Drive a One Inch Badge Pin Through My Heart
Drive a One Inch Badge Pin Through My Heart
Panic! at the Disco // Jon/Spencer // PG // 3,262 words
by girlintheband
for we_are_cities' dec 26 06 and dec 30 06 prompts. title stolen from One Inch Badge Pin by Muscles.
AU in which Jon lives in Chicago, and Brendon, Ryan and Spencer play in a Vegas queercore band.
thankyou to softlyforgotten and ficklish for betaing and general help. ♥
//
Jon walks to the club that night. He knows, really, that he shouldn't, even though it's only a ten minute walk from his apartment to the venue. He's not exactly muscular and with his camera, he's a prime target for a mugging, but he can't afford the cab fare and besides, Chicago at night rates as his fourth most favourite thing in the world, after music and photography and coffee.
Jon meanders slowly along the streets, taking his time, watching the people walking past him and admiring the old buildings that line the road, the route already well-embedded in his mind from near-weekly trips to the club. He doesn't often go to gigs alone. He hates the feeling of isolation, of loneliness, of being an outsider, that comes with attending gigs by himself. He wouldn't be going alone tonight, either, except for the fact that Tom's out of town on tour with his own band for the next couple of weeks. Tom had asked him to come along, tour across America with them, but Jon had turned him down this time. His boss at Starbucks had already threatened to fire him if he skived off from work again, and Jon really likes his job. He also needs the money.
The club is packed, and it takes Jon ten minutes just to get inside. The first band of the evening are already playing, but finish up shortly after Jon arrives. He pushes through the crowd and heads straight for the bar as the second band sets up. He only manages to down one drink and order a second before realising that this was the band Tom had said he should come see. He tips the entirity of his drink down his throat in two swift movements, grimacing a little at the burn, and, slinging his camera more securely over his shoulder, Jon turns and wanders slowly through the masses of people to reach the stage.
He secures a spot off to the right where he can see relatively well and where he hopes he won't get beaten up in the mosh too much. He's about two rows back from the stage and looks around at the number of people assembled, waiting, in surprise. Tom's normally spot on about the bands he likes - Jon almost always likes all of them - but more often than not, they're tiny, obscure punk or hardcore bands that no-one else has ever heard of and probably never will. They may have artistic integrity and good looks and fucking brilliant songs, but they generally don't see the end of the year. It's unfortunate and almost soul-destroying at times, but Jon has reluctantly given in and accepted this, become resigned to the fact that this is just the way the music industry works.
There's a smattering of applause and a few hoots when three boys walk onto the stage. The singer smiles thinly at the crowd, and the band launches straight into their first song. No banter, no idle words, just music, loud and hard and fast. The kids down in the front mosh like they're fighting. Like they're fighting for something worth fighting for. Like they believe in this, whatever this is. Jon hasn't seen such enthusiasm, such dedication to a band for a long time, and wonders how he'd even missed this band in the first place.
Jon takes photos the whole time, moshing half-heartedly but really just trying to spot opportunities for the perfect photo, the photo that will capture the essence of this band, of live music. The music's pretty good, really, when Jon thinks about it; the band have this raw, rough edge to them, and even though the singer's voice is all over the place, occasionally he sings a line just right, and the emotion Jon can hear in the words he sings sends shivers through his body. The guitarist's own woeful attempts at harmonising would be off-putting if his voice didn't resonate at the same low frequency as the deep, bone-rattling rhythms he coaxes from his guitar.
The singer flails around all over the stage, never standing still, running into the crowd over and over, clenching his free hand in the hair of the kids in the front row, tugging them towards him as if he's going to kiss them or maybe just snap their necks. Each time he jerks back just moments before they get too close, turning and leveling his gaze on his guitarist instead, stalking towards him like he's the hunter and the guitarist is his prey. He repeatedly drapes himself over the other boy, even managing to push him to the ground and straddle him at one point. He ignores the guitar screeching in protest between them, and they kiss violently between the verse and the chorus.
Mostly, though, Jon can't take his eyes off the drummer. Jon's enraptured with the way his hair flicks when he hits the snare particularly hard, the fact that he twirls his drumsticks and grins at the guitarist in between songs, the way his lips are parted, wet, and his cheeks flushed. For the most part, he seems to avoid eye contact with the audience, but there's one brief and frankly far too short moment in which his eyes lock with Jon's and Jon feels something akin to electricity shooting down his spine.
