”
Spencer and Ryan followed Jon around the side of the house and to a fence gate. Spencer could hear the yips of puppies now, doubtlessly frolicking in the back yard. Spencer wanted to accuse Jon of something, but Ryan elbowed him before he could say anything.
“Be careful,” was all Jon said as he unlatched the gate and it swung open. He slid in between the tiny gap, letting Ryan and Spencer follow.
The back yard was just like any other backyard that Spencer had ever seen except that a whole side was filled with spotless outdoor kennels, puppies in a few and the rest sprawled out on the lawn. They made a beeline for Jon as soon as they entered, and Jon quickly shut the gate before any could escape. Setting down the squirming puppy in his hands, he turned to Ryan.
“Take your pick.”
Ryan was already wandering off, enthralled as puppies of all shapes and sizes crowded up to him.
Spencer scowled after him, crossing his arms defiantly to show his displeasure. There had to be something strange going on with this many puppies and a guy willing to basically give them away. Sure, there was a small fee of, like, twenty dollars, but that was still ridiculous. What was this guy doing?
Spencer didn’t speak as Ryan wove through the puppies. Jon stood beside him, watching.
“Are you guys together?” Jon asked finally, breaking the silence other than the yips of puppies all clambering for Ryan’s attention.
Glaring at the ground, Spencer shook his head sharply. “He’s my best friend.”
“Oh.” Jon fell silent, kicking the ground, and Spencer’s gaze drifted to his flip flops.
“So what?” he said finally, a little defensively. “Do you, like, breed dogs until they can’t take it and then sell all the puppies to pay for your drug habit?”
Jon stared for a second at Spencer’s question, eyes a little wide with surprise, but then his mouth quirked and he almost laughed.
“Actually, I volunteer for an animal rescue, and I take puppies that they don’t have room for. Some just find me, though.” He shrugged a little and glanced down as a plump brown and white puppy basically sat on his feet and wagged his stubby tail, panting up at him. “I can’t help it. Puppies love me.”
Spencer bit back his curse as Jon stooped down to pick up the puppy, that yapped and licked at his face.
“But that’s a good story. You’re not a writer, are you?”
Spencer felt kind of like an idiot. “No,” he muttered. “And sorry, I didn’t…”
“Yeah, you did,” Jon finished for him, but he was smiling as he set the puppy down and it gamboled off with its fellows. “But I get it. Gotta be careful with these things, I know. Some of these puppies came from the worst places.”
Spencer wanted to say something else that might make up for his horrible lack of social skills or manners, but Ryan appeared with a wriggling beagle in his hands. It was a little older than the rest, but barked at Jon and wagged its tail.
“I like this one,” Ryan said and Spencer could swear the dog smiled.
“She’s a good one,” Jon assured him, patting the dog’s head. “You sure she’s the one?”
Ryan nodded. “Yeah.”
The dog wagged its tail.
Jon grinned, and Spencer felt his stomach twist, half in guilt, half in something else he didn’t care to acknowledge.
“Awesome. If you wanna come inside, we can do the paperwork. It’s easy stuff, don’t worry.”
Ryan nodded in agreement, setting the beagle down and following Jon to the sliding glass door and going inside when Jon opened it for him.
Spencer hung back, feeling like he should still apologize, but Jon smiled and shook his head.
“You’re a good friend, Spencer. Don’t feel bad. But now you know where to come if you want a dog, right?”
“What if I don’t want a dog?” Spencer asked quietly, and Jon glanced back, a curious smile on the edge of his lips now.
“You still know where to come,” he replied after a second, and Spencer was sure he didn’t imagine the way Jon bit back his smile and headed inside to Ryan.
He might come back, Spencer thought as he followed Jon and left the beagle wagging her tail and staring in the door as Ryan filled out the paperwork at the table and Spencer spent the rest of the time watching Jon’s smile.
*
❸. Crack!fic: Spencer couldn't balance. "I like off-balance." Pink feathers flew.
“Do you think maybe he’s sick?”
Spencer glared, ruffling his feathers, as he heard the zookeeper whispering to the volunteer who came by every day at eleven forty-five to give the lecture. He was tempted to fly over there and peck her until she took it back, but instead, he decided to preen and take the high road.
He was not sick. He just couldn’t balance.
Besides, who said they had to sleep on one leg? It was impractical… except for that whole staying warm thing. But it made them look stupid and Spencer wasn’t even sure you could get any stupider than having pink feathers.
