fic: Let the Future Come into Each Moment (4/4)

[saramir]

| Part One | Part Two | Part Three |

They've agreed to do a local radio interview later that day -- some rush hour program on NPR -- and it's Jon and Brendon's turn for that torture, so Spencer and Ryan spend most of the day shopping for new clothes and pointedly not talking about anything significant whatsoever.

They don't all get back on the road until dusk, and by then Spencer's pretty much forgotten about that whole thing where Jon's been acting a little nervous and weird in the past twenty-four hours and had said he needs to talk with Spencer, alone.

Well, Spencer doesn't know what Jon needs to say, but Spencer can't get that damn photograph out of his head, and he's thinking that maybe Brendon and Ryan were right: he needs to go for it.

Spencer just never thought he'd be in Iowa when It finally happened.

Not that he'd really thought about Iowa at all when he'd considered the possibility of It happening, but it's odd somehow now that he's here. On a random road in Iowa. Squeezed into his own bunk. With Jon. Trying to find a way to talk about It. On the night of his own thirtieth birthday.

"I don't know, I guess I just thought that I might not even make it to thirty," he's babbling to Jon. They're lying on their sides talking into the dim lighting between them. "I mean, not like I'm all that self-destructive, I just sort of figured our country and North Korea and Iran would've blown each other up by now, or that everybody would've completely destroyed the environment or something."

Jon considers him for a moment, half of his bottom lip sucked beneath his top front teeth. He reaches out and places the back of his hand against Spencer's forehead, shifting the bangs out of the way, as if checking for a fever.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking for symptoms of melancholy."

Spencer tries not to laugh. "Um, okay?"

"No fever. Can you feel your toes?"

"Yes, Jon," Spencer deadpans. "I can feel my toes."

"Have you been drinking red wine without me again? You know how sad and ridiculous that makes you."

"Jon." Spencer does laugh this time. "Stop it." He bats Jon's hand away, but Jon just lets it drop to the intersection of Spencer's neck and shoulder.

They lie there quietly for a moment.

"I really thought there'd be flying cars by now," Jon says all of a sudden.

"Huh?"

"Oh, I thought we were sharing what we thought would have happened by the time you hit thirty." Jon grins. "Flying cars."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "At least we have an electric bus."

"Sadly, it's no flying automobile."

"That it is not."

"Nope," Jon agrees sadly.

"Because we're not living in a futuristic sci-fi flick."

Jon grins and tilts his head to the side. "Guess we'll have to wait 'til 2020?"

"Nah, too soon. Maybe 2050?"

"You're no fun."

"That's me: thirty."

"Don't worry, Spence, you're still you." Jon hooks his ankle over Spencer's and drags their legs together.

Spencer's heart, maybe, trips a little in his chest at that and the way Jon's tongue curls soft and intimate around his name. The worn denim of their jeans drags up against their shins, soft hairy legs shifting against each other and the fleece blanket crumpled beneath them.

"Um." Spencer props himself up on his elbow. Jon's hand that's been on the side of his neck follows the movement and tangles a couple fingers into Spencer's hair; he's been growing it longer again, like he did when he was twenty. "Um," Spencer repeats and tries to meet Jon's eyes, then just blurts out, "Hey, so, did Ryan and Brendon show you the photograph they gave me for my birthday this morning?"

"No," Jon says slowly, drawing his eyebrows together in confusion. "Should they have?"

"Maybe?" Spencer closes his eyes and gets distracted by Jon's fingers twisting and untwisting sections of Spencer's hair against the back of his neck.

Jon laughs uncomfortably after a moment of silence. "Ah, care to elaborate?"

Spencer keeps his eyes closed and takes a deep breath. Jon hasn't stopped moving his fingers through Spencer's hair in soothing twists. Spencer exhales. "Brendon and Ryan think-- well, I mean, they say that the photo shows-- um." He opens his eyes to meet Jon's and lets out the rest as quickly as he can: "Areyouinlovewithme?"

The question comes out much more quietly and uncertain than he'd meant for it to sound. It's just-- photography can lie, right? (You don't just have the photograph as proof, silly, a voice in his head reminds him; it sounds suspiciously like Brendon.)

Jon's eyes widen for a split second before he squeezes them shut, pulling his hand away from Spencer's hair and covering his own face.

Spencer's neck feels cold.

Jon mumbles something into his hand.

"I-- I didn't catch that." Spencer hesitantly reaches out and pulls Jon's hand away from his face. Their fingers automatically tangle together and drop to the mattress between them. Spencer can feel their pulses quickening against each other, heartbeats in their fingertips.

Jon opens one eye and looks at Spencer's. "I might be? Just a lit--" He cuts himself off and squeezes his eyes shut again for a moment, then opens them both and looks straight at Spencer, terrified. "I am, a lot. Yes."

Spencer feels light-headed all of a sudden; it's a good thing he's already lying down. He clutches Jon's fingers a little more desperately. "How long?"

Jon glances down at their fingers. "Since, um. Since . . . Wisconsin?"

