Saturation Part 2/5
Part
Ryan answered the door when Jon arrived the second night. He looked far more comfortable than he had the previous evening, barefoot and dressed in loose jeans and a scoop-necked sweater that showed off his lovely collarbones.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Spencer called from the kitchen doorway, peeking out to say hi when Ryan settled Jon in the living room. The whole house smelled amazing-Jon couldn’t remember the last time he’d had homemade food. Mostly he’d been living on pizza and fast food for the past couple months, with the occasional frozen meal.
Ryan presented Jon with a glass of wine and took him outside while they waited for Spencer. There were two dogs in the yard, who hurried over, sniffing Jon curiously. “I had them locked up in our bedroom when you came by. I wasn’t sure if…Not everyone likes being around dogs.”
Jon squatted down and passed his wine glass to Ryan so he could pet them both. “I like animals,” Jon said, and turned his face into the kisses the boxer was giving him. Maybe he was generally more of a cat person, but he missed the press of a tiny, warm body and the easy affection that animals gave.
Ryan smiled. “That’s Boba,” he said, bending to scoop up the beagle with his free arm. He rubbed their noses together. “And this is Hobo.”
They tossed a ball for the dogs, just chatting about nothing, until Spencer called them in for dinner. Jon had seen a darkened dining room, but Spencer had laid out the smaller table in the kitchen, and it was nice and cosy.
There was steak and baked potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, steamed broccoli and carrots tossed with baked red peppers and asparagus in a butter sauce, and biscuits straight out of the oven. Spencer looked kind of like a girl. Maybe Jon could convince an Elvis to marry them.
Conversation was easier with Spencer in the mix. He had an easy, casual confidence about him that seemed the exact opposite of Ryan’s careful, watchful censorship of his words. No doubt it was part of what made them work as lovers. Ryan had a lethargic sort of ease about him with Spencer at his side, spoke more freely.
Spencer asked about Jon’s work, and how he’d ended up in Vegas, but nothing too personal. In turn he talked about his schooling. Jon had taken a few psych courses in college and they had a fun debate over sociology versus psychology that Jon was happy to let Spencer win. Spencer was sort of fiercely smart, in a way Jon couldn’t hope to stand up against.
Eventually Ryan relaxed enough to talk about his own work at the UNLV. “I think they just gave me the honorary and doctorate so they could boast another famous name on their staff,” he said, and Jon didn’t know how someone so famous and so talented could be so self-deprecating, too. “But they gave me a full ride before I was even published, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give something back.”
They finished off the bottle of wine over dinner and Ryan opened another before they headed into the living room. Ryan hooked up his iPod and the music spilled out of the speakers in surround sound, rich and full. The song was unfamiliar-some indie band-but Jon liked it.
Jon pulled out his laptop and Spencer and Ryan sat on either side of him. The sofa was comfortable but it sagged toward the middle with all their weight, pressing Spencer and Ryan close against him. They didn’t seem to notice, or mind, so Jon bit his tongue against saying anything.
Ryan hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was uncomfortable with pictures taken of him. He kept trying to veto every picture as it came up, no matter how beautiful or nicely arranged. Spencer was the voice of reason, speaking as though objective. He had an eye for photography and he was good at convincing Ryan of accepting his choice.
Jon made two folders-one to be sent to Penguin, and one to be put on a disk for Spencer and Ryan to keep. Maybe Jon couldn’t keep them himself, but it killed him to think about getting rid of all the ones Ryan didn’t want seen. Jon could tell from the sly smirk Spencer gave him that Spencer would keep them safe.
The two of them kept pressing closer to Jon, and he didn’t think they realised what they were doing. They just got very into the process, reaching over Jon’s lap to point at small details, or to touch one another in a bid for attention. It was a little strange to experience, because the two seemed to communicate more through looks and brushing touches than through words.
It reminded Jon of how he used to be with Tom, in high school, before Tom fell for Bill. And Jon really, really didn’t hold it against either of them. He was happy for them both. Like, so happy. He’d never loved Tom like that, anyway. But it didn’t make him miss the connection they’d had any less. Seeing something similar here, between Spencer and Ryan, it made the homesickness come crashing around him.
Jon had been keeping himself so busy he hadn’t had a lot of time to think about how lonely he was in Vegas. He wasn’t the sort to feel sorry for himself anyway. But this took him unaware, making him feel an aching pang of loss in his chest and he just wanted to be back in his bed in his old apartment, or hell, even crammed in a bunk on a bus with The Academy Is…
Now wasn’t the time to have a freak out about it, so Jon shoved it to the back of his mind, focussing on the task at hand. But as if sensing something was the matter, Ryan rubbed his shoulder against Jon’s. Spencer just leaned forward and refilled Jon’s glass.
They finished going through Ryan’s shots and Jon popped out the SD card with the rejects, passing it to Spencer, who closed it in his fist like it was something precious. It was late-going towards eleven. That hadn’t been late to Jon, before he’d started living out of his car, but he didn’t feel like leaving yet, either.
“Would you like-” Ryan started, and stopped awkwardly. “I…you said you were happy to meet me, and I thought, maybe, that implied you liked my work?” Jon wasn’t sure Ryan had meant it to come out a question. “I mean. Maybe.”
Jon forced himself not to grin too widely, worried Ryan might think he was being laughed at. “Yeah,” he agreed sincerely.
Ryan looked at Spencer then back down at his hands. “I thought…I’m not supposed to show anything out of my newest collection, but I have some things I’ve been working on. Things that aren’t being published. I thought, if you liked, you could…”
“I would,” Jon said, and laid a hand on Ryan’s knee. The alcohol made him do that, he’d swear on it. He took the hand back quickly. “Like it,” he elaborated.
Ryan went upstairs and came back with a red leather journal. He passed it to Jon and settled on the couch beside Spencer, wrapping his long limbs around his lover. Jon tried not to stare too obviously at the way they fit together, Spencer cradled in the v of Ryan’s thighs, Ryan’s chin resting on top of Spencer’s head.
The journal looked hand bound and smelled like ink. Inside the front cover was an inscription from Spencer, but Jon felt that was a little too private to read. He flipped past to the first page of Ryan’s writing. It was elegant, in a sharp, spidery sort of way, and Jon took a moment to appreciate the aesthetic beauty of it before reading the words.
He got lost in it, for how long he wasn’t sure. It was different than Ryan’s earlier stuff. Jon wasn’t sure that anything of Ryan’s would ever be sunshine and kittens, but this was happier. This was Ryan writing about being in love and believing in it. Just having met them, it was obvious it was about Spencer, and getting to read it felt strangely intimate.
There wasn’t only poetry. There were several short stories, most no longer than a page or two, though one went on for seven pages, and there were some outlines for longer pieces. Mostly it was poetry, though, or collections of phrases that were almost more powerful for their brevity. A lot of it was matched with chords and progressions scribbled in the margins and notes for each syllable.
Jon didn’t realise he was humming under his breath until Ryan spoke. “We had…Originally, a lot of my poetry was meant to be lyrics. I still write it like that, even though no one will ever hear it. I can’t help it.”
“If you can write like this…” Jon wasn’t sure how to phrase his question. “This looks good. And you play drums?” he directed at Spencer, who nodded. “So I take it the guitar is yours?” he said to Ryan.
Ryan sighed. “We had a band, in school. Our friend Brent played bass, I was on guitar and vocals. But I’m better at writing the words than singing them, and there aren’t really a lot of venues for aspiring artists in Vegas, and then we went to college and I got published and…” he shrugged.
“Why isn’t this stuff being published, though?” Jon asked. Some of it dated back a few years, including Jon’s favourite, that seemed to indicate the beginning of the romantic relationship between Spencer and Ryan, the shift from friend to lover.