“Maybe it’s an inner ear imbalance,” Brendon said knowledgeably, fluttering around Spencer and stretching his neck down to check below.
Spencer glared. Brendon wasn’t really one to talk, what with all his stuck-up feathers, crooked and messy. Instead, he kicked at Brendon’s head and ended up wobbling and fell in a splash of water, glaring through dripping feathers.
Brendon left him alone after that.
Ryan picked at Spencer’s feathers, preening him slowly, almost mindlessly as they stood in the pond while a group of school children went running past, sticky hands clasping bright balloons. A few pointed and laughed at them while Spencer glared as best he could.
“I know why you can’t balance,” Ryan said as he smoothed out Spencer’s back feathers.
“Why?” Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to hear, especially when the group of new flamingos wandered over from where they’d been feeding. Jon was amongst them, climbing onto a sunlight rock and perching on one foot.
“You like the new chick.”
Spencer’s wing flashed out, catching Ryan’s beak, but it was Spencer, not Ryan, who wobbled and flapped backwards, pink feathers flying everywhere as he fought to catch himself.
Ryan just gave him a look and wandered off to find Brendon.
Spencer glared after, but stopped when Jon fluttered down next to him, and attempted to stick his foot up again and be dignified. It was hard when he was pink, after all, but he thought he managed until Jon stuck his neck over, staring into Spencer’s eyes, their beaks nearly touching.
“You can’t balance?” Jon asked curiously, and Spencer knew the rest of the new flamingos were watching, probably snickering behind their wings and pointing out the tint of white to his feathers as he blinked at Jon, wobbling dangerously on his one foot.
“I’m not sick,” Spencer said before he could stop himself, ruffling his wings, but that only made the wobble worse, so he stopped. “I’m just off-balance sometimes.”
Jon was silent for a moment, looking Spencer over, and Spencer was glad he couldn’t blush or he’d just turn pinker. Then he pulled his neck back and tucked up his foot.
“I like off-balance.”
Spencer stared and Jon turned to him, beak pushing at his wing for just a split-second. It was all over as Spencer flailed and fell in a crash of feathers and water. Jon didn’t laugh, just gave Spencer a nudge up and tucked his head back against his own wing.
“I like off-balance.”
*
❹. Crossover (with HP): "Disarming is meant for enemies, not clothes!" Hermione reprimanded Spencer.
He was just practicing, after all, and they had O.W.Ls coming up, and Hermione was always pestering him that he needed to study. Sometimes he wished she would just go make out with Ron and leave him alone.
“That’s not what Disarming is for!” Hermione had reprimanded him the moment Jon’s clothes had vanished, ripped across the common room leaving Jon standing in only his boxers (green, Spencer noted with some curiosity).
Jon stared, looking halfway between shock and amusement, but he was in his underwear after all, and half the tower was in the common room feverishly studying for the exams.
“I’m just gonna,” Jon mumbled after a minute, pointing uselessly at the stairway to the dormitories while Hermione turned to Spencer, who was watching Jon hurry away interestedly.
“I should report you,” she said sternly, hands on her hips and giving him that look Spencer had seen her give Harry way too many times.
“Relax, Hermione,” he grumbled. “It was just an accident. Gotta practice for O.W.Ls, don’t we?”
Hermione looked as though she was going to argue the point, but Spencer ducked out before she could.
“Sorry,” he called back. “Got more practicing to do!” As he climbed the stairs two at a time, he hoped Harry or Ron might be able to appease her later. It wasn’t really his problem, though. She took her Prefect duties far too seriously.
At the door to the dormitory, he paused, pushing it open slowly. Jon was standing over by his bed, rummaging in his trunk for a clean shirt. He already had jeans pulled on and straightened up sharply at the sound of the door closing behind Spencer.
Upon seeing him, he sighed, but it was soft and he sounded more resigned than frustrated.
“Did you have to do that?” he asked as Spencer came over, leaning against the bed post. “That was my favorite shirt.”
“Mine too,” Spencer replied seriously, taking a step forward. “But you know how I like your shirts.”
Jon arched an eyebrow as Spencer smirked and backed him up against his trunk.
“Off,” Spencer whispered, sliding his arms around Jon’s neck and smiling when Jon leaned into the kiss.
He’d be practicing a lot more from now on.
*
❺. First Time: Spencer's shaky breath panted against Jon's open mouth. "Please, now."
