The World is a Stage (But the Play is Badly Cast) | Tom Conrad/Spencer Smith | 11,256 words
the world is a stage (but the play is badly cast)
tom conrad/spencer smith (spencer smith/jon walker, various others) | nc-17 | 11,256 words
tom still thinks he's a slut.
set during the truckstops and statelines tour. title taken from the oscar wilde and thanks to panic_smile for betaing and ssukkii for being my number one fun and raving when she got to test-run this. with that said, welcome to my first non-angst ridden fic! it's a miracle.
When Panic first comes on tour, looking wide-eyed, fresh faced and jumping out of their skin with nerves, Tom thinks, oh great. He thinks, I didn’t sign on to baby-sit for two months.
“This should be fun,” Sisky says, wrapping an arm around his neck.
Tom takes a swig of his beer, laughing dryly, and says, “Sure will.”
*
Turns out the old saying is right; you can't judge a book by its cover. Because while they may look innocent, like they were made from sugar and spice and everything nice, they seem pretty quick to prove themselves the opposite, prancing onto their bands bus the first night, uninvited, the lead singer making himself cozy on Bill’s lap as he claimed, “Now the party’s really started.”
The other two hung back, looking fierce but smug, hips popped and lips pulled into smirks.
Tom took one look at the drummer, the one with flushed cheeks and glorious curves, and thought, I want.
*
It also turns out that he’s not the only one with that line of thought. Jon comes up to him while he’s mixing a drink and says, loud enough for only him to hear, “Dude. Dude. Spencer. So hot, right?”
Tom smiles, and pours himself another shot of gin. “Sure.”
“I think I’m gonna go for it,” he says, taking a quick glance over his shoulder. “You know, before anyone else does.” Jon thinks that because he’s a tech he has a lower chance of getting who he wants. Unfortunately for him, nine times out of ten he’s right.
Tom can be a pretty big douche bag sometimes. He has a history of kissing guy's girlfriends, starting fights after drinking far too much, and giving obnoxiously graphic details of his latest score, but most of the time, he can proudly say he’s a pretty great friend. So, he says, “Yeah, definitely, man. Go for it.”
Jon grins, giving Tom a firm slap on the back and reaches over to grab two beers from the fridge. Tom takes a swig of his alcohol, watching from the corner of his eye as Jon takes a seat next to Spencer on the couch, handing him one of the bottles.
Tom savors the bitter taste pooling on the back of his tongue and thinks, he wasn’t that great anyway.
*
A beer and two shots later, Jon successfully has Spencer perched on his lap and his tongue in his mouth. Afterwards, Jon looks over his shoulder at Tom and winks.
Tom returns the gesture with a half-hearted thumbs up.
*
Tom’s quick to learn that sugar and spice also happens to be pretty slutty. They remind Tom of back when he was in high school, before girls were used to their alcohol and would end the night with three guys tongues shoved down their throats.
It‘s too bad for Jon who seems rather shaken up when the object of his affections tongue jumps from his to Sisky’s, to the drummer’s of Hellogoodbye, to William’s, to that the questionable time he disappeared with the lead singer of Acceptance, by the time they reach the two week marker of the tour. Now, Tom’s no Einstein or anything, but he thinks that it’s a pretty safe bet to say that Spencer didn’t make out with Jon just because he likes his personality.
Jon, however, decides to look at it differently, and Tom is not going to be the one to burst his bubble.
“All I’m saying,” Jon says, lifting a guitar case off the truck and brings it over for Jake, another one of the techs to collect. He stops, takes a swig of his beer sitting next to Tom and repeats, “All I’m saying is that I’m the only one tech he fooled around with. And, I don’t know,” he shrugs and puts down his beer, reaching for an amp, “it’s not like he has anything to gain by making out with a fucking techie.”
Tom fretfully decides not to tell Jon about how he had seen Spencer sneaking off with one of the tech’s from Hellogoodbye just hours earlier.
Jon returns from handing off the amp, and Tom flashes him a supportive grin. “Yeah, sure, man. He could totally be into you,” is what he says, but what he’s really thinking is, is that they’re hormone-riddled, teenaged boys who have just been thrown into the world of rock and roll, and will basically give it up to anyone who gives them attention. But who is he to crush Jon’s dreams? Plus, what does he know? Maybe Jon is right. Maybe Tom did travel back to high school days without realizing it.
“Awesome,” Jon says with a silly grin and lifts a piece of Butcher’s drum kit off the truck.
Three round trips later with Tom still watching, perched casually on the truck ledge, Jon comes by and gives him a swift kick in the shin. “You going to help unload your bands shit or you just gonna sit there like a dick and watch me do it?”
“Hey man,” he shrugs, taking a leisurely sip of his beer, “it’s not in my job description.”
Jon flips him off, and pulls out Tom’s guitar.
*
Tom is smoking a cigarette on the deck attached to his hotel room when Spencer joins him, leaning over the railing and looking down towards the outdoor pool where a few of the guys from the tour are, Jon included. Three floors up, Tom can spot Butcher trapping Brendon against the corner of the pool, biting his neck while Brendon throws his head back and giggles.
“Do you have a smoke?”
Tom gives him a sidelong glance, smirks and says, “Aren’t you a bit too young to be smoking?”
Spencer shoots him a fierce eye roll and returns with a, “Shut up. Can I just have one?”
“You’re a bit of a bitch, aren’t you?” Tom asks dryly, but reaches into his pocket to pull out his pack anyway. He tosses one to Spencer along with his Budweiser lighter.
“And you’re kind of a dick,” he shoots back, sticking the smoke in the corner of his lips and lighting it, face glowing a soft orange against the flame. Tom looks away. “Perfect match.” He tosses the lighter back to him without a thank you and takes a long puff, blowing the grey smoke out into the night air.
They smoke in silence, and Tom lights a second before saying, “How old are you anyway, kid?”
“Eighteen.” He licks his lips, watching as Jon does a cannonball into the pool bellow, soaking Jake and two giggling girls seated in the lounge chairs behind him.
“So young.”
“And you’re like, what? Nineteen?”
“Twenty-two actually,” Tom corrects matter-of-factly. “And don’t insult me. Have you seen this beard?” He points a curt finger at his chin like, duh.
Spencer’s proceeding eye roll is interrupted by Jon calling their names from below, arms flailed above his head. Tom waves back, and Spencer gives a short nod, snickering under his breath.
“You guys should come down here!”
“No thanks, man. I’m good,” Tom calls back.
Jon shrugs. “Your loss.” He shifts his gaze up to Spencer and asks, “What about you, Spence? You should come down.”
Spencer shakes his head, an amused smile stretched across his lips. “Nah. Maybe another time though.”
Jon points at him, and yells, “I’m keeping you to that.” He raises his hands above his head, pointed into a perfect triangle as gracefully dives into the water below, feet inches from knocking into William’s face.
Spencer shakes his head, snubbing his cigarette out on the railing. Tom reaches into his pocket, and pulls out another for him to take. Spencer cracks a smile, meeting his eye and says, “Thanks.”