Spencer and Ryan shared a look. Spencer reached out to tap his index finger against the edge of the journal. “Red, for love,” he said.
Ryan smirked. “Celia tells me the publishers prefer teenaged angst to emotional growth and fulfilment.”
“Seriously?” Jon asked, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice.
“I only have one more book with them before my contract is up. Then I can take all my happy poetry someplace else,” Ryan said, like it wasn’t a big deal, but Jon could see the tension in Ryan’s shoulders, around his mouth. Spencer rubbed the back of Ryan’s hand and Ryan melted against him.
“Do you have any of your other stuff on there?” Ryan asked, nodding towards Jon’s laptop.
“Some older stuff. Most of my current work is at the studio.”
“Will you show it to us?” Ryan asked, looking at Jon from under his lashes, his long fingers stroking through Spencer’s hair. Spencer gave Jon this assessing look that left him feeling stripped bare. Jon’s whole head felt fuzzy, and he knew he’d had way too much wine, because everything was in soft focus. Ryan’s words and Spencer’s expression seemed laced with suggestion.
Jon didn’t like to watch people looking at his stuff, so he opened the folder of stored photos from his senior project then got up to look through their music collection. There were some sweet albums that caught Jon’s eye, but some important names were missing, too. Jon told himself he’d have to work on their musical education, and he let himself believe he’d have the opportunity, because this wasn’t just a business meeting anymore.
He hadn’t got much of a chance to examine the living room when he’d visited before, mostly too surprised to see his own work on the wall. Now he took the opportunity, circling the room, noticing all the smaller details. There were dozens of small, scattered frames holding pictures of Ryan and Spencer together at various ages, from the most recent looking Spencer placing a showy kiss on Ryan’s cheek while Ryan smiled all big and faux surprise. The furthest back he was sure it was still them, they looked to be eight or nine, Ryan all gangly limbs wrapped around Spencer’s bulkier frame.
There were others, of younger children that he could guess were still them. A lot of the pictures had a couple other boys, or a family that resembled Spencer strongly, but there were no adults or children who held a familial resemblance to Ryan. Jon knew he shouldn’t be surprised, given what he’d read about Ryan’s family, but it was still strange to see.
When he came back, Spencer and Ryan separated, making a space between them for him again. The laptop was set on the coffee table and they leaned forward to keep looking. “Can we look at the others?” Spencer asked, eyeing the other folders.
Jon shrugged. Ryan’s poetry was a lot more private than anything on Jon’s computer. It was only fair. And if they genuinely liked his stuff, there was no reason to stop them.
The only excuse Jon had was that he was still sort of drunk, and exhausted, and he didn’t even think anything of it when Spencer clicked the folder that held the photo of Ryan. He didn’t even think about it until the picture was on the screen, and even then it took him a second to realise it wasn’t just one of the ones he’d set aside to send to the publishers.
“You’re not supposed to have this,” Spencer murmured. He stared at the screen with a small frown wrinkling his brow.
“I’ll delete it,” Jon said quickly, reaching to do just that.
Spencer grabbed his wrist. “Don’t,” he said, and he didn’t sound angry.
Ryan leaned forward to look more closely, studying it for a long moment, and said, “Oh. That’s…” He turned to Jon and the expression on his face was identical to the one in the picture, that same longing. Directed at Jon. It didn’t make any sense. It certainly wasn’t the reaction Jon would have expected. Ryan’s gaze flicked to Jon’s mouth, and all Jon could think was that Ryan was about to kiss him.
Jon broke the moment, slamming the lid of the laptop closed. “Sorry. It’s getting late. I think I’m sober enough.” He jammed his computer in its bag without looking at either of them. “I’ll delete it when I get back to the office.” He stood, shouldering his bag.
“Please don’t,” Spencer said, voice strange, and it made Jon turn to look at them. Ryan shook his head ‘no,’ expression impossible to read now. “Don’t delete it.”
“I have to go,” Jon said. “I have a wedding tomorrow.”
They saw him to the door, and all the easiness of the early evening was gone. Jon felt tense, skin pulled too tight. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t sure if he had the energy to try to be friends with these two. They made him feel a little crazy.
Still. They stood in the doorway, hips angled together. The space between their bodies made Jon think, inexplicably, of the night and sweat and longing. And Ryan said, “Can we get your number? Your cell number, not the business one?”
And Jon didn’t even hesitate. He pulled his phone out and entered both their cell numbers and their home number when they gave them, and gave his in return. He got the feeling it didn’t matter whether he had the energy or not.
He got the feeling he’d found a reason for coming to Vegas that didn’t have anything to do with money or job security or any of that bullshit. He got the feeling he’d found the reason for staying.
Jon parked in a lot closer to Ryan and Spencer’s part of town that night, unwilling to drive very far. The alcohol was still making him sluggish and he was so fucking tired these days, no matter how much sleep he got. Just before he passed out he got a text from Spencer saying, please keep it, but send me a copy. Jon hugged the phone to his chest as he fell to sleep.
It was over two weeks before Jon saw them again, but he knew that was more because of how busy he was than out of any lack of interest on any of their parts. Ryan would send him the occasional text, when he came out of his writing trance long enough to remember there was a world outside. They were random snippets of poems or just strangely profound observations of daily life, and they always stuck with Jon the rest of the day, running over and over in his mind.
Spencer texted him all the time. They got into long, intricate text wars over deep, important shit like banjo vs. lyre and Luke Skywalker vs. Han Solo. Jon was still pretty sure Spencer was only arguing that one for argument’s sake, because Han Solo obviously won everything ever-cool beats force sensitivity any day, Smith. It was fun, though, so he didn’t mind.
He found himself smiling and laughing more, at the sheer absurdity of Spencer’s texts, and suddenly, things seemed easier at work. Jake wasn’t so much of an asshole, and Stephanie talked to him more, about stuff other than work, and Rose said, “I’m glad you’re finally making some friends.” And Jon was so used to being the laidback guy that he hadn’t even realised how tense and high-strung he’d been since arriving in Vegas.
Ryan texted him on a Tuesday morning almost three weeks after they’d met and said publishrs thrwing big pre-release party ths wknd come save menSpence from abject boredome Jon always got a kick out of Ryan’s texts, with their inconsistent spelling and grammar and general disregard for things like punctuation.
tell me when and where, Jon wrote back, and then forgot about it with the whirlwind of appointments the rest of the day.
When he got back to the office close to six, Stephanie was just leaving for her evening class. “Courier came by for you. I left the envelope on your desk.”
“Cool, thanks,” Jon said, catching Spencer’s name on receiving slip. He felt a grin spreading over his lips, unbidden.
Stephanie paused at the door. “Some friends are going out for drinks after class tonight,” she said, like she was unsure of herself. “A place by campus. You could come, if you don’t have anything else…”
Jon almost said ‘no’ without really thinking about it, but caught himself at the last second. He hadn’t used to be the guy who’d turned down invitations for hanging out. He used to be the guy who extended all the invitations. The guy everyone knew. The life of the party.
He missed Chicago and he missed Tom and Bill and Butcher and Mike and fuck, even Sisky Biz. He missed the feel of Cassie’s skin and the smell of her hair, and knowing that even if no one was around, she was. He missed his parents and his brothers. But he wasn’t going to be the guy who gave up.
It was hard, doing this, but he was making a place for himself, but he’d known that photography was never going to be an easy road. Maybe it didn’t involve smelly buses and living out of each other’s pockets, but it was a lot like what his friends had done for their bands. Jon had just never expected to feel like a stranger to himself.
“What time does your class get out?” Jon asked.