Spencer scrunches his eyebrows. "Wait, you mean, like, a few days ago?"

Jon laughs, one of those laughs that's not amused at all. "I mean since our first Wisconsin."

"Since-- oh god, Jon--"

"I figured it out on our first tour with me, you know, officially in the band." He stares somewhere in the vicinity of Spencer's chin for a moment before adding, "You and me stayed up all night together after the show and we were completely sober and just, like, cracking each other up and talking and stuff, and I just-- you were-- I dare anyone not to fall for you when you laugh, Spence, seriously."

"You--" Spencer swallows. Okay, wow, he might just throw up. This voice in the back of his mind keeps telling him that this doesn't actually come as a surprise, like he and Jon have always been progressing toward something like this moment, but the rest of him is fucking blind-sided.

"It's sort of not-really funny that you brought it up actually," Jon says miserably, staring at their folded fingers again.

"Um, how could this be funny?"

Jon frowns even more. "I was going to ask you. For your birthday, that was my . . . well, my present? I guess?"

Spencer blinks a few times but keeps his gaze on Jon's down-turned eyelashes. "Ask me what?"

"If you might possibly want to--" Jon exhales a frustrated laugh and rolls his eyes upward. "I totally had this planned out better. Nothing's coming out right. It-- this was a dumb idea." He rolls his eyes back toward Spencer's and half-smiles at him sadly.

"Hey, don't-- just--" Spencer laughs, beginning to feel a little giddy all of a sudden, because this is really happening, and Jon-- he knows how Spencer feels, doesn't he? "Ask me, Jon."

Jon untangles their fingers, slides their palms together and holds on even more tightly, knuckles puzzled together. He doesn't take his eyes away from Spencer's this time. "Do you want to-- I want us, Spence."

"I--" Spencer clears his throat, but his voice shakes a tiny bit anyhow. "Why now?"

"We're old," Jon says, and Spencer can't actually tell if he's joking or not. "There's no more time to waste."

Spencer cracks a smile. "You were just telling me the other day that we're not old."

"Yeah. Well . . ." Jon shrugs one shoulder and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, averting his eyes again. "I'm just tired, Spence. I'm too tired not to be with someone."

"With someone," Spencer repeats.

"With you," Jon says, his voice more determined all of a sudden and his eyes meeting Spencer's. "I'm tired of not being with you."

"With--" Spencer swears his chest is about to burst open. He can't really see clearly either, and he feels like an idiot who can't form proper sentences anymore. Wow, going through every cliché in the book, awesome. "You-- okay?"

Jon pulls his hand away from Spencer's, slides it across the small space between them, up the brief ticklish bulge of Spencer's stomach, and rests his broad palm around Spencer's hip. "I've been in love with you for a very long time." Jon's voice is quiet but it barely wavers, like he's certain of this one thing.

"But what about." Spencer stops and watches the hem of his own white t-shirt rumple and un-rumple as Jon's thumb swipes across his hip.

"What about what?"

"Cassie."

Jon is silent for a beat. "Where have you been for the past three years? Cassie and I split up. You know this, Spence."

"No. I mean-- I mean, yes, it's just--"

"A person can be in love with two people at the same time," Jon says fiercely, and nudges Spencer's chin with his thumb so they'll be face to face again.

Spencer swallows. "I know."

"Sure." Jon exhales a low, not-very-amused laugh, and averts his eyes again. "You know."

Spencer thinks about two years ago: the last time he woke up next to Haley, when the light in their house was the sort of golden morning that Spencer had only ever felt in Ryan's poetry.

He thinks about Panic's earliest post-Brent tours: waking up to Jon and Brendon singing Disney songs or Ryan and Jon creating melodies Spencer didn't know they were capable of.

He thinks of loving two people, in different ways, at the same time, but only one of them making sense with the third piece of his life he's in love with: his drums, his band, their music.

"Jon," Spencer says, realizing that apparently he does need to confirm this for Jon. "I know."

Jon just blinks at him sadly, but after a beat, his eyes widen on an, "Oh. Y-you do?"

Spencer nods and shifts his forehead forward, pressed warm and smooth against Jon's, their bangs meshing together. "Probably since you were still The Academy's tech, to be honest, but it took me a few years to figure out that I didn't just have a stupid crush on you or something."

Jon laughs, this relieved, euphoric sound. He tilts his forehead against Spencer's and just breathes for a moment, one of his hands combing through Spencer's hair, the other still resting on Spencer's hipbone.

Spencer tries to laugh in response, but his throat feels tight; he tries to match Jon's steady breaths instead, but ends up sounding a little panicked.

"Hey, shh," Jon murmurs, and then his lips are nudging Spencer's own. It's not really a kiss, more of an intimate, Hi, you. Don't worry, I'm right here. Which is sort of the entire reason Spencer's freaking out, so that doesn't help much.

Jon slides his hand out of Spencer's hair, down to the nape of his neck, and it's got to be an awkward angle for his wrist, but all Spencer can think is, What if the reality isn't as good? He's wanted Jon for so long; what if he's built up this unrealistic ideal that Jon can't possibly live up to?