Tom shrugs, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he brings his gaze down to where Jon is hoisting Brendon above his shoulders, challenging Carden and Sisky to a chicken fight.
Jon looks up and winks.
*
A few days later, Tom drinks a bit too much of Jack Daniels and, subsequently, corners Brendon in the back lounge, attempting to lick his tongue into his mouth while the voices of the others situated in the front of the bus sweeps in from under the door. Brendon’s cooperative at first, kissing him back while his fingers tug at the hem of his shirt, body tiny and pliant against his. It’s been awhile since Tom has gotten any form of action, two weeks at least, and the few brief moments he has are enough to leave him exceptionally hard in the confines of his underwear.
He’s already thinking of five different things he could do with Brendon naked and spread out across his bunks sheets when it’s as if something suddenly switches on inside his brain and he’s pulling back from his grip, giggling. “No. No, I cant.”
“What? No. No, come on, baby,” he insists huskily, pulling Brendon lips back into his. He slips his hand up the front of Brendon’s shirt, running his fingers along his taut stomach and up along his chest, brushing against a nipple.
Brendon ducks his head, snorting in laughter. “Did Tom Conrad just call me baby?” he implores, amusement flashing through his doe eyes.
“I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you,” he slurs, nudging his nose into his neck and biting at the skin.
Brendon lets out another breathy laugh, but tilts his head back anyway, keeling to Tom’s mouth and hands. Tom backs him towards the couch, tugging his shirt up his chest, but Brendon pulls away again, ripping Tom’s mouth from his neck. “That’s sweet and all,” he says keenly, pulling his hands out from under his shirt, “but I’m not going to have sex with you.”
“Come on. Why not?” Tom whines and paws at his belt loops, pulling his hips against his. “You let Butcher fuck you. Why not me?” he asks roughly.
“Because,” he replies, managing to dodge around Tom, pulling his shirt back down to meet the tops of his jeans, “I don’t want to.” He gives Tom one last look, straight in the eye before disappearing to join the others with a simple, “Goodbye Tom.”
When he follows him back a few minutes later, erection tucked into the elastic of his underwear, Spencer is the first to catch his eye, smirking from where he sits perched on Jon’s lap. Brendon’s to his right, murmuring something into his ear while looking exceptionally pleased with himself.
Tom scowls, thinks, fucking teenagers, and pours himself another drink.
*
Five hours into telling himself he’s officially done with The Disco Boys, Tom’s in the dressing waiting for show time, idly strumming on his guitar when Spencer, of all people, suddenly decides to come waltzing in. He looks vaguely suspicious, like most teenagers tend to and Tom thinks, oh great, here we go.
Spencer takes a seat next to him on the couch and Tom stares back at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. He counts to nine point five and is just about to ask him what the fuck he’s doing there when Spencer goes, “So, you like Brendon, huh?”
Tom keeps his eyes on him, deadpanned. He wait’s a moment for Spencer to tell him that he’s joking but after a good thirty seconds tick by and Spencer does no such thing, Tom bursts out laughing. “What the fuck? No. It’s called being drunk and horny.”
Spencer rolls his eyes, appearing doubtful.
“What the fuck?” Tom repeats. “Did he tell you that or something?”
Spencer shrugs, looking down at his hands as he wrings them together.
Tom blinks. “Christ. You’ve got be kidding me. Fucking teenagers, I tell you.” He shakes his head in disbelief, and laughs. “So, what? He thinks that every guy that wants to fuck him is in love with him? Well news flash for you, little miss bo-fucking-peep, that’s what happens when you’re a slut and give it up like you and your little friends do.”
Spencer’s expression tightens as he sends him a short nod. He sits there for a moment longer, silent, and Tom realizes that just might have been a whole new level of dickishness, even for him. He considers saying sorry, that he didn’t mean it, but he’s never been one for apologies, especially when he knows he’s only speaking the truth.
Spencer clears his throat and stands up. “K, well, it was great speaking to you, Tom,” he drawls out sarcastically, heading for the door. “I’ll see you around.” The door closes a little harder than necessary and Tom noticeably flinches.
He screws the chorus up five times in a row.
*
The following day Tom is standing in line for seconds in the lunch buffet when Spencer suddenly appears beside him, a permanent bitchface etched on his expression. He waits approximately a fifth of a moment before he’s muttering under his breath, “I am not a slut.”
Tom laughs, scooping some potato salad onto his plate. “Okay.”
“Fuck you. I’m not.” Spencer yanks the serving spoon from his hand and scoops up a pile of his own. “In case you haven’t noticed,” he snaps tightly, “I haven’t slept with anyone on this tour.”
“Oh yeah?”
“And your friend? I could’ve easily slept with him but I didn’t.”
“Okay,” he says, and adds some shrimp to his plate.
Spencer lets out a frustrated groan, plate now ignored in his hand. Tom keeps a straight face, biting back the laughter crawling up his throat over Spencer’s blatant frustration. They walk a bit further down the line, Tom managing to scoop up two more pieces of pepperoni pizza, wings and three brownies before Spencer’s saying, “So maybe you should get your facts straight before insulting someone.”
“Oh yeah, I’ll definitely make sure to do that next time,” Tom replies sardonically.
Spencer glares at him, looking like he’s seriously considering winding back and knocking him in the face. Tom makes a mental note to mess with this kid more often.
Spencer doesn’t end up punching him in the face; instead, he settles with stomping down onto his foot with the back of his heel as hard as he can possibly manage. “Fuck you, Tom Conrad. You are the biggest fucking dick I have ever met,” he hisses before promptly storming off with his plateful of potato salad.
Tom bites down on his lip to keep himself from crying out in pain.
*
He still thinks he’s a slut.
*
It’s been three and a half weeks since the tour started, and Jon has spent precisely two-thirds of the time talking about Spencer and the other third attempting to land him into his bed - and so far, all attempts have been entirely unsuccessful. Tom has to give him props for the determination though; if it were him, he would have given up weeks ago.
“I don’t know, man,” Jon says, shaking his head as Tom sucks back on a joint, “I’m thinking this is pretty useless.”
Ton raises an eyebrow, holding the sweet smoke in his lungs as he hands the joint over to Jon. He exhales, watching as the smoke dances up towards the ceiling in circles.
“Maybe he doesn’t even want me,” Jon starts, breaking to take a hit, blowing out his own large cloud of smoke. “I mean, he only makes out with me when there’s a shitload of people around, you know? And this one time, I even offered to blow him and he totally turned me down. Like what the fuck, man? Who turns down a fucking blow job?”
“Not me,” Tom replies, pressing the end of the joint together with his fingers.
“Exactly, man. That’s because no one does.”
Tom takes another hit and follows Jon’s line of gaze. The Disco Boys, once again, not knowing how to handle their alcohol, have far exceeded their limits, leaving Spencer and Brendon to dance on the table while Ryan and William make out sloppily in the corner. Tom would really like to know that at what point he traveled back in time and wound up in high school.