Spencer was in his lap, in his fucking lap, and Jon still wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there, but they were both down to their boxers, rubbing and grinding and everything in between, hands slipping on sweaty skin. Something about Spencer stumbling off stage a half hour ago and in that time finding Jon behind the Academy’s bus and pulling him away, only to end up back in the venue on a ratty old couch in the darkest room they could find almost didn’t surprise Jon, but then, he’d only known Spencer a few weeks, and hey, Spencer was still pretty new at this, Jon reminded himself.
But Spencer was in his lap, fucking grinding his hips down so hard it made Jon’s head spin a little and the room went fuzzy. He was thankful it was dark or it would have been even worse.
“Fucking, Spence,” he tried to say, push through gritted teeth as his fingers tightened over Spencer’s hips and he pushed up to meet them in the slip slide of heat rushing down to the tips of his toes.
Spencer didn’t reply except to moan softly, breath fluttering over Jon’s ear while his hands gripped Jon’s shoulders tightly for leverage.
Jon wasn’t going to push it, not yet, not after only a few weeks of this, of this sort of frantic grinding in dark corners, of kisses pressed in between abandoned stretches of concrete during the day, of figuring out the tour and how things might even begin to work between them.
Spencer’s breath was already hot and panted over his skin as he moved, nose brushing against Spencer’s, swallowing down his heart, the rush of heat and pressure to his groin where Spencer just kept rocking down, so close and yet so far. Jon wasn’t going to last much longer, not like this, not with Spencer leaning in and kissing him, a careful slide of lips that turned into something completely different, something hard and biting, tongues sliding together until Spencer bit down on Jon’s lower lip and pulled.
His hips twisted down almost desperately and his hands tightened on Jon’s shoulders as he pulled back, lips trailing over Jon’s smooth cheek.
“Jon, I want,” he managed, swallowing the last word and gritting his teeth through a groan. “I want you to,” he repeated, covering the last word with a curse as he dug his hips down and tried to still, pressed against Jon, and Jon could feel the throb of Spencer’s cock pressed to his. Groaning, he tried to shift, but Spencer was pinning him down to the couch, pulse fluttering when Jon released one hip to brush his thumb over his neck.
“Want what?” he asked, thinking he knew what, but he didn’t let his rabbiting pulse escape his throat. He could still feel every inch of Spencer sliding against him, skin still slick with sweat from the show, buzzing with adrenaline, the post-show high, the one Jon longed to feel again someday.
“You,” Spencer whispered after a second of controlling himself, of squeezing Jon’s shoulders as he tried to stay still, not to rock into the heat and friction of Jon, not to let himself get lost before he got what he wanted, what he thought he wanted.
“Yeah?” Jon asked, because he had to check. Spencer was new at this, he told himself again, grasping at the edge of rational thoughts, blurred at the edge of his mind. Spencer was new to the whole touring thing, to the whole liking guys thing. There were ways to do this.
“Yeah,” Spencer replied, wiggling his hips down until Jon took a sharp breath and pushed back.
“I don’t have,” he said, but Spencer was already pushing at his boxers, and Jon lost his train of thought the moment bare skin pressed against bare skin, burning hot and pulsing through his body. His moan matched Spencer’s and it hardly mattered that he didn’t have any lube, nothing that would help the stretch.
“You do have,” Spencer mumbled against his jaw, melting against him as Jon thrust his hips up into Spencer’s.
Fumbling, Jon ignored the shake in Spencer voice as he grabbed for his discarded jeans, digging in the back pocket for the condom Tom had once slipped in his wallet as a joke. It was still there, tucked snugly between his Costco card and the Starbucks gift card he’d gotten from his mom on his last birthday. He tore the plastic as Spencer shifted up, knees planted firmly on either side of him on the couch.
Biting his lip, Jon glanced up at him, smoothing Spencer’s hair away from his face and remembering how young he really was.
“This is probably gonna hurt,” he warned him, “a lot.”
Spencer only nodded and watched with wide eyes as Jon coated a few fingers as best he could. It was a bad substitution but it was all they had and he didn’t think Spencer was willing to wait.
He waited as long as he could until Spencer whined against his jaw, whispering, “Jon,” against the skin and sliding a hand down to brush along his cock.
Jon didn’t speak, taking his fingers from his mouth and moving them down as quickly as he could. The first was probably too quick when Spencer sucked in a breath, lifted up on his knees above Jon, arms wrapped around his neck. Jon could feel Spencer’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, the way he let out a trembling breath against his skin when he pushed in the second finger.
