Fic: the feeling shows (high school AU sequel!)
the feeling shows
[Jon/Spencer, 3100 words, PG-13]
"No, you're not gonna die," Ryan says before Spencer's finished rambling. "It's fucking mini golf, dude. Death and golf don't go together."
This is the sequel to starts in my toes and it's companion fic Little You and I. It's not completely necessary to have read both to enjoy this, but it helps! Sorry I wasn't able to stick in the Ryan/Brendon storyline like I wanted to. That will wait for next time. :)
Dedicated to my lovely ficklish on the eve of her birthday! ♥
Spencer does not spend every second from the moment he gets home from school Wednesday planning out his wardrobe. That would be ridiculous and girly. No, he's had his clothing planned out since Saturday, when he'd forced Ryan to come over and give his opinion on different outfit choices (Ryan's "opinion" isn't actually necessary, of course, Spencer just needed someone else in the room to keep him from hyperventilating. Ryan dresses like he spends every morning stumbling around his closet in the dark; Spencer's not about to look to him for ensemble advice).
Jon is supposed to pick him up at seven o'clock, which is three hours and two minutes too far from now. "I have some photos I gotta get developed in the darkroom after class, but it shouldn't take too long," he'd told Spencer earlier that day, and Spencer had tried to nod and not look like he was slightly disappointed that their not-date wouldn't be starting for, like, years.
"Aww, don't look so down, Spence." Jon had laughed, nudging him softly in the ribs with his elbow. They had been sitting together at lunch, Spencer and Jon sitting across from Ryan and new kid, Patrick (who's way cool and likes to talk music until even Ryan's sick of it, which Spencer thinks is an amazing feat). "You'll get to experience my super fly mini golf skills eventually."
"Oh my god, do you always talk like you're from the early nineties?" Spencer'd replied, rolling his eyes in a valiant attempt to cover up the obvious blush that was making Ryan groan and make a face at Patrick.
Jon had scrinched his nose at Spencer and said, "No, you're just special. And I'm just totally rad like that."
That had been over four hours ago. He has three more to go. Spencer's pretty sure he's going to die.
He calls Ryan.
"No, you're not gonna die," Ryan says before Spencer's finished rambling. "It's fucking mini golf, dude. Death and golf don't go together." He sounds vaguely distracted; if Spencer wasn't freaking out, he'd be more incensed over the fact that Ryan can't pause his Halo game to console him.
"What if I - what if after, like, two holes he realizes how lame I am and that this whole thing's a mistake? He'll be stuck with me for seven more holes, Ryan."
Ryan sighs, and finally the sounds of gunfire are muted. "Look, which is more retarded: him thinking you're lame over a mini golf game, or you letting him think you're lame by continuing to play said game after it's become clear to you that he's a loser for thinking that?" He's very adamant about this, and okay, Spencer really loves his best friend a lot sometimes. "Would it make you feel better if we had some kind of code word you could text me if things go to shit? Then I could come get you or something."
Yeah, Spencer definitely loves him. "You're fucking brilliant."
The gunfire starts up again. "Just text loser to me and I'll be there ASAP, 'kay?" He must make a bad move, because he suddenly swears loudly. But then he adds, "Not that I think Walker's gonna be a shithead to you. He likes you too much."
Oh god, the way Spencer's stomach sort of flops around for a moment in unbridled glee is so pathetic. "You think?"
"Jesus, Spence, you are such a girl." Ryan hangs up on him, but Spencer's grinning too much to care.
~
Spencer doesn't end up texting the code word to Ryan. If anything, he forgets the code word before they've even backed out of his driveway, because Jon's hair is slightly rumpled, and he's wearing blue flip-flops with black jeans, and Spencer seriously cannot think of single place on earth he'd rather be.
Plus, he's listening to old school Bon Jovi in his car. At the stoplight at the end of Spencer's block, Jon turns the music up loud and sings, "I'm wanted - dead or aliiiiiive," and does air guitar riffs until the light turns green. Spencer laughs and gives the drum part a go.
Jon's eyes flare happily. He grins at him, holding his hand up to Spencer when he drops his invisible guitar as the light changes. "Excellent back-up, man," he says, giving Spencer a high-five. Spencer slaps his palm, and if Jon's fingers thread with his just little before letting go, Spencer figures it's a reflex action.