Jon sighs, waving off the joint when Tom goes to pass it to him. “I really do like the kid though. He’s really fucking hot.”
Tom laughs, taking the last drag before snubbing it out. “He’s okay.” Jon gives him a horrified look like, are you fucking crazy?! Tom ignores him and says, “I wouldn’t give up yet. Maybe he’s just purposely trying to be a cock-tease to drive you wild. I hear it’s all the rage with teenage girls these days.”
Jon, obviously missing out on his blatant sense of humor, says, “I don’t know, man. I haven’t wanted someone this bad in a long time.”
“What about that Melissa chick like, a month ago?”
Jon shoots him a look. “That was different.”
Tom laughs, and looks over to where Sisky has now sandwiched his way between the two of them, Brendon and Spencer grinding their hips into him from either side. Spencer, seemingly sensing his gaze, looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at him as he smirks.
Tom returns with a sneer before shifting his attention in the opposite direction, and vaguely wonders if they make books on how to decode a teenage girls mind.
He makes a mental note to look into it tomorrow.
*
An hour later, Tom is well past the point of appropriate intoxication and, subsequently, horny enough that he’s seriously considering using his amazing powers of seduction on Jon. Spencer’s not making matters any better either, with him gyrating those glorious hips of his only a few feet away. It’s clear now that Spencer’s not only a slut, but he’s also an evil one too. He was put on this earth for the one sole purpose of torturing Tom.
What can he say? He’s a guy; a sleazy one at that. Slut just happens to be his favorite type.
Tom’s leaving the washroom, drying his hands on the denim of his jeans when suddenly a warm body is meeting his, pushing him back into the direction from where he came. Spencer kicks the door shut from behind him, and just when Tom’s about to ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, Spencer pushes him up against the wall and kisses him. Hard.
Tom, eyes open in shock, considers the options. He figures he could either a) follow his dick and kiss him or he could - he could -
Fuck it, he thinks, and kisses Spencer back.
Spencer fists his sweater, twisting the thick fabric between his fingers as he flicks his tongue along Tom’s with detailed precision. He tastes like sour apple mixed with a faint tinge of alcohol, and Tom licks further into his mouth, relishing the sweet taste. Spencer makes a sound from the back of his throat as Tom’s hands slip down to his hips, fingers skimming along the strip of warm skin where his t-shirt rides up. The sound goes straight to Tom’s dick.
Spencer slides his own hands down, tongue still working hard against his, his fingers skimming against the top button of his jeans. Tom nods in encouragement, but to his complete and utter dismay, it’s right at that moment that Spencer decides to pull away, hands falling from his zipper.
Tom whines in disproval, reaching for his hips to pull him back into him, but Spencer shakes his head, smirking in amusement. He moves close, breath brushing over Tom’s upper lip and murmurs, “That’s what I thought,” before promptly pulling back once again.
“Wha - ”
Spencer gives him one last smirk, eye twinkling in mischief, and slips out of the room.
Tom catches a breath, chest heaving, and stares at the now closed door, trying to figure out what exactly had just happened. His untouched cock weeps in his jeans as he closes his eyes, and thinks, fuck you, Spencer Smith.
*
Just like any other teenage girl would, Spencer pretends like it never happened.
Tom thinks, fine, whatever, two can play that game, and goes right along to ignoring him back. Spencer, however, doesn’t seem to be the least bit fazed by it because the next night he’s back to sucking face with Jon.
Tom doesn’t care, and he’s certainly not jealous, but he cant believe someone so slutty, so irritating and so evil could come in such a deceivingly pretty package. He just needs this tour to be over with so Spencer and his army of immature skanks can be gone and out of his life for good.
Halfway through the night, Tom makes the vile mistake of looking over in the general direction of where Spencer sits, still faithfully perched on Jon’s lap. Spencer, not missing his chance, instantly catches his gaze, flashing him that same scheming, smug expression on his face as the night before.
And it’s official, Tom hates him.
*
This goes on for at least another week.
Jon walks around with a permanent I-just-got-laid look on his face, even though Tom knows for a fact that he hasn’t even gotten past first base. He shows no sign of discouragement though, as he continues to gush along to Tom like a thirteen year-old schoolgirl with her first crush, and Tom knows he has no choice but to keep his mouth shut and nod along. He’s a good friend after all, and that one time in the washroom was no more than a stupid mistake, easily misguided by alcohol and an overactive sex drive.
Except, then the twelfth day hits, and Tom cant take it anymore. Spencer’s at the front of the bus, getting himself a beer, when Tom backs him up against the counter with his hips, face in his as he demands, “What the fuck are you trying to do?”
Spencer looks up at him, eyes wide and feigning innocence. “Now whatever do you mean?”
“I fucking mean it,” Tom sneers with bared teeth, mouth next to Spencer’s ear. He tries not to think about the way his hips are perfectly fitted against his, or that he’s so close that he can smell his sweet scent wafting from his skin in waves. He smells just like a girl, a careful mix of baby oil and cinnamon, and Tom really, really tries not to think too far into this. He hates how he’s such a fucking girl, with those hips, baby smooth skin and flushed cheeks. It’s not right for any boy to look even half as pretty as Spencer does. “Stop with these fucking games. You’re not in high school anymore.”
Spencer shoots him his classic smirk, the one that Tom cant quite decide whether he wants to smack off or kiss away. “Are you jealous, Thomas?”
“You fucking wish,” he hisses, further shoving him back into the counter by his waist. His t-shirt catches, snagging the material over his hip and Tom’s thumb briefly brushes against the thin strip of exposed skin. His hand stays frozen on his waist, fabric bunched above his fingertips as Spencer stares up at him, chest to chest.
“It’s okay, you know,” Spencer says softly, shifting his hips in just the right way that the friction goes straight to his cock. “You can admit it.” He moves his mouth over, lips ghosting over his jaw as he speaks. Tom’s eyes slip shut, and he swallows down any sounds attempting to make it’s way up his esophagus. “I wont tell.”
Tom’s hard now, ridiculously so, the warmth of Spencer’s hips against his and the breath against his skin too much to handle. Spencer’s hands slide up his arms, the tips of his fingers slipping under the fabric of his t-shirt and pressing against his biceps. Spencer catches his eyes as he mouth slides back over his cheek.
Tom wants to pull away, but he cant. He doesn’t think he really wants to either; his cock would most likely never forgive him for it if he did.
“You’re so hard,” Spencer murmurs, the corner of his mouth turning up in amusement. He slips his hands down, dragging his thumbnail along his zipper.
Tom inhales sharply at the touch, and closes the last few centimeters between them, fitting his lips into Spencer’s. He pushes further into him, hips knocking. A small gasp slips from between Spencer’s lips, and it’s very clear now that Tom isn’t the only who’s hard inside his jeans.