But then Jon kisses him, really kisses him this time.

Spencer's eyes are squeezed shut, worrying too much, so he completely misses any warning signs until Jon's mouth presses warm and soft, strong and wet against his own, and Spencer realizes how stupid it was to worry about the reality not feeling a hundred times better than he'd imagined. Jon's tongue traces a slow line along Spencer's lower lip, then lightly scrapes his teeth over the same path, and Spencer draws in a sharp breath and fits their mouths closer together. He slides his tongue against Jon's and lets out an embarrassing little sigh at the contact, at the ticklish heat and smooth push and pull.

Jon's fingernails dig into Spencer's skin, five little crescent pricks of pleasant pain around his hipbone.

"Jon," Spencer breathes into Jon's mouth, then keeps kissing him, deep and desperate, as he carefully tries to shift his body on top of Jon's without either of them injuring themselves by, like, falling out of the bunk.

After one more sloppy kiss, Spencer spreads his hands flat on either side of Jon's body and lets his knees slip to the outsides of Jon's thighs. "Jon," he repeats, and shifts his pelvis forward to find some friction between their half-hard cocks. They both inhale sharply, Spencer tipping his head back slightly as his jaw falls slack. Before he can regain some sense of composure, Jon licks a broad line up Spencer's throat and over his sensitive Adam's apple; Spencer's hips pulse forward, urging a long, low groan out of them both.

Biting his lip, Spencer looks down at Jon, at the flush in his skin and want in his eyes as he supports himself on his elbows and cranes his neck to kiss Spencer's chin, pull back and grin at him, one of his hands still holding tightly to Spencer's hip and the other tracing up and down his spine beneath the t-shirt. Spencer presses his knees into the mattress for balance as he wriggles out of the shirt and tosses it into the bottom corner of the bunk, knocking his head on the ceiling in the process.

"Ow, fuck," he mutters, rubbing at his scalp and glaring down at Jon as he bursts out laughing.

"Aw, Spence, c'mere," he says in the midst of his laughter, and wraps one large hand around the back of Spencer's neck, the other arm locked firmly around his lower back. Spencer's face relaxes into a sheepish smile at he sinks down willingly and lets Jon kiss him. "I promise we won't always have to do this in such a small space," Jon mumbles into Spencer's cheek as they break away from the kiss and Spencer leans his forehead against Jon's.

Spencer can't help but grin at that, Jon kissing the corner of his upturned lips, because, holy shit: He has Jon now. He tries to ignore the little acrobatic flips in behind his bellybutton at the thought that this is only the first time of many that he'll get to be with Jon like this.

Then he dips his head and kisses Jon's neck, wiggles down Jon's body, and begins to kiss his stomach, nosing his t-shirt out of the way. Jon exhales heavily and tugs off the shirt, and Spencer's lips press against hot skin, a smattering of hair, while his hands tickle up and down Jon's ribs.

Jon shivers.

Reveling in this sort of control over how he gets to make Jon feel, Spencer hooks his fingers into the waistband of Jon's shorts.

Jon tilts his hips up, and Spencer watches the reveal of his cock as he tugs the shorts down. There's a brief commotion as Jon kicks the shorts off his legs and they try to situate their bodies in the small space, until they end up with Jon spreading his legs a little wider and Spencer settling on his knees between them.

He leans forward to taste Jon, but as soon as Jon's half-hard cock comes within a couple inches of Spencer's mouth, Spencer stops and starts silently panicking again: What if he's awful at this? What if he and Jon realize they're not sexually compatible at all? His years-long relationship with Haley was certainly not without breaks and slip-ups, times when they'd both been separated and spent time with other people. So, Spencer has had a few, mostly-drunk encounters with men and women, but they only ever used hands. He never even kissed any of them, much less went down on them, so the fact remains: He's never done this with a dude before now.

After several seconds of just staring down at Jon's cock and silently having a little freak-out, Jon wriggles his hips uncomfortably, and Spencer realizes he's been breathing against his cock, hot and panicky. He watches Jon's cock twitch a little, and his stomach drops. He swallows. Okay, fuck whether or not he's going to be good at this; he is ready for it.

Spencer wraps his hand around the base of Jon's cock and gives him a few firm, even pulls, feeling him grow harder in the space between his palm and fingers. He's a little shorter than Spencer's hand is used to holding, but even thicker. Spencer tilts his head and slides his lips down one side of the shaft, outlining Jon's cock with his pursed lips, then curls his tongue between where his fingers are still gripping the base and glides the tip of his tongue up the vein on the underside of Jon's cock. He's not really freaked out anymore -- or turned-on, for that matter. He's just determined to make this good for Jon.

Well, until he reaches the head of Jon's cock and he swipes the flat of his tongue across the velvet-smooth skin, because all of a sudden Jon's hands are fisting in Spencer's hair and he's moaning a string of "pleasepleaseSpencerplease" that makes Spencer's own cock harden instantly in his boxers.