“Spence?” he asked, trying to pull back to look at him, but Spencer’s mouth was there, dragging him into a hot, desperate kiss as he pushed his fingers in through the tight muscles.
Spencer pulled back panting, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing against Jon’s open mouth, stopping just long enough to choke out a shaky, “Please, now,” before his fingers trembled and he pushed back against Jon.
Jon’s fingers were gone soon and the condom was rolled on his aching cock. He waited for Spencer to move first while he did his best without lube to make things smooth. Spencer lifted up first on his knees, waiting for Jon to reach down and position him, guiding his hips down, pressing in.
He could feel the tense line of Spencer’s body, the slow slide, the hard push in as Spencer whimpered but didn’t stop, just let Jon press in as slowly as possible.
“Spence?” he asked again when he could feel Spencer shift around him, muscles tightening and working hard against him.
Spencer was silent, breath slow and ragged against Jon’s neck, then he let out a long, hot breath, fingers digging into the back of Jon’s neck as he whispered, “Yeah, okay... yeah, okay.”
Yeah, Jon thought, pulling out and loving the tremble of Spencer’s body before he pushed back in and, okay.
*
❻. Fluff: Best thing about waking up: Jon's coffee in his cup.
It smelled like coffee. The whole apartment did, which wasn’t really that strange, except that it didn’t usually happen before Spencer even woke up.
Rolling over in bed, he blinked against the sun streaming in through the east-facing window and nearly groaned, but there was still the glorious smell of coffee permeating his bedroom, so he didn’t, blinking at the rumpled comforter on the other side of the bed slowly.
There weren’t any sounds from the kitchen but Spencer managed to pull himself out of bed a few minutes later, stumbling over shoes by the bedroom door and out into the living room that was attached to the kitchen. The television was on in the living room, but it was on low and Spencer could barely hear what the newswoman was saying as he crossed to the kitchen where Jon was standing with his back to Spencer.
“I smell coffee,” Spencer said, and maybe he sort of mumbled it sleepily, but it didn’t really matter when Jon turned and smiled at him, the same smile Spencer could definitely get used to seeing every day for the rest of forever. And maybe he already had.
“Just the way you like it,” Jon said, handing over a mug of freshly brewed coffee. It was in the mug with big blue snowflakes on it and Spencer arched an eyebrow at it before he took a sip.
Jon poured his own cup of coffee and turned to lean against the counter, sipping it quietly.
Spencer went to take another sip, but his eyes fell on the cup Jon had used, the one that was white with rounded edges and a troop of dancing penguins on the side, holding flippers and wearing Santa hats. Christmas was two months away, but there Jon was using the Christmas mug like every day was Christmas.
“What?” Jon asked when he caught Spencer staring. He looked at the mug curiously.
“Why did you pick that mug?” Spencer asked after a second, and Jon shrugged.
“I liked it. Why?”
Spencer shook his head, setting down his mug and coming over to Jon. “I’ve had that mug since I was six and my mom used it for hot chocolate every year at Christmas.”
Jon smiled slowly. “Should I stop using it?”
Leaning in, Spencer shook his head again. “You should use it every day,” he said instead, and Jon smiled as Spencer kissed him softly in the morning sunlight filling the tiny kitchen.
“Maybe I will.”
*
❼. Humor: "It keeps spell-checking 'joncer'!" Spencer nearly broke Brendon's computer.
The worst combination in the world, Spencer decided, was Pete Wentz, Brendon Urie, and Mac spell-check function. Of course, he also blamed Ryan and his tendency to lurk on Livejournal, which Brendon obviously picked up from him.
Spencer was also convinced that wi-fi on a tour bus was now the worst idea ever.
Pete started it, really, back before the tour started when he had dragged Brendon over to the computer and began explaining, in big words and wild gestures, something that Spencer didn’t pay attention to, but it had become obvious since then that he should have paid attention.
“And it’s called peterick,” Brendon explained, waving the poptart in his hand around wildly, crumbs spreading on the tiny table where he was squished in next to Ryan. Ryan attempted to drink his coffee dignifiedly, but it was hard with Brendon’s elbow knocking into him every two seconds. Spencer was across from them, an eyebrow arched as he listened dubiously.
Jon wasn’t up yet, or if he was, he was staying far away from the kitchenette, smart bastard.
Spencer was just thinking of going to find him when Brendon scooted out from the bench and grabbed his laptop off the couch.
