So We Go (To the Other Side Of The Street) [joncer, nc-17 standalone]
Reread Part One.
*
It’s been almost three weeks since he first saw Spencer and Jon hasn’t even had an actual conversation with him. He just watches him through the window of his Starbucks and contemplates going over on his breaks, but in the end, he decides that’s just too pathetic, so he sits at the window instead, pretending to text people while really watching Spencer and Greta.
“Just go over there and tell him you want to fuck him,” Tom says, scaring Jon half to death as he pops up at the table.
“Shut up, I do not,” Jon only says, and it’s only half a lie. Maybe he has been thinking about Spencer more and more, but he doesn’t even really know him. Of course, most guys would say that was completely beside the point. Spencer was hot so Jon should just try it anyway.
“Yeah right,” Tom scoffs, propping his elbows on the tall table.
“What?” Jon asks when Tom doesn’t say anything more, just stares out the window at Spencer.
“When was the last time you got laid anyway?”
Jon doesn’t stare although he kind of wants to. Instead, he laughs. “What does that matter?”
“Makes a difference whether or not you’re just horny or if you really like this guy.”
“I don’t even know him,” Jon stresses.
“Your own fault,” Tom just says. “So next time you talk to him, tell him you want to.”
Jon doesn’t frown but he does look out the window again only to catch Spencer looking back, but then Spencer turns and disappears into the back.
*
On Thursday night, Tom leaves early. He told the boss that he had a project to work on but Jon knows he’s really just going to see Frank’s show and hope that girl is there again. Jon is left alone because it’s a Thursday night and they’re never really busy.
He’s just looking forward to his shift ending because then he gets three whole days off in a row when he doesn’t have to smell coffee or listen to the same songs on repeat for nine hours.
A couple people have come in since Tom left, but not many, and Jon is keeping himself entertained with the magazine Tom left behind. It turns out he’s a Summer.
When the door opens, he doesn’t set down the magazine immediately. Most people need time to look over the menu, so he marks his place carefully before setting it to the side and glancing up. What he finds isn’t exactly what he expected.
Spencer is standing there in his apron, his bow undone at the back and brushing his hair over his eyes almost nervously, but he doesn’t seem nervous as he stands there.
“Uh, hi,” Jon says after a beat, wondering what Spencer is doing. His heart jumps for a second as he thinks that maybe he came in on his break.
But then Spencer shifts, looking up at Jon. “Do you guys have any extra slips?” he asks, calmly and coolly.
“Yeah, sure,” Jon says after it takes a second to process the words. Rummaging under the counter, he looks up at Spencer.
Spencer is standing almost haughtily, a hip tilted to the side as he waits. His eyes travel around the store and land back on Jon as he straightens, handing him the sleeve of coffee slips.
“Thanks,” Spencer says, tucking them under his arm.
“No problem.” Jon pauses, wondering if he should say something else. Tom’s voice echoes around his head, but he pushes it away violently. He isn’t going to tell Spencer he wants to untie his apron completely and shove his hand down his clean, black uniform pants.
Spencer is hesitating too and Jon’s not sure why. He looks like he’s about to leave but then he turns, stepping towards the counter.
“I hear you were at the Pink Umbrella show the other day,” he says finally, and the coffee sleeves are set on the counter.
“Yeah,” Jon agrees, secretly glad that Spencer didn’t leave. “I know the guitarist. Well, I know all of them actually, I just know Frank the best.”
Spencer nods slowly. “You go to a lot of shows?”
Jon shrugs. “When I can get off.” He smiles. “I pretty much live here too.”
Spencer doesn’t smile back, but he does glance at Jon, blue eyes flitting to brown for just a second. It’s only in that second that Jon feels a strange lurch to his stomach that he can’t explain, and then Spencer looks away.
“Ever hate it?” Spencer asks, and Jon grins.
“Nope. I love people so here I get to talk to everybody.”
Spencer is biting his lip now, and Jon sort of wishes he wouldn’t, watching how his tongue flicks out to lick the spot every time he pulls it in.
“I get sick of it,” Spencer says, pushing at the sleeve of slips. “I’m so glad when I get days off.”
Jon smiles, leaning forward over the counter too. Spencer watches him do it and doesn’t move back. “Yeah, I definitely need a rest from this place. My weekends are heaven.”
“You get weekends off?” Spencer asks. “Lucky.”
“How much do you work?” Jon asks curiously, because Spencer’s almost always there when he is.
Spencer shrugs, hunching his shoulders over the counter. “Five or six days a week. I need the cash.”
Jon nods. He understands that need. Dylan is at home right now staring at his empty food bowl.
“I should probably let you get back to work then,” he says, straightening up and Spencer follows slowly. Spencer’s apron is wrinkled and his knot is flimsy at best, but Jon doesn’t fix it or say anything. He stops himself from turning Spencer’s collar down.
“Guess so,” Spencer mutters finally, casting a glance at him and Jon feels his stomach twist dangerously. He doesn’t grab the sleeve yet, though, just pauses at the counter.
The store is empty except for them and it’s dark outside. Jon can see the light mist that’s falling, illuminated orange by the street lamps. He knows it’s cold out there, and Spencer is just wearing his black shirt under his apron.
He almost offers to let him stay, but he knows he’s working, and it might be a little stupid.
“Hey,” Spencer says finally, turning back to Jon and Jon waits. Spencer looks like he’s thinking for a second but then he leans over the counter and kisses Jon.
It’s a short kiss, dry and simple. Jon almost doesn’t have enough time to close his eyes before Spencer pulls back and grabs the sleeve. He leaves without a word and Jon is floored, standing behind the counter and confused as fuck.
*
“What the fuck happened to you?”
It’s raining outside, but it’s so cold Jon knows it’s going to be slush by the time he gets off. It might even be snow from the way the drops are slowing down as he watches them drift past the window.
Tom is giving him another of his looks that means Jon is doing something strange. Really, he’s not doing anything strange, just thinking, maybe a little too hard, about Thursday night. He can’t figure out what happened or why.
“Nothing,” he says finally, turning from where he’s been staring at the fridge for the past five minutes.
“You’ve been saying that an awful lot lately,” Tom says, following him out to the tables as he goes to clean a few.
“Well, nothing’s been happening.”
“Bullshit,” Tom says matter-of-factly. “Come on, Jon. I am your Starbucks buddy. You gotta tell me.”
Jon rolls his eyes, but he knows Tom won’t give up. “Fine.” He sighs. “Spencer kissed me.”
There’s a pause and then, “Who?”
“The guy in the other Starbucks,” Jon explains, waiting for it to hit. He knows it does when Tom makes a long noise.
“So did you fuck him?”
Jon almost doesn’t know why he bothers. “No, Tom. I don’t even know why it happened.”
“Because he likes you, duh.”
Jon pauses. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say ‘duh’.”
Tom scoffs. “Look, Jon, you’re not a horrible catch. Actually, you’re probably a great catch. So stop asking why and go fuck him into next week.”
A part of Jon doesn’t even want to respond to that, so he frowns at Tom. Glancing out the window, though, he can see Spencer and Greta across the street sitting at one of the tables and playing what looks like a card game.
“This is probably why you don’t have a girlfriend,” Jon only mutters finally, grabbing the rag and heading back to the counter, ignoring how Tom follows him, shaking his head in disbelief.
*
Tom ditches him five minutes before they’re actually done closing, scooting off into the night as Jon checks that everything is turned off. Jon just lets him go, glad to be alone as he takes off his apron and pulls on his jacket.
When he gets outside, he realizes he was right. The rain has turned into slush and flakes of snow flutter down with it, landing in his hair and making everything freezing. Hands already cold, he locks the front door and stuffs them deep into his pocket to keep them warm.
As he turns, he can see the lights flicking off across the street and Greta leaving with a wave to Spencer, who is still at the front door. Standing on the cold, wet sidewalk, Jon makes a decision. Checking for cars, he hurries across the street to where Spencer is double checking the lock and puffing into his hands as he turns. He stops mid-puff as he catches sight of Jon standing there, bundled up into his jacket and watching him.
“Hi,” Jon says, breath clouding immediately before him.
“Hi,” Spencer echoes slowly, rubbing his hands together for warmth and waiting.
“I want to ask you something,” Jon says, the words coming out in a rush and he blames the fact that he’s standing in thirty-five degree weather with just a jacket and thin uniform pants.
“Okay,” Spencer says, licking his lips and watching Jon, whose shoulders are hunched inside his jacket against the cold and trying to make himself as small as possible to keep warm. His nose is starting to run from the cold.