He wraps his lips around the head and sucks once.

Jon groans a long, low ragged sound that Spencer wasn't sure either of them was capable of making. It might be the best thing Spencer has heard in bed, like, ever.

He sucks harder.

When he begins to lower his mouth farther down, the only things he can process through the power trip of making Jon sound like that, are little reminders to himself about covering his teeth and continuing to breathe through his nose, and then before he realizes it, there's the feeling of Jon's cock bumping against the roof of his mouth, at the entrance to his throat. Spencer inhales through his nose more deeply, because all he can process now is how full he feels and how his jaw is already aching a little, but then he swipes his tongue just below the head, and Jon digs his nails into his scalp and says Spencer's name in this breathless way that turns the last syllable into almost a whimper.

Spencer bobs his head up and down a few times, just to get Jon more worked up, and then pulls off with a startlingly obscene pop that makes Jon dig his nails into Spencer's shoulder and actually whimper Spencer's name again. Spencer grins up at him, at the way Jon's head is thrown back against the pillow, his mouth open and chest rising and falling rapidly. All of a sudden, as much as Spencer's jaw is aching, his mouth feels just as empty as he'd felt full a moment ago.

So, he fists the base of Jon's cock, dips his head, and starts sucking on the head again, shallow pulls until he grows used to the size, then he dips a little bit lower till the head is bumping the roof of his mouth again, like a reassuring presence that Spencer can't get enough of. He picks up a counter-rhythm between his mouth and his hand and his tongue, all the while using his other hand to hold down one of Jon's hips.

Soon, too soon, he feels Jon yank insistently on his hair, but Spencer himself is sort of gone by now, so he just sucks harder, weirdly enjoying the heavy weight on his jaw and the slight trembling of Jon's body beneath his hands and the deep sound of Jon panting above him and-- oh.

It not even until Jon's cock jerks inside his mouth and the first spurt of come pools on his tongue that Spencer realizes why Jon was trying to pull him off.

He quickly pulls away, so the rest of it lands on Jon's belly, his chest. Spencer licks his lips and tastes the sharp, bitter tang of him. He doesn't really like it, but he doesn't not like it either. It's Jon, a part of Jon, who's pulling on Spencer's hair until he slides back up Jon's body, enjoying the sweat-and-come slip of their skin, hot at every point of contact, chests rising and falling out of synch against one another.

When Spencer's face reaches Jon's again, they just blink at each other for a second. Jon's hand is still fisted in Spencer's hair at the back of his head, and Spencer's mouth is starting to taste increasingly more unpleasant. Except, a second later, Jon's hand urges Spencer's head forward, and Jon starts licking into his mouth, so Spencer thinks that if Jon doesn't mind the taste then maybe not pulling off right away hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

Ideas don't really exist in Spencer's brain for a while after that. Barely a few seconds after Jon starts kissing him, he's pushing Spencer against the wall, awkwardly trying to reverse their positions on this damn mattress that's only meant for one person. Spencer can't help but laugh a little as his back hits the wall and he tries to turn face-up onto the mattress at the same time Jon clumsily tries to roll on top of him. Granted, it might be easier to change positions if they weren't trying to continue kissing the entire time, laughing each time their mouths part, as their legs tangle together and Jon knocks his head on the ceiling a couple times, laughing even more each time.

Eventually, they settle, mouths spreading into momentary smiles against each other. Spencer enjoys having Jon on top of him more than he can process right now: this solid, warm weight stretched the length of his body as Jon cups one hand around his jaw and kisses him, delicate all of a sudden. Spencer curls his tongue against Jon's upper lip, unfurls it into his mouth, and grinds his hips up against Jon's when Jon moans around his tongue.

Pulling away from his mouth, Jon starts kissing down his body -- a nip at his jaw, hot drags of his tongue across Spencer's nipples, a feathery tickle to his ribs -- until his face is level with Spencer's crotch.

Jon lifts the waistband of Spencer's boxers, and touches the tip of his tongue to the smooth head of Spencer's cock that pokes out. He's been hard for a while now, heavy and beginning to leak against his belly, and he would totally be embarrassed if they hadn't waited eleven goddamn years to do this and if Jon's orgasm hadn't been so fucking hot and--

Spencer hisses through his teeth as Jon eases off Spencer's boxers, licking an easy stripe down the center of his cock as he moves lower, lower to the base. He slowly suctions his lips around one of Spencer's balls, then the other, and nuzzles the bristles of his beard against Spencer's inner thighs. Spencer's cock twitches, and Jon drags the flat topside of his tongue back up, up, curves around the base of the head, spirals up into the slit, then suctions his lips around the head, drops his jaw and lowers his mouth around it.

Spencer's moan surprises him as it vibrates through his chest, but Jon just keeps lowering his mouth, his tongue making precise swipes and tickles as he moves.