Spencer lets Tom lead the kiss, allowing his tongue to slip in and run along his. He knows that they should probably stop soon, before someone walks in - like Jon - or their lips are so swollen and red that everyone would have to know exactly what was taking them so long at the front of the bus anyway. He takes one last lick into his mouth before pulling back, eyes half-lidded and breathing labored. Spencer looks back at him, lips already a harsh pink.
“Is there anyone on your bus?”
“No.”
Tom wait’s a moment, expecting Spencer to get the hint and suggest going back there so they can finish off whatever it is that they started without the risk of someone walking in. However, seconds pass and he remains quiet, so Tom realizes he has to take a hold of the situation and ask himself, slow enough so that Spencer has the chance to process it, “Do you maybe want to go over there…?”
Spencer sends him an apologetic smile, and slides his body out from underneath Tom’s. He runs his hands through his tussled hair, straightens his clothes and says, “Nah. I think we should probably just go back.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Tom replies, deadpanned. He motions towards his very unappreciative cock, straining against his jeans. “You cant do this to me again.”
“Sorry,” he says, and Tom scowls, thinking he doesn’t look the least bit sorry at all.
If Tom goes another night without another form of sexual relief besides his own right hand, he might just explode. It’s been far too long, and it’s not fair. This is what being a rockstar is all about. He’s not supposed to be so sexually frustrated that it hurts. Hands down, Tom decides, worst tour ever. “So, what? You’re going to sit back on Jon’s lap and shove your tongue down his throat now?”
Spencer folds his arms over his chest, jutting his hip against the counter as he stops and stares at him, that stupid smirk making it’s way back across his lips. Tom’s too turned on and sexually frustrated to be embarrassed over how jealous he most likely just sounded. “Why? Do you not want me to?”
Tom darts his eyes away, scraping a bit of dried gunk off the counter. “Well, I’m just sayin’. Considering you’re trying to prove to me that you’re not a slut, proceeding to kiss my best friend after making out with me is probably not the best way to go convincing me of that.”
He uncurls his arms from his chest, and stands up straight, shrugging. “Fine then. I wont.” He grabs onto his beer and makes his way back towards the back lounge.
“Fine,” Tom calls after him, trying to sound tough but it mostly just comes out pathetic.
Spencer doesn’t turn back to look at him, and Tom can tell he’s purposely trying to add a certain extra swagger to his hips.
And Tom is most definitely not checking out his ass.
He grabs himself a beer and then two, readjusting himself before he follows Spencer’s lead and rejoins them in the back lounge. True to his word, Spencer is on the other side of the U-shaped couch from Jon, tucked up in the corner, and for the first time on this tour, completely alone.
Jon’s staring back at him, looking confused and a bit heartbroken.
Tom pretends not to notice.
*
Turns out trying to find a place to fool around without anyone else on the tour finding out is a lot harder than first anticipated. It proves to be even more difficult when the said person you’re fooling around with doesn’t know you’re trying to hide it.
They’re in a storage room of some sort, in their usual favored position of Spencer fitted perfectly between the wall and Tom, pushing back as he rolls his hips into his. Spencer’s fingers are knotted into the back of his hair, tugging, as they breathe heavily into each other’s mouths, chests heaving.
They’ve been doing this for about a week now, and despite the fact that Tom is still convinced that Spencer is a slut, they surprisingly haven’t gotten a whole lot past wet kisses and heaving groping. Apparently, it hadn’t just been Jon after all, and if Tom didn’t already know Spencer was a giant slut, he’d seriously be wondering if he was a virgin.
Tom moves his mouth down, lips grazing the smooth skin of his neck. He opens his mouth, swiping his tongue across the salty skin just under his Adam’s Apple before replacing it with his teeth. Spencer chokes out a soft noise, throwing his head back against the wall with a smack. Tom smirks, pleased with himself that he’s already found one of Spencer’s weak spots.
When Tom pulls back, Spencer’s eyes are still closed, heavy pants pouring from between his lips. His cheeks are a vibrant red, and this is yet another thing that he’s learned over the past week; the redder his face is, the more turned on he is.
It barely registers in his own mind what he’s doing as he sinks down to his knees, popping the button of Spencer’s jeans open. Tom has given head exactly once in his life; back in high school with this guy, Joseph, who had smelt and tasted like moldy gym socks. Goes without saying, he had hated it so much that he told himself never again. But here he is, five years later, on his knees with an inexplicable want to do just that to Spencer. Fucking Spencer, the fourteen year-old, manipulative, scheming slut that despite recent events, he still despises more than anything.
But, whatever. The way Tom sees it, is that maybe if he sucks him off first, Spencer will be a whole lot more willing to give it up. And fast.
“Tom,” Spencer breathes, tilting his head down to look at him through thick eyelashes. He vaguely remembers Jon telling him how Spencer had turned him down on a blowjob, and he wonders if that’s what he’s trying to do now. Never in his life, has Tom ever known a guy who actually turned down someone wanting to suck their cock.
“Sh,” Tom says before he has a chance to say anything. He yanks down his zipper and begins to slide the tight denim down his thighs. “Just let me do it, okay?” he grunts.
Tom is pleased when his reply comes in the form of him threading his fingers through his hair. Tom gets his jeans halfway down his thighs before moving onto his underwear.
Spencer’s cock springs to life once it’s freed from the tight material of his underwear, hard and flushed, and the first thing that comes to Tom’s mind is, huh, so he really is a boy, and, shit. What have I gotten myself into?
The first lick is quick and experimental, but it still gets more than enough recognition from Spencer as his grip tightens in his hair. The tip of his tongue tastes a bit salty and bitter, but it’s nothing he cant handle. Somehow Tom knew Spencer would taste worlds better from the last.
Tom takes a deep breath and pulls his lips over his teeth before moving in the rest of the way, taking Spencer in one inch at a time. It’s a bit of a stretch already, the backs of his jaw pulling and he already knows he wont be able to do this for very long. He’s not exactly well educated on the proper blowjob techniques, after all. He’s much more used to be on the receding end of them, and he knows from experience that it doesn’t take a whole lot of skill for that.
Tom cant say this is the most fun he’s ever had, but at least he can say it’s worlds better than with Joseph. He’s still relatively hard in his jeans, but Tom is leaning towards the cause of that being the appreciative noises and hair grabs Spencer is giving him.
He manages longer than he had first thought, and finds himself vaguely surprised when Spencer breathes out his name, telling him that he’s close. He pulls away because while sucking off a guy is one thing, it’s entirely different to swallow their jizz on top of it.
Spencer sinks down to his knees, meeting Tom eye to eye before surging forward to press their lips together. Tom snakes his hand down between them, wrapping his fingers around his length and finishes him off. Spencer pulls his lips away as he comes, cursing out Tom’s name against his sore jaw.
Tom wipes his hand on a mop next to him as Spencer rests both hands on his jaw, fingers in his beard and pulls him back in for another kiss. It’s different than the others they’ve shared before, and Tom cant quite pinpoint why. He feels his stomach sink slowly, and he doesn’t think that he wants to anyway.