“I just need to know,” Jon says quickly, realizing this was probably the worst time he could pick to confront Spencer. “Why, uh, why you kissed me.” It sounds kind of stupid once the words are out of his mouth, but he can’t take it back and he does want to know.
Spencer shifts on his feet, rubbing his hands together again. It’s fucking cold out there.
He shrugs. “I wanted to.”
It’s simple and easy and everything Jon isn’t expecting.
“Um,” he says for lack of anything better as he tries to figure it out. “I could be straight, you know.”
Spencer doesn’t laugh, but his mouth curls up anyway and he shakes a light dusting of slush and snow off the sleeve of his jacket. “Well, you aren’t, are you?”
“No, but…” Jon doesn’t really know where he’s going with this. His nose is starting to go numb and his feet are getting cold as he stands on the wet sidewalk.
“Fuck, it’s freezing out here,” Spencer breathes finally, cold air streaming in front of him. The temperature has to have dropped at least two degrees since they stepped outside.
Jon shivers just as he says it so he can’t argue, only shuffle a little, thinking he should really leave before he says something stupid. But then Spencer says, “My apartment’s just around the corner. If you want.”
He should say no and go back across the street to his car where he can drive home in relative warmth, but Spencer is blowing into his hands again and watching Jon through dark eyes, and he just can’t say no. He doesn’t think he wanted to anyway.
“Yeah, sure,” he says instead and follows Spencer as he turns and heads the opposite direction of Jon’s car and Starbucks.
*
It isn’t really just around the corner, but Jon’s okay with that when Spencer walks in front of him a little and he can look at his ass through his pants, the swing of his hips as he walks. By the time they reach it, though, his nose is freezing and he can’t feel his toes.
Spencer’s apartment is on the third floor, so the climb brings a little feeling back, but everything is still sort of numb when they finally get there and Spencer unlocks the door.
It’s a typical college student’s apartment with clothes strewn around and shoes jumbled in a pile by the door. Spencer throws his jacket onto the random coat rack by the door and toes off his shoes. His fingers are reddened now too and he keeps rubbing them together as he waits for Jon to come in and take off his jacket.
It’s at least warm inside, so Jon takes off his jacket carefully, still not exactly sure what he’s doing there.
“Want something to drink?” Spencer asks when he finally moves in and the door is shut. “I think there’s some cocoa or tea around somewhere. Something warm?”
“Sure,” Jon agrees, not really caring. He watches Spencer disappear into what he assumes is the kitchen and sits down on the faded grey couch. His nose is cold to the touch as he feels it gingerly. He hears the beep of a microwave and Spencer comes out with two mugs of steaming liquid. He hands one to Jon.
“It’s not exactly Starbucks quality,” he says, sitting down next to Jon on the couch.
Jon is just glad for the warmth seeping into his fingers at this point. It smells like hot chocolate and he takes a careful sip while Spencer sits beside him.
Jon really doesn’t know what to say as silence falls. He’s usually better at this, but usually he isn’t caught off guard by a kiss in a coffee shop and then invited home a few days later.
Spencer has his hands tucked in between his thighs for warmth and Jon determinedly doesn’t look at them, thinking about how warm they would be, how they would feel sinking down on top of him. Shaking away the thought, he concentrates on his mug.
“Your clothes are wet,” Spencer says finally, glancing at Jon’s pants. They’re drenched in about six inches of water and his socks are pretty soaked through if he’s honest.
“It’s fine,” Jon says, though, taking another sip of the hot drink and feeling better already.
Spencer is watching him now, a look on his face that Jon could swear he’s seen on Tom as well. But there’s something else in it that Tom never has, and his eyes move from Jon’s pants to his face.
“We could throw them in the dryer,” he says. “It’ll be like ten minutes or something.”
Jon hesitates, but Spencer is waiting and it is really cold and he isn’t looking forward to walking back to his car in wet clothes.
“Sure,” he agrees finally, and Spencer waits for him to kick off his shoes and pull off his soaked socks. He feels almost immediately better as his feet touch the warm carpet of Spencer’s living room. Pausing, he doesn’t immediately take off his pants, but Spencer stands, the socks in one hand and an expectant look on his face, so Jon rises and unbuckles his belt.
He’s kind of glad he’s wearing his nice boxers today (batman) as he slides off his pants and hands them to Spencer.
“Be right back,” Spencer says, turning and heading out of the apartment.
Sitting back down on the couch, Jon feels kind of strange, but it’s sort of just like if he was at his apartment, lounging in a shirt and boxers.
Spencer isn’t gone long and he comes back quickly, a clatter up the stairs. Jon is half-finished with his drink and he wonders how exactly he’s going to get out of there. When Spencer comes in, though, barefooted and cursing under his breath at the cold, he’s not sure he wants to leave.
“You don’t mind if I change, do you?” Spencer asks, already halfway to the bedroom.
“Uh,” Jon says, unsure if he should let Spencer change into something that might look even better than a Starbucks uniform or if he should just get out now before something stupid happens.
But Spencer is gone, and Jon can hear him rummaging in his closet.
He comes out wearing low-slung pajama-type pants and a shirt that looks like it was made for a girl. It’s worn thin and the lucky charm logo on the front is faded into the background. Jon tries not to stare, really, but Spencer comes over to the couch and slides down next to him, the shirt riding up as he puts his arm on the back of the couch, and it’s all Jon can do to tear his eyes from the slit of skin showing underneath.
Spencer is just watching him now and Jon knows he has to say something, anything to cover for his slip, how his eyes keep traveling back.
“Was it at least a good kiss?” he asks before he can think of anything else. He’s not sure how smart that was when Spencer’s mouth quirks and he smiles slowly.
“It was alright,” he says finally, shifting up to sit on his knees on the couch.
“Just alright?” Jon asks, sort of teasing but also sort of serious. He’s watching the way Spencer shrugs, rolling his shoulders back, and he sort of wants to pull him against him right now.
“I caught you off guard,” he says easily. “It wasn’t exactly going to be amazing.”
“Could have been better than it was,” Jon allows, crossing his ankles in front of him and thinking about how they’re both halfway undressed already. Spencer’s pants would probably come down really easily, with only a pull string keeping them up.
“True,” Spencer agrees after a moment. “Also could have been a lot worse.”
“I might have been a straight,” Jon points out, hoping he’s not imagining the way Spencer is leaning forward.
“You might have been an asshole.”
“Well how would you have ever known since you’ve never talked to me?”
“But I did,” Spencer says simply, sliding down a little. “That day.”
“And you decided I wasn’t an asshole from that?”
Spencer shrugs. “You might surprise me, but yeah, I was pretty sure.”
Jon can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face as he watches Spencer bite his bottom lip, tongue rolling it between his teeth.
“We could try again,” he says, squashing the weird flutter in his stomach as he says it. Spencer smirks slowly, shifting on his knees and the pants have slipped down another half an inch. Jon can see where Spencer’s hip bones disappear under the fabric now, sharp and slim.
“We could,” he agrees, and he shifts again. Jon’s heart is beating faster now, a little nervous, a little excited.
Spencer nods, already leaning in, and Jon’s ready this time.
It’s just lips pressed together at first, but Spencer moves first, opening his mouth slightly and Jon follows him, fitting his mouth over Spencer’s bottom lip. He can feel Spencer’s tongue as he moves up to kiss him again, pressing against his mouth harder. Spencer’s mouth is warm and inviting, tasting of hot chocolate and marshmallows.
Jon’s hand slides up to his face, cold fingertips grazing over his jaw and Spencer shivers a little but doesn’t pull away. Brushing over his cheek, Jon makes a soft noise against Spencer’s mouth, kissing him a little harder.
Spencer breaks away first, nose grazing against Jon’s slowly as he moves back just centimeters.
“Your clothes are probably dry,” he murmurs, but Jon is already swallowing the words, pulling him back against his lips.
Spencer kisses him back, fingers sliding around to curl around the nape of his neck as he pushes forward, catching Jon’s bottom lip between his teeth and swallowing his moan. Shifting up, he forces Jon to follow his lead, leaning up to kiss him and making a noise when Spencer shifts over, swinging his leg on either side of Jon and sinking his weight down.
Jon just wants to grab Spencer’s thighs as he sinks, warm and heavy, onto his lap. He does let one hand slide down his thigh, hooking under and dragging him closer. Spencer goes pliably, and Jon’s glad. He doesn’t want to fight for anything tonight.