By the time Jon lowers his mouth down a quarter of the way, with just the right amount of pressure, Spencer is squirming against the mattress, one fist clutching a bunch of Jon's bangs and the other fisted in his own mouth, trying to keep himself from moaning too loudly again. Sure, Brendon and Ryan are watching a movie way too loudly in the back lounge (he can hear Jim Carrey make a bad joke and randomly thinks, okay, that is not what I want to hear when Jon makes me come), but even though that might be drowning out any noises they make, Spencer is aware that he and Jon are not exactly in an entirely private space right now.

He sort of forgets that when Jon, clenching and unclenching his hands against Spencer's sides, suddenly tugs Spencer toward him, shifting Spencer's entire body a couple inches down the bunk so that the angle changes inside Jon's mouth.

"Oh, fuck," Spencer groans loudly, and the fist that had been in his mouth thunks sideways against the wall. He feels the vibrations of Jon moaning as he starts to suck a little harder, bobbing his head a little more quickly. Jon takes one hand off Spencer's ribs and reaches for Spencer's balls, stretches them and lets them tighten again, cups them and just holds them there, stroking his thumb in little circles.

He's getting a little sloppier with his mouth's rhythm on Spencer's cock, and it takes Spencer a moment to realize that's because Jon's taken his other hand away from Spencer in order to touch himself, the slapping sound of Jon's hand around his own cock, wet with pre-come, loud in the muffled space of the bunk. Spencer cranes his neck upward, because he needs to see this: Jon is propped on his knees, cock already hard again between his rapidly blurring fist, while his back slopes downward and his lips stretch around Spencer, his cheeks hollowed out with each deeper pull, and for a second Spencer can see the outline of his own cock bump against the inside of Jon's cheek, see Jon's eyelashes flutter a little as it happens.

Then Spencer's gone, he's coming harder than he can remember coming in way too long, and Jon just swallows, urging him right on through it all. Spencer makes a weird gargling sound that slides into a groan as he presses one palm flat against the bunk-ceiling and the other hand blindly pulls on Jon's hair. A second later, Jon moans around his cock and comes onto Spencer's shins, his ankles, probably leaving stains on the blanket that's been bunched up beneath them.

Jon lifts his mouth from Spencer's softening cock, swiping his tongue over the head one last time, before he drops his forehead against against Spencer's thigh, below where it meets his hip. Spencer can feel Jon give his own cock one last pull, his knuckles pausing against Spencer's ankle. Then, still kneeling within the cramped bunk space, Jon relaxes the top half of his body onto Spencer legs and inhales shakily; exhales one long, warm breath into a kiss on the too-hot skin of Spencer's hip.

Well, Spencer thinks, either Jon has a little bit more experience with dudes than Spencer realized, or Jon is just freakishly talented on the first try. Huh.

They both just lie there in silence for a couple minutes, evening out their breaths. Spencer loosens the fist that's been clutching at Jon's hair and starts combing his fingers through the damp waves. Jon shivers a little when Spencer scrapes his nails over the back of his neck, then he gently butts his forehead against Spencer's arm and starts pressing light kisses up Spencer's body, until they're face to face again.

Slowly, so that his head doesn't bang against the ceiling yet again, Jon props himself up with his knees hugging Spencer's hips and one hand flat on the pillow beside Spencer's head. He curls his other hand around Spencer's jaw.

"Hi," Jon says, face relaxed and flushed and content. His grin is possibly the sexiest thing Spencer has ever seen.

"Hey," Spencer whispers, and his lips feel swollen and used, but when he mirrors Jon's grin, it feels so easy and right that he wants to make sure he can feel this, like, all the time always.

"C'mon, let's go clean up a little and then decide if we want to pass out or go again," Jon teases when Spencer turns his head to kiss Jon's palm. He leans down to give Spencer a quick peck on the lips before shrugging himself off Spencer in order to untangle his shorts from the mess of clothing and bedding around their legs. Spencer props himself up on his elbows to watch, smirking as Jon finds the shorts and awkwardly shimmies into them.

"Here," Jon says, tossing Spencer's boxers at his face.

Spencer laughs and drops his face back into the pillow, but they just land on his head anyway.

Jon laughs, too, as he opens the curtain and rolls out of the bunk. Spencer's body already misses his warmth, and he doesn't even care how ridiculous that might be, he really doesn't.

Spencer quickly pulls on his boxers and swings his legs over the side of his bottom bunk. Jon's standing there, beaming down at him. Spencer smirks back up at him and slides his hands up the backs of Jon's shorts, curling his fingers around the muscles and smooth little golden-brown hairs of Jon's thighs.

Jon bites his lip and tugs playfully on Spencer's hair. "Clean first," he says, but leans a little into Spencer's hands anyway, before Spencer lets go and stands up, grabbing ahold of Jon's hand instead while they shuffle over to the tiny bus bathroom.

They let go so they can brush their teeth and run a warm washcloth beneath their boxers and over their abdomens and the stains on Spencer's legs.

Jon laughs at Spencer's beard burn, as Spencer stares at it in the mirror and rubs a hand over the stinging pink marks across his face. He silently debates whether he should grow back his own beard, or keep his face smooth and ready for the proof that he and Jon are actually doing this.

