Socks
Title: Lucky
Pairing: Jon Walker/John Nolan
Rating: R
Prompt: socks
Summary: The thing about Jon Walker is that he doesn't like socks.
Word Count: 1259
Disclaimer
The thing about Jon Walker is that he doesn't like socks.
Some people think that it's a flip-flop thing. Really, it's an anti-sock thing. After all, what other kind of footwear would work so well barefoot? Birkenstocks? He's not a lesbian. Bisexual men aren't lesbians. Converse? Comfortable, but after two or three months... they started to smell. And so, he settled on flip-flops.
The other thing about Jon Walker is that he is damn lucky his boyfriend loves him so much.
Jon comes home one day to John - yeah, they're John and Jon and he knows how inconvenient it is, so John's best friend, Jesse, has taken to calling them by their last names - flailing in the kitchen.
Well, more specifically, he brings in the mail, takes off his flip flops, drops he envelopes on the kitchen table and calls hello before going to go get pyjama pants on. When he comes back into the kitchen, John is standing there with an envelope and a card and one of his arms waving just a little. And he's swearing. Loudly.
Jon just kind of stops and stares.
You see, John is the normal one. John works from home as an accountant. John brushes his teeth twice a day - and flosses. John wears socks. (And okay, there's the obsession with forty year old celibate musicians and weird Christian metal bands, but still. That doesn't mean John flails in the kitchen every day. Not without spilling something.)
It takes a full ten minutes for Jon to coax the words "Adam" and "wedding" out of the other man. He hugs him, drawing him close. "Calm down," he says, soothingly. "Do you want some tea? I can even spike it for you."
John just buries his face in Jon's shoulder and nods.
So Jon makes tea, and they talk quietly about what they're going to do (call Adam) and whether or not they're going (they are). And then they drink a whole lot and skip dinner to have a good old-fashioned drunken makeout session.
They end up in their bedroom, with John on the mattress under Jon, both of them completely naked. Well. Almost.
The thing with John is that he always wears socks. No exceptions. Excepting the shower, of course, but that'd just be weird, and he'd probably get Athlete's Foot. Jon has never been a fan of foot fungi.
*
Jon manages to go three days without hearing anything about the wedding, though John does spill more things than usual. The damage includes spaghetti sauce on his favourite jeans, a good apple juice rinse for his bare feet and John's socks, and then that one poor bowl that got broken.
*
They're just curling up in bed, when John bursts out: "We need to get clothes for the wedding. Jon, you can't wear shorts."
"Shut up," Jon groans, because it is twelve thirty seven and he is tired and he has work tomorrow, opening shift at Starbucks, which starts at a god forsaken five-thirty in the morning. He doesn't function well, when he needs to get up earlier than six a.m.
"No, seriously." John says, and he plops his skinny little frame half on top of Jon. Fucker, Jon thinks.
"Fine, I won't wear fucking shorts," Jon grumbles.
And John is satisfied.
*
They make a trip to the mall on one of Jon's days off, stopping at various stores so that they can find appropriate clothing . Well, really, clothing deemed appropriate by John, and Jon wonders why he has to be fucking someone that is such a girl.
"Do you think this blazer goes with these pants?" John asks.
He sighs. "I don't know. They're both. Um. Very black?"
John rolls his eyes. "Jon Walker, you're no help. I should have just come with Jesse."
Yes, you should have. That is the only thing that goes through Jon's mind. "Why don't you call him?" He suggests, trying not to sound to eager.
Forty minutes later, they're sitting in the food court with John's best friend. "See, Nolan," Jesse sighs, and steals a french fry. "I told you you should have let me come with you."
"I know, right?" Jon says, rolling his eyes. "That's what I told him. But he wanted to do the fucking couple thing..." Sometimes, Jon and Jesse like to commiserate about John. Regardless of his proximity. (When they are this close, this usually ends up with a couple smacks to the side of the head, and both of them scowling a little bit, before telling John he is lucky they still love him. Sometimes, Jon calls domestic abuse.)
"Let's go back to H&M," John suggests. "Jess, they've got this amazing corduroy blazer you've got to try on."