It starts slowly, Spencer shifting down, settling down as low as he can go in Jon’s lap, knees spread on either side. His fingers are still curled in Jon’s hair as he kisses him, wet and deep, tongue lapping at his mouth, licking inside, flicking over his teeth as Jon catches his bottom lip and sucks. Jon almost doesn’t notice when Spencer starts to move, just the barest rocking motion. Forward and back, forward and back.
He doesn’t notice until Spencer pulls out of the kiss, mouth ghosting down his jaw, nipping as he goes. He doesn’t notice until Spencer rocks down a little harder and he realizes he’s almost completely hard under Spencer’s hips and is pushing back up with him, moving in the rhythm Spencer has set.
“Spencer,” he mutters, but Spencer’s mouth is on his throat now, sucking a hickey onto the skin below his jaw and nothing else really seems to matter.
Spencer keeps moving, rocking forward almost too slowly, just pushing down and letting Jon follow. He’s as close as he can get but Jon wants more. Moving his hand from where it’s just been resting on Spencer’s thigh, he splays it across his back, thumb sweeping down, catching the hem of his shirt and he slides lower.
Spencer makes a noise, quiet but audible as Jon’s hand slips under the back of his shirt, pressing down a little. Leaving Jon’s throat, he slides back up, pushing down again, harder this time as his nose bumps into Jon’s.
“I think that was better,” he says, rocking his hips forward with a little more purpose, and maybe Jon only imagines the way his voice is a little breathless.
“Much better,” Jon agrees, trying to keep his voice steady as Spencer presses down against his erection, not enough cloth and yet too much separating them. It’s not quite enough friction as Spencer pushes harder and Jon’s fingers tighten over his back.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Spencer murmurs as he kisses Jon long and slow, so long that Jon almost forgets what he said, and when Spencer’s hands go for his shirt, he just lets him pull it off.
Spencer’s hands slide over his chest and up over his shoulders as he pulls him back to his mouth almost forcefully now. He’s thrusting harder now, a little erratic, as they kiss and Jon struggles not to make any embarrassing noises. His free hand tightens on Spencer’s thigh, clenching around the soft material of his pants and wondering how long he’s going to be able to hold out if Spencer keeps doing this.
Biting Jon’s lip, Spencer pulls away slowly, panting a little against his mouth as he moves. “Wanna,” he says finally, a little disoriented as Jon gazes up at him through darkened eyes. Jon is happy to hear the breathless tone permeating his words now. “My bedroom,” is all the rest that Spencer manages before Jon kisses him again and pulls him down.
Breaking away, though, Spencer crawls back, stripping off his shirt as he goes and watching the way Jon’s eyes follow its progress as he tosses it away. He smirks as he climbs off Jon’s lap and sees Jon’s erection tenting his boxers.
“Come on,” he says, crooking a finger and heading for one of the doors off the living room. Jon doesn’t need telling twice as he scrambles off the couch after him.
It isn’t exactly how he saw the evening going, but it’s certainly not worse.
Spencer’s room is pretty empty, Jon will reflect later, but for the moment he doesn’t care. Spencer switches off the living room light as they go and only turns on a small bedside lamp that casts a yellow glow over everything, casting shadows onto the wall. Outside, Jon can see a small buildup of snow on the windowsill and more floating past.
But Spencer is standing next to the bed and Jon shouldn’t be thinking about snow and walking back to his car, so he walks over, hands reaching for his hips and tugging him forward. He really wants Spencer’s pants down now, so he leans in, nuzzling Spencer’s neck as his thumb slips under the loose waistband. Breathing in, he can still smell coffee on Spencer, the same thing he smells every time he goes home from work. He doesn’t taste like coffee, though, and Jon is glad as he slides his mouth down Spencer’s throat, fingers working under the waistband slowly.
He likes the way Spencer tilts his head back and closes his eyes, fingers brushing against his skin lightly. Pushing the pants over his hips, Jon is pleased with the way they flump to the floor and that Spencer isn’t wearing anything underneath. He doesn’t say anything, though, pressing a kiss to his collar bone and moving back up.
Spencer is ready when Jon grazes his mouth over his jaw and up his cheek. He turns before Jon can stop him and catches the kiss meant for the corner of his mouth. It’s a little awkward, but Spencer moves, fitting his mouth against Jon’s better as he slides back, pulling him onto the bed.
Jon climbs over him, straddling his legs and pressing Spencer back against the mattress. It’s a little chilly without most of his clothes, but he almost doesn’t care when Spencer bites his bottom lip and rolls them over so that he’s on top. The covers are fluffy and warm, and Spencer sitting on top of him is good enough to keep him warm.
“You okay with this?” Spencer asks as he leans down, licking up Jon’s throat slowly, stopping only to suck at the spot below his ear for a second.
“Yeah,” Jon breathes. He’s okay with anything that Spencer wants to do at the moment. He doesn’t really stop to think that he doesn’t know Spencer very well, or that Tom will probably be collecting on some bet as soon as he tells him.
Moving, Jon brings his hands to Spencer’s hips, pulling him down against the thin fabric of his boxers, now the only piece of clothing that separate them. He drinks in Spencer’s moan pressed against his skin, the slow slide of his hips down, rotating in an agonizing circle as Jon struggles to hold on.
“Fuck,” Jon mutters as Spencer pushes down, grinding into his lap until he’s squeezing Spencer’s hips and cursing under his breath.
Spencer hums against his jaw as he moves, slowing his hips even as Jon lets out a long sigh, fingers tight. His hands go for his boxers, pushing them down without any ceremony.
Jon struggles out of them, watching the way they drop to the edge of the bed carelessly. Spencer smirks as he returns, hand sliding down to grip Jon’s cock and watching the way Jon gasps and arches upward.
Spencer’s hand is warm and slightly rough, still a little cold, but it feels so good as he jerks it down Jon’s cock.
“Shit,” Jon breathes, stretching back as Spencer jerks him off slowly, watching his face with every pull. He feels Spencer moving up, hand sliding up his cock slowly until it’s gone, trailing up his stomach.
Spencer’s mouth is hot as he presses kisses up Jon’s stomach, tongue flicking over a nipple as he passes and brushing over the mark from earlier on his throat.
“Really okay?” Spencer asks, mouth brushing against his ear as his hand slips between Jon’s legs, nudging them apart carefully. He bites the lobe before sucking it into his mouth, and even if it wasn’t okay, Jon would say yes just so he didn’t stop.
“Really really,” Jon reassures him breathlessly, spreading his legs wider.
“Good,” Spencer breathes, sliding to his mouth for a kiss that sends tingles to Jon’s toes and not just from the warmth of the apartment.
But he slides away not too soon after, reaching for the bottom drawers of the nightstand and coming back with a familiar crinkle of plastic.
Watching him, Jon wants Spencer, wants him more than he has so far. He wants to feel him inside him, on top of him, thrusting in hard and fast.
“Fuck,” Jon curses at the first finger pushed inside, slick with lube and thrusting in sharply, twisting with a second as Spencer pushes his knees up, removing his fingers as Jon pushes back, biting his lip.
When Spencer pushes in, it’s slow, a dull burn aching through his body but it feels good, feels like something Jon’s wanted for a while but didn’t realize. He stops himself from pushing back roughly, knowing he’s not ready just yet, but he wants to. God, he wants to.
It’s faster than Jon expects, when Spencer thrusts in, sharp but careful, warmth dragging through his fingertips as Spencer moves, rocking in with the same easy rhythm he had on the couch. Spencer pushes in, fingers trailing over Jon’s erection, not giving him any pressure even as Jon groans and pushes back, dragging Spencer’s hips in closer.
“Fuck, Spence,” he mutters as Spencer moves, pushing in hard and Jon can feel the ripple of warmth all over his body, the tingle in his toes, the tightening in his stomach, the throb in his cock as Spencer runs a finger down the length.
He groans at the shift when Spencer leans forward, sliding deeper in his body, and he feels flushed all over, a funny feeling considering not half an hour ago, he was freezing his ass off.
“Come for me,” Spencer whispers against Jon’s lips as his hand wraps, firm and warm, around his cock and gives a tug. He kisses Jon long and slow, tongue dipping into his mouth just briefly as Jon groans and squeezes his eyes shut.
Spencer jerks him off quickly after that, and Jon can hear how he pants, his hips thrusting in at the same speed. It’s overwhelming and Jon bites Spencer’s lip as he comes, panting open-mouthed against his skin as come paints Spencer’s stomach and Spencer keeps stroking him through it until Jon’s cock is spent and sensitive.