*
He wonders if this makes him a slut now.
*
“I just don’t get it. I really thought we were getting somewhere, but suddenly it’s like he’s not interested anymore.” Jon frowns, fingering the frets on his bass.
Guilt twists his insides, and Tom looks down, worried Jon might be able to see it just from his eyes. “Maybe,” Tom starts, biting on his bottom lip, eyes drifting off to where Brendon and Brent are tossing a Frisbee in the middle of the field, “maybe you should just - I don’t know. Let it go? Is he really worth all this stress, anyway?”
Jon shrugs, letting out a disappointed sigh. “I thought so.”
Tom strums the melody of Checkmarks, and tries not to think about what a horrible friend he is. Then, as if to make the situation any better, who but Spencer decides to show up, face lit and grinning. Tom freezes, temporarily horrified at the idea of Spencer coming over and giving him a kiss hello, or something as equally obvious that he wouldn’t be able to talk himself out of. He still hasn’t quite gotten around to telling Spencer he doesn’t want anyone knowing about them and whatever it is they’re doing, knowing it would only make it that much more real and leave him feeling that much more guilty.
He looks away, eyes dropping to his guitar as he continues to strum along, plastering on a face of pure concentration. He cant see Spencer expression, but he’s sure it’s not nice.
“Hey, Spin,” Jon greets cheerily, and Tom thinks, Spin? Really?
Tom can feel Spencer boring holes into the side of his head, and he swallows, promptly missing a chord.
“Hi, Jon.” Despite the attempt at fake cheer, Tom can feel the ice from where he sits, feet away.
“How are you?”
“I’m good, thank you.” He doesn’t give Jon a chance to reply before he’s saying, voice tight, “Anyways, I just came to say hi. I’m trying to find Ryan.”
“Oh,” Jon says, voice dropping in disappointment. “Okay. See you then.”
“Yeah, bye.” There’s a pause, and from the corner of his eye, Tom can still see his feet plastered on the grass beside them. He allows himself to look up briefly to see Spencer standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, expression pulled into a perfect bitchface. It says, so, what? You had my cock in your mouth yesterday and now you cant even speak to me?
Tom looks away which in turns gets him a huff from Spencer as he storms off like a twelve year-old girl.
Tom’s hoping Jon went momentarily blind for the entire duration of that little conflict, but then Jon blinks and asks, “What was that?” and Tom knows he wasn’t so lucky.
He shrugs. “He’s still mad that I called him a slut,” he lies.
“Why would you call him a slut?”
“Because he is.” Tom looks up to meet his eyes with a serious stare. “Which is another reason why I think you should just move on.” He drops his acoustic onto the grass and stands up, dusting off his jeans. “Excuse me.”
He can still see Spencer, where he’s storming off across the field, heading towards where the busses are parked. Ryan’s in the opposite direction, making out with William under a tree, so Tom assumes he was lying when he said he was trying to find him.
Tom breaks into a steady jog, and he knows Jon must be watching him go, forehead scrunched together in confusion and suspicion, but he figures he can worry about that later. He yells out Spencer’s name, and with him only a few feet away there’s no doubt that he heard, but he keeps walking anyway, head tilted upwards and pace suddenly quickened.
Tom curses under his breath as he speeds up himself, and the thought of why the hell he cares so much briefly crosses his mind before he quickly distinguishes it. It’s just Spencer, some little slut who plays mind games. Some little slut who has also been his source for sexual release these past eleven days (alright, so maybe Spencer has been the only one to get any form of release between the two of them, but still, Tom will get his chance. At least, that’s what he was hoping, before Spencer got his shit tied in a knot.)
Tom finally catches up to him just as they reach the busses, and he makes a grab for his arm, pulling him into the space between the two busses, blocking them from anyone’s view. “Spencer.” He’s breathing heavily already, after barely running a few yards, and it’s times like this that he really considers cutting back on smoking.
Spencer turns to look at him, eyes flashing and he looks pissed. “What?” he snaps.
Tom takes a deep breath, attempting to calm his heart rate. He says, between pants of air, “Look, I’m sorry but I was just worried you were going to do something to - you know, and then Jon would find out that we are - uh, fucking around.”
Spencer pulls his lips together in a very thin, white line, cheeks a splotchy red. “And why is it so bad if he does?” he asks defiantly.
Tom falls back against the bus, running his hand across his forehead. “Because,” he sighs, “he’s my best friend and he’s had this stupid crush on you since the tour started. I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell him. I don’t want to hurt him, you know?”
There’s a pause as the tension built on Spencer’s face visibly begins to relax before he asks, slowly as if not entirely sure whether to believe him or not, “Why didn’t you just tell me this before?”
“Because… I already feel guilty enough as it is,” he admits.
Spencer kicks a rock by his feet, arms still wrapped around his chest. He appears considerably less pissed, and Tom takes this as a good enough reason as ever to reach out and grab onto his hips, pulling him into him. Spencer pretends to resist for a moment, but then quickly caves as Tom slips a hand up his shirt, running a thumb over his hipbone. He watches as the remainder of the tension on his shoulders deflates. “I’ll do it soon,” he promises. “First I’m trying to convince him to move on.”
“Oh yeah? And what exactly is it that you’re saying to try and convince him of that?” Spencer asks, moving his hand down to intertwine with Toms. He moves closer, hips bumping his, an amused smile tugging on his lips.
“Oh, you know, just that you kind of smell and are a horrible lay.”
Spencer laughs, shooting him an offended look and punches him in the arm. “Asshole. Like you’d know anyway.”
“I will soon.”
He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, and says, “I guess we’ll see about that.”
Tom smiles and pulls Spencer into him by the hand, pressing their lips together. Spencer is compliant at first, laying soft, languid kisses onto him as he snakes his arms around his neck. When he pulls away, Tom’s lips instinctively follow, wanting more. Spencer laughs, arms still around his neck as he suggests, “So… I was thinking maybe we could try to get a room together at the hotel tonight.”
“I don’t know,” Tom says regretfully, smoothing his thumb over the dip in his waist. Tom has decided that Spencer is totally the best of both worlds. He’s got all the best features that girls possess; smooth skin, gorgeous hips, sweet taste, but yet, is still very much a boy - you know, if that cock he had in his mouth was anything to go by. “I want to but - I don’t know. I usually always room with Jon, and I don’t know how we’d get away with it without him or anyone knowing.”
Spencer chews on his bottom lip, eyes turned up in thought. A moment later he’s tucking some hair behind Tom’s ear and says, eyebrows wiggling, “We’ll see. Never underestimate my powers.”
“Okay, sure.” Tom laughs, and then pecks him a quick kiss, just because.
Spencer grins and murmurs into his lips, “You’ll see.”
*
Tom decides to pass out early that night, crawling under his big, comfy queen-sized bed under the equally comfy comforter. Jon’s still out partying in William’s room with the others, but Tom decided to take full advantage of the fact that that he gets to sleep in something that isn’t two feet wide and as hard as a rock. He considered inviting Spencer to his room for a quick make out and groping session before fretfully deciding it probably wouldn’t be the best idea incase Jon decided to come back into the room without warning.