“Nine. We should all be there by ten after. I can give you the address,” Stephanie said, “it’s really easy to find. Right across from the student union.”
“Just give me the name,” Jon said. “I’ll swing by when I finish up here.”
“Yeah?” Stephanie said, her smile surprised but definitely pleased. “Awesome. I’ve been bragging about your work to a lot of my friends. I showed them some of your stuff and they all want to meet you.”
Jon felt his skin heat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Stephanie…”
“Whatever. I know it isn’t what you really want to be doing yet, but it’s still really good,” she said. She wrote down the name of the bar and the street address and hurried off, running late.
The envelope from Spencer held a fancy card, hand written in calligraphy, inviting Jon to the Bellagio for a banquet honouring Setting Sun Publications upcoming releases. The date was for Saturday evening at six, which was cutting it close from Jon’s last session, but living out of his car made it really easy to change on the way. There was an RSVP number at the bottom, but it had been scratched out and next to it, in Spencer’s handwriting, was written you’re coming or I’m kicking your ass. Also, Han Solo is gay <3 SS.
As simply as that, Jon didn’t feel the overwhelming loneliness he had a few short moments before. He went out and met Stephanie’s friends and had a few drinks and enjoyed the shitty college band on stage, and didn’t once wish for home.
Jon had known, from movies and just because everyone knew, that the Bellagio was a fucking work of art. He felt incredibly out of place pulling up to the curb in his beat-up ’93 civic, even more so since he was in a suit. He’d argued with Cassie that he wouldn’t have a use for it in Vegas, but she’d been insistent. He made a mental note to thank her later.
He’d tried to look decent-shaved before his last job so there was no scruff, and he’d straightened his hair that morning even though he hadn’t done it once since leaving Chicago. His hair had grown out a bit longer than he was used to (he really couldn’t justify a haircut at the prices Las Vegas barbers charged). When he parted it to the side it fell across his forehead and into his eyes in a way that Cassie assured him was hot when he texted her a picture, although he thought it was vaguely emo.
A valet came over and Jon had no idea what sort of protocol there was on tipping, or anything, so he gave the guy a five and hoped that didn’t mean his car would get fucked with. Not that there was a whole hell of a lot anyone could do to his car to make it any worse.
The doors slid open and it was like stepping into the regency period, or something. The floors and walls were a swirl of warm coloured marble and the high ceiling was supported by pillars all throughout the room. His gaze was drawn by the blown glass skylight, bold blossoms of colour that reminded Jon vaguely of jellyfish. It shouldn’t have worked with the rest of the lobby, but it did, somehow. He’d have to come back sometime, see about getting some shots.
There was an easel to the side of the main desk, directing attendees of the Setting Sun banquet toward the main ballroom. As he approached, Jon really began to appreciate just how out of his depth he was. There was a small line at the door, waiting, men in expensive suits and women in sparkling gowns and jewels. Jon tugged uncomfortably at his collar and held his invitation at the ready, to prove he belonged. The guy letting him in didn’t look twice, though, which helped a little.
Jon hadn’t expected the party to be cheap, or anything, but this went way beyond his expectations. Along the wall behind the stage was a huge display of the covers for the books being honoured-two names Jon didn’t recognise, and Ryan’s, largest and in the centre.
Tables were scattered throughout the ballroom, dressed like for a wedding or something, with fancy china and crystal and golden silverware, rose and lily centrepieces surrounded by softly glowing candles. There were two open bars, one for each side of the room, and waiters were roaming the floor with trays of champagne and appetizers. Jon grabbed a flute and set out in search of Spencer or Ryan.
No one really paid Jon much attention as he worked his way through the crowd, but he was used to that. He was used to being a friend of the band-lingering on the sidelines while fans fawned over his friends. It had never bothered him before, and it didn’t now. Especially when he finally saw Ryan at the centre of a small crowd, looking a strange combination of bored and anxious.
Ryan looked different, more showy, dressed up for the world. His hair was styled falling his face and spiked up in the back and he was wearing thick black eyeliner and shiny lip gloss. Silver glitter sparkled over his lids and there was a spiral of blue drawn from the corner of his right eye.
He was dressed in…well, Jon wasn’t exactly sure what it was supposed to be, really, because it was kind of ridiculous-a billowy white shirt under a red vest that did great things for Ryan’s figure, but had the most unfortunate collection of silk roses spilling down the shoulder. He shouldn’t have looked good in it, but he did, especially paired with the slim black pinstripe slacks and low slung red velvet belt that drew attention to his narrow little hips.
Jon just watched him for a minute, noting the closed off posture-arms crossed over his chest, back curved, eyes downcast. He wasn’t saying a lot, just muttering short responses when the conversation required it, and Jon was just wondering if he should go to the rescue when Spencer came up alongside him and knocked their hips together. “You clean up nice,” Spencer said.
“Thanks,” Jon said, “you too.” Of course in Jon’s limited experience, Spencer always looked pretty. He was, at least, was dressed like a normal human being, in black slacks and button down. His jacket was maybe his one concession to Ryan: black, but with scattered squares of iridescent sequins.
Thank god you’re here,” Spencer said, voice pitched low so no one could overhear. “I got cornered by Celia, lecturing us about showing up together again.”
“Seriously?” Jon asked, shooting him an incredulous look.
Spencer rolled his eyes. “It’s okay for him to be bisexual, right, because he’s a poet. It’s practically expected. If he wants to run around the town with boys and girls, fine. But if he’s settled down with someone, they’d prefer it to be a woman. You know, like, the girl who sets him straight, so to speak.”
Jon couldn’t think of anything to say to that. His felt his mouth hanging open and closed it with a snap. “I don’t think anyone could be confused about his sexuality when he walks in dressed like that,” he said at last.
Spencer laughed, ducking his head to hide the expression when the sound caught Ryan’s attention. “‘When you’re in black slacks with accentuating off-white pinstripes, everything goes according to plan,’” Spencer quoted.
“Yeah,” Jon agreed. “But did you tell him that is totally countered by the presence of that many fake flowers?” he asked. Like Ryan could read their lips, his face darkened with a scowl. Spencer laughed again, pressing his face into Jon’s shoulder. Jon gave Ryan a mischievous smile.
Ryan’s lips tightened further and he said something to his groupies and pushed through them. “Love the look,” Jon said, trying hard not to laugh.
“Blow me,” Ryan said, monotone, and jerked Jon’s champagne from his hand. He drank it in one gulp. “Oh my god, when can we leave?”
“Didn’t the party just start?” Jon asked uncertainly.
“Through your introduction, at least,” Spencer said. “Last time Celia didn’t let me hear the end of it for months when the spotlight landed on an empty seat. Like I’m your fucking baby-sitter.”
“We’re going to our table and you two are sitting on either side of me, and the minute they’ve finished their little speech, we are out of here,” Ryan hissed. He grabbed Spencer’s hand and Jon’s wrist and dragged them to a table near the stage. There were name cards, and Jon was surprised to find his there along with Ryan and Spencer’s and six other names, including the other two authors.
“I had Celia give up her seat for you,” Spencer said with a wicked little smile. “Explained that if she’d rather not, Ryan might wander away from his table at a crucial moment, looking for you.”
“And when that didn’t move her,” Ryan said, “I told her I might forget that in public I’m supposed to behave as though Spencer is my friend, and I might do something silly like, I don’t know, climbing in his lap and raping his mouth. Or something.” He had a real grin, which was rare enough, but was especially nice to see given how stressed he’d been a few minutes before.