“Spence,” he mutters as Spencer pushes in hard, needing to get off now, now that Jon has, now that he can.
Jon catches Spencer in a kiss just as he comes undone, gasping into Jon’s mouth and stuttering out his name, quiet but loud in the empty room. He pants into Jon’s mouth, hardly a kiss as Jon brushes their noses together. His nose isn’t cold anymore.
Blinking slowly, Spencer slides down, pulling out and tossing away the condom. Sinking onto the soft covers, he sighs and closes his eyes. Beside him, Jon blinks at the ceiling, cast yellow from the lamp. The snow in the window has piled up an inch or two now.
“Think the clothes are dry?” he asks finally and only gets silence in return. He isn’t sure if Spencer has fallen asleep or not, but when he starts to get up, Spencer’s hand on his arm stops him.
“Probably,” Spencer replies but doesn’t let go. Instead, he scoots over, pushing down the comforter and sliding underneath. He gives Jon a tug and Jon takes the hint, climbing underneath. “But it’s after midnight and fucking freezing outside.”
It’s not the most eloquent argument Jon has ever heard, but it makes more sense than anything else, so he snuggles under the covers, only unsure for a minute when Spencer sighs and rolls over against him.
“Go to sleep,” Spencer mumbles against his shoulder, eyes already closed and breathing slowing.
“Okay,” Jon whispers back and sinks down into the warmth of the comforter, clicking off the light and watching the snow flutter past the window.
*
There are at least three inches of snow on the windowsill when Jon wakes up.
Cracking his eyes open, Jon pauses a minute to figure out where he is. Things are sort of backwards. He remembers fairly quickly, though, when the bed sheets rustle behind him and someone snuffles into a pillow.
Turning over carefully, he sees Spencer snuggled deep in the covers, pillow lines on his face and his hair splayed messily over his face. Reaching out to brush it away, Spencer wrinkles his nose at the touch and jerks away from the light tough, groaning into his pillow as he wakes up slowly.
“What the…” he mutters into the pillow, voice muffled, and Jon wonders if maybe he should have left last night after all. “Fuck.”
Maybe he really should have.
But then Spencer takes a deep breath and rolls over in bed to face Jon. He blinks for a second when he sees him and then smiles slowly.
Jon hesitates. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Spencer echoes, voice rough with sleep. He stretches under the covers, knuckles brushing up against Jon’s ribs. Pulling out a hand, he traces the mark on Jon’s neck slowly. “Sleep okay?”
Jon nods, wondering why he feels so much like a teenager on his first date. Something about Spencer makes him forget himself. Spencer doesn’t seem to need verbal confirmation, though, as his hand drifts to Jon’s jaw, fingers turning his jaw as he kisses him softly.
One kiss turns into a few more until Spencer pulls away with a smile, brushing back Jon’s hair. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Jon shrugs. “Class isn’t until noon today. Then work until late.”
“Want breakfast?” Spencer asks instead, already rolling to the other side of the bed and pulling on the same pants from last night. Jon just sits there until Spencer glances back.
“I don’t have any clothes.”
Spencer stares for a second before he laughs and stands up, rummaging in his drawers. He comes out with a tee shirt and a pair of sweat pants. The pants are too long and the shirt is a little tight, but Jon pulls them on anyway. It isn’t as though he has any other choice.
“Any preferences for breakfast?” Spencer asks, rounding the bed to Jon’s side and waiting expectantly. He isn’t expecting Jon to grab him around the waist and haul him down.
“Yeah,” Jon replies easily, tipping up to Spencer to kiss him slowly, thoroughly, until Spencer pushes at his arms and breaks away with his eyes still closed.
“Gotta eat,” he murmurs and Jon nods along in agreement as he kisses him again. “Seriously,” Spencer says a minute later, words mumbled and lost to Jon’s mouth.
Jon doesn’t really care about breakfast. He doesn’t want to leave this room and whatever they’ve created - something out of nothing. He doesn’t want to go back to not knowing what’s going on. Spencer is someone he can’t quite figure out and he’s sure that leaving the room isn’t going to help.
Yesterday Spencer was just the guy who worked in the Starbucks across the street, who had an identical life to Jon’s, but now he’s Spencer, the guy who kisses him for no reason in the middle of a coffee shop and invites him home without a proper introduction. Jon doesn’t want to go back to yesterday.
“Come on,” Spencer says finally when he manages to break away but dips in for a last kiss anyway. “Food.”
Reluctantly, Jon hauls himself off the bed and follows Spencer out to the living room. It looks exactly the same except the clothes have been picked up and someone organized the shoes by the door.
“Spencer!” A voice entirely too loud and cheerful for that early in the morning greets them.
“Hey, Bren,” Spencer replies, obviously used to this.
Brendon is sitting at the tiny dining room table with a bowl of cereal in front of him, what looks like lucky charms with all the marshmallows picked out and put in a separate bowl. His hair is mussed and he looks like he just woke up, wearing a pair of superman pajamas. He almost does a double take as he sees Jon shuffle in behind Spencer. He opens his mouth to say something, but then Ryan appears from one of the other doors in the apartment.
“Spence, I found this shirt today and it’s not your size. Maybe it’s someone at wo-” He stops mid sentence as he catches sight of Jon.
Jon is sort of confused as everyone looks at him except for Spencer, who heads into the kitchen and pours a bowl of cereal.
“Jon!” Brendon cries finally, bouncing up and hugging him around the middle, surprising him.
“Uh, hi,” Jon says slowly, still confused. “You all know each other?”
Brendon nods happily. “Ryan and Spence are roommates.”
Things are starting to make sense now as Spencer comes back, two bowls of cereal in his hands, one of which he sets down in the free chair at the table for Jon. Jon doesn’t sit down but turns to Spencer, lowering his voice so the other two won’t hear although he’s pretty sure Brendon is straining to listen in.
“You sent Ryan to find out about me, didn’t you?”
Spencer takes a bite of his cereal and shrugs almost nonchalantly, but Jon sees the hint of a flush on the back of his neck.
“You didn’t have to, by the way,” he says after a minute, leaning in closer, and Spencer swallows his mouthful of lucky charms. “I was already interested.”
Spencer arches an eyebrow, an attempt at skepticism, but Jon sees right through it.
He smiles, brushing Spencer’s hair out of his eyes even as Spencer hides behind his bowl. “Still am,” he says, kissing him slowly. Behind them, Brendon hides a giggle behind his hands and Ryan plops down in his chair.
“Just keep your shirts in your own room,” Ryan says flatly as Brendon smiles and tries to feed him cereal off his spoon.
Jon grins at Spencer. “If you come by work, I’ll get you free coffee.”
Spencer really does look skeptical this time, but he still smiles when Jon trails his thumb down his jaw.
“Never say no to free coffee,” he says finally, and Jon laughs as Brendon chimes in with, “Never!”
Ryan rolls his eyes and Jon takes his seat, digging into his cereal.
*
“Did you tell him?”
Jon keeps cleaning the table, picking up the napkin dispenser as he goes. “Tell who what?”
“Tell Spencer you want to do dirty dirty things to him on the muffin display.”
Jon makes a face. “You are…” He just shakes his head, and Tom shrugs.
“It’s true.”
Jon glances out the window where Spencer and Greta are in the opposite Starbucks. Spencer is watching him too and smiles when Jon gives a little wave when Tom’s back is turned.
“Not true,” he says instead, tucking the rag into his apron and heading back behind the counter.
Tom scoffs. “You’re a bad liar, Jon.”
Jon doesn’t bother replying to that. Instead, he grabs a handful of straws and begins to sort them out. “I figured out what you’re going to do for me,” he says instead.
Tom looks uneasy now. “What?”
Smirking, Jon stuffs the straws into the holder. “At Frank’s next show, you’re gonna give Frank a hand and maybe Gerard a clue.”
Tom is reluctant, but he sighs resignedly. “I’m not fucking Frank.”
Jon grins. “You don’t have to. Just make sure they get it by the end of the night.”
Tom groans. “This is going to take forever.”
“Maybe,” Jon agrees with a shrug, but he’s still grinning and Tom scowls.
“I hate you,” Tom grumbles, slinking off to the register where a customer is waiting.
And the thing is that it doesn’t even bother him at all.
*
FIN.
A/N: I dont remember what this fic stemmed from (except that I'm probably craving American food right now. I saw Starbucks in Shanghai but that was it... :[ anybody want to ship over a pizza? lol.) So yeah, if you don't know already, we're doing a
joncerjumpstart and you should join and tell all your friends 'cause the world needs more joncer.