He has time to decide.

They move on to making fun of each other's sex hair, playfully bumping hips and vying for space beneath the running faucet while they wash their hands, until Jon says, "Hey, look what Brendon taught me the other day."

He forms an 'O' with one hand, scrubs way more soap than necessary across the opening, and then brings it to his mouth and blows an oblong bubble out the other end. It pops against the mirror, and he turns to grin, wide and happy, at Spencer.

"Jon," Spencer laughs, his name coming out as a couple of chuckling syllables as Spencer wraps one arm around Jon's neck and the other around his waist and pulls him closer. "Fuck, I love you."

It comes out on accident, actually, a little breathlessly in the midst of his laughter. He says it into the curls behind Jon's ear, so intimate and easy it could only be the truth.

Jon jerks his head backward so he can watch Spencer's face, his eyes wide and happier than Spencer's seen in a long time. Spencer's laughter's trailed off, but he smiles hard when Jon's hands come up to frame his throat, one hand still bubbly wet.

All of a sudden, Jon's mouth is on his again, his hands sliding down and around Spencer's body, trying to touch him everywhere above the waist at once, and Spencer holds on tight, kissing back with just as much enthusiasm.

"Love you, love you," Jon's murmuring between each kiss, "love you."

Spencer doesn't really want to wear out the words, so he dips his tongue between Jon's lips and they start making out in earnest, tasting toothpaste and that slight lingering bitterness, and Spencer thinks, okay, now this I don't want to ever stop.

A few minutes later, somebody bangs on the bathroom door.

"Hang on!" Jon calls at the same time Spencer shouts, "Fuck off!"

Brendon whoops loudly on the other side of the door. "Oh my god, you two finally did it, didn't you?"

Busy tracing his tongue along Jon's jawbone, Spencer hopes that their silence will be answer enough.

"Didn't you?" Brendon repeats after a brief pause.

Spencer reluctantly lets go of Jon and turns to open the door, only enough to show half of his body. He glares at Brendon, thinking the effect should be enough even with only half of his face showing, except Brendon's looking past Spencer, and when Spencer turns it's to see that Jon is offering Brendon a thumbs up and rinsing off the soap from his other hand.

"Yes! I knew it!" Spencer barely registers Brendon pumping his fist in the air; he's too busy fighting back a smile and trying to hide his blush against the side of the door.

Jon comes up behind him, pressing his body flush with Spencer's, and Spencer's back muscles immediately relax against Jon's torso, all soft and solid, familiar and unfamiliar. Jon's hand starts petting up and down the line of hair below Spencer's bellybutton, over the soft curve of Spencer's belly, and when Spencer breathes in sharp, his stomach muscles tensing away from the touch, Jon murmurs a simple, "Hey," kisses the shell of his ear, and keeps petting up and down and in little circles, like he has some weird fascination with Spencer's belly or something. Spencer relaxes into each touch, even when Brendon starts spreading the news.

"They finally did it!" Brendon shouts back to Ryan, who's presumably still in the back lounge.

"I don't need to tell you guys not to let it fuck up the band!" Ryan calls back.

"He's going to tell us anyways," Spencer mutters, taking his face out of hiding, and Brendon rolls his eyes, grinning at him. Jon chuckles, his body vibrating a little against Spencer's back.

"But if you let this fuck up the band, I will never forgive you!" Ryan says, his voice growing louder as he approaches them. He stops behind Brendon, and betraying the warning tone in his voice, Ryan is smiling, sort of goofily large like he can't help it. Spencer feels his own face match that brightness.

"Dude," Brendon says, taking a step back to nudge Ryan with his elbow, "told you they'd finally do it."

"It's not like I argued," Ryan says, rolling his eyes.

Obviously getting impatient with the situation, Jon licks a short stripe up the back of Spencer's neck; kisses the knob at the base; slowly lowers his hand on Spencer's abdomen beneath the elastic waistband.

Spencer feels his cock twitch back to interest.

Something must show on his face because, a moment later, Brendon exclaims, "Hey, wait! No sex in the bathroom! Don't we have bus rules against that?"

"Whatever, it's more private than the bunks," Ryan points out, and begins dragging Brendon back to the lounge by the elbow. "They have, like, over a decade's worth of sexual tension to resolve. Leave 'em be for a while."

Spencer pushes the door shut and rests his forehead against it, arching his hips back into Jon's, feeling them both growing harder; Jon's cock is beginning to nudge into the crease of Spencer's ass, although their stupid shorts are in the way.

"I think there's at least one condom in the cabinet over here," Jon murmurs into Spencer's ear, his voice not quite even.

"I think," Spencer says, turning around in Jon's arms, "fuck the condoms right now and just--"

He tangles his fingers in the wavy hair at the back of Jon's head and yanks him forward, their mouths colliding at the same force as their bodies, Jon catching Spencer's body between his own and the door.