“It’s all over LiveJournal,” Brendon continued, and Spencer shot Ryan a look. Ryan shrugged helplessly around his coffee. It wasn’t like he’d told Brendon about that too.
“Brendon,” Spencer started as Jon emerged into the living room rubbing his eyes and yawning, heading for the coffee. “You shouldn’t be on those websites. They write all sorts of crazy things.”
Brendon didn’t reply, though, his eyes following Jon across the living area and even after he grabbed a cup of coffee and slid onto the bench next to Spencer, nudging him over and resting his head against his shoulder.
“Sun,” Jon mumbled tiredly, closing his eyes and Spencer flashed him a small smile.
Eyes wide, Brendon turned and typed something furiously into his computer. Spencer wasn’t paying attention, though, nudging Jon up from his shoulder. Jon made a noise and just buried his nose in Spencer’s shirt, sighing deeply, hands clutched around his coffee cup.
Spencer rolled his eyes and glanced at Ryan, but Ryan was watching Brendon. Spencer followed his gaze.
“What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously when Brendon huffed and clicked something on the computer.
“It keeps spell-checking ‘joncer’!”
Even Jon stirred at that, although it may have been because Spencer jerked up.
“What?” he demanded, ready to climb over the table, even if it would mean kneeing someone in the chest and probably spilling coffee everywhere.
“You guys have a pretty big fanbase,” Brendon continued as though he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. Then he smirked. “But ryden is much bigger.”
Ryan choked on his coffee and Spencer glared. Jon just mumbled something into his coffee cup and nudged Spencer when Brendon was typing again.
“It’s true,” he mumbled, leaning back against Spencer’s shoulder, all warm and heavy. “We make one awesome couple, Spencer Smith.”
Spencer almost smiled, but then Brendon made another noise.
“Aw, they have fic-approval! I’ll have to wait for comments, but then at least we can make a fair assessment of who they like better.”
Spencer was going to kill him… after the comments came in.
*
❽. Hurt/Comfort: "Poor baby." Jon touched gently. Spencer sighed and leaned closer.
There was a reason Spencer didn’t play sports, especially with any of the bands that always played on Warped Tour. He should have known better when Gabe suggested a game of soccer. He should have known it would end this way, him being dragged off the field by Pete, who then dumped him on the sidelines and went back to the game.
Possibly, he should put some ice on the bruise starting to swell on his ankle, but moving was not really an option when there wasn’t anything to help pull himself up with, and the rest of the guys were still on the field. Spencer was going to get Gabe back for this someday.
“You okay?”
Looking up, Spencer found himself looking up at Jon, who had somehow miraculously avoided being called upon to play.
“No,” he replied honestly, grimacing as he tried to drag his foot up, but he was pretty sure his ankle was twisted, and it hurt too much, so he just left it at the strange angle it was in and sighed down at it.
By the time he looked back up at Jon, Jon was halfway across the field. Feeling petty and annoyed, Spencer huffed and crossed his arms, not even bothering to try to look less like a petulant child. He’d been abandoned by everyone now.
He could see Brendon flailing after the ball on the field and Ryan standing a little ways off, clearly inspecting his nails.
“Here.” Jon was back, surprising Spencer as he dropped down to sit next to him, placing an ice-pack over Spencer’s ankle.
“Where did you get that?” Spencer asked, too surprised to be annoyed that Jon had abandoned him.
Jon shrugged, molding the pack to Spencer’s ankle. “Zach’s always got stuff like this stashed in the freezer just in case.”
Spencer wanted to complain that he didn’t need to be taken care of like a five year old, but it hurt to move and Jon was just sitting next to him, shoulder almost pressed to his.
So he sighed and leaned in closer, glaring out at the field.
“I hate Gabe,” he muttered, hissing as Jon pressed a little too hard.
“Poor baby,” Jon murmured, and Spencer could hear the smile in his voice. His mouth quirked, wanting to scowl, but he didn’t, just blinked and was glad when Jon’s arm slid around his shoulders and he was allowed to hate Gabe in peace.
*
❾. Smut: The groan was lost to Jon's mouth, biting down, wet.
They weren’t alone, they knew that, but Jon’s fingers were stretching down, sliding under the waist of his jeans as he crowded Spencer into a dark corner.
“Jon,” Spencer gasped into Jon’s mouth, lips bitten and sore already, red and pretty as he panted breaths against fevered skin.
“Shh,” Jon murmured, kissing Spencer long and hard, biting down on his lower lip, his free hand clenched in Spencer’s hair, angling his head into the kiss even as Spencer gasped at the feel of Jon’s fingers pressing.