He dozes off almost instantly, the two beers and the joint they had smoked with Jon lulling him to sleep. He’s dreaming about riding a unicycle down the busiest street in Chicago when he’s awoken by something wet and warm on his belly. He blinks, still half-asleep, to see the outline of a head attached to the said wet thing. Since he highly doubts it’s Jon, he takes one guess as to who it is.
“Spenner?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. “What’re you doing here?”
“Jon’s in Brendon’s room,” he replies as he lifts his head from his stomach. He shimmies up his body, straddling his waist as he leans down to lay a kiss onto his lips. “I told you I’m powerful.”
“Wha - how?”
Spencer kisses the side of his mouth, then his jaw. “Brendon’s always had a little thing for him. I told him to go for it. Jon didn’t put up too much of a fight.” He goes back for his mouth, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before he adds, “Plus, Brendon may or may not know about us and suggested Jon give me the key so they can be alone and I still have somewhere to sleep. So… he wont be barging in here anytime soon.”
“Brendon knows?”
“He always has,” Spencer replies, pausing to lay a few more wet kisses onto his lips, “since day one.”
Tom wants to ask if he means day one of the tour or the first day they started fooling around, but Spencer cuts him off with even more desperately rough kisses and he decides it doesn’t really matter. Tom, slightly more awake now, runs his hands up Spencer’s back, pulling his t-shirt up with it. Spencer throws his arms up, allowing him to pull it over his head, and Tom takes the opportunity to run his hands down his chest and stomach as he kisses him.
Spencer pulls away and Tom moves forward, following his lips for more, but Spencer shakes his head and shimmies back down his hips to his thighs. He hooks two fingers into the elastic of Tom’s boxers and tugs. He lifts his hips off the bed, helping him to pull them off the rest of the way, heart speeding up in anticipation.
Spencer’s hot breath grazes over the tip of his cock, and Tom sucks back a sharp breath of air as his tongue comes in contact with the tip. Tom takes a fistful of comforter in between his hands, holding on tight as Spencer takes him in the rest of the way, mouth wet and hot and freaking wonderful around him.
He takes a hand off his hip and moves it over to where Tom’s hand is twisted into the comforter, pulling it down to rest in his hair. He looks up through his eyelashes, further letting him know it’s okay, and Tom doesn’t think there’s anything in the world that could be more hot than that.
He moves his hand to join the other, threading his fingers through the soft locks of Spencer’s hair. Every part of Spencer’s body is smooth and warm, and Tom cant imagine how long he must spend conditioning and moisturizing. He doesn’t think something like this just comes naturally. It doesn’t for him, at least.
Spencer sucks in his cheeks, and Tom can feel himself hit the back of his throat. He rolls his head back, fingers digging into his skull, attempting to breathe out evenly through his mouth.
Due to his sad recent lack of sex, Tom can already feel the orgasm building up in the pit of his stomach. It’s embarrassing, but when he thinks back to it, Spencer didn’t last too long himself and it’s pretty clear that his cock-sucking abilities comes nowhere close to what Spencer’s doing with his tongue right now.
Spencer pulls off, and Tom cant help it as he lets out a loud, disproving whine. Spencer looks up at him with swollen, red lips, Tom’s fingers dropping from his hair. “I kind of want you to fuck me now.”
“Yeah?” Tom asks breathlessly, his cock, somehow, managing to grow even harder.
“Yeah.” He rolls off of Tom, and onto the floor, digging into his jeans that he had apparently already discarded while Tom was still asleep. When he comes back onto the bed, he’s joined with a condom and a couple packs of lube in both hands.
Spencer sits up on his knees, tugging his boxers off with his free hand. Tom reaches out instantly, running a finger along his belly button, fingers dipping into the patch of wiry hair. He looks up, meeting his eyes, and asks, “Are you - you’re not a virgin, are you?”
“What?” Spencer laughs, kicking them off the rest of the way. “Fuck no. Why? Did you think I was?”
“No. No, I didn’t. I just wondered since you, um - I don’t know. Since you haven’t slept with anyone here, and it took you awhile to want to sleep with me and I just figured - you’re young and - ”
“Oh, so since I’m not a slut, I must be a virgin, huh?” Spencer raises an eyebrow, ripping the lube packet open with his teeth. He bends down, lightly brushing his lips against Tom’s. “I told you I wasn’t. Is it such a crime that I like kissing?” He settles on his hips, thighs on either side of his waist, trapping Tom’s cock under his ass.
He bites onto his lip, choking back a moan.
Spencer squeezes some lube onto his fingers, coating them before lifting himself off Tom and sitting back up on his knees. He holds himself up by one hand, flattened next to Tom’s head, leaving his face inches from his. Tom watches in avid fascination and pure arousal as Spencer reaches behind him, pressing a finger into himself.
“Shit,” Tom chokes, breath stuck in his throat. “Uh, not that that isn’t really fucking hot but um, I can do that, you know.”
Spencer shakes his head, face scrunched and lip between teeth. “No. It’s okay,” he says, breathless. “This’ll be quicker.”
Tom sits up, capturing his lips into a deep kiss, running his tongue along his bottom lip. Spencer lets out a strangled breath into his mouth as he pushes in a second finger, and Tom snakes his hand down, lazily stroking his length.
A few more wet, languid kisses and Spencer’s pulling out, reaching for the condom packet next to Tom’s hip. He rips it open with his teeth as he did to the lube, and rolls it down onto Tom’s already leaking cock. He feels almost a bit disappointed over this, not sure he’ll be able to last long, not with the blowjob to start, topped off with watching Spencer finger himself. Tom’s had his share of sex and prides himself in his fairly impressive stamina, but Spencer is just too sexy for his own good.
Spencer coats Tom with an entire packet of lube, and then settles himself just over his cock, knees on either side of his hips. He presses a palm flat on Tom’s chest, the other sneaking down to align himself as he carefully sinks down. He lets out a soft whimper, but it’s drowned out by the loud moan that escapes Tom.
Yeah, Tom’s had plenty of hot sex in his life, but this. This is quickly making it’s way up to the top three and it’s only just begun.
Spencer sits up, moving his hand to rest on Tom’s stomach and the other on the mattress next to him as he slowly begins to rock himself against his cock. Tom compensates by reaching up to grab a hold of his hips, further helping to lift him up and then back down again.
He lets out a growl from the back of his throat, tilting his head back against the pillow. He was aware before, but now this makes it desperately clear; he’s been far, far too long without this.
Spencer’s breathing heavily, sweat sliding down his neck and chest, and Tom wishes he was able to get close enough to collect the beads with his tongue. He lets Spencer take a few more thrusts down onto him before he’s pulling him off and flipping them over, trapping Spencer underneath him as he grabs onto his legs and wraps them around his waist. Spencer lets out a small gasp in surprise, and Tom dips his head down, running his tongue along his collarbone as he pushes inside.
