jae_w
in
popoffacork
the thin line between "maybe" and "yes" for afterthefair
Recipient: afterthefair
Author: babyofthegroup
Title: the thin line between "maybe" and "yes"
Pairing: Spencer/Jon
Summary: It's not a fall so much as a headlong stumble.
***
"Leave it to Ryan to fall for a chick and break our big gay collective."
Jon just looks at him, vaguely glassy. "It's not even all that gay, though. I mean, Brendon does girls, right? And you do too?" He pauses for a moment.
"Jon, when you... wait. Jon. Jon Jon Jon." Spencer leans forward, conspiratorially, as though prepping a whisper, then continues in an even louder voice. "You know, sometimes something doesn't make sense anymore -- it's just a word? That's Jon. Jon Jon Jon Jonjonjonnn. You're a word."
"That's not new and special." Jon grins. "You are baked, Spence."
"That's. I do not do girls. I do Jon Jon Jonnnnnnn." Spencer giggles. He might be a little stoned. Or a lot.
Jon reaches out toward Spencer. "C'mere."
Spencer falls off the couch.
***
Waking up next to Jon is not a bad thing, Spencer thinks as he spoons Jon's back. It is a little weird to wake up next to Jon when he doesn't remember having gone to sleep next to Jon, though. Spencer usually remembers where he goes to sleep. Like, eighty-five percent of the time. Or, lately, more like sixty-five percent, but that has to do with the... pot. Huh.
"Jon."
Jon grunts, but doesn't move.
"Jon."
"Ngh."
"Are you getting me high to have sex with me?"
Jon pivots just enough to look back over his shoulder at Spencer through one bleary eye. "No. Now go back to sleep or I'm pushing you out of the bunk."
Spencer's not totally convinced. "I keep waking up next to you but I don't remember going to sleep."
"If I wanted to have sex with you, I would just ask. Spencer, do you want a blowjob?"
Spencer is not dead or unconscious, so the answer is pretty obvious. Jon pushes his hand down Spencer's flannel pajama bottoms and palms his cock; Spencer's hips move almost involuntarily toward Jon's hand. He gives Spencer a sleepy kiss and starts the complicated body-origami necessary to wind up with his mouth at crotch-level. Spencer briefly wonders when this became his life, but then there's Jon and Jon's mouth and Jon's heavy-lidded still-sleepy eyes looking up at him, and, well. If that's his life, he'll take it.
***
Jon's flip-flops are lying in the middle of the aisle. Spencer gets on the bus and nearly trips over them. He picks them up and sets them neatly in the space under Jon's bunk next to two duffels, a suitcase, and six haphazardly-tossed pairs of shoes (four of them Ryan's, two Jon's). He only realizes what he's doing when he's nudging the suitcase out of the way to rearrange the shoes and gives an exasperated sigh, then stalks off in search of Jon.
It's three fifteen in the afternoon, so there's nothing good on TV, but Jon's lying on the couch anyway, remote in hand, flipping channels in a scanning pattern. Spencer wonders if his brain is even processing the images as they flicker past. "We're... whatever, right?"
"What?" Jon doesn't stop with the remote, but the pace of channel-changing gets slower.
"We're. I moved your flip-flops out of the way."
The TV stays on C-SPAN, where a gray suit and a badly-tied maroon tie are railing against corporate welfare. "Thanks." Jon's looking at Spencer now, eyes unreadable.
"I had to stop myself from rearranging your shoes." The corner of Jon's mouth turns up a little. "Jon, what." Spencer sighs, hard, and Jon quirks an eyebrow. "What are we doing?"
Jon, thankfully, skips all the cat-and-mouse, "right now we're having this conversation" bullshit. "I think we're sleeping together."
"You think?"
Now Jon grins. "I dunno; you seemed confused about it this morning. 'Jon, are you getting me stoned to have sex with me?'" he says, trying to mimic Spencer's stoic delivery and failing with each slightly-lisped s.
Spencer throws a pillow at Jon. "I was trying to think, but you were being persuasive."
Two hours later, Brendon finds them still on the couch, Spencer lying on top of Jon, joined at the lips. Brendon puts his hands to the sides of his face in mock shock and gasps dramatically. Jon and Spencer ignore him, so he does it again. Four times. Spencer flips him off, prompting Brendon to run screaming from the bus, wailing at the top of his lungs.
Jon breaks the kiss for a minute and breathes.
"Drama queen," Spencer grumbles, pushing himself up off of Jon to sit up.
"Yeah, but we keep him around anyway."