*
It’s been almost three weeks since he first saw Spencer and Jon hasn’t even had an actual conversation with him. He just watches him through the window of his Starbucks and contemplates going over on his breaks, but in the end, he decides that’s just too pathetic, so he sits at the window instead, pretending to text people while really watching Spencer and Greta.
“Just go over there and tell him you want to fuck him,” Tom says, scaring Jon half to death as he pops up at the table.
“Shut up, I do not,” Jon only says, and it’s only half a lie. Maybe he has been thinking about Spencer more and more, but he doesn’t even really know him. Of course, most guys would say that was completely beside the point. Spencer was hot so Jon should just try it anyway.
“Yeah right,” Tom scoffs, propping his elbows on the tall table.
“What?” Jon asks when Tom doesn’t say anything more, just stares out the window at Spencer.
“When was the last time you got laid anyway?”
Jon doesn’t stare although he kind of wants to. Instead, he laughs. “What does that matter?”
“Makes a difference whether or not you’re just horny or if you really like this guy.”
“I don’t even know him,” Jon stresses.
“Your own fault,” Tom just says. “So next time you talk to him, tell him you want to.”
Jon doesn’t frown but he does look out the window again only to catch Spencer looking back, but then Spencer turns and disappears into the back.
*
On Thursday night, Tom leaves early. He told the boss that he had a project to work on but Jon knows he’s really just going to see Frank’s show and hope that girl is there again. Jon is left alone because it’s a Thursday night and they’re never really busy.
He’s just looking forward to his shift ending because then he gets three whole days off in a row when he doesn’t have to smell coffee or listen to the same songs on repeat for nine hours.
A couple people have come in since Tom left, but not many, and Jon is keeping himself entertained with the magazine Tom left behind. It turns out he’s a Summer.
When the door opens, he doesn’t set down the magazine immediately. Most people need time to look over the menu, so he marks his place carefully before setting it to the side and glancing up. What he finds isn’t exactly what he expected.
Spencer is standing there in his apron, his bow undone at the back and brushing his hair over his eyes almost nervously, but he doesn’t seem nervous as he stands there.
“Uh, hi,” Jon says after a beat, wondering what Spencer is doing. His heart jumps for a second as he thinks that maybe he came in on his break.
But then Spencer shifts, looking up at Jon. “Do you guys have any extra slips?” he asks, calmly and coolly.
“Yeah, sure,” Jon says after it takes a second to process the words. Rummaging under the counter, he looks up at Spencer.
Spencer is standing almost haughtily, a hip tilted to the side as he waits. His eyes travel around the store and land back on Jon as he straightens, handing him the sleeve of coffee slips.
“Thanks,” Spencer says, tucking them under his arm.
“No problem.” Jon pauses, wondering if he should say something else. Tom’s voice echoes around his head, but he pushes it away violently. He isn’t going to tell Spencer he wants to untie his apron completely and shove his hand down his clean, black uniform pants.
Spencer is hesitating too and Jon’s not sure why. He looks like he’s about to leave but then he turns, stepping towards the counter.
“I hear you were at the Pink Umbrella show the other day,” he says finally, and the coffee sleeves are set on the counter.
“Yeah,” Jon agrees, secretly glad that Spencer didn’t leave. “I know the guitarist. Well, I know all of them actually, I just know Frank the best.”
Spencer nods slowly. “You go to a lot of shows?”
Jon shrugs. “When I can get off.” He smiles. “I pretty much live here too.”
Spencer doesn’t smile back, but he does glance at Jon, blue eyes flitting to brown for just a second. It’s only in that second that Jon feels a strange lurch to his stomach that he can’t explain, and then Spencer looks away.
“Ever hate it?” Spencer asks, and Jon grins.
“Nope. I love people so here I get to talk to everybody.”
Spencer is biting his lip now, and Jon sort of wishes he wouldn’t, watching how his tongue flicks out to lick the spot every time he pulls it in.
“I get sick of it,” Spencer says, pushing at the sleeve of slips. “I’m so glad when I get days off.”
Jon smiles, leaning forward over the counter too. Spencer watches him do it and doesn’t move back. “Yeah, I definitely need a rest from this place. My weekends are heaven.”
“You get weekends off?” Spencer asks. “Lucky.”
“How much do you work?” Jon asks curiously, because Spencer’s almost always there when he is.
Spencer shrugs, hunching his shoulders over the counter. “Five or six days a week. I need the cash.”
Jon nods. He understands that need. Dylan is at home right now staring at his empty food bowl.
“I should probably let you get back to work then,” he says, straightening up and Spencer follows slowly. Spencer’s apron is wrinkled and his knot is flimsy at best, but Jon doesn’t fix it or say anything. He stops himself from turning Spencer’s collar down.
“Guess so,” Spencer mutters finally, casting a glance at him and Jon feels his stomach twist dangerously. He doesn’t grab the sleeve yet, though, just pauses at the counter.
The store is empty except for them and it’s dark outside. Jon can see the light mist that’s falling, illuminated orange by the street lamps. He knows it’s cold out there, and Spencer is just wearing his black shirt under his apron.
He almost offers to let him stay, but he knows he’s working, and it might be a little stupid.
“Hey,” Spencer says finally, turning back to Jon and Jon waits. Spencer looks like he’s thinking for a second but then he leans over the counter and kisses Jon.
It’s a short kiss, dry and simple. Jon almost doesn’t have enough time to close his eyes before Spencer pulls back and grabs the sleeve. He leaves without a word and Jon is floored, standing behind the counter and confused as fuck.
*
“What the fuck happened to you?”
It’s raining outside, but it’s so cold Jon knows it’s going to be slush by the time he gets off. It might even be snow from the way the drops are slowing down as he watches them drift past the window.
Tom is giving him another of his looks that means Jon is doing something strange. Really, he’s not doing anything strange, just thinking, maybe a little too hard, about Thursday night. He can’t figure out what happened or why.
“Nothing,” he says finally, turning from where he’s been staring at the fridge for the past five minutes.
“You’ve been saying that an awful lot lately,” Tom says, following him out to the tables as he goes to clean a few.
“Well, nothing’s been happening.”
“Bullshit,” Tom says matter-of-factly. “Come on, Jon. I am your Starbucks buddy. You gotta tell me.”
Jon rolls his eyes, but he knows Tom won’t give up. “Fine.” He sighs. “Spencer kissed me.”
There’s a pause and then, “Who?”
“The guy in the other Starbucks,” Jon explains, waiting for it to hit. He knows it does when Tom makes a long noise.
“So did you fuck him?”
Jon almost doesn’t know why he bothers. “No, Tom. I don’t even know why it happened.”
“Because he likes you, duh.”
Jon pauses. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say ‘duh’.”
Tom scoffs. “Look, Jon, you’re not a horrible catch. Actually, you’re probably a great catch. So stop asking why and go fuck him into next week.”
A part of Jon doesn’t even want to respond to that, so he frowns at Tom. Glancing out the window, though, he can see Spencer and Greta across the street sitting at one of the tables and playing what looks like a card game.
“This is probably why you don’t have a girlfriend,” Jon only mutters finally, grabbing the rag and heading back to the counter, ignoring how Tom follows him, shaking his head in disbelief.
*
Tom ditches him five minutes before they’re actually done closing, scooting off into the night as Jon checks that everything is turned off. Jon just lets him go, glad to be alone as he takes off his apron and pulls on his jacket.
When he gets outside, he realizes he was right. The rain has turned into slush and flakes of snow flutter down with it, landing in his hair and making everything freezing. Hands already cold, he locks the front door and stuffs them deep into his pocket to keep them warm.
As he turns, he can see the lights flicking off across the street and Greta leaving with a wave to Spencer, who is still at the front door. Standing on the cold, wet sidewalk, Jon makes a decision. Checking for cars, he hurries across the street to where Spencer is double checking the lock and puffing into his hands as he turns. He stops mid-puff as he catches sight of Jon standing there, bundled up into his jacket and watching him.
“Hi,” Jon says, breath clouding immediately before him.
“Hi,” Spencer echoes slowly, rubbing his hands together for warmth and waiting.
“I want to ask you something,” Jon says, the words coming out in a rush and he blames the fact that he’s standing in thirty-five degree weather with just a jacket and thin uniform pants.
“Okay,” Spencer says, licking his lips and watching Jon, whose shoulders are hunched inside his jacket against the cold and trying to make himself as small as possible to keep warm. His nose is starting to run from the cold.