Jon takes twice as many photographs of the drummer as he does of the others, even though he knows he'll never be able to capture the way the boy looked at him on film.
At the end of the set, Jon is soaked with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead, every particle in his body throbbing with adrenaline. The drummer leaps into the crowd, half-pushed by the lead singer. The crowd cheers and surges forward, holding the boy aloft, grabbing at his clothing. Jon automatically raises one hand to help when he passes overhead, and his fingers catch on something. He pulls without realising and comes away holding a one inch badge pin in his palm as the drummer is dumped unceremoniously back onto the stage, collapsing in a heap. He stands up straight away, grinning broadly and focusing in on Jon. His black t-shirt is ripped just above his left nipple, the white outline of a printed-on heart ripped in two.
Jon thinks there might actually be some irony in all of this.
Jon holds the pin up slightly in case the boy wants it returned, but the drummer waves his hand in a dismissive keep it manner, smiling small and walking offstage. Jon hangs around for a bit, flicking his camera off then on again, scrolling through his photos, breath stopping when he comes across a particularly beautiful shot of the drummer where the light hits his face just right and he's grinning a little, gazing off into the distance, specks of dust illuminated in the air around him and lending an almost ethereal air to the photo. He turns his camera off carefully and replaces the lens cap.
Jon pushes back through the crowd after a few minutes. He tries not to be too obvious as he scans the room for the drummer from the Summer League. After completing two slow circuits of the club, Jon finally spots him sitting at a table with a thin emo-haired boy he recognises as the band's guitarist. He walks over quickly before he loses his nerve and taps the drummer on the shoulder.
He turns his head and looks at Jon blankly for a moment before Jon sees recognition flash across his eyes.
"Hey," the boy drawls, shifting in his chair and angling to face Jon a bit more, the hint of a smile lingering across his lips.
Jon smiles. "Hey." He holds up the badge. "Sorry about that. Dunno how it happened. Did you want it back?"
The boy shrugs but doesn't turn away. "It's cool. You keep it if you want."
Jon hesitates, then gestures at the boy's shirt. "But, your shirt.." he begins, then stops, bending forward a little. "Hang on," he murmurs. "Hold still."
The drummer tenses against Jon's hands as Jon tries to pin the rip back together, pulling the worn black material either side of it tightly and threading the badge through. He clicks the pin together and steps back. "There."
The boy glances down at his chest and looks back up at Jon, grinning. "Hey, thanks, man."
"Sure, no problems."
The boy gestures at the free chair at the table. "Wanna sit?"
Jon does, and as soon as he opens his mouth to ask the boy what his name was, the boy rolls his eyes and groans, laughing, his gaze directed at the chair directly opposite him. Jon glances in the same direction and sees the Summer League's singer practically pour himself into the lap of his guitarist. They press their foreheads together, the guitarist snaking his pale arms around the other boy's waist protectively as he shifts to get comfortable. He can hear quiet murmurs from the two even as the next band start up on stage, and he forces himself to look away when the drummer coughs off to the left.
"I'm Spencer," the boy announces, taking a sip of his drink and swirling the ice around. He watches Jon over the top of his glass.
"Jon."
The boy - Spencer, Jon thinks, silently sounding out his name and smiling - licks his lips after he swallows, and Jon feels his mouth go dry. Spencer nods at Jon's camera, still slung across his chest, resting in his lap. "You a photographer?"
"Kind of," Jon answers honestly. "It's just for fun, you know? I'm not-- not a professional or anything. I just like taking photos."
"Just of bands? Or do you do other stuff too?" Spencer asks, raising his voice to be heard over the band and leaning forward, right into Jon's space. Jon feels pleasantly light-headed at the intrusion.
"Other stuff, mostly. My friend, he told me to come check you guys out tonight. Said you were pretty--" hot, his mind supplies. "--Good," Jon finishes lamely, mentally rolling his eyes. "Just thought I'd bring my camera along, see if I could get any good shots."
Spencer nods but doesn't move back, his face still far too close to Jon's for Jon to feel in control of this situation. He sneaks a glance at the other two boys, but they're nowhere to be seen.