"Why's that again?"
"Something about teen girls, but I can't remember right now." Jon reaches up around Spencer's neck and pulls him back down. Spencer collapses back onto Jon's chest. Spencer can feel Jon's heartbeat; it's kind of nice.
***
Spencer can't remember what city they were in when Jon first crawled into his bunk. He'd blame it on the pot, but it's true of just about everything on tour -- it blends together into something amorphous and even trying to remember when openers swapped in and out can be hard. Still, they're headed for some sort of quasi- maybe-sort-of-anniversary-like thing and Spencer thinks he should know the exact date. On tour dates melt away into cities; Spencer wonders if he could translate backwards between cities and dates, even with the tour schedule printed on the band merch. Was Minneapolis really in May? Had they played Seattle in June and Arizona in April and the whole country in just two months? Out the window of a bus, highway tends to look the same.
He pulls himself away from the computer, where he's been trying to find the schedule somewhere in his email, and looks over at Jon, asleep in Spencer's bunk. Spencer's starting to get used to beard burn. He'll wake Jon up in a few minutes. They'll smoke, or maybe Spencer will go down on Jon; it's been a couple days. He climbs in behind Jon and pulls the curtain.
***
It's nine-thirty and Spencer's in the green room, tying his hair back, twisting his wrists to limber up, getting ready to beat the shit out of his drumset. It's supposed to be fall, but the theater is blazing hot and he knows he's going to be drenched by "Lying". Ryan is slumped on the couch and has his phone pressed against his ear; Brendon is singing scales and playing air-piano. Jon sips his beer. Spencer watches him zone out, the curve of his throat as he swallows.
Jon looks up, catches Spencer's eyes. "Two songs, tops. Then you're going to be flinging sweat around with each drumbeat."
"I know, right? You'd think they could bother with A/C."
"You're going to be flushed and sweaty up there." Jon pauses, swirls his bottle. "That's hot."
"If you say 'literally', I'm going to beat you."
Jon just grins.
***
There's a hotel bed in Spencer's future. A bed and a shower and probably towels that aren't the shitty thin ones the venues provide or his own two-months-from-a-washer monstrosity. He's totally on board with a shower and a bed and nice fluffy towels, but right at this minute he's got his hand down the front of Jon's pants and his tongue in Jon's mouth, flushed and frantic with adrenaline. Spencer rims Jon in the shower and then they fuck hard against the shower wall, sheets of water falling down around them, Spencer's hair in his face and his dick buried in Jon. He reaches his hand around and tries to jack Jon, but eventually gives up and just slams home until he's coming, a string of non-words falling out of him. He blows Jon after, slow and sloppy just like Jon likes it; hands roaming Jon's chest, cupping his balls.
They flop, exhausted but clean, onto the bed next to one another. Jon turns his head toward Spencer and gives a half-smile. Spencer can't help but smile back.
***
They come down to the bus together, Spencer with his little backpack and Jon's camera bag slung over his shoulder, Jon typing into his phone with both hands. Brendon comes bounding from behind them in the hotel lobby, flings his arms around Jon's neck and jumps up on his back, jostling him into Spencer.
"Onward, Jonathan!" Brendon crows, "Onward to Bus Land!"
Spencer cracks a little bit of a smile and bends down to pick up Jon's phone as Jon good-naturedly piggybacks Brendon out the main entrance, flip-flops flapping on the floor. He looks down at the screen, and it's a text -- Jon's sending a message to... him. Huh. Spencer can't resist; he reads "waking up next to you will be the highli". He stops dead, ten feet from the lobby doors, morning sun streaming through them and glaring in his face.
Jon Walker is pretty awesome. Spencer finds his tiny smile growing wider, and when Ryan and Keltie nearly knock him over in their rush to the bus, he's grinning wide enough to rouse a lifted eyebrow from Ryan -- and he doesn't want to stop. He follows them through the automatic doors and across the street to the bus, where he flings his bag and Jon's camera on his bunk and continues down the bus to the lounge, where he hears Brendon and Jon moving around. Jon's ticking Brendon mercilessly and Brendon is shrieking; Spencer's instinct is to join in, but he holds back, watching Jon's fingers find Brendon's side again and again despite the writhing mass of Urie he's trying to pin down.
When Brendon's wails finally subside and Jon gets up, Spencer holds out Jon's phone to him and quirks an eyebrow. Jon doesn't even have to look at the phone to know Spencer's seen his message. He doesn't look bashful or self-conscious of that fact, just happy; Spencer matches his easy grin.