“I just need to know,” Jon says quickly, realizing this was probably the worst time he could pick to confront Spencer. “Why, uh, why you kissed me.” It sounds kind of stupid once the words are out of his mouth, but he can’t take it back and he does want to know.
Spencer shifts on his feet, rubbing his hands together again. It’s fucking cold out there.
He shrugs. “I wanted to.”
It’s simple and easy and everything Jon isn’t expecting.
“Um,” he says for lack of anything better as he tries to figure it out. “I could be straight, you know.”
Spencer doesn’t laugh, but his mouth curls up anyway and he shakes a light dusting of slush and snow off the sleeve of his jacket. “Well, you aren’t, are you?”
“No, but…” Jon doesn’t really know where he’s going with this. His nose is starting to go numb and his feet are getting cold as he stands on the wet sidewalk.
“Fuck, it’s freezing out here,” Spencer breathes finally, cold air streaming in front of him. The temperature has to have dropped at least two degrees since they stepped outside.
Jon shivers just as he says it so he can’t argue, only shuffle a little, thinking he should really leave before he says something stupid. But then Spencer says, “My apartment’s just around the corner. If you want.”
He should say no and go back across the street to his car where he can drive home in relative warmth, but Spencer is blowing into his hands again and watching Jon through dark eyes, and he just can’t say no. He doesn’t think he wanted to anyway.
“Yeah, sure,” he says instead and follows Spencer as he turns and heads the opposite direction of Jon’s car and Starbucks.
*
It isn’t really just around the corner, but Jon’s okay with that when Spencer walks in front of him a little and he can look at his ass through his pants, the swing of his hips as he walks. By the time they reach it, though, his nose is freezing and he can’t feel his toes.
Spencer’s apartment is on the third floor, so the climb brings a little feeling back, but everything is still sort of numb when they finally get there and Spencer unlocks the door.
It’s a typical college student’s apartment with clothes strewn around and shoes jumbled in a pile by the door. Spencer throws his jacket onto the random coat rack by the door and toes off his shoes. His fingers are reddened now too and he keeps rubbing them together as he waits for Jon to come in and take off his jacket.
It’s at least warm inside, so Jon takes off his jacket carefully, still not exactly sure what he’s doing there.
“Want something to drink?” Spencer asks when he finally moves in and the door is shut. “I think there’s some cocoa or tea around somewhere. Something warm?”
“Sure,” Jon agrees, not really caring. He watches Spencer disappear into what he assumes is the kitchen and sits down on the faded grey couch. His nose is cold to the touch as he feels it gingerly. He hears the beep of a microwave and Spencer comes out with two mugs of steaming liquid. He hands one to Jon.
“It’s not exactly Starbucks quality,” he says, sitting down next to Jon on the couch.
Jon is just glad for the warmth seeping into his fingers at this point. It smells like hot chocolate and he takes a careful sip while Spencer sits beside him.
Jon really doesn’t know what to say as silence falls. He’s usually better at this, but usually he isn’t caught off guard by a kiss in a coffee shop and then invited home a few days later.
Spencer has his hands tucked in between his thighs for warmth and Jon determinedly doesn’t look at them, thinking about how warm they would be, how they would feel sinking down on top of him. Shaking away the thought, he concentrates on his mug.
“Your clothes are wet,” Spencer says finally, glancing at Jon’s pants. They’re drenched in about six inches of water and his socks are pretty soaked through if he’s honest.
“It’s fine,” Jon says, though, taking another sip of the hot drink and feeling better already.
Spencer is watching him now, a look on his face that Jon could swear he’s seen on Tom as well. But there’s something else in it that Tom never has, and his eyes move from Jon’s pants to his face.
“We could throw them in the dryer,” he says. “It’ll be like ten minutes or something.”
Jon hesitates, but Spencer is waiting and it is really cold and he isn’t looking forward to walking back to his car in wet clothes.
“Sure,” he agrees finally, and Spencer waits for him to kick off his shoes and pull off his soaked socks. He feels almost immediately better as his feet touch the warm carpet of Spencer’s living room. Pausing, he doesn’t immediately take off his pants, but Spencer stands, the socks in one hand and an expectant look on his face, so Jon rises and unbuckles his belt.
He’s kind of glad he’s wearing his nice boxers today (batman) as he slides off his pants and hands them to Spencer.
“Be right back,” Spencer says, turning and heading out of the apartment.
Sitting back down on the couch, Jon feels kind of strange, but it’s sort of just like if he was at his apartment, lounging in a shirt and boxers.
Spencer isn’t gone long and he comes back quickly, a clatter up the stairs. Jon is half-finished with his drink and he wonders how exactly he’s going to get out of there. When Spencer comes in, though, barefooted and cursing under his breath at the cold, he’s not sure he wants to leave.
“You don’t mind if I change, do you?” Spencer asks, already halfway to the bedroom.
“Uh,” Jon says, unsure if he should let Spencer change into something that might look even better than a Starbucks uniform or if he should just get out now before something stupid happens.
But Spencer is gone, and Jon can hear him rummaging in his closet.
He comes out wearing low-slung pajama-type pants and a shirt that looks like it was made for a girl. It’s worn thin and the lucky charm logo on the front is faded into the background. Jon tries not to stare, really, but Spencer comes over to the couch and slides down next to him, the shirt riding up as he puts his arm on the back of the couch, and it’s all Jon can do to tear his eyes from the slit of skin showing underneath.
Spencer is just watching him now and Jon knows he has to say something, anything to cover for his slip, how his eyes keep traveling back.
“Was it at least a good kiss?” he asks before he can think of anything else. He’s not sure how smart that was when Spencer’s mouth quirks and he smiles slowly.
“It was alright,” he says finally, shifting up to sit on his knees on the couch.
“Just alright?” Jon asks, sort of teasing but also sort of serious. He’s watching the way Spencer shrugs, rolling his shoulders back, and he sort of wants to pull him against him right now.
“I caught you off guard,” he says easily. “It wasn’t exactly going to be amazing.”
“Could have been better than it was,” Jon allows, crossing his ankles in front of him and thinking about how they’re both halfway undressed already. Spencer’s pants would probably come down really easily, with only a pull string keeping them up.
“True,” Spencer agrees after a moment. “Also could have been a lot worse.”
“I might have been a straight,” Jon points out, hoping he’s not imagining the way Spencer is leaning forward.
“You might have been an asshole.”
“Well how would you have ever known since you’ve never talked to me?”
“But I did,” Spencer says simply, sliding down a little. “That day.”
“And you decided I wasn’t an asshole from that?”
Spencer shrugs. “You might surprise me, but yeah, I was pretty sure.”
Jon can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face as he watches Spencer bite his bottom lip, tongue rolling it between his teeth.
“We could try again,” he says, squashing the weird flutter in his stomach as he says it. Spencer smirks slowly, shifting on his knees and the pants have slipped down another half an inch. Jon can see where Spencer’s hip bones disappear under the fabric now, sharp and slim.
“We could,” he agrees, and he shifts again. Jon’s heart is beating faster now, a little nervous, a little excited.
Spencer nods, already leaning in, and Jon’s ready this time.
It’s just lips pressed together at first, but Spencer moves first, opening his mouth slightly and Jon follows him, fitting his mouth over Spencer’s bottom lip. He can feel Spencer’s tongue as he moves up to kiss him again, pressing against his mouth harder. Spencer’s mouth is warm and inviting, tasting of hot chocolate and marshmallows.
Jon’s hand slides up to his face, cold fingertips grazing over his jaw and Spencer shivers a little but doesn’t pull away. Brushing over his cheek, Jon makes a soft noise against Spencer’s mouth, kissing him a little harder.
Spencer breaks away first, nose grazing against Jon’s slowly as he moves back just centimeters.
“Your clothes are probably dry,” he murmurs, but Jon is already swallowing the words, pulling him back against his lips.
Spencer kisses him back, fingers sliding around to curl around the nape of his neck as he pushes forward, catching Jon’s bottom lip between his teeth and swallowing his moan. Shifting up, he forces Jon to follow his lead, leaning up to kiss him and making a noise when Spencer shifts over, swinging his leg on either side of Jon and sinking his weight down.
Jon just wants to grab Spencer’s thighs as he sinks, warm and heavy, onto his lap. He does let one hand slide down his thigh, hooking under and dragging him closer. Spencer goes pliably, and Jon’s glad. He doesn’t want to fight for anything tonight.