Jon forced himself not to react to Ryan’s words like he wanted to, because the minute Ryan had said it, Jon had imagined it and the thought of seeing Ryan and Spencer together like that made his mouth go dry. He managed to smile back, in what he hoped was a casual way. “You didn’t have to do that for me,” Jon protested.
“We didn’t do it for you,” Spencer said, dismissive and airy, but the sparkle in his eye betrayed his tone. “We did it for us, because these things are like, worse than that time I had to take Crystal and Jackie to New York Minute. You have to keep us from falling asleep in our soup, or turning into zombies.”
“Soup would totally fuck up your make-up,” Jon agreed and Ryan punched him softly on the arm. “But what’s in all this for me?”
“The pleasure of our company isn’t enough?” Ryan scoffed, one brow raised. Jon had to squeeze his hand into a fist to fight the urge to reach out and brush Ryan’s hair back from his face.
Jon must have made a face, because Spencer laughed. “Penguin pulls out all the stops for these things. Seriously. Check out your swag bag.”
For the first time, Jon noticed the white and brown Gucci bags at the head of each place setting. He knew about these things-The Academy guys got them sometimes at parties-but this was way nicer than the ones he’d seen. There was a netted sack of red and blue chips for the casino with a tiny attached note telling him to enjoy, a voucher for a weekend at one of the hotel’s suites and a visit to the spa, fancy stationary, an iPod nano, and random, expensive looking candies and beauty products.
“This is sort of insane,” Jon remarked.
Ryan shrugged. “Jill and I bring in a lot of money,” he said, and Jon looked up at the names behind the stage, one of which was Jillian Murphy. “And some of those companies are trying to get one of us to do promotional stuff for them.”
Jon wouldn’t have taken the stuff if Ryan had tried to give it to him directly, but it was there for everyone, and it was really nice stuff, and he couldn’t help but thinking about staying in a suite at the Bellagio, indulging in luxury after so long without.
“I might have to come to more of your parties, Ross,” he said.
“We hope you do,” Ryan said, eyes downcast, expression almost shy.
A couple came over to take the seats to Jon’s right and Ryan immediately straightened his back and lifted his head. “Ryan,” the woman said, smile sharp and almost unpleasant. She was beautiful with shining blonde hair and a glittery gold dress that made her skin glow.
“And Spencer. So glad to see you two sticking around for the dinner part of the dinner party this time.” Her gaze flicked to Jon. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”
Ryan’s smile was as sharp as hers and twice as mean. “Jill. This is Jon Walker. He’s taken over Avery’s studio. I’m sure you’ll be working with him sometime in the future.”
“I look forward to it, Mister Walker,” Jill purred, shaking his hand.
Others started taking seats and as greetings were passed around, Ryan leaned in to whisper to Jon. “The guy with her is her husband, Marcus Whitby, but they have an open relationship. She says she has to be able to experience all the things she writes about in her books first hand. She and I have very different ideas about what it means to be talented.”
Jill looked over at them, as if she knew Ryan was talking about her, and she gave them a speculative look, like she saw something strange. Ryan’s lips practically brushed Jon’s skin as he added, “I’d watch out, if I was you. Avery told me she tried to seduce him right in the studio.”
Jon flushed, but he knew it had more to do with the heat of Ryan’s breath and the touch of his lips than what he’d said. He pulled away a little, ignoring the smirk on Jill’s lips and looking at Ryan. “I think I’ll be alright,” he whispered back, very aware of how close they were to one another. Jon would just need to angle his head a little and they could be kissing. “She’s really not my type.”
Ryan leaned back, resting against Spencer’s arm, and the two of them both smiled at Jon. “Good to know,” Ryan said lightly, and Spencer rubbed his cheek against Ryan’s hair, nodding his agreement.
Conversation over dinner was interesting. There was no way it couldn’t be, with three authors. The other man, Daniel Seymour, got on much better with both Ryan and Jill, and seemed to be interested in keeping the peace at the table. Jon realised he’d heard of both Jill and Daniel’s work, the names of their books familiar.
The food was pretty awesome, if way fancier than what Jon was used to. He was happy with pizza or his mom’s meatloaf, but this was good, too. Even better was the way the waiter kept the liquor flowing. Spencer disappeared sometime during the second course, but Ryan didn’t look overly concerned about it.
It was close to eight when dessert was laid out on the table, and a man took to the stage. Spencer slipped back into his seat just in time for the speech to begin. “Score,” he hissed, and Ryan and Jon leaned in towards him. “Don’t say your famous name never did nothing for you,” Spencer said, and produced three tickets with a flourish.
“Spencer Smith, you are my sun, moon and deadly meteor,” Ryan whispered gleefully and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. He took the tickets, angling them so Jon could read. They were for the Cirque show at the Bellagio, starting in ten minutes.
“Okay,” Ryan said. And they put their heads together to devise the game plan for their escape. As soon as Ryan’s introduction had been made-one of his poems was read, and then the spotlight fell on him and he raised up a little bit, waving at the crowd-and the announcer moved on to Daniel, the three were up and out of their seats, heads low, hurrying to the door and trying not to giggle too loudly.
They made it to their seats at the front of the theatre just in time for the lights to dim. “We can go to the casino, after,” Ryan said, over the music of the overture. “By the time this lets out most everyone from Setting Sun should be gone.”
The show was, predictably, awesome. Jon had never been to one before, but he’d heard enough about it to know that it lived up to the hype. After, Ryan made Spencer scope out the casino to make sure Jill and Celia weren’t around, and when Spencer announced a clear coast, they went in.
Technically, Spencer wasn’t legal, but no one said anything to him. Jon had thought casinos were stricter than that, but maybe it had something to do with Ryan’s famous name, again. Spencer didn’t play, though, just kept at Jon and Ryan’s shoulders as they moved from the craps table to the blackjack.
Jon was a fan of cards. He’d been banned from more than one game on The Academy’s bus when he’d been on a winning streak. Gambling here was even better, playing with someone else’s money. He managed to double the chips from his swag bag, and Spencer seemed to approve.
“Spence’s gonna make you play him when we get home, now,” Ryan said. “As soon as he turns twenty-one he’s going to get a job as a croupier. He kicks ass at poker and blackjack, but he’s gotten too good at reading me.” Ryan sighed heavily and gave Jon a look of faux regret. “Says I’m predictable…He’s grown bored of me.”
“That’s right,” Spencer agreed. “I’m kicking his ass to the curb.” He threw an arm around Ryan’s hips, drawing him close as they walked, and Jon would never get used to how pretty the two of them looked together.
They ended up playing well into the early morning, drinking and talking and eventually wandering down the street to an all-night buffet where they managed to sweet talk a waitress into serving them waffles and eggs even though it wasn’t technically breakfast time yet.
Ryan was practically dead on his feet by the time they got their cars back from the valet at the Bellagio. Jon helped him into the passenger seat while Spencer got behind the wheel. Ryan smiled sleepily at Jon, and reached out to cup his face in his palm. Jon thought he should move away, but he didn’t want to. “We like you, Jon,” Ryan said.
Jon took Ryan’s hand in his and didn’t know what possessed him, but he brushed a kiss over Ryan’s fingertips, looking at Spencer. Spencer’s eyes were dark, but not disapproving. “I like you guys, too,” Jon said.
“So you’ll come over Tuesday for game night, right?” Ryan asked guilelessly.
Jon laughed, dropping Ryan’s hand. “I’ll be there.”
Spencer bit his lip against a smile. “See you then.”
Jon was worn out, but it took him forever to fall asleep that night. He had to find an underground lot so he wouldn’t be too hot when the sun rose, and it was darker and more private than he was used to, and Jon could only think of the feel of Ryan’s hand against his cheek, and the way Spencer’s teeth looked, pressing into his full lower lip.