He can feel his orgasm building up again, so he reaches down, grabbing onto Spencer as he begins to jerk him off with the same fast rhythm that he’s thrusting into him with. Spencer pushes back into him, mewling as more beads of sweat collect at his collarbone, and Tom takes it in himself to lick off every last drop.
Tom comes first, jerking his hips sporadically as he rides out on his orgasm and just as he’s about sure he cant get anything more out, Spencer joins him, listing out a strew of curses as he lets go over Tom’s hands.
Tom collapses into him, pressing his mouth against Spencer’s shoulder, slicked with sweat. He can feel Spencer’s heart beat rapidly through his ribcage, into his. He gives himself a moment to properly gather his thoughts before saying a simple, “Wow.”
“I agree.”
Tom hoists himself up and pulls out, yanking the condom off himself and tying it up before chucking it into the wastebasket next to the bed. He falls onto his back next to Spencer, ignoring the sticky mess on his stomach. “Now, I know you’re not a slut but - holy shit. I don’t think many eighteen year-olds are that good in bed.”
He laughs, and rolls onto his side, sliding an arm across his chest. “I had an older boyfriend last year. We had lots of sex.”
Tom tilts his head down, the ends of Spencer’s hair tickling his lips. “Makes sense,” he murmurs, eyelids heavy with sleep. “So, you’re telling me I’m only your second?”
“Basically, yeah.”
“Huh.”
Spencer turns onto his stomach, moving up to press a quick kiss to Tom’s mouth. “Goodnight, Thomas.”
“Goodnight,” he repeats, eyes already slipped shut.
He falls asleep a second later with Spencer curled up against him, warm breath running along his neck.
*
He wakes up early in the morning to the smell of coffee and Spencer’s nose nudging his. “Morning, Sunshine,” he sings out.
Tom cracks an eye open. The sun shining in from the window next to his bed burns his retina, and he quickly closes it again, groaning, “Ngh.” He pulls the pillow over his face. “Lemme sleep.”
Spencer throws a leg over his waist, pulls the pillow off his head and lays a trail of kisses along his jaw. “No can do. You have to have a shower and fix this bed before Jon comes back. Plus, I brought you coffee.”
Tom attempts to open an eye again, then the other, squinting as he looks up at Spencer, fully clothed and hair wet from the shower. “Like you couldn’t have fucking waited for me to shower,” he whines. He sits up, and Spencer reaches over, still plastered to his lap and grabs the cup from the nightstand, handing it over to him.
Tom takes it graciously, hugging it to his chest. There’s nothing more that Tom loves in the morning than a large cup of steaming coffee. “Black?” Spencer nods, and he takes a careful sip, savoring every last drop of hot coffee that trickles down his throat. “You’re awesome,” he says between sips.
“I know, right?” Spencer goes to get off him, and it takes everything in Tom not to reach out and pull him back. Spencer stands up, stretching, and Tom focuses on his coffee, wondering what the hell had happened to him. Whatever happened to Spencer being no more than an annoying, slutty teenager?
There’s a knock at the door, and Jon’s voice calls through the door, “Tom, it’s me.”
Spencer’s eyes widen to the size of Tom’s, and he points towards the direction of the washroom, mouthing, “Get in the shower now.”
Tom nods, handing his coffee to Spencer as he jumps off the bed and practically runs into the washroom. He hears Spencer call behind him, “Hold on a second.”
He turns on the shower, listening to the muffled sound of the door closing and Jon and Spencer’s chatter. He prays that Spencer either got rid of the condom or Jon doesn’t happen to look in the wastebasket.
Tom sits on the edge of the tub, head in his hands as the steam from the shower sticks to his skin. He thinks, fuck.
He thinks, I’m screwed.
*
Tom’s really drunk and so is Spencer, past the point that they’re not really thinking much about the whole being obvious thing as they stumble out from the bathroom and into the crowded hotel room, lips swollen and hair a mess. Spencer’s still holding onto his arm, laughing over something he had drunkenly mumbled before leaving and when Tom looks over to the group of people before him, the first person he sees is Jon.
He’s staring back at him, eyes cold and expression knowing.
Tom bites his lip, and over his fogged brain he thinks, shit shit shit. He yanks his arm from Spencer’s grip, but it’s too late because Jon already knows. Shit, he so knows, and he gets up, pushing past the two of them, heading towards the door.
No one else seems to be paying much attention, lost in their own inebriated worlds, and he looks at Spencer to see his expression mirrored on him. He mouths, “Shit.”
Tom curses under his breath and follows after Jon, thinking, how could I be so fucking stupid? Because he was horny, that’s why. Because Spencer had kept making eyes at him from across the room. Because Spencer is an evil, slutty genius who has him like putty in the palms of his hands.
Jon is halfway down the hallway towards their room when Tom joins him. He swallows, and calls, throat dry and voice slurred, “Jon. I’m sorry, man. Can you juss lemme explain?”
Jon, to his surprise, stops and turns to face him, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks somewhere between really fucking hurt and angry, to maybe a lot betrayed. Tom feels awful. “Okay, explain.”
“I - I wanted to tell you, man. I did but - I didn’t want to like, I don’t know. Hurt you. You were so hung up on the kid and - ”
“This has been going on for awhile, hasn’t it?” Jon asks, and Tom drops his head, ashamed. “I knew it. I fucking knew it, but you just kept lying to me about it. Kept trying to hide it behind my back like a fucking teenager.”
“I - ”
“Jesus, this is so fucking typical of you, Tom,” Jon sneers. “Always thinking about yourself. Did it ever cross your mind that you could’ve just told me? That I would’ve been okay with it because I’m not a fucking twelve year-old? Spencer likes you and not me, fine, whatever, I’m used to it but for you to just sneak around behind my back like that it’s just fucking shady.”
“Well how was I supposed to know?” Tom snaps, face heating with adrenaline. “The way you were mooning after him, I thought you were gonna freak the fuck out. Christ, you were going on for weeks about how he must’ve liked you and that it was different with you because he made out with you a few times when he was drunk, meanwhile he was off with every single other guy on this fucking tour doing the exact same thing?” Tom realizes he should probably be apologizing until his throat bleeds, but he’s drunk and high, and when it comes to Tom Conrad, apologies don’t mix. When it comes to Tom Conrad and alcohol, he gets mean. “You might not be twelve, but you sure as fucking hell were acting like it.”
He cant say he saw it coming, because one moment Jon’s staring at him, face red with anger and the next, Tom’s stumbling back, clutching onto his throbbing eye. He barely has the chance to look and register the fact that it was Jon who just hit him before he’s hissing, “Fuck you, Tom. Fuck you. You can sleep in your fucking boyfriend’s room tonight,” and then he’s gone down the hall, disappearing into their suite.
Tom kicks the wall in frustration, still holding onto his eye as he curses under his breath, the boyfriend bouncing back and forth in his head. Fucking boyfriend. Yeah right.