It starts slowly, Spencer shifting down, settling down as low as he can go in Jon’s lap, knees spread on either side. His fingers are still curled in Jon’s hair as he kisses him, wet and deep, tongue lapping at his mouth, licking inside, flicking over his teeth as Jon catches his bottom lip and sucks. Jon almost doesn’t notice when Spencer starts to move, just the barest rocking motion. Forward and back, forward and back.
He doesn’t notice until Spencer pulls out of the kiss, mouth ghosting down his jaw, nipping as he goes. He doesn’t notice until Spencer rocks down a little harder and he realizes he’s almost completely hard under Spencer’s hips and is pushing back up with him, moving in the rhythm Spencer has set.
“Spencer,” he mutters, but Spencer’s mouth is on his throat now, sucking a hickey onto the skin below his jaw and nothing else really seems to matter.
Spencer keeps moving, rocking forward almost too slowly, just pushing down and letting Jon follow. He’s as close as he can get but Jon wants more. Moving his hand from where it’s just been resting on Spencer’s thigh, he splays it across his back, thumb sweeping down, catching the hem of his shirt and he slides lower.
Spencer makes a noise, quiet but audible as Jon’s hand slips under the back of his shirt, pressing down a little. Leaving Jon’s throat, he slides back up, pushing down again, harder this time as his nose bumps into Jon’s.
“I think that was better,” he says, rocking his hips forward with a little more purpose, and maybe Jon only imagines the way his voice is a little breathless.
“Much better,” Jon agrees, trying to keep his voice steady as Spencer presses down against his erection, not enough cloth and yet too much separating them. It’s not quite enough friction as Spencer pushes harder and Jon’s fingers tighten over his back.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Spencer murmurs as he kisses Jon long and slow, so long that Jon almost forgets what he said, and when Spencer’s hands go for his shirt, he just lets him pull it off.
Spencer’s hands slide over his chest and up over his shoulders as he pulls him back to his mouth almost forcefully now. He’s thrusting harder now, a little erratic, as they kiss and Jon struggles not to make any embarrassing noises. His free hand tightens on Spencer’s thigh, clenching around the soft material of his pants and wondering how long he’s going to be able to hold out if Spencer keeps doing this.
Biting Jon’s lip, Spencer pulls away slowly, panting a little against his mouth as he moves. “Wanna,” he says finally, a little disoriented as Jon gazes up at him through darkened eyes. Jon is happy to hear the breathless tone permeating his words now. “My bedroom,” is all the rest that Spencer manages before Jon kisses him again and pulls him down.
Breaking away, though, Spencer crawls back, stripping off his shirt as he goes and watching the way Jon’s eyes follow its progress as he tosses it away. He smirks as he climbs off Jon’s lap and sees Jon’s erection tenting his boxers.
“Come on,” he says, crooking a finger and heading for one of the doors off the living room. Jon doesn’t need telling twice as he scrambles off the couch after him.
It isn’t exactly how he saw the evening going, but it’s certainly not worse.
Spencer’s room is pretty empty, Jon will reflect later, but for the moment he doesn’t care. Spencer switches off the living room light as they go and only turns on a small bedside lamp that casts a yellow glow over everything, casting shadows onto the wall. Outside, Jon can see a small buildup of snow on the windowsill and more floating past.
But Spencer is standing next to the bed and Jon shouldn’t be thinking about snow and walking back to his car, so he walks over, hands reaching for his hips and tugging him forward. He really wants Spencer’s pants down now, so he leans in, nuzzling Spencer’s neck as his thumb slips under the loose waistband. Breathing in, he can still smell coffee on Spencer, the same thing he smells every time he goes home from work. He doesn’t taste like coffee, though, and Jon is glad as he slides his mouth down Spencer’s throat, fingers working under the waistband slowly.
He likes the way Spencer tilts his head back and closes his eyes, fingers brushing against his skin lightly. Pushing the pants over his hips, Jon is pleased with the way they flump to the floor and that Spencer isn’t wearing anything underneath. He doesn’t say anything, though, pressing a kiss to his collar bone and moving back up.
Spencer is ready when Jon grazes his mouth over his jaw and up his cheek. He turns before Jon can stop him and catches the kiss meant for the corner of his mouth. It’s a little awkward, but Spencer moves, fitting his mouth against Jon’s better as he slides back, pulling him onto the bed.
Jon climbs over him, straddling his legs and pressing Spencer back against the mattress. It’s a little chilly without most of his clothes, but he almost doesn’t care when Spencer bites his bottom lip and rolls them over so that he’s on top. The covers are fluffy and warm, and Spencer sitting on top of him is good enough to keep him warm.
“You okay with this?” Spencer asks as he leans down, licking up Jon’s throat slowly, stopping only to suck at the spot below his ear for a second.
“Yeah,” Jon breathes. He’s okay with anything that Spencer wants to do at the moment. He doesn’t really stop to think that he doesn’t know Spencer very well, or that Tom will probably be collecting on some bet as soon as he tells him.
Moving, Jon brings his hands to Spencer’s hips, pulling him down against the thin fabric of his boxers, now the only piece of clothing that separate them. He drinks in Spencer’s moan pressed against his skin, the slow slide of his hips down, rotating in an agonizing circle as Jon struggles to hold on.
“Fuck,” Jon mutters as Spencer pushes down, grinding into his lap until he’s squeezing Spencer’s hips and cursing under his breath.
Spencer hums against his jaw as he moves, slowing his hips even as Jon lets out a long sigh, fingers tight. His hands go for his boxers, pushing them down without any ceremony.
Jon struggles out of them, watching the way they drop to the edge of the bed carelessly. Spencer smirks as he returns, hand sliding down to grip Jon’s cock and watching the way Jon gasps and arches upward.
Spencer’s hand is warm and slightly rough, still a little cold, but it feels so good as he jerks it down Jon’s cock.
“Shit,” Jon breathes, stretching back as Spencer jerks him off slowly, watching his face with every pull. He feels Spencer moving up, hand sliding up his cock slowly until it’s gone, trailing up his stomach.
Spencer’s mouth is hot as he presses kisses up Jon’s stomach, tongue flicking over a nipple as he passes and brushing over the mark from earlier on his throat.
“Really okay?” Spencer asks, mouth brushing against his ear as his hand slips between Jon’s legs, nudging them apart carefully. He bites the lobe before sucking it into his mouth, and even if it wasn’t okay, Jon would say yes just so he didn’t stop.
“Really really,” Jon reassures him breathlessly, spreading his legs wider.
“Good,” Spencer breathes, sliding to his mouth for a kiss that sends tingles to Jon’s toes and not just from the warmth of the apartment.
But he slides away not too soon after, reaching for the bottom drawers of the nightstand and coming back with a familiar crinkle of plastic.
Watching him, Jon wants Spencer, wants him more than he has so far. He wants to feel him inside him, on top of him, thrusting in hard and fast.
“Fuck,” Jon curses at the first finger pushed inside, slick with lube and thrusting in sharply, twisting with a second as Spencer pushes his knees up, removing his fingers as Jon pushes back, biting his lip.
When Spencer pushes in, it’s slow, a dull burn aching through his body but it feels good, feels like something Jon’s wanted for a while but didn’t realize. He stops himself from pushing back roughly, knowing he’s not ready just yet, but he wants to. God, he wants to.
It’s faster than Jon expects, when Spencer thrusts in, sharp but careful, warmth dragging through his fingertips as Spencer moves, rocking in with the same easy rhythm he had on the couch. Spencer pushes in, fingers trailing over Jon’s erection, not giving him any pressure even as Jon groans and pushes back, dragging Spencer’s hips in closer.
“Fuck, Spence,” he mutters as Spencer moves, pushing in hard and Jon can feel the ripple of warmth all over his body, the tingle in his toes, the tightening in his stomach, the throb in his cock as Spencer runs a finger down the length.
He groans at the shift when Spencer leans forward, sliding deeper in his body, and he feels flushed all over, a funny feeling considering not half an hour ago, he was freezing his ass off.
“Come for me,” Spencer whispers against Jon’s lips as his hand wraps, firm and warm, around his cock and gives a tug. He kisses Jon long and slow, tongue dipping into his mouth just briefly as Jon groans and squeezes his eyes shut.
Spencer jerks him off quickly after that, and Jon can hear how he pants, his hips thrusting in at the same speed. It’s overwhelming and Jon bites Spencer’s lip as he comes, panting open-mouthed against his skin as come paints Spencer’s stomach and Spencer keeps stroking him through it until Jon’s cock is spent and sensitive.