Jon wedges one thigh between Spencer's, and at the pressure on his cock, Spencer grunts into their kiss, the rough noise morphing into a long, low moan as Jon slides his tongue just right along Spencer's and begins shifting his hips in tiny circles against him. Spencer runs a hand down the slope of Jon's lower back and lower, hooks a thumb on the waistband of his boxers and ineffectually tries to pull them down. Jon gets the idea though and pulls away to shove down both pairs of shorts. He continues to lick a long winding line down Spencer's chest, twisting around one nipple, as he bends enough to make sure their clothing is out of the way, the fabric bunched together at their feet.

On his way back to Spencer's mouth, the flat of Jon's tongue traces a wide line along Spencer's clavicle, making him shiver as he grabs Jon's jaw with both hands and urgently presses their mouths together again. It doesn't feel like he could ever get tired of kissing Jon, with his fingers pressing into the notches of Spencer's spine, the calluses tickling and making Spencer dig his own nails into Jon's shoulder and hip. Their cocks are hardening even more against their soft bellies, and Spencer pulls away from Jon's mouth to look down at the heads of their cocks, pink and shiny, and the shafts sliding dry alongside each other with every twist of their hips.

Swallowing a moan, Spencer looks back up to see Jon lick his own hand, sucking each finger wet, before he wraps his hand around Spencer's cock and pumps his fist up and down a few times, swirling his thumb around the head to catch the pre-come and slick it over the shaft. Spencer quickly kisses him, biting Jon's bottom lip as he pulls away to watch Jon's hand on his cock, his wrist beginning to find a rhythm.

Spencer licks his own hand and slips it down between them, wrapping it around Jon's cock. He grins at the sound of Jon inhaling through his teeth, the sound sharp and quickly followed by Jon's warm breath against his mouth. Pumping his fist around Jon's cock, Spencer watches as Jon pauses his own rhythm to slide his hand off Spencer's cock and lower: his palm presses against Spencer's balls as his fingers reach farther back, and his middle finger -- so thick, oh fuck -- reaches Spencer's ass. Spencer's cock twitches against his belly. The pressure of Jon's wet fingertip sinking into him to the first knuckle is just enough to suggest a stretch without bordering too much on painful, and Spencer forgets for a moment about his own hand on Jon's cock, as Jon bends to graze his teeth over the sensitive skin of Spencer's collarbone, biting a mark into the knot of tension where collarbone meets shoulder.

"Fuck," Spencer gasps, or at least that's what he thought he was trying to say, but it comes out more like, "Fnngggh," as his knees buckle and he slides down the door a couple inches, digging his nails into Jon's shoulderblades to hold himself upright. Jon grabs onto one of his hips while Spencer begins to wriggle them, hoping to feel more of Jon's finger, wanting so much more of that stretch: the burn and yes of the rough pads of Jon's fingers thick and solid inside of him.

Except, right now, Jon just crooks his finger a tiny bit more, adding more pressure to Spencer's balls against his palm, before he slides his finger out and wraps his hand back around Spencer's cock. Jon swipes his thumb across the slit, before he finds another rhythm that has Spencer panting against his mouth within seconds.

Spencer shudders as Jon hums happily against his lips and thrusts his cock up into Spencer's fist, a reminder that's followed by a murmured, "Please," into the corner of Spencer's lips, and Spencer fits their mouths back together, picks up a rhythm around Jon's cock again. Jon's own hand stutters for a second around Spencer's, but soon they both find a matching rhythm.

As thrilled as Spencer is to finally have Jon touching him like this, Spencer's beginning to realize how much he enjoys the feeling of Jon's cock in his hand, smooth and solid and increasingly more familiar. He likes the weight and heat of it filling the too-empty space that his hands usually close on; likes the friction his hand can create with slick momentum, the sounds he can provoke from Jon. He loves the feeling of the heads of their cocks bumping together, their knuckles knocking against each other, rough and off-rhythm, as Jon speeds up his own pulls on Spencer's cock.

They try to keep kissing for a while -- heavy, deep tastes of each other -- but about the third time they knock teeth or one of them bites the other's tongue because of the unpredictable spasms of their bodies, they end up pulling apart, laughing breathlessly. Jon hooks his chin over Spencer's shoulder and Spencer lets his head fall back against the door.

"So much," Spencer pants into the stuffy air, barely even hearing his own words over the wet friction of their hands and Jon's heavy breathing near his ear.

"So much what?" Jon asks, raising his mouth to Spencer's again, their lips swollen by now, and even more sensitive.

"Love you so much," Spencer says in one quick exhale, and opens his eyes to Jon already staring back at him. "I love--"

His breath catches as Jon's body jerks against his, as Jon comes onto Spencer's chest, squeezing his eyes shut and just melting into Spencer, vibrating with the force of it. His mouth lands on Spencer's jaw, and he opens it to press sloppy kisses against the raw skin there, before biting gently. His hand twists on Spencer's cock once more, tightening as Spencer thrusts up into it, and now he's coming too, his come mixing with Jon's across both of their chests.

"Me, too," Jon replies, resting their foreheads together. "So. Much," he adds, enunciating the two words, slow and clear, and it sounds like a promise.