They don't just play mini golf, they play Star Wars mini golf. It's mostly Jon's idea, although it's Spencer's suggestion that he be Luke Skywalker and Jon be Darth Vader and they battle it out for the Death Star.
"Dude, I just wanted to do lightsaber battles," Jon says, swishing his club around in slow motion. "But if you really want me to be Vader, that's cool, although me being your dad's kinda creepy, considering." He waggles his eyebrows at Spencer, who rolls his eyes (because he refuses to find everything about Jon endearing).
"Fine, whatever. Boba Fett? He's not related to Luke." He takes a putt and almost makes a hole in one, except the ball veers to the left too hard.
Jon nods in deep, exaggerated thought. "Yeah, Boba Fett's got just as much street cred and he's not crazy emo all the time."
"That you know of. He could secretly be a lonely goth kid who got mixed up with the Dark Side." Spencer watches Jon take his shot, and his ball ends up knocking Spencer's ball closer to the hole.
He holds his club straight up the air. "The Force triumphs!" Spencer says gleefully, smirking at Jon. "Take that, sad little emo Boba."
Jon narrows his eyes, face serious, lips pursed. He holds his club across his chest and walks slowly toward Spencer until they're face to face, close enough for Spencer to intimately see the five o'clock shadow on Jon's cheeks, his chin. "We shall see, young Skywalker. The game has but just begun." Then he leans in quickly and brushes his mouth over Spencer's. It's over before Spencer can blink, before his heart can catch up to his brain. He loses his breath for a second, but Jon's already backing away, smiling as he says, "The Dark Side is powerful, you cannot resist it." But there's something in his eyes, a hint of is that okay?, and when Spencer can breath properly again, he smiles back.
Jon laughs for no reason, and Spencer's heart flips over.
The game continues without another kiss, but gentle shoves soon turn into fingers brushing over elbows and hands cupped over shoulders in fleeting touches. Spencer knows he's suffering from full-body blushing right now, but it's a warm night and he's still wearing his hoodie (the exact same shade of blue as his limited edition Nikes with the wide soles). His heart is beating fast and hard in chest, but it's not nerves this time; Spencer recognizes the rush, the giddiness. It's not nerves, it's excitement.
He likes you too much.
Spencer bites his lip and is too busy grinning to himself to see the abrupt dip in the green. He stumbles forward, arms flailing around for balance until he feels Jon catch him, his hands closing over Spencer's biceps to steady him. Spencer is suddenly flush against Jon's chest; he can feel every inhale and exhale Jon takes.
"You okay?" Jon asks softly, eyes wide, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly.
"Y-yeah, sorry." He wishes he wasn't so breathless, but Jon's hands are hot on his arms, and he feels solid, yet not, like Spencer could sink into him if he wanted.
Jon's eyes crinkled at the corners. He reaches a hand up and brushes the hair out of Spencer's eyes. "Is the Dark Side getting to be too much for you?" he whispers, which he shouldn't be doing. Whispering makes Spencer go all melty inside and want to kiss him, and he's not even sure he's allowed to kiss Jon on his own yet.
Spencer clears his throat and carefully wiggles free of Jon's hold, managing to smirk. "Nope, the Force is still strong with me. I'm winning, aren't I?"
"Barely." Jon goes quiet for a few minutes, and god, Spencer sincerely hopes he didn't somehow hurt Jon's feelings by not kissing him. Leave it to him to fuck everything up by being inept at not-dates.
But soon Jon's grinning and challenging him to duels again, and Spencer sighs in relief. He even goes way over par on the next to last hole, just so Jon can win.
~
Jon doesn't actually win. The last hole is so insanely difficult that eventually they're both ten over par, and when Jon pouts his lip out at Spencer, Spencer says, "Yeah, I'd say that's a draw. The Death Star can live to see another day." He fakes a look of crushing defeat, but then Jon starts humming the Imperial March as he swings his club back and forth, and it's really impossible to not smile at that.
It's just after nine o'clock. Spencer doesn't have to be home until eleven (his parents don't know he's out on a date, which, okay, it's a not-date, but still. Telling them he's out with a friend playing mini golf gets him an eleven o'clock curfew; telling them he's out with the guy he's desperately crushing on gets him an eight o'clock curfew and a demand for soppy, heartfelt details), so Jon suggests a detour to Cold Stone.
"You're so boring," Spencer says later, staring in dismay at Jon's cup of plain vanilla frozen custard mixed with M&Ms. His own waffle cone filled to overflowing with chocolate custard smothered in sprinkles, chocolate chips, and hot fudge kind of feels like overkill.
"And you really love your chocolate, Spencer Smith." They're sitting in Jon's car in the parking lot of the park not far from Spencer's house. Spencer can see the community pool from here, empty and vacant, the diving boards shadowy silhouettes. It makes him randomly wish for summer.
The radio is tuned to the local alternative rock station, and Third Eye Blind's "Jumper" comes on. Spencer snorts, reaches over to turn up the volume.
"D'you know this song's about jerking off?" he asks around a spoonful of chocolate.
Jon nods, licking a stray piece of candy off his lower lip. Spencer tries not to stare. "But someone had to tell me, or I would've never guessed."
"Ryan told me, and I didn't believe him for weeks. He thinks all songs are about sex."
"They kind of are, in some way. I mean, yeah, I'm not saying Hannah Montana is actually singing about masturbation, but for the most part - "
"Oh, sick, my sisters listen to her nonstop." Spencer drops his back against the seat's headrest, hand over his eyes. "I'm scarred for life."
Jon laughs. "Sorry, sorry. Forget I said anything." He finishes the rest of his custard and sets the empty cup on the dashboard.
Spencer's still licking the remaining bits of chocolate and waffle cone off his fingers when Jon says, quietly, shyly, "I, um. I'm glad you came tonight."
He freezes mid-lick, index finger in his mouth, glancing at Jon out of the corner of his eye. Jon has his arms folded over the steering wheel and he's looking at Spencer through the dark fringe of his bangs, his face tucked into the crook of his elbow. Spencer's never noticed how ridiculously long Jon's eyelashes are.
"Yeah, me, too," he finally replies, dropping his slightly sticky hand into his lap. He wants to laugh for some reason, laugh at the way Jon sounds nervous. "Being your mini golf buddy isn't so bad. Next time we can do Lord of The Rings." Shit, he didn't mean to imply there's going to be a next time. That's totally Jon's call, and Spencer's not going to assume anything, not even if there was a kiss and some touching and Jon whispering at him and -
"Oh, awesome, I call Aragorn." Jon's beaming at him, nose scrinched up and his teeth caught on his lip.
"Dude, what the fuck, you can't just call Aragorn." Spencer leans a little closer, holding both hands up and assuming the Paper Rock Scissors position. "C'mon, best two of three. We gotta do this fair."
Jon sits up and holds his hands up, too, and they go all three rounds, ending in Jon's rock beating Spencer's scissors.
Spencer sighs dejectedly. "So not fair," he moans. "But okay, I'll be Gandalf. At least I can do magic and shit."
"And you get to die and come back more awesome than before," Jon says, still leaning in close, eyes bright. "That totally trumps me getting to be, like, king of everything."
Spencer nods. His lips feel really warm. "But you get to make out with the girl in the end. I get on a boat and float off into the horizon. I make Frodo cry."
Jon shakes his head. "To be fair, everything makes Frodo cry," he says, and oh, his voice is dropping into a whisper again. "And Aragorn never kissed a girl in the books, that was just a Hollywood thing." He's so, so close right now; Spencer can't breathe. "But added kissing is never a bad thing." And finally, finally Jon presses through the last inch of space separating them and kisses Spencer.
It's different than the other two times; this kiss has parted lips and Jon's thumb on Spencer's chin, fingers spread over his cheek. Jon slides his tongue gently over Spencer's lower lip, and it's slow, so slow, even though Spencer is almost shaking. He opens his mouth a little wider, gives Jon the permission he's asking for (always asking, always letting it be Spencer's choice), and at the first touch of Jon's tongue against his own, Spencer moans.
Jon pulls back, laughing breathlessly. "Jesus, if you make noises like that from just kissing me, I'm fucked."
Spencer feels his skin go from light to dark pink in two seconds flat. "I'm...sorry?" he says, but he's laughing, too. He reaches up and sinks his hand into Jon's hair, combing his fingers back through the soft strands, watching the way Jon's eyes flutter closed.
"No, no, it's - don't apologize. Just - " The hand against Spencer's cheek slides around and cups the back of his neck. "I don't wanna rush you, is all," he whispers into Spencer's mouth, making Spencer shiver and try to push closer, as close as he can with a stupid cup holder and parking brake between them.
"Not rushing me," Spencer whispers back, and takes his first tentative lick along Jon's mouth, learning what it's like to actually taste someone. There's vanilla and chocolate and hints of the Pepsi Jon drank earlier at the golf course, but he loses track when Jon gasps loudly and tightens his grip on Spencer's neck.
They kiss for what feels like hours, days even, until Spencer swears he could drown in Jon. Things start to deepen and grow a little wetter, and all Spencer can think is that he wants more. He whimpers softly and starts to push Jon back without breaking the kiss as he tries to crawl over the damn cup holder and parking break and get into Jon's lap.
The plan almost works, until his right foot slips at the last possible second and slams Spencer into the steering wheel, his left ankle hooked awkwardly over the parking break and his left knee dangerously close to Jon's crotch. Spencer flails his hand out for balance, and unfortunately, said hand grabs onto the door handle and pulls. The door comes open, and inertia and gravity send Spencer tumbling out onto the pavement.
He isn't hurt, but he'd really, really like to have those last five minutes of his life back to do over right now. Spencer lays on the ground, blinking up at the night sky, and thinks, "My first real make out session and I fall on my ass."
"Shit, Spencer, are you - ?" Jon's standing over him, looking worried. His lips look wet and swollen, and his hair is even more mussed, and god, Spencer is so, so lame.
"I'm fine." He takes the hand Jon offers, letting him pull him to his feet. He distracts himself by brushing his hands off on his jeans, refusing to look Jon in the eyes. "I have killer moves. I should've warned you about them." Spencer grins sheepishly, his stomach an embarrassed knot; he wonders if he can just text lame to Ryan and have him still come pick him up.
"Hey." Jon tucks his index and middle finger under Spencer's chin, forces him to look up. "It's cool, alright? These things happen." He's smiling at him, but it's not mocking; if anything, it's affectionate and sweet, and Spencer doesn't even know how that's possible. He fell out of the car while trying to maybe possibly hump Jon's lap. Spencer deserves to stay in his room until he's thirty before being introduced into society again.
But then, then, Jon's laughing. "God, what am I going to do with you, Spencer Smith?" he says, shaking his head a little before kissing the corner of Spencer's mouth softly, his hand splayed over Spencer's chest, just over his heart. "You and your killer moves might be the end of me." He nuzzles Spencer's cheek, presses baby kisses up his jaw.
Spencer wants to feel mortified, but it's really hard to feel anything but melting relief when Jon Walker's nosing over the shell of his ear.
"You're okay," he breathes, and it's not a question. Spencer still nods, leaning into him, his hand curling lightly into the sleeve of Jon's t-shirt.
They get back in the car and Jon drives him home. The radio plays a Nirvana song, and Jon does a dead-on Kurt Cobain impression that makes Spencer laugh.
And just as Spencer's house comes into view, Jon reaches over and slides his hand into Spencer's, lacing their fingers together. Spencer knows his hand must be sweaty and still a bit sticky from chocolate, but he doesn't care. Everything's okay, more than okay.
Jon doesn't kiss him again when they pull up into the driveway. He gives Spencer's hand a squeeze and says, "So. Friday, Middle Earth mini golf?"
Spencer grins. "Sure."
~
He calls Ryan, and he tells him everything because he's his best friend, and Ryan would eventually get the details out him anyway. Spencer doesn't leave anything out, leaves all the gory parts in, and when he's done, he's slightly out of breath.
Ryan is silent for a moment. "You were Luke Skywalker?" he finally says. "Dude, what are you, five? Was Jon Leia?"
Spencer sighs and hangs up.
[Jon/Spencer, 3100 words, PG-13]
"No, you're not gonna die," Ryan says before Spencer's finished rambling. "It's fucking mini golf, dude. Death and golf don't go together."
This is the sequel to starts in my toes and it's companion fic Little You and I. It's not completely necessary to have read both to enjoy this, but it helps! Sorry I wasn't able to stick in the Ryan/Brendon storyline like I wanted to. That will wait for next time. :)
Dedicated to my lovely ficklish on the eve of her birthday! ♥
Spencer does not spend every second from the moment he gets home from school Wednesday planning out his wardrobe. That would be ridiculous and girly. No, he's had his clothing planned out since Saturday, when he'd forced Ryan to come over and give his opinion on different outfit choices (Ryan's "opinion" isn't actually necessary, of course, Spencer just needed someone else in the room to keep him from hyperventilating. Ryan dresses like he spends every morning stumbling around his closet in the dark; Spencer's not about to look to him for ensemble advice).
Jon is supposed to pick him up at seven o'clock, which is three hours and two minutes too far from now. "I have some photos I gotta get developed in the darkroom after class, but it shouldn't take too long," he'd told Spencer earlier that day, and Spencer had tried to nod and not look like he was slightly disappointed that their not-date wouldn't be starting for, like, years.
"Aww, don't look so down, Spence." Jon had laughed, nudging him softly in the ribs with his elbow. They had been sitting together at lunch, Spencer and Jon sitting across from Ryan and new kid, Patrick (who's way cool and likes to talk music until even Ryan's sick of it, which Spencer thinks is an amazing feat). "You'll get to experience my super fly mini golf skills eventually."
"Oh my god, do you always talk like you're from the early nineties?" Spencer'd replied, rolling his eyes in a valiant attempt to cover up the obvious blush that was making Ryan groan and make a face at Patrick.
Jon had scrinched his nose at Spencer and said, "No, you're just special. And I'm just totally rad like that."
That had been over four hours ago. He has three more to go. Spencer's pretty sure he's going to die.
He calls Ryan.
"No, you're not gonna die," Ryan says before Spencer's finished rambling. "It's fucking mini golf, dude. Death and golf don't go together." He sounds vaguely distracted; if Spencer wasn't freaking out, he'd be more incensed over the fact that Ryan can't pause his Halo game to console him.
"What if I - what if after, like, two holes he realizes how lame I am and that this whole thing's a mistake? He'll be stuck with me for seven more holes, Ryan."
Ryan sighs, and finally the sounds of gunfire are muted. "Look, which is more retarded: him thinking you're lame over a mini golf game, or you letting him think you're lame by continuing to play said game after it's become clear to you that he's a loser for thinking that?" He's very adamant about this, and okay, Spencer really loves his best friend a lot sometimes. "Would it make you feel better if we had some kind of code word you could text me if things go to shit? Then I could come get you or something."
Yeah, Spencer definitely loves him. "You're fucking brilliant."
The gunfire starts up again. "Just text loser to me and I'll be there ASAP, 'kay?" He must make a bad move, because he suddenly swears loudly. But then he adds, "Not that I think Walker's gonna be a shithead to you. He likes you too much."
Oh god, the way Spencer's stomach sort of flops around for a moment in unbridled glee is so pathetic. "You think?"
"Jesus, Spence, you are such a girl." Ryan hangs up on him, but Spencer's grinning too much to care.
~
Spencer doesn't end up texting the code word to Ryan. If anything, he forgets the code word before they've even backed out of his driveway, because Jon's hair is slightly rumpled, and he's wearing blue flip-flops with black jeans, and Spencer seriously cannot think of single place on earth he'd rather be.
Plus, he's listening to old school Bon Jovi in his car. At the stoplight at the end of Spencer's block, Jon turns the music up loud and sings, "I'm wanted - dead or aliiiiiive," and does air guitar riffs until the light turns green. Spencer laughs and gives the drum part a go.
Jon's eyes flare happily. He grins at him, holding his hand up to Spencer when he drops his invisible guitar as the light changes. "Excellent back-up, man," he says, giving Spencer a high-five. Spencer slaps his palm, and if Jon's fingers thread with his just little before letting go, Spencer figures it's a reflex action.
They don't just play mini golf, they play Star Wars mini golf. It's mostly Jon's idea, although it's Spencer's suggestion that he be Luke Skywalker and Jon be Darth Vader and they battle it out for the Death Star.
"Dude, I just wanted to do lightsaber battles," Jon says, swishing his club around in slow motion. "But if you really want me to be Vader, that's cool, although me being your dad's kinda creepy, considering." He waggles his eyebrows at Spencer, who rolls his eyes (because he refuses to find everything about Jon endearing).
"Fine, whatever. Boba Fett? He's not related to Luke." He takes a putt and almost makes a hole in one, except the ball veers to the left too hard.
Jon nods in deep, exaggerated thought. "Yeah, Boba Fett's got just as much street cred and he's not crazy emo all the time."
"That you know of. He could secretly be a lonely goth kid who got mixed up with the Dark Side." Spencer watches Jon take his shot, and his ball ends up knocking Spencer's ball closer to the hole.
He holds his club straight up the air. "The Force triumphs!" Spencer says gleefully, smirking at Jon. "Take that, sad little emo Boba."
Jon narrows his eyes, face serious, lips pursed. He holds his club across his chest and walks slowly toward Spencer until they're face to face, close enough for Spencer to intimately see the five o'clock shadow on Jon's cheeks, his chin. "We shall see, young Skywalker. The game has but just begun." Then he leans in quickly and brushes his mouth over Spencer's. It's over before Spencer can blink, before his heart can catch up to his brain. He loses his breath for a second, but Jon's already backing away, smiling as he says, "The Dark Side is powerful, you cannot resist it." But there's something in his eyes, a hint of is that okay?, and when Spencer can breath properly again, he smiles back.
Jon laughs for no reason, and Spencer's heart flips over.
The game continues without another kiss, but gentle shoves soon turn into fingers brushing over elbows and hands cupped over shoulders in fleeting touches. Spencer knows he's suffering from full-body blushing right now, but it's a warm night and he's still wearing his hoodie (the exact same shade of blue as his limited edition Nikes with the wide soles). His heart is beating fast and hard in chest, but it's not nerves this time; Spencer recognizes the rush, the giddiness. It's not nerves, it's excitement.
He likes you too much.
Spencer bites his lip and is too busy grinning to himself to see the abrupt dip in the green. He stumbles forward, arms flailing around for balance until he feels Jon catch him, his hands closing over Spencer's biceps to steady him. Spencer is suddenly flush against Jon's chest; he can feel every inhale and exhale Jon takes.
"You okay?" Jon asks softly, eyes wide, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly.
"Y-yeah, sorry." He wishes he wasn't so breathless, but Jon's hands are hot on his arms, and he feels solid, yet not, like Spencer could sink into him if he wanted.
Jon's eyes crinkled at the corners. He reaches a hand up and brushes the hair out of Spencer's eyes. "Is the Dark Side getting to be too much for you?" he whispers, which he shouldn't be doing. Whispering makes Spencer go all melty inside and want to kiss him, and he's not even sure he's allowed to kiss Jon on his own yet.
Spencer clears his throat and carefully wiggles free of Jon's hold, managing to smirk. "Nope, the Force is still strong with me. I'm winning, aren't I?"
"Barely." Jon goes quiet for a few minutes, and god, Spencer sincerely hopes he didn't somehow hurt Jon's feelings by not kissing him. Leave it to him to fuck everything up by being inept at not-dates.
But soon Jon's grinning and challenging him to duels again, and Spencer sighs in relief. He even goes way over par on the next to last hole, just so Jon can win.
~
Jon doesn't actually win. The last hole is so insanely difficult that eventually they're both ten over par, and when Jon pouts his lip out at Spencer, Spencer says, "Yeah, I'd say that's a draw. The Death Star can live to see another day." He fakes a look of crushing defeat, but then Jon starts humming the Imperial March as he swings his club back and forth, and it's really impossible to not smile at that.
It's just after nine o'clock. Spencer doesn't have to be home until eleven (his parents don't know he's out on a date, which, okay, it's a not-date, but still. Telling them he's out with a friend playing mini golf gets him an eleven o'clock curfew; telling them he's out with the guy he's desperately crushing on gets him an eight o'clock curfew and a demand for soppy, heartfelt details), so Jon suggests a detour to Cold Stone.
"You're so boring," Spencer says later, staring in dismay at Jon's cup of plain vanilla frozen custard mixed with M&Ms. His own waffle cone filled to overflowing with chocolate custard smothered in sprinkles, chocolate chips, and hot fudge kind of feels like overkill.
"And you really love your chocolate, Spencer Smith." They're sitting in Jon's car in the parking lot of the park not far from Spencer's house. Spencer can see the community pool from here, empty and vacant, the diving boards shadowy silhouettes. It makes him randomly wish for summer.
The radio is tuned to the local alternative rock station, and Third Eye Blind's "Jumper" comes on. Spencer snorts, reaches over to turn up the volume.
"D'you know this song's about jerking off?" he asks around a spoonful of chocolate.
Jon nods, licking a stray piece of candy off his lower lip. Spencer tries not to stare. "But someone had to tell me, or I would've never guessed."
"Ryan told me, and I didn't believe him for weeks. He thinks all songs are about sex."
"They kind of are, in some way. I mean, yeah, I'm not saying Hannah Montana is actually singing about masturbation, but for the most part - "
"Oh, sick, my sisters listen to her nonstop." Spencer drops his back against the seat's headrest, hand over his eyes. "I'm scarred for life."
Jon laughs. "Sorry, sorry. Forget I said anything." He finishes the rest of his custard and sets the empty cup on the dashboard.
Spencer's still licking the remaining bits of chocolate and waffle cone off his fingers when Jon says, quietly, shyly, "I, um. I'm glad you came tonight."
He freezes mid-lick, index finger in his mouth, glancing at Jon out of the corner of his eye. Jon has his arms folded over the steering wheel and he's looking at Spencer through the dark fringe of his bangs, his face tucked into the crook of his elbow. Spencer's never noticed how ridiculously long Jon's eyelashes are.
"Yeah, me, too," he finally replies, dropping his slightly sticky hand into his lap. He wants to laugh for some reason, laugh at the way Jon sounds nervous. "Being your mini golf buddy isn't so bad. Next time we can do Lord of The Rings." Shit, he didn't mean to imply there's going to be a next time. That's totally Jon's call, and Spencer's not going to assume anything, not even if there was a kiss and some touching and Jon whispering at him and -
"Oh, awesome, I call Aragorn." Jon's beaming at him, nose scrinched up and his teeth caught on his lip.
"Dude, what the fuck, you can't just call Aragorn." Spencer leans a little closer, holding both hands up and assuming the Paper Rock Scissors position. "C'mon, best two of three. We gotta do this fair."
Jon sits up and holds his hands up, too, and they go all three rounds, ending in Jon's rock beating Spencer's scissors.
Spencer sighs dejectedly. "So not fair," he moans. "But okay, I'll be Gandalf. At least I can do magic and shit."
"And you get to die and come back more awesome than before," Jon says, still leaning in close, eyes bright. "That totally trumps me getting to be, like, king of everything."
Spencer nods. His lips feel really warm. "But you get to make out with the girl in the end. I get on a boat and float off into the horizon. I make Frodo cry."
Jon shakes his head. "To be fair, everything makes Frodo cry," he says, and oh, his voice is dropping into a whisper again. "And Aragorn never kissed a girl in the books, that was just a Hollywood thing." He's so, so close right now; Spencer can't breathe. "But added kissing is never a bad thing." And finally, finally Jon presses through the last inch of space separating them and kisses Spencer.
It's different than the other two times; this kiss has parted lips and Jon's thumb on Spencer's chin, fingers spread over his cheek. Jon slides his tongue gently over Spencer's lower lip, and it's slow, so slow, even though Spencer is almost shaking. He opens his mouth a little wider, gives Jon the permission he's asking for (always asking, always letting it be Spencer's choice), and at the first touch of Jon's tongue against his own, Spencer moans.
Jon pulls back, laughing breathlessly. "Jesus, if you make noises like that from just kissing me, I'm fucked."
Spencer feels his skin go from light to dark pink in two seconds flat. "I'm...sorry?" he says, but he's laughing, too. He reaches up and sinks his hand into Jon's hair, combing his fingers back through the soft strands, watching the way Jon's eyes flutter closed.
"No, no, it's - don't apologize. Just - " The hand against Spencer's cheek slides around and cups the back of his neck. "I don't wanna rush you, is all," he whispers into Spencer's mouth, making Spencer shiver and try to push closer, as close as he can with a stupid cup holder and parking brake between them.
"Not rushing me," Spencer whispers back, and takes his first tentative lick along Jon's mouth, learning what it's like to actually taste someone. There's vanilla and chocolate and hints of the Pepsi Jon drank earlier at the golf course, but he loses track when Jon gasps loudly and tightens his grip on Spencer's neck.
They kiss for what feels like hours, days even, until Spencer swears he could drown in Jon. Things start to deepen and grow a little wetter, and all Spencer can think is that he wants more. He whimpers softly and starts to push Jon back without breaking the kiss as he tries to crawl over the damn cup holder and parking break and get into Jon's lap.
The plan almost works, until his right foot slips at the last possible second and slams Spencer into the steering wheel, his left ankle hooked awkwardly over the parking break and his left knee dangerously close to Jon's crotch. Spencer flails his hand out for balance, and unfortunately, said hand grabs onto the door handle and pulls. The door comes open, and inertia and gravity send Spencer tumbling out onto the pavement.
He isn't hurt, but he'd really, really like to have those last five minutes of his life back to do over right now. Spencer lays on the ground, blinking up at the night sky, and thinks, "My first real make out session and I fall on my ass."
"Shit, Spencer, are you - ?" Jon's standing over him, looking worried. His lips look wet and swollen, and his hair is even more mussed, and god, Spencer is so, so lame.
"I'm fine." He takes the hand Jon offers, letting him pull him to his feet. He distracts himself by brushing his hands off on his jeans, refusing to look Jon in the eyes. "I have killer moves. I should've warned you about them." Spencer grins sheepishly, his stomach an embarrassed knot; he wonders if he can just text lame to Ryan and have him still come pick him up.
"Hey." Jon tucks his index and middle finger under Spencer's chin, forces him to look up. "It's cool, alright? These things happen." He's smiling at him, but it's not mocking; if anything, it's affectionate and sweet, and Spencer doesn't even know how that's possible. He fell out of the car while trying to maybe possibly hump Jon's lap. Spencer deserves to stay in his room until he's thirty before being introduced into society again.
But then, then, Jon's laughing. "God, what am I going to do with you, Spencer Smith?" he says, shaking his head a little before kissing the corner of Spencer's mouth softly, his hand splayed over Spencer's chest, just over his heart. "You and your killer moves might be the end of me." He nuzzles Spencer's cheek, presses baby kisses up his jaw.
Spencer wants to feel mortified, but it's really hard to feel anything but melting relief when Jon Walker's nosing over the shell of his ear.
"You're okay," he breathes, and it's not a question. Spencer still nods, leaning into him, his hand curling lightly into the sleeve of Jon's t-shirt.
They get back in the car and Jon drives him home. The radio plays a Nirvana song, and Jon does a dead-on Kurt Cobain impression that makes Spencer laugh.
And just as Spencer's house comes into view, Jon reaches over and slides his hand into Spencer's, lacing their fingers together. Spencer knows his hand must be sweaty and still a bit sticky from chocolate, but he doesn't care. Everything's okay, more than okay.
Jon doesn't kiss him again when they pull up into the driveway. He gives Spencer's hand a squeeze and says, "So. Friday, Middle Earth mini golf?"
Spencer grins. "Sure."
~
He calls Ryan, and he tells him everything because he's his best friend, and Ryan would eventually get the details out him anyway. Spencer doesn't leave anything out, leaves all the gory parts in, and when he's done, he's slightly out of breath.
Ryan is silent for a moment. "You were Luke Skywalker?" he finally says. "Dude, what are you, five? Was Jon Leia?"
Spencer sighs and hangs up.