“Spence,” he mutters as Spencer pushes in hard, needing to get off now, now that Jon has, now that he can.
Jon catches Spencer in a kiss just as he comes undone, gasping into Jon’s mouth and stuttering out his name, quiet but loud in the empty room. He pants into Jon’s mouth, hardly a kiss as Jon brushes their noses together. His nose isn’t cold anymore.
Blinking slowly, Spencer slides down, pulling out and tossing away the condom. Sinking onto the soft covers, he sighs and closes his eyes. Beside him, Jon blinks at the ceiling, cast yellow from the lamp. The snow in the window has piled up an inch or two now.
“Think the clothes are dry?” he asks finally and only gets silence in return. He isn’t sure if Spencer has fallen asleep or not, but when he starts to get up, Spencer’s hand on his arm stops him.
“Probably,” Spencer replies but doesn’t let go. Instead, he scoots over, pushing down the comforter and sliding underneath. He gives Jon a tug and Jon takes the hint, climbing underneath. “But it’s after midnight and fucking freezing outside.”
It’s not the most eloquent argument Jon has ever heard, but it makes more sense than anything else, so he snuggles under the covers, only unsure for a minute when Spencer sighs and rolls over against him.
“Go to sleep,” Spencer mumbles against his shoulder, eyes already closed and breathing slowing.
“Okay,” Jon whispers back and sinks down into the warmth of the comforter, clicking off the light and watching the snow flutter past the window.
*
There are at least three inches of snow on the windowsill when Jon wakes up.
Cracking his eyes open, Jon pauses a minute to figure out where he is. Things are sort of backwards. He remembers fairly quickly, though, when the bed sheets rustle behind him and someone snuffles into a pillow.
Turning over carefully, he sees Spencer snuggled deep in the covers, pillow lines on his face and his hair splayed messily over his face. Reaching out to brush it away, Spencer wrinkles his nose at the touch and jerks away from the light tough, groaning into his pillow as he wakes up slowly.
“What the…” he mutters into the pillow, voice muffled, and Jon wonders if maybe he should have left last night after all. “Fuck.”
Maybe he really should have.
But then Spencer takes a deep breath and rolls over in bed to face Jon. He blinks for a second when he sees him and then smiles slowly.
Jon hesitates. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Spencer echoes, voice rough with sleep. He stretches under the covers, knuckles brushing up against Jon’s ribs. Pulling out a hand, he traces the mark on Jon’s neck slowly. “Sleep okay?”
Jon nods, wondering why he feels so much like a teenager on his first date. Something about Spencer makes him forget himself. Spencer doesn’t seem to need verbal confirmation, though, as his hand drifts to Jon’s jaw, fingers turning his jaw as he kisses him softly.
One kiss turns into a few more until Spencer pulls away with a smile, brushing back Jon’s hair. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Jon shrugs. “Class isn’t until noon today. Then work until late.”
“Want breakfast?” Spencer asks instead, already rolling to the other side of the bed and pulling on the same pants from last night. Jon just sits there until Spencer glances back.
“I don’t have any clothes.”
Spencer stares for a second before he laughs and stands up, rummaging in his drawers. He comes out with a tee shirt and a pair of sweat pants. The pants are too long and the shirt is a little tight, but Jon pulls them on anyway. It isn’t as though he has any other choice.
“Any preferences for breakfast?” Spencer asks, rounding the bed to Jon’s side and waiting expectantly. He isn’t expecting Jon to grab him around the waist and haul him down.
“Yeah,” Jon replies easily, tipping up to Spencer to kiss him slowly, thoroughly, until Spencer pushes at his arms and breaks away with his eyes still closed.
“Gotta eat,” he murmurs and Jon nods along in agreement as he kisses him again. “Seriously,” Spencer says a minute later, words mumbled and lost to Jon’s mouth.
Jon doesn’t really care about breakfast. He doesn’t want to leave this room and whatever they’ve created - something out of nothing. He doesn’t want to go back to not knowing what’s going on. Spencer is someone he can’t quite figure out and he’s sure that leaving the room isn’t going to help.
Yesterday Spencer was just the guy who worked in the Starbucks across the street, who had an identical life to Jon’s, but now he’s Spencer, the guy who kisses him for no reason in the middle of a coffee shop and invites him home without a proper introduction. Jon doesn’t want to go back to yesterday.
“Come on,” Spencer says finally when he manages to break away but dips in for a last kiss anyway. “Food.”
Reluctantly, Jon hauls himself off the bed and follows Spencer out to the living room. It looks exactly the same except the clothes have been picked up and someone organized the shoes by the door.
“Spencer!” A voice entirely too loud and cheerful for that early in the morning greets them.
“Hey, Bren,” Spencer replies, obviously used to this.
Brendon is sitting at the tiny dining room table with a bowl of cereal in front of him, what looks like lucky charms with all the marshmallows picked out and put in a separate bowl. His hair is mussed and he looks like he just woke up, wearing a pair of superman pajamas. He almost does a double take as he sees Jon shuffle in behind Spencer. He opens his mouth to say something, but then Ryan appears from one of the other doors in the apartment.
“Spence, I found this shirt today and it’s not your size. Maybe it’s someone at wo-” He stops mid sentence as he catches sight of Jon.
Jon is sort of confused as everyone looks at him except for Spencer, who heads into the kitchen and pours a bowl of cereal.
“Jon!” Brendon cries finally, bouncing up and hugging him around the middle, surprising him.
“Uh, hi,” Jon says slowly, still confused. “You all know each other?”
Brendon nods happily. “Ryan and Spence are roommates.”
Things are starting to make sense now as Spencer comes back, two bowls of cereal in his hands, one of which he sets down in the free chair at the table for Jon. Jon doesn’t sit down but turns to Spencer, lowering his voice so the other two won’t hear although he’s pretty sure Brendon is straining to listen in.
“You sent Ryan to find out about me, didn’t you?”
Spencer takes a bite of his cereal and shrugs almost nonchalantly, but Jon sees the hint of a flush on the back of his neck.
“You didn’t have to, by the way,” he says after a minute, leaning in closer, and Spencer swallows his mouthful of lucky charms. “I was already interested.”
Spencer arches an eyebrow, an attempt at skepticism, but Jon sees right through it.
He smiles, brushing Spencer’s hair out of his eyes even as Spencer hides behind his bowl. “Still am,” he says, kissing him slowly. Behind them, Brendon hides a giggle behind his hands and Ryan plops down in his chair.
“Just keep your shirts in your own room,” Ryan says flatly as Brendon smiles and tries to feed him cereal off his spoon.
Jon grins at Spencer. “If you come by work, I’ll get you free coffee.”
Spencer really does look skeptical this time, but he still smiles when Jon trails his thumb down his jaw.
“Never say no to free coffee,” he says finally, and Jon laughs as Brendon chimes in with, “Never!”
Ryan rolls his eyes and Jon takes his seat, digging into his cereal.
*
“Did you tell him?”
Jon keeps cleaning the table, picking up the napkin dispenser as he goes. “Tell who what?”
“Tell Spencer you want to do dirty dirty things to him on the muffin display.”
Jon makes a face. “You are…” He just shakes his head, and Tom shrugs.
“It’s true.”
Jon glances out the window where Spencer and Greta are in the opposite Starbucks. Spencer is watching him too and smiles when Jon gives a little wave when Tom’s back is turned.
“Not true,” he says instead, tucking the rag into his apron and heading back behind the counter.
Tom scoffs. “You’re a bad liar, Jon.”
Jon doesn’t bother replying to that. Instead, he grabs a handful of straws and begins to sort them out. “I figured out what you’re going to do for me,” he says instead.
Tom looks uneasy now. “What?”
Smirking, Jon stuffs the straws into the holder. “At Frank’s next show, you’re gonna give Frank a hand and maybe Gerard a clue.”
Tom is reluctant, but he sighs resignedly. “I’m not fucking Frank.”
Jon grins. “You don’t have to. Just make sure they get it by the end of the night.”
Tom groans. “This is going to take forever.”
“Maybe,” Jon agrees with a shrug, but he’s still grinning and Tom scowls.
“I hate you,” Tom grumbles, slinking off to the register where a customer is waiting.
And the thing is that it doesn’t even bother him at all.
*
FIN.
A/N: I dont remember what this fic stemmed from (except that I'm probably craving American food right now. I saw Starbucks in Shanghai but that was it... :[ anybody want to ship over a pizza? lol.) So yeah, if you don't know already, we're doing a
joncerjumpstart and you should join and tell all your friends 'cause the world needs more joncer.