The bus rolls on.
Author: babyofthegroup
Title: the thin line between "maybe" and "yes"
Pairing: Spencer/Jon
Summary: It's not a fall so much as a headlong stumble.
***
"Leave it to Ryan to fall for a chick and break our big gay collective."
Jon just looks at him, vaguely glassy. "It's not even all that gay, though. I mean, Brendon does girls, right? And you do too?" He pauses for a moment.
"Jon, when you... wait. Jon. Jon Jon Jon." Spencer leans forward, conspiratorially, as though prepping a whisper, then continues in an even louder voice. "You know, sometimes something doesn't make sense anymore -- it's just a word? That's Jon. Jon Jon Jon Jonjonjonnn. You're a word."
"That's not new and special." Jon grins. "You are baked, Spence."
"That's. I do not do girls. I do Jon Jon Jonnnnnnn." Spencer giggles. He might be a little stoned. Or a lot.
Jon reaches out toward Spencer. "C'mere."
Spencer falls off the couch.
***
Waking up next to Jon is not a bad thing, Spencer thinks as he spoons Jon's back. It is a little weird to wake up next to Jon when he doesn't remember having gone to sleep next to Jon, though. Spencer usually remembers where he goes to sleep. Like, eighty-five percent of the time. Or, lately, more like sixty-five percent, but that has to do with the... pot. Huh.
"Jon."
Jon grunts, but doesn't move.
"Jon."
"Ngh."
"Are you getting me high to have sex with me?"
Jon pivots just enough to look back over his shoulder at Spencer through one bleary eye. "No. Now go back to sleep or I'm pushing you out of the bunk."
Spencer's not totally convinced. "I keep waking up next to you but I don't remember going to sleep."
"If I wanted to have sex with you, I would just ask. Spencer, do you want a blowjob?"
Spencer is not dead or unconscious, so the answer is pretty obvious. Jon pushes his hand down Spencer's flannel pajama bottoms and palms his cock; Spencer's hips move almost involuntarily toward Jon's hand. He gives Spencer a sleepy kiss and starts the complicated body-origami necessary to wind up with his mouth at crotch-level. Spencer briefly wonders when this became his life, but then there's Jon and Jon's mouth and Jon's heavy-lidded still-sleepy eyes looking up at him, and, well. If that's his life, he'll take it.
***
Jon's flip-flops are lying in the middle of the aisle. Spencer gets on the bus and nearly trips over them. He picks them up and sets them neatly in the space under Jon's bunk next to two duffels, a suitcase, and six haphazardly-tossed pairs of shoes (four of them Ryan's, two Jon's). He only realizes what he's doing when he's nudging the suitcase out of the way to rearrange the shoes and gives an exasperated sigh, then stalks off in search of Jon.
It's three fifteen in the afternoon, so there's nothing good on TV, but Jon's lying on the couch anyway, remote in hand, flipping channels in a scanning pattern. Spencer wonders if his brain is even processing the images as they flicker past. "We're... whatever, right?"
"What?" Jon doesn't stop with the remote, but the pace of channel-changing gets slower.
"We're. I moved your flip-flops out of the way."
The TV stays on C-SPAN, where a gray suit and a badly-tied maroon tie are railing against corporate welfare. "Thanks." Jon's looking at Spencer now, eyes unreadable.
"I had to stop myself from rearranging your shoes." The corner of Jon's mouth turns up a little. "Jon, what." Spencer sighs, hard, and Jon quirks an eyebrow. "What are we doing?"
Jon, thankfully, skips all the cat-and-mouse, "right now we're having this conversation" bullshit. "I think we're sleeping together."
"You think?"
Now Jon grins. "I dunno; you seemed confused about it this morning. 'Jon, are you getting me stoned to have sex with me?'" he says, trying to mimic Spencer's stoic delivery and failing with each slightly-lisped s.
Spencer throws a pillow at Jon. "I was trying to think, but you were being persuasive."
Two hours later, Brendon finds them still on the couch, Spencer lying on top of Jon, joined at the lips. Brendon puts his hands to the sides of his face in mock shock and gasps dramatically. Jon and Spencer ignore him, so he does it again. Four times. Spencer flips him off, prompting Brendon to run screaming from the bus, wailing at the top of his lungs.
Jon breaks the kiss for a minute and breathes.
"Drama queen," Spencer grumbles, pushing himself up off of Jon to sit up.
"Yeah, but we keep him around anyway."
"Why's that again?"