Spencer catches Jon's sticky hand with his own and links their pinkies together, hands curled at their hips and lips pressed softly together.

*

"Why, hello there, St. Louis," Ryan says, shielding his eyes from the bright stage-lights in an unsuccessful attempt to see the audience better.

"Who are we tonight, Ry?" Brendon says into the mic, then takes a sip from his water bottle and begins to wander over to Ryan's side of the stage.

"Well, Brendon," Ryan drawls, his lips curling into a small smile, "tonight, I think we're just the same old Panic at the Disco."

Spencer taps out a ba-dum-bum on the drums and exchanges a grin with Jon.

Brendon ducks his head and coughs into his shoulder.

"You heard the man, folks," he announces when he reaches Ryan's microphone, and even though Spencer can't see his face, he can tell from the tone of his voice that Brendon's beaming as the crowd's cheers rise up to meet the four of them.

"Hell yeah, we're Panic at the Disco," Jon repeats, still grinning and only turning halfway toward his mic so that he's still looking at Spencer, "and three of us were wondering if you'd let us indulge in an embarrassing birthday song before we get into our actual set."

The crowd cheers obediently again, and Spencer can hear a few scattered, "I love you, Spencerrr!" screeches from voices way younger than he'd like to consider.

Brendon slings an arm around Ryan's shoulder and leans into the mic. "Our dear friend and drummer celebrated his thirtieth--"

"Count 'em," Ryan talks over him.

"--birthday yesterday!"

"Spencer Smith, everybody!" Jon announces, and the crowd cheers even more loudly, still heavily weighted by feminine teenage cries, regardless of the increased percentage of dude fans or number of fans who have grown up with the band.

Brendon squeezes Ryan's shoulder, then bounds over to the upright piano at the side of the stage and slides onto the bench. He tosses a small bongo drum over to Ryan, who catches it and then perches on the edge of the bench beside Brendon.

Spencer has the fleeting, horrible realization that they're going to sing "Happy Birthday" to him, before he hears tambourine jangling from Jon's mic, and then all three of them start to sing a familiar, ridiculous version of a birthday song.

"Spencer, it's your birthday! Happy birthday, Spencer!" they sing, and Spencer bursts out laughing, because it's totally to the tune of that old Simpsons episode, in which Bart and that pseudo-Michael Jackson character make up a birthday song for Lisa; he probably wouldn't even remember the episode if he hadn't been watching it with Brendon, like, last week.

It's the corniest thing they've done on stage in a long time, and they know it, and that's probably what makes Spencer laugh even harder, giddy with the feeling of still being the four of them: together and just as ridiculous as always.

Brendon continues the song, tapping out sentimental piano chords, "I wish you better than your heart desires--"

"--and your first kiss from a boy," Ryan sings, dry and pointed, and Brendon sticks out his tongue at Spencer. Ryan grins and keeps a steady, upbeat rhythm on the drum wedged between his knees, his upper back resting casually against Brendon's shoulder as he leans into the microphone.

Still laughing, Spencer looks over to Jon's side where he's jingle-jangling the tambourine in circles and looking right at Spencer. When Spencer catches his eye, he ambles over to Spencer's drum kit platform, climbs up onto it and grins down at Spencer.

Spencer tries to glare, but his laughter won't let him hold a straight face. "I hate you," he tries anyway.

"You do not," Jon says, grinning even more widely; Spencer can read his lips more than he can actually hear the words over the sound of Brendon and Ryan's song; he thinks they're just making up random shit now, interspersed with "Happy birthday"s.

Jon leans over one of the toms and cymbals so that he can place the tambourine atop Spencer's head like some stupid birthday crown. One of his hands slips down into Spencer's hair as he pulls back, his fingers smoothing the hair back and lingering for a moment at the shell of his ear.

"You love me," Jon half-teases, voice a little more audible this close up, and Spencer's not laughing anymore, except he can't help but smile so hard his face hurts.

Ryan and Brendon bang out a finale of noise on their respective instruments, before Brendon announces, "Happy birthday! We are all officially old!" and Spencer can hear Ryan's laughter trail away from the microphone as he stands up and returns to his guitar.

Spencer turns from Jon and watches as Brendon bounces up to follow Ryan, grabbing one of his guitars from a stand at the foot of Spencer's drum kit. "Dude, what should we start with?" Brendon asks into Ryan's mic as he sidles up next to him.

There's a smattering of applause and shouted song titles from the audience.

"I'm feeling like an old one," Ryan says and strums a quick, distantly familiar rhythm on his guitar, "from back in the day."

Spencer turns back to Jon and they grin impossibly more widely at each other. Spencer takes the tambourine off his head and jangles it for a second at his side, before dropping it, and Jon winks and hops down from the platform, back to his own mic.

"Okay, here we go, Missouri!" Brendon spreads his arms and lets one drop back across Ryan's shoulders for a moment, before his fingers return to his own guitar.

"Way back to our second album," Ryan announces.

And they all throw themselves into their old song about change, cathartic in its exuberance.

♥