Spencer catches him looking and smirks. "Probably fucking in the toilets."
Jon laughs and makes a face. "Oh god, details, seriously. I've only known you for, what, five minutes? And you're already telling me the intimate secrets of your bandmates. Some friend you are." He grins, poking Spencer in the thigh. "What if I was a journalist or something? Rolling Stone would have a field day."
Spencer laughs. "Jon, seriously. I hardly think Rolling Stone's gonna care if the lead singer and guitarist of a little-known, unsigned, straight edge Vegas queercore band are fucking. They'd stick Paris Hilton on the cover instead of something real, something like us, any day."
Jon smiles at the sentimentality of Spencer's statement. "I totally agree, man."
Spencer smiles back and looks around the room quickly, standing up and running a hand through his hair. "Hey, look, d'you wanna come outside for a bit? I need some air, and I'd kinda actually like to be able to hold a conversation with you without having to shout." He grins lopsidedly.
Jon nods, grinning, and follows suit, pushing his stool back and standing up. "Yeah, sure."
They walk outside without speaking, Jon trailing closely behind Spencer the whole time. He smiles briefly at the bouncers as he walks through the door and into the night.
The air is bitingly cold and Jon shivers, his body reacting in shock to the sudden change in temperature. He bounces on his heels a couple of times to warm up, his insides surging with nervous energy, coiled-up adrenaline still flowing through his veins from his stint in the moshpit, from the moment Spencer caught his eye from onstage, from the way Spencer's skin felt under his fingertips when they - accidentally - brushed against it as he pinned Spencer's t-shirt back together.
They walk down the sidewalk and around the corner of the club. Jon can't decide if the silence is a comfortable one or not, and he feels uncharacteristically nervous because of it. Spencer stops a few metres along the alley and looks back at Jon, who leans against the wall of the club and levels his gaze on Spencer.
"Most queercore bands have a bass player, you know," Jon says after a few moments.
Spencer's eyes flash briefly and Jon almost flinches, wondering if perhaps he should've chosen something less potentially controversial to resume conversation with.
Spencer exhales slowly, then shrugs. "We used to have one."
"Yeah? What happened?" Jon's interested now. Back-stories and histories and pasts of people he's never spoken to before intrigue him more than they probably should.
Spencer hesitates, pursing his lips. "Creative differences," he says finally.
Jon raises an eyebrow. "In a queercore band?" He asks, smirking. "You had creative differences in a queercore band." His voice is flat; monotone and teasing.
Spencer grins. "That's how Ryan - that's our guitarist - explained it to our old bassist, yeah."
Jon nods, hopes he's not prying. "So what was the real issue?"
Spencer looks at Jon for a few moments, studying him. He leans in and whispers conspiratorially in Jon's ear. His voice is low and rough, and Jon has to struggle to hold back a shiver. "He wasn't gay."
Spencer pulls back and Jon immediately notices a difference in his demeanour. Spencer looks more distant than before, as though he's expecting Jon to be disgusted or at least want to make some sort of negative or derogatory comment.
Jon hums, thinking. "Guess that could pose a bit of a problem for a queercore band, yeah." He grins a little, and Spencer visibly relaxes.
"Yeah, just a bit. Ryan's "artistic vision", you know." His fingers draw invisible quote marks in the air, and his lips form a thin line, in what Jon presumes is meant to be an attempt at a wry smile. "He gets a bit obsessed with things like that sometimes. Honestly, though? I think it was really more just that Brent didn't really like Ryan and Brendon being together. I think he thought Brendon was trying to steal Ryan away from him or something. They were pretty close, I guess. Probably wasn't so much of an issue that he wasn't gay, you know. More that.. yeah, I think he felt a bit uncomfortable sometimes." He stops, searching for the right words and Jon nods to show he's listening. "It wasn't working, anyway. Whatever it was." Spencer shrugs again.
Jon leans back against the wall a little more, placing his feet more firmly against the ground and spreading his legs slightly, adopting what Tom calls his smoker's pose.
Jon wages a mental war with himself for a few seconds before giving into his curiosity. "So.. You're gay, then?"
Spencer frowns, narrows his eyes at Jon. "Is that a problem?"