“Fuck, fuck,” he cursed, pulling Jon closer, out of the sliver of light and deeper into the shadows. He couldn’t really move, couldn’t make it easier for either of them, but Jon was sucking on his jaw while he shifted, fingers wriggling inside Spencer.
Spencer didn’t curse again when Jon thrust his fingers in deeper and a flash of heat stole through his body, curling his toes. Instead, he swallowed the noise, dragging Jon’s mouth to his as he licked Jon’s bottom lip, biting down hard and wet against him, stifling more noises, as Jon finger-fucked him slow and good in the back corner.
Techs were still milling around, murmurs penetrating their bubble about guitars and amps. But Spencer tried to push them out, knowing they could get caught, knowing what they currently looked like, his hair a mess and lips kiss-stung.
“Fuck, Jon,” he mumbled when he pulled away for breath, but Jon’s fingers thrust in deeper and he nearly squeaked, clinging to Jon’s back. “You’ve gotta-”
Jon never replied, kissing him hard and fast, pouring everything into the kiss as he twisted his fingers and Spencer’s whole body tightened, screaming for something more.
“Jon, Jon,” he tried to warn him, words lost to Jon’s mouth, a wet mumble that Jon kissed away, fucking Spencer with three fingers now, pushing with purpose into his body until Spencer was mumbling nonsense in between curses and arching up against him, the inside of his boxers covered in hot, sticky come. “You, shit,” Spencer panted, trying to catch his breath and check that no one saw.
But they were still alone in their corner, Jon’s hand stuffed down his pants, fingers shifting and pulling out slowly.
“I,” Jon echoed, hand resting on Spencer’s hip now, “win.”
He won, Spencer would agree, won that bet about dark corners and not getting interrupted, which meant, he got to claim his prize. Spencer’s groan was lost to Jon’s mouth as Jon leant in and bit down, hard and wet, and Spencer could lose this once.
*
❿. UST: Girl jeans were most definitely his style, Jon thought, staring.
It was initiation, Brendon told him, but Jon was starting to think it was torture, or that no one else wanted to do it and because he was new, he got to.
It wasn’t all bad until they came to the jeans store and Jon collapsed in a chair near the dressing room, ready to take a well-deserved nap, but this was Spencer he was shopping with, and Spencer wasn’t done.
Then again, it was Spencer, the guy whose smile made Jon want to take pictures of it all day long, who pranced around in pink tee shirts two inches too short and bent over his drum kit to retrieve sticks, giving Jon the perfect view of his ass in too-tight jeans.
Speaking of jeans, Spencer pushed aside the curtain and stared down at Jon in the chair.
“What do you think?” he asked, turning around to look at himself in the mirror.
Jon tried not to stare, really, but Spencer was standing there in a pair of girl jeans that hugged his ass, complete with sparkly pink glitter on the back pockets.
Spencer glanced back. “You think they look okay?”
Shaking himself, Jon nodded finally. “Yeah, they’re, uh, great.”
Spencer paused, lifting his arms to adjust the tag on his shirt and Jon knew that staring at his bandmate’s hips was something he shouldn’t do, but fuck if Spencer didn’t do that on purpose, especially when he smirked a little in the mirror and turned around.
“You don’t think it makes my ass look big? Brendon will kill me if it’s bigger than his.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Jon tried to reply normally, and Spencer laughed.
“Yeah, probably not, but they’re okay?”
“Yeah.” Jon nodded, not thinking about how much better they would look on the dressing room floor, how Spencer’s cheeks might get the same shade of pink as the glitter if he pushed him inside and kissed him hard. No, he didn’t think about that, especially when Spencer bent over straighten out the cuffs.
“I think I’ll get them,” Spencer said finally, straightening up and casting a glance at Jon, who cleared his throat and tossed him a smile.
“Yeah, they’re good.”
Later when Spencer was paying for the jeans, Jon leaned on the counter next to him, watching the clerk fold up the jeans and put them into a bag.
“You’ve got a thing for pink, don’t you, Smith?” he asked as Spencer handed the girl his credit card.
Spencer glanced over and smirked. “Yeah, I like seeing how pink things can get,” he replied, tucking the card back into his wallet and grabbing the bag. “You coming, Walker?”
If Jon blushed, he’d blame it on the heat in the store and not the way Spencer arched an eyebrow and swung his hips as they left the store.
*
FIN.