Part Three
Ryan answered the door when Jon arrived the second night. He looked far more comfortable than he had the previous evening, barefoot and dressed in loose jeans and a scoop-necked sweater that showed off his lovely collarbones.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Spencer called from the kitchen doorway, peeking out to say hi when Ryan settled Jon in the living room. The whole house smelled amazing-Jon couldn’t remember the last time he’d had homemade food. Mostly he’d been living on pizza and fast food for the past couple months, with the occasional frozen meal.
Ryan presented Jon with a glass of wine and took him outside while they waited for Spencer. There were two dogs in the yard, who hurried over, sniffing Jon curiously. “I had them locked up in our bedroom when you came by. I wasn’t sure if…Not everyone likes being around dogs.”
Jon squatted down and passed his wine glass to Ryan so he could pet them both. “I like animals,” Jon said, and turned his face into the kisses the boxer was giving him. Maybe he was generally more of a cat person, but he missed the press of a tiny, warm body and the easy affection that animals gave.
Ryan smiled. “That’s Boba,” he said, bending to scoop up the beagle with his free arm. He rubbed their noses together. “And this is Hobo.”
They tossed a ball for the dogs, just chatting about nothing, until Spencer called them in for dinner. Jon had seen a darkened dining room, but Spencer had laid out the smaller table in the kitchen, and it was nice and cosy.
There was steak and baked potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, steamed broccoli and carrots tossed with baked red peppers and asparagus in a butter sauce, and biscuits straight out of the oven. Spencer looked kind of like a girl. Maybe Jon could convince an Elvis to marry them.
Conversation was easier with Spencer in the mix. He had an easy, casual confidence about him that seemed the exact opposite of Ryan’s careful, watchful censorship of his words. No doubt it was part of what made them work as lovers. Ryan had a lethargic sort of ease about him with Spencer at his side, spoke more freely.
Spencer asked about Jon’s work, and how he’d ended up in Vegas, but nothing too personal. In turn he talked about his schooling. Jon had taken a few psych courses in college and they had a fun debate over sociology versus psychology that Jon was happy to let Spencer win. Spencer was sort of fiercely smart, in a way Jon couldn’t hope to stand up against.
Eventually Ryan relaxed enough to talk about his own work at the UNLV. “I think they just gave me the honorary and doctorate so they could boast another famous name on their staff,” he said, and Jon didn’t know how someone so famous and so talented could be so self-deprecating, too. “But they gave me a full ride before I was even published, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give something back.”
They finished off the bottle of wine over dinner and Ryan opened another before they headed into the living room. Ryan hooked up his iPod and the music spilled out of the speakers in surround sound, rich and full. The song was unfamiliar-some indie band-but Jon liked it.
Jon pulled out his laptop and Spencer and Ryan sat on either side of him. The sofa was comfortable but it sagged toward the middle with all their weight, pressing Spencer and Ryan close against him. They didn’t seem to notice, or mind, so Jon bit his tongue against saying anything.
Ryan hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was uncomfortable with pictures taken of him. He kept trying to veto every picture as it came up, no matter how beautiful or nicely arranged. Spencer was the voice of reason, speaking as though objective. He had an eye for photography and he was good at convincing Ryan of accepting his choice.
Jon made two folders-one to be sent to Penguin, and one to be put on a disk for Spencer and Ryan to keep. Maybe Jon couldn’t keep them himself, but it killed him to think about getting rid of all the ones Ryan didn’t want seen. Jon could tell from the sly smirk Spencer gave him that Spencer would keep them safe.
The two of them kept pressing closer to Jon, and he didn’t think they realised what they were doing. They just got very into the process, reaching over Jon’s lap to point at small details, or to touch one another in a bid for attention. It was a little strange to experience, because the two seemed to communicate more through looks and brushing touches than through words.
It reminded Jon of how he used to be with Tom, in high school, before Tom fell for Bill. And Jon really, really didn’t hold it against either of them. He was happy for them both. Like, so happy. He’d never loved Tom like that, anyway. But it didn’t make him miss the connection they’d had any less. Seeing something similar here, between Spencer and Ryan, it made the homesickness come crashing around him.
Jon had been keeping himself so busy he hadn’t had a lot of time to think about how lonely he was in Vegas. He wasn’t the sort to feel sorry for himself anyway. But this took him unaware, making him feel an aching pang of loss in his chest and he just wanted to be back in his bed in his old apartment, or hell, even crammed in a bunk on a bus with The Academy Is…
Now wasn’t the time to have a freak out about it, so Jon shoved it to the back of his mind, focussing on the task at hand. But as if sensing something was the matter, Ryan rubbed his shoulder against Jon’s. Spencer just leaned forward and refilled Jon’s glass.
They finished going through Ryan’s shots and Jon popped out the SD card with the rejects, passing it to Spencer, who closed it in his fist like it was something precious. It was late-going towards eleven. That hadn’t been late to Jon, before he’d started living out of his car, but he didn’t feel like leaving yet, either.
“Would you like-” Ryan started, and stopped awkwardly. “I…you said you were happy to meet me, and I thought, maybe, that implied you liked my work?” Jon wasn’t sure Ryan had meant it to come out a question. “I mean. Maybe.”
Jon forced himself not to grin too widely, worried Ryan might think he was being laughed at. “Yeah,” he agreed sincerely.
Ryan looked at Spencer then back down at his hands. “I thought…I’m not supposed to show anything out of my newest collection, but I have some things I’ve been working on. Things that aren’t being published. I thought, if you liked, you could…”
“I would,” Jon said, and laid a hand on Ryan’s knee. The alcohol made him do that, he’d swear on it. He took the hand back quickly. “Like it,” he elaborated.
Ryan went upstairs and came back with a red leather journal. He passed it to Jon and settled on the couch beside Spencer, wrapping his long limbs around his lover. Jon tried not to stare too obviously at the way they fit together, Spencer cradled in the v of Ryan’s thighs, Ryan’s chin resting on top of Spencer’s head.
The journal looked hand bound and smelled like ink. Inside the front cover was an inscription from Spencer, but Jon felt that was a little too private to read. He flipped past to the first page of Ryan’s writing. It was elegant, in a sharp, spidery sort of way, and Jon took a moment to appreciate the aesthetic beauty of it before reading the words.
He got lost in it, for how long he wasn’t sure. It was different than Ryan’s earlier stuff. Jon wasn’t sure that anything of Ryan’s would ever be sunshine and kittens, but this was happier. This was Ryan writing about being in love and believing in it. Just having met them, it was obvious it was about Spencer, and getting to read it felt strangely intimate.
There wasn’t only poetry. There were several short stories, most no longer than a page or two, though one went on for seven pages, and there were some outlines for longer pieces. Mostly it was poetry, though, or collections of phrases that were almost more powerful for their brevity. A lot of it was matched with chords and progressions scribbled in the margins and notes for each syllable.
Jon didn’t realise he was humming under his breath until Ryan spoke. “We had…Originally, a lot of my poetry was meant to be lyrics. I still write it like that, even though no one will ever hear it. I can’t help it.”
“If you can write like this…” Jon wasn’t sure how to phrase his question. “This looks good. And you play drums?” he directed at Spencer, who nodded. “So I take it the guitar is yours?” he said to Ryan.
Ryan sighed. “We had a band, in school. Our friend Brent played bass, I was on guitar and vocals. But I’m better at writing the words than singing them, and there aren’t really a lot of venues for aspiring artists in Vegas, and then we went to college and I got published and…” he shrugged.
“Why isn’t this stuff being published, though?” Jon asked. Some of it dated back a few years, including Jon’s favourite, that seemed to indicate the beginning of the romantic relationship between Spencer and Ryan, the shift from friend to lover.