Jon tries not to groan. Shopping with the two of them is kind of ludicrous. He'd hoped he'd be able to go home.
*
That night, they fuck again, and John wears his socks. Jon gets annoyed with the fabric against his calf and curses, ceasing all movement, causing a needy whine to escape the mouth of the man under him.
"Jonathan Walker, you better have a damn good reason for stopping," John pants, squirming just a little bit, trying to get friction again.
"Your fucking socks are chafing my leg," Jon grumbles, but shifts into his boyfriend obligingly.
"Stop bitching and fuck me," John says, and his tone is alarmingly menacing for such a tiny man, so Jon does.
*
Jon makes it until two days before the wedding before he hears anything else from John about it.
"What shoes are you wearing?" That is the question John throws at him, and Jon thanks god that he doesn't have to open in the morning, because it's now two twenty-six.
"Um. I dunno. Flip-flops, I figured," Jon mumbles. Flip-flops are the only footwear he owns. (And yeah, November is brutal, but he only needs to make it from the house to the car and from the car to wherever he's going.)
John's eyes go wide and he lets out a shriek that Jon has only heard once before. From his boyfriend's sister. "JONATHAN WALKER DON'T YOU DARE."
"Oh," Jon says. "Um. Why not?"
"Because you can't wear flip-flops to a wedding!"
"Why not?"
"They don't go with your suit! And. And they're so informal!"
"So?"
John flails and looks really upset, and Jon thinks, ohshitwhatdidIdo, and then it comes out. "Because I need to prove that I moved on to a grown-up!"
And Jon thinks, oh.
And John keeps going. "And I need to prove that you are better than him and - and - and... and capable of socks!"
And Jon puts his arms around his boyfriend and says, "Okay. I'll wear socks. And grown-up shoes. Just for you."
John presses his face into Jon's shoulder. "Thank you."
"But you gotta do something for me," Jon says. Because he is not wearing socks without getting something out of it. Seriously.
"What do you want me to do?" John sighs, looking up at his boyfriend.
"Just. No more socks to bed. Okay? I can deal with them and you and your neurotic spazziness the rest of the time," he says, and presses a kiss to the tip of John's nose. "Just not in bed."
John frowns. "My feet will get cold..."
"No they won't. I'm warm."
"What if my feet smell?"
"John, I've been with you for a year. More than that. You spill juice on me. You listen to Morrissey at four in the morning when you're drunk. You get random urges to clean everything with bleach. I think I can deal with smelly feet."
He sighs again, and gives Jon a serious look. "You are lucky I love you," he says.
Jon beams. "I know."
When Jon sees his boyfriend's toes curl when he comes, he knows it's totally going to be worth a day of socks and dress shoes to see that all the time.
Pairing: Jon Walker/John Nolan
Rating: R
Prompt: socks
Summary: The thing about Jon Walker is that he doesn't like socks.
Word Count: 1259
Disclaimer
The thing about Jon Walker is that he doesn't like socks.
Some people think that it's a flip-flop thing. Really, it's an anti-sock thing. After all, what other kind of footwear would work so well barefoot? Birkenstocks? He's not a lesbian. Bisexual men aren't lesbians. Converse? Comfortable, but after two or three months... they started to smell. And so, he settled on flip-flops.
The other thing about Jon Walker is that he is damn lucky his boyfriend loves him so much.
Jon comes home one day to John - yeah, they're John and Jon and he knows how inconvenient it is, so John's best friend, Jesse, has taken to calling them by their last names - flailing in the kitchen.
Well, more specifically, he brings in the mail, takes off his flip flops, drops he envelopes on the kitchen table and calls hello before going to go get pyjama pants on. When he comes back into the kitchen, John is standing there with an envelope and a card and one of his arms waving just a little. And he's swearing. Loudly.
Jon just kind of stops and stares.
You see, John is the normal one. John works from home as an accountant. John brushes his teeth twice a day - and flosses. John wears socks. (And okay, there's the obsession with forty year old celibate musicians and weird Christian metal bands, but still. That doesn't mean John flails in the kitchen every day. Not without