Never in their fourteen years old friendship has Jon ever hit him, and Tom has done some pretty asshole stuff. The only time he had ever come close was when they were play-fighting as teenagers. This is different now; Jon actually meant it.
Tom doesn’t know how long he’s out there for when he hears a door shut and suddenly a warm body is next to his, ghosting a finger across the rapidly forming bruise on his cheekbone. “I’m sorry,” Spencer murmurs.
Tom shakes his head, instinctively slipping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. Jon’s voice echoes in his head, boyfriend, it says, and Tom quickly shoos it away, vanishing it to the back of his mind. “It’s okay,” he replies softly, and it -
It will be.
*
The next morning, after a long, hot showered accompanied by Spencer and at least three cups of coffee, Tom takes a deep breath and heads over to Jon’s suite, tail tucked behind his legs. He has a peace offering in the form of a coffee and three donuts, and he knows it’ll probably take a little more than that, but it’s a start at least.
Jon takes his time answering, but he’s relieved to see that he even does at all. He looks unimpressed when he sees Tom standing there, to say the least, and after a few suspended moments of them standing there staring at each other, Jon sighs and steps back, allowing him inside.
Tom hands him the coffee, and then the bag of donuts. “For you,” he says.
Jon takes them without a thank you, but Tom cant say he was expecting one anyway. Instead, he looks him over and says, “That’s a pretty good shiner I gave you, huh?”
“Yeah. It hurts like a motherfucker.” Tom woke up that morning to find his eye was the size of a golf ball, the skin around it a nice, pretty color of purple and red. He doesn’t know when or how Jon became so strong.
“Good.”
“Jon, I’m sorry. I really am. I handled it horribly last night.”
He shrugs indifferently. “You were drunk, what did I expect?” He takes a sip of his coffee and adds, “And I’m also sorry for hitting you, I guess. I was a bit drunk myself.”
“Whatever. I deserved it. That was an asshole move even from me.”
“Yeah,” Jon agrees, smirking. “You kind of did.”
Tom laughs, tucking his hands inside his hoody pockets.
There’s a break as Jon reaches into the bag and pulls out a sprinkled donut. He takes a bite, rainbow colored sprinkles falling into his beard, and says, mouthful of dough, “So, you and Spencer, huh? I kind of figured.”
Tom shrugs, dropping his head in guilt. “It’s nothing really,” he mumbles. “Just a good fuck.”
Jon rolls his eyes, disbelieving, stuffing the rest of the donut into his mouth. “Yeah, okay, whatever. Is this what you’ve been telling yourself the whole time?”
Tom stares at him, and says nothing.
“Typical,” he sighs, giving him another eye roll. “I’ve seen Spencer turn down at least five guys over these past couple of weeks and you - I’ve seen you completely blow off some really hot fucking chicks, and you, Tom Conrad, do not blow off easy, hot chicks for a ‘good fuck.’ There’s more to it, I know you. I’m not fucking stupid, okay?”
Tom’s face burns, and he shakes his head vehemently. “No. Trust me, there isn’t. He’s just - he’s a slut, you know?” It comes out weaker than intended, and Tom’s not sure who he’s trying to convince - Jon or himself.
“You’re an asshole, sure, but you wouldn’t have done any of this, hiding it behind my back and risking our friendship just for some slut.”
Tom runs a finger across his eyebrow, over to press against his temple. This is stupid, he thinks. He doesn’t like Spencer. He cant because - because -
Because - fuck.
“Face it; he’s totally your boyfriend.”
“Shut up,” he hisses, cheeks flaming.
Jon shrugs, and gives him a look like, you know I’m right.
Tom looks away, embarrassed, and in an attempt to change the subject, asks, “Why aren’t you more pissed off about this?”
“Because I told you last night, I’m not angry that you’re with him, I’m angry that you kept it from me like a shady little bastard,” he explains, moving onto the second donut in the bag. “And I gave you that shiner which basically makes up for it. Oh, and these donuts and coffee definitely helped too.”
Tom laughs. “And this doesn’t have anything to do with you and Brendon?"
Jon blushes, ducking his head as he takes a sip of his coffee, washing down the previous donut he had just shoved down his throat. “What about me and Brendon?”
“Yeah,” Tom laughs dryly, “and I’m the one with the boyfriend, alright.”
Jon shoots him another eye roll, this one weaker than the others, and gives him a dismissive wave of his hand. “Whatever.” He jerks his head towards the door and says, “Now go and tell that slutty, little boyfriend of yours just how much you adore him and how you totally want to adopt little Mexican babies with him and live happily ever after.”
Tom rolls his eyes and flips him off, but he cant help as a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “Fuck off.”
Jon kicks his foot and repeats, a bit firmer this time, “Go. Before I decide I really am mad at you and force you to be my slave for the next month.”
Tom laughs, throwing up his hands in surrender as he backs towards the door. “Alright, alright. I’m going.” He turns the handle and is halfway out when he pokes his head back inside and goes, “Plus, it would totally be African babies. They’re much cuter. You and Brendon seem more like the Mexican type,” before shutting it behind him. He can still hear Jon laughing as he makes his way down the hall.
He finds Spencer in his room, alone, sprawled out across the bed as he flips lazily through the channels. Once he sees it’s Tom, he sits up straight and asks, “How’d it go? Is he still mad?”
Tom cant stop smiling. He feels silly and stupid and pathetic and fucking twelve, and he doesn’t even want to know what this is doing for his image, but he just cant help it. He makes his way over to the bed and takes a seat next to Spencer.
Yeah, okay, so. Maybe Jon was right. Maybe Spencer totally is his boyfriend. And maybe - maybe Tom’s kind of okay with that.
Spencer laughs, looking over his expression and says, “I’m guessing by the look on your face it went good.”
Tom nods, and leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to Spencer’s lips. “You’re not a slut,” he says simply.
Spencer raises a thin eyebrow, looking like he’s not sure whether he should be offended or not, but laughs regardless. “Uh, thank you?”
Tom smiles and presses another kiss to his lips, and then another. “And uh, you’re pretty cute too.”
“Thanks.” Spencer giggles, cheeks pink.
“And, um. I kind of like you. A little. Or a lot, I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure that one out.”
“Yeah?” he asks, breaking out into a grin. He bites onto his lip, like he’s trying to hold it back, but it fails horribly.
Tom cant help it as he breaks out into a mirroring grin, and he thinks that maybe, he just might be the fourteen year-old now. He certainly feels like it, with the way he cant stop smiling or that stupid, obnoxious fluttering feeling in his stomach.
Spencer turned him into a fucking girl.
“Yeah,” he confirms, and laughs, shaking his head in embarrassment. “We’re so pathetic.”
“We kind of are, aren’t we?” Spencer asks, tilting his head to the side. He leans forward, pecking a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth and says, “Whatever, I kind of like it.”
Tom, pressing his hand to Spencer’s hip, says, voice muffled into his lips, “Me too.”
THE END.