Spencer and Ryan shared a look. Spencer reached out to tap his index finger against the edge of the journal. “Red, for love,” he said.
Ryan smirked. “Celia tells me the publishers prefer teenaged angst to emotional growth and fulfilment.”
“Seriously?” Jon asked, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice.
“I only have one more book with them before my contract is up. Then I can take all my happy poetry someplace else,” Ryan said, like it wasn’t a big deal, but Jon could see the tension in Ryan’s shoulders, around his mouth. Spencer rubbed the back of Ryan’s hand and Ryan melted against him.
“Do you have any of your other stuff on there?” Ryan asked, nodding towards Jon’s laptop.
“Some older stuff. Most of my current work is at the studio.”
“Will you show it to us?” Ryan asked, looking at Jon from under his lashes, his long fingers stroking through Spencer’s hair. Spencer gave Jon this assessing look that left him feeling stripped bare. Jon’s whole head felt fuzzy, and he knew he’d had way too much wine, because everything was in soft focus. Ryan’s words and Spencer’s expression seemed laced with suggestion.
Jon didn’t like to watch people looking at his stuff, so he opened the folder of stored photos from his senior project then got up to look through their music collection. There were some sweet albums that caught Jon’s eye, but some important names were missing, too. Jon told himself he’d have to work on their musical education, and he let himself believe he’d have the opportunity, because this wasn’t just a business meeting anymore.
He hadn’t got much of a chance to examine the living room when he’d visited before, mostly too surprised to see his own work on the wall. Now he took the opportunity, circling the room, noticing all the smaller details. There were dozens of small, scattered frames holding pictures of Ryan and Spencer together at various ages, from the most recent looking Spencer placing a showy kiss on Ryan’s cheek while Ryan smiled all big and faux surprise. The furthest back he was sure it was still them, they looked to be eight or nine, Ryan all gangly limbs wrapped around Spencer’s bulkier frame.
There were others, of younger children that he could guess were still them. A lot of the pictures had a couple other boys, or a family that resembled Spencer strongly, but there were no adults or children who held a familial resemblance to Ryan. Jon knew he shouldn’t be surprised, given what he’d read about Ryan’s family, but it was still strange to see.
When he came back, Spencer and Ryan separated, making a space between them for him again. The laptop was set on the coffee table and they leaned forward to keep looking. “Can we look at the others?” Spencer asked, eyeing the other folders.
Jon shrugged. Ryan’s poetry was a lot more private than anything on Jon’s computer. It was only fair. And if they genuinely liked his stuff, there was no reason to stop them.
The only excuse Jon had was that he was still sort of drunk, and exhausted, and he didn’t even think anything of it when Spencer clicked the folder that held the photo of Ryan. He didn’t even think about it until the picture was on the screen, and even then it took him a second to realise it wasn’t just one of the ones he’d set aside to send to the publishers.
“You’re not supposed to have this,” Spencer murmured. He stared at the screen with a small frown wrinkling his brow.
“I’ll delete it,” Jon said quickly, reaching to do just that.
Spencer grabbed his wrist. “Don’t,” he said, and he didn’t sound angry.
Ryan leaned forward to look more closely, studying it for a long moment, and said, “Oh. That’s…” He turned to Jon and the expression on his face was identical to the one in the picture, that same longing. Directed at Jon. It didn’t make any sense. It certainly wasn’t the reaction Jon would have expected. Ryan’s gaze flicked to Jon’s mouth, and all Jon could think was that Ryan was about to kiss him.
Jon broke the moment, slamming the lid of the laptop closed. “Sorry. It’s getting late. I think I’m sober enough.” He jammed his computer in its bag without looking at either of them. “I’ll delete it when I get back to the office.” He stood, shouldering his bag.
“Please don’t,” Spencer said, voice strange, and it made Jon turn to look at them. Ryan shook his head ‘no,’ expression impossible to read now. “Don’t delete it.”
“I have to go,” Jon said. “I have a wedding tomorrow.”
They saw him to the door, and all the easiness of the early evening was gone. Jon felt tense, skin pulled too tight. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t sure if he had the energy to try to be friends with these two. They made him feel a little crazy.
Still. They stood in the doorway, hips angled together. The space between their bodies made Jon think, inexplicably, of the night and sweat and longing. And Ryan said, “Can we get your number? Your cell number, not the business one?”
And Jon didn’t even hesitate. He pulled his phone out and entered both their cell numbers and their home number when they gave them, and gave his in return. He got the feeling it didn’t matter whether he had the energy or not.
He got the feeling he’d found a reason for coming to Vegas that didn’t have anything to do with money or job security or any of that bullshit. He got the feeling he’d found the reason for staying.
Jon parked in a lot closer to Ryan and Spencer’s part of town that night, unwilling to drive very far. The alcohol was still making him sluggish and he was so fucking tired these days, no matter how much sleep he got. Just before he passed out he got a text from Spencer saying, please keep it, but send me a copy. Jon hugged the phone to his chest as he fell to sleep.
It was over two weeks before Jon saw them again, but he knew that was more because of how busy he was than out of any lack of interest on any of their parts. Ryan would send him the occasional text, when he came out of his writing trance long enough to remember there was a world outside. They were random snippets of poems or just strangely profound observations of daily life, and they always stuck with Jon the rest of the day, running over and over in his mind.
Spencer texted him all the time. They got into long, intricate text wars over deep, important shit like banjo vs. lyre and Luke Skywalker vs. Han Solo. Jon was still pretty sure Spencer was only arguing that one for argument’s sake, because Han Solo obviously won everything ever-cool beats force sensitivity any day, Smith. It was fun, though, so he didn’t mind.
He found himself smiling and laughing more, at the sheer absurdity of Spencer’s texts, and suddenly, things seemed easier at work. Jake wasn’t so much of an asshole, and Stephanie talked to him more, about stuff other than work, and Rose said, “I’m glad you’re finally making some friends.” And Jon was so used to being the laidback guy that he hadn’t even realised how tense and high-strung he’d been since arriving in Vegas.
Ryan texted him on a Tuesday morning almost three weeks after they’d met and said publishrs thrwing big pre-release party ths wknd come save menSpence from abject boredome Jon always got a kick out of Ryan’s texts, with their inconsistent spelling and grammar and general disregard for things like punctuation.
tell me when and where, Jon wrote back, and then forgot about it with the whirlwind of appointments the rest of the day.
When he got back to the office close to six, Stephanie was just leaving for her evening class. “Courier came by for you. I left the envelope on your desk.”
“Cool, thanks,” Jon said, catching Spencer’s name on receiving slip. He felt a grin spreading over his lips, unbidden.
Stephanie paused at the door. “Some friends are going out for drinks after class tonight,” she said, like she was unsure of herself. “A place by campus. You could come, if you don’t have anything else…”
Jon almost said ‘no’ without really thinking about it, but caught himself at the last second. He hadn’t used to be the guy who’d turned down invitations for hanging out. He used to be the guy who extended all the invitations. The guy everyone knew. The life of the party.
He missed Chicago and he missed Tom and Bill and Butcher and Mike and fuck, even Sisky Biz. He missed the feel of Cassie’s skin and the smell of her hair, and knowing that even if no one was around, she was. He missed his parents and his brothers. But he wasn’t going to be the guy who gave up.
It was hard, doing this, but he was making a place for himself, but he’d known that photography was never going to be an easy road. Maybe it didn’t involve smelly buses and living out of each other’s pockets, but it was a lot like what his friends had done for their bands. Jon had just never expected to feel like a stranger to himself.
“What time does your class get out?” Jon asked.