"Something about teen girls, but I can't remember right now." Jon reaches up around Spencer's neck and pulls him back down. Spencer collapses back onto Jon's chest. Spencer can feel Jon's heartbeat; it's kind of nice.
***
Spencer can't remember what city they were in when Jon first crawled into his bunk. He'd blame it on the pot, but it's true of just about everything on tour -- it blends together into something amorphous and even trying to remember when openers swapped in and out can be hard. Still, they're headed for some sort of quasi- maybe-sort-of-anniversary-like thing and Spencer thinks he should know the exact date. On tour dates melt away into cities; Spencer wonders if he could translate backwards between cities and dates, even with the tour schedule printed on the band merch. Was Minneapolis really in May? Had they played Seattle in June and Arizona in April and the whole country in just two months? Out the window of a bus, highway tends to look the same.
He pulls himself away from the computer, where he's been trying to find the schedule somewhere in his email, and looks over at Jon, asleep in Spencer's bunk. Spencer's starting to get used to beard burn. He'll wake Jon up in a few minutes. They'll smoke, or maybe Spencer will go down on Jon; it's been a couple days. He climbs in behind Jon and pulls the curtain.
***
It's nine-thirty and Spencer's in the green room, tying his hair back, twisting his wrists to limber up, getting ready to beat the shit out of his drumset. It's supposed to be fall, but the theater is blazing hot and he knows he's going to be drenched by "Lying". Ryan is slumped on the couch and has his phone pressed against his ear; Brendon is singing scales and playing air-piano. Jon sips his beer. Spencer watches him zone out, the curve of his throat as he swallows.
Jon looks up, catches Spencer's eyes. "Two songs, tops. Then you're going to be flinging sweat around with each drumbeat."
"I know, right? You'd think they could bother with A/C."
"You're going to be flushed and sweaty up there." Jon pauses, swirls his bottle. "That's hot."
"If you say 'literally', I'm going to beat you."
Jon just grins.
***
There's a hotel bed in Spencer's future. A bed and a shower and probably towels that aren't the shitty thin ones the venues provide or his own two-months-from-a-washer monstrosity. He's totally on board with a shower and a bed and nice fluffy towels, but right at this minute he's got his hand down the front of Jon's pants and his tongue in Jon's mouth, flushed and frantic with adrenaline. Spencer rims Jon in the shower and then they fuck hard against the shower wall, sheets of water falling down around them, Spencer's hair in his face and his dick buried in Jon. He reaches his hand around and tries to jack Jon, but eventually gives up and just slams home until he's coming, a string of non-words falling out of him. He blows Jon after, slow and sloppy just like Jon likes it; hands roaming Jon's chest, cupping his balls.
They flop, exhausted but clean, onto the bed next to one another. Jon turns his head toward Spencer and gives a half-smile. Spencer can't help but smile back.
***
They come down to the bus together, Spencer with his little backpack and Jon's camera bag slung over his shoulder, Jon typing into his phone with both hands. Brendon comes bounding from behind them in the hotel lobby, flings his arms around Jon's neck and jumps up on his back, jostling him into Spencer.
"Onward, Jonathan!" Brendon crows, "Onward to Bus Land!"
Spencer cracks a little bit of a smile and bends down to pick up Jon's phone as Jon good-naturedly piggybacks Brendon out the main entrance, flip-flops flapping on the floor. He looks down at the screen, and it's a text -- Jon's sending a message to... him. Huh. Spencer can't resist; he reads "waking up next to you will be the highli". He stops dead, ten feet from the lobby doors, morning sun streaming through them and glaring in his face.
Jon Walker is pretty awesome. Spencer finds his tiny smile growing wider, and when Ryan and Keltie nearly knock him over in their rush to the bus, he's grinning wide enough to rouse a lifted eyebrow from Ryan -- and he doesn't want to stop. He follows them through the automatic doors and across the street to the bus, where he flings his bag and Jon's camera on his bunk and continues down the bus to the lounge, where he hears Brendon and Jon moving around. Jon's ticking Brendon mercilessly and Brendon is shrieking; Spencer's instinct is to join in, but he holds back, watching Jon's fingers find Brendon's side again and again despite the writhing mass of Urie he's trying to pin down.
When Brendon's wails finally subside and Jon gets up, Spencer holds out Jon's phone to him and quirks an eyebrow. Jon doesn't even have to look at the phone to know Spencer's seen his message. He doesn't look bashful or self-conscious of that fact, just happy; Spencer matches his easy grin.
The bus rolls on.