Jon barks out a laugh, shaking his head, his hair falling into his eyes. "Fuck, no. I was just asking, cos, um." He flicks his hair off his forehead with one hand, his voice dropping a notch. "'Cos I'd really kind of like to kiss you. If, um. You wanted to, I mean. So I just wanted to check, because I don't exactly fancy getting beaten up tonight."
Spencer's face slowly breaks into a grin. "I wouldn't beat you up," he murmurs.
Jon grins back. "I'm glad." He pauses. "So.. can I? Kiss you?"
Spencer fidgets a bit and doesn't say anything more, and Jon feels his heart sink. "Oh," he exhales softly. "Okay, just-- forget I said that, yeah? Sorry."
"No, I mean.. that'd be cool. I'd.. I'd really like to kiss you, too." Spencer smiles shyly. "Except you should know." Spencer glances at the ground then back up at Jon, smiling as though he's almost embarrassed. "I don't really do the casual sex thing. I'm, uh. I'm pretty straight edge."
Jon lets out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding. "No, no, that's totally okay. I'm not a fan of casual sex either." He pauses, frowning a bit, and holds his hand up. "Wait. That sounded wrong." He laughs. "I just meant I'm not edge; I drink and I smoke way too much, and I don't really go for the vegan thing, either, tried it once but missed meat too much, but, yeah, not so into casual sex--" Jon makes himself stop. He bites his lip and looks at Spencer warily, blushing a little but grinning. "Oh god, just. Stop me talking, seriously. I'm probably not really giving you the best impression of me, am I? Can I start again?" Jon laughs, shaking his head.
Spencer laughs too and Jon feels something twist deep in his gut. "It's fine. It shows you've got.. character. A personality. I like that." He grins.
Jon grins back, giddy. "Okay, so. Starting again."
He looks away quickly, then back at Spencer, faking surprise. "Oh hey, you're the drummer from that band, right? I'm really sorry about your shirt. Can I make it up somehow? Maybe take you out for a, um, midnight coffee or something?" He grins. "I'm Jon, by the way."
Spencer's grin gets even wider. "I'm Spencer," he says, laughing and raising an eyebrow. "Is that a hypothetical date, or..?"
Jon takes a step closer, pushing off from the wall. He smiles and gazes straight into Spencer's eyes, eye contact belying his nervousness. "I really hope not."
Spencer tilts his head to one side as though he's considering it, replaying Jon's words in his head. "How do I know I can trust you? I mean.. You've already broken my heart once tonight." He grins, and is clearly trying not to laugh.
Jon snorts and steps closer once more. He flicks his eyes down to the badge pinning Spencer's t-shirt heart together and he reaches out to trace the outline of the white heart with his fingertips, glancing back up at Spencer as he does so, biting his lip.
"True. But I also fixed it, right?" Jon stills his fingers but doesn't draw them back. Spencer's skin feels scaldingly hot through his t-shirt.
Spencer grins again. "Yeah, I guess you did." He brings his hand up to where Jon's is still resting against his chest and laces their fingers together, running the calloused pad of his thumb against Jon's skin. Jon lets out a shuddery breath, squeezes Spencer's hand gently.
"Come back to my place." Jon says quickly, quietly. "I'll make you coffee there instead, yeah? I'm the best barista at my Starbucks, you know. I'll even pay the cab fare." He grins, tries to look cute.
Spencer laughs quietly. "You're so punk rock. "The best barista at my Starbucks." Guess I can't really turn down an offer like that, can I?"
"So you'll come?" Jon asks hopefully, leaning forward slightly. "I can show you some of the photos I took tonight, if you want. Got some real nice ones of you.." He trails off.
Spencer bridges the rest of the gap, stepping closer, until Jon can feel Spencer's breath ghosting over his lips. "Is that a euphemism for something?" he murmurs, grinning, pressing his mouth against Jon's.
Jon laughs against Spencer's lips. "Maybe," he replies. "It could be, if you wanted it to be."
Spencer snorts quietly, exhaling a tiny puff of breath, and opens his mouth slightly, sucking gently at Jon's lower lip until Jon parts his own, acquiescing. They kiss slowly, softly, the streetlight flickering quietly above them, their hands still joined, caught between them, encircled in the cage of their chests.