“Nine. We should all be there by ten after. I can give you the address,” Stephanie said, “it’s really easy to find. Right across from the student union.”
“Just give me the name,” Jon said. “I’ll swing by when I finish up here.”
“Yeah?” Stephanie said, her smile surprised but definitely pleased. “Awesome. I’ve been bragging about your work to a lot of my friends. I showed them some of your stuff and they all want to meet you.”
Jon felt his skin heat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Stephanie…”
“Whatever. I know it isn’t what you really want to be doing yet, but it’s still really good,” she said. She wrote down the name of the bar and the street address and hurried off, running late.
The envelope from Spencer held a fancy card, hand written in calligraphy, inviting Jon to the Bellagio for a banquet honouring Setting Sun Publications upcoming releases. The date was for Saturday evening at six, which was cutting it close from Jon’s last session, but living out of his car made it really easy to change on the way. There was an RSVP number at the bottom, but it had been scratched out and next to it, in Spencer’s handwriting, was written you’re coming or I’m kicking your ass. Also, Han Solo is gay <3 SS.
As simply as that, Jon didn’t feel the overwhelming loneliness he had a few short moments before. He went out and met Stephanie’s friends and had a few drinks and enjoyed the shitty college band on stage, and didn’t once wish for home.
Jon had known, from movies and just because everyone knew, that the Bellagio was a fucking work of art. He felt incredibly out of place pulling up to the curb in his beat-up ’93 civic, even more so since he was in a suit. He’d argued with Cassie that he wouldn’t have a use for it in Vegas, but she’d been insistent. He made a mental note to thank her later.
He’d tried to look decent-shaved before his last job so there was no scruff, and he’d straightened his hair that morning even though he hadn’t done it once since leaving Chicago. His hair had grown out a bit longer than he was used to (he really couldn’t justify a haircut at the prices Las Vegas barbers charged). When he parted it to the side it fell across his forehead and into his eyes in a way that Cassie assured him was hot when he texted her a picture, although he thought it was vaguely emo.
A valet came over and Jon had no idea what sort of protocol there was on tipping, or anything, so he gave the guy a five and hoped that didn’t mean his car would get fucked with. Not that there was a whole hell of a lot anyone could do to his car to make it any worse.
The doors slid open and it was like stepping into the regency period, or something. The floors and walls were a swirl of warm coloured marble and the high ceiling was supported by pillars all throughout the room. His gaze was drawn by the blown glass skylight, bold blossoms of colour that reminded Jon vaguely of jellyfish. It shouldn’t have worked with the rest of the lobby, but it did, somehow. He’d have to come back sometime, see about getting some shots.
There was an easel to the side of the main desk, directing attendees of the Setting Sun banquet toward the main ballroom. As he approached, Jon really began to appreciate just how out of his depth he was. There was a small line at the door, waiting, men in expensive suits and women in sparkling gowns and jewels. Jon tugged uncomfortably at his collar and held his invitation at the ready, to prove he belonged. The guy letting him in didn’t look twice, though, which helped a little.
Jon hadn’t expected the party to be cheap, or anything, but this went way beyond his expectations. Along the wall behind the stage was a huge display of the covers for the books being honoured-two names Jon didn’t recognise, and Ryan’s, largest and in the centre.
Tables were scattered throughout the ballroom, dressed like for a wedding or something, with fancy china and crystal and golden silverware, rose and lily centrepieces surrounded by softly glowing candles. There were two open bars, one for each side of the room, and waiters were roaming the floor with trays of champagne and appetizers. Jon grabbed a flute and set out in search of Spencer or Ryan.
No one really paid Jon much attention as he worked his way through the crowd, but he was used to that. He was used to being a friend of the band-lingering on the sidelines while fans fawned over his friends. It had never bothered him before, and it didn’t now. Especially when he finally saw Ryan at the centre of a small crowd, looking a strange combination of bored and anxious.
Ryan looked different, more showy, dressed up for the world. His hair was styled falling his face and spiked up in the back and he was wearing thick black eyeliner and shiny lip gloss. Silver glitter sparkled over his lids and there was a spiral of blue drawn from the corner of his right eye.
He was dressed in…well, Jon wasn’t exactly sure what it was supposed to be, really, because it was kind of ridiculous-a billowy white shirt under a red vest that did great things for Ryan’s figure, but had the most unfortunate collection of silk roses spilling down the shoulder. He shouldn’t have looked good in it, but he did, especially paired with the slim black pinstripe slacks and low slung red velvet belt that drew attention to his narrow little hips.
Jon just watched him for a minute, noting the closed off posture-arms crossed over his chest, back curved, eyes downcast. He wasn’t saying a lot, just muttering short responses when the conversation required it, and Jon was just wondering if he should go to the rescue when Spencer came up alongside him and knocked their hips together. “You clean up nice,” Spencer said.
“Thanks,” Jon said, “you too.” Of course in Jon’s limited experience, Spencer always looked pretty. He was, at least, was dressed like a normal human being, in black slacks and button down. His jacket was maybe his one concession to Ryan: black, but with scattered squares of iridescent sequins.
Thank god you’re here,” Spencer said, voice pitched low so no one could overhear. “I got cornered by Celia, lecturing us about showing up together again.”
“Seriously?” Jon asked, shooting him an incredulous look.
Spencer rolled his eyes. “It’s okay for him to be bisexual, right, because he’s a poet. It’s practically expected. If he wants to run around the town with boys and girls, fine. But if he’s settled down with someone, they’d prefer it to be a woman. You know, like, the girl who sets him straight, so to speak.”
Jon couldn’t think of anything to say to that. His felt his mouth hanging open and closed it with a snap. “I don’t think anyone could be confused about his sexuality when he walks in dressed like that,” he said at last.
Spencer laughed, ducking his head to hide the expression when the sound caught Ryan’s attention. “‘When you’re in black slacks with accentuating off-white pinstripes, everything goes according to plan,’” Spencer quoted.
“Yeah,” Jon agreed. “But did you tell him that is totally countered by the presence of that many fake flowers?” he asked. Like Ryan could read their lips, his face darkened with a scowl. Spencer laughed again, pressing his face into Jon’s shoulder. Jon gave Ryan a mischievous smile.
Ryan’s lips tightened further and he said something to his groupies and pushed through them. “Love the look,” Jon said, trying hard not to laugh.
“Blow me,” Ryan said, monotone, and jerked Jon’s champagne from his hand. He drank it in one gulp. “Oh my god, when can we leave?”
“Didn’t the party just start?” Jon asked uncertainly.
“Through your introduction, at least,” Spencer said. “Last time Celia didn’t let me hear the end of it for months when the spotlight landed on an empty seat. Like I’m your fucking baby-sitter.”
“We’re going to our table and you two are sitting on either side of me, and the minute they’ve finished their little speech, we are out of here,” Ryan hissed. He grabbed Spencer’s hand and Jon’s wrist and dragged them to a table near the stage. There were name cards, and Jon was surprised to find his there along with Ryan and Spencer’s and six other names, including the other two authors.
“I had Celia give up her seat for you,” Spencer said with a wicked little smile. “Explained that if she’d rather not, Ryan might wander away from his table at a crucial moment, looking for you.”
“And when that didn’t move her,” Ryan said, “I told her I might forget that in public I’m supposed to behave as though Spencer is my friend, and I might do something silly like, I don’t know, climbing in his lap and raping his mouth. Or something.” He had a real grin, which was rare enough, but was especially nice to see given how stressed he’d been a few minutes before.
Jon forced himself not to react to Ryan’s words like he wanted to, because the minute Ryan had said it, Jon had imagined it and the thought of seeing Ryan and Spencer together like that made his mouth go dry. He managed to smile back, in what he hoped was a casual way. “You didn’t have to do that for me,” Jon protested.
“We didn’t do it for you,” Spencer said, dismissive and airy, but the sparkle in his eye betrayed his tone. “We did it for us, because these things are like, worse than that time I had to take Crystal and Jackie to New York Minute. You have to keep us from falling asleep in our soup, or turning into zombies.”
“Soup would totally fuck up your make-up,” Jon agreed and Ryan punched him softly on the arm. “But what’s in all this for me?”
“The pleasure of our company isn’t enough?” Ryan scoffed, one brow raised. Jon had to squeeze his hand into a fist to fight the urge to reach out and brush Ryan’s hair back from his face.
Jon must have made a face, because Spencer laughed. “Penguin pulls out all the stops for these things. Seriously. Check out your swag bag.”
For the first time, Jon noticed the white and brown Gucci bags at the head of each place setting. He knew about these things-The Academy guys got them sometimes at parties-but this was way nicer than the ones he’d seen. There was a netted sack of red and blue chips for the casino with a tiny attached note telling him to enjoy, a voucher for a weekend at one of the hotel’s suites and a visit to the spa, fancy stationary, an iPod nano, and random, expensive looking candies and beauty products.
“This is sort of insane,” Jon remarked.
Ryan shrugged. “Jill and I bring in a lot of money,” he said, and Jon looked up at the names behind the stage, one of which was Jillian Murphy. “And some of those companies are trying to get one of us to do promotional stuff for them.”
Jon wouldn’t have taken the stuff if Ryan had tried to give it to him directly, but it was there for everyone, and it was really nice stuff, and he couldn’t help but thinking about staying in a suite at the Bellagio, indulging in luxury after so long without.
“I might have to come to more of your parties, Ross,” he said.
“We hope you do,” Ryan said, eyes downcast, expression almost shy.
A couple came over to take the seats to Jon’s right and Ryan immediately straightened his back and lifted his head. “Ryan,” the woman said, smile sharp and almost unpleasant. She was beautiful with shining blonde hair and a glittery gold dress that made her skin glow.
“And Spencer. So glad to see you two sticking around for the dinner part of the dinner party this time.” Her gaze flicked to Jon. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”
Ryan’s smile was as sharp as hers and twice as mean. “Jill. This is Jon Walker. He’s taken over Avery’s studio. I’m sure you’ll be working with him sometime in the future.”
“I look forward to it, Mister Walker,” Jill purred, shaking his hand.
Others started taking seats and as greetings were passed around, Ryan leaned in to whisper to Jon. “The guy with her is her husband, Marcus Whitby, but they have an open relationship. She says she has to be able to experience all the things she writes about in her books first hand. She and I have very different ideas about what it means to be talented.”
Jill looked over at them, as if she knew Ryan was talking about her, and she gave them a speculative look, like she saw something strange. Ryan’s lips practically brushed Jon’s skin as he added, “I’d watch out, if I was you. Avery told me she tried to seduce him right in the studio.”
Jon flushed, but he knew it had more to do with the heat of Ryan’s breath and the touch of his lips than what he’d said. He pulled away a little, ignoring the smirk on Jill’s lips and looking at Ryan. “I think I’ll be alright,” he whispered back, very aware of how close they were to one another. Jon would just need to angle his head a little and they could be kissing. “She’s really not my type.”
Ryan leaned back, resting against Spencer’s arm, and the two of them both smiled at Jon. “Good to know,” Ryan said lightly, and Spencer rubbed his cheek against Ryan’s hair, nodding his agreement.
Conversation over dinner was interesting. There was no way it couldn’t be, with three authors. The other man, Daniel Seymour, got on much better with both Ryan and Jill, and seemed to be interested in keeping the peace at the table. Jon realised he’d heard of both Jill and Daniel’s work, the names of their books familiar.
The food was pretty awesome, if way fancier than what Jon was used to. He was happy with pizza or his mom’s meatloaf, but this was good, too. Even better was the way the waiter kept the liquor flowing. Spencer disappeared sometime during the second course, but Ryan didn’t look overly concerned about it.
It was close to eight when dessert was laid out on the table, and a man took to the stage. Spencer slipped back into his seat just in time for the speech to begin. “Score,” he hissed, and Ryan and Jon leaned in towards him. “Don’t say your famous name never did nothing for you,” Spencer said, and produced three tickets with a flourish.
“Spencer Smith, you are my sun, moon and deadly meteor,” Ryan whispered gleefully and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. He took the tickets, angling them so Jon could read. They were for the Cirque show at the Bellagio, starting in ten minutes.
“Okay,” Ryan said. And they put their heads together to devise the game plan for their escape. As soon as Ryan’s introduction had been made-one of his poems was read, and then the spotlight fell on him and he raised up a little bit, waving at the crowd-and the announcer moved on to Daniel, the three were up and out of their seats, heads low, hurrying to the door and trying not to giggle too loudly.
They made it to their seats at the front of the theatre just in time for the lights to dim. “We can go to the casino, after,” Ryan said, over the music of the overture. “By the time this lets out most everyone from Setting Sun should be gone.”
The show was, predictably, awesome. Jon had never been to one before, but he’d heard enough about it to know that it lived up to the hype. After, Ryan made Spencer scope out the casino to make sure Jill and Celia weren’t around, and when Spencer announced a clear coast, they went in.
Technically, Spencer wasn’t legal, but no one said anything to him. Jon had thought casinos were stricter than that, but maybe it had something to do with Ryan’s famous name, again. Spencer didn’t play, though, just kept at Jon and Ryan’s shoulders as they moved from the craps table to the blackjack.
Jon was a fan of cards. He’d been banned from more than one game on The Academy’s bus when he’d been on a winning streak. Gambling here was even better, playing with someone else’s money. He managed to double the chips from his swag bag, and Spencer seemed to approve.
“Spence’s gonna make you play him when we get home, now,” Ryan said. “As soon as he turns twenty-one he’s going to get a job as a croupier. He kicks ass at poker and blackjack, but he’s gotten too good at reading me.” Ryan sighed heavily and gave Jon a look of faux regret. “Says I’m predictable…He’s grown bored of me.”
“That’s right,” Spencer agreed. “I’m kicking his ass to the curb.” He threw an arm around Ryan’s hips, drawing him close as they walked, and Jon would never get used to how pretty the two of them looked together.
They ended up playing well into the early morning, drinking and talking and eventually wandering down the street to an all-night buffet where they managed to sweet talk a waitress into serving them waffles and eggs even though it wasn’t technically breakfast time yet.
Ryan was practically dead on his feet by the time they got their cars back from the valet at the Bellagio. Jon helped him into the passenger seat while Spencer got behind the wheel. Ryan smiled sleepily at Jon, and reached out to cup his face in his palm. Jon thought he should move away, but he didn’t want to. “We like you, Jon,” Ryan said.
Jon took Ryan’s hand in his and didn’t know what possessed him, but he brushed a kiss over Ryan’s fingertips, looking at Spencer. Spencer’s eyes were dark, but not disapproving. “I like you guys, too,” Jon said.
“So you’ll come over Tuesday for game night, right?” Ryan asked guilelessly.
Jon laughed, dropping Ryan’s hand. “I’ll be there.”
Spencer bit his lip against a smile. “See you then.”
Jon was worn out, but it took him forever to fall asleep that night. He had to find an underground lot so he wouldn’t be too hot when the sun rose, and it was darker and more private than he was used to, and Jon could only think of the feel of Ryan’s hand against his cheek, and the way Spencer’s teeth looked, pressing into his full lower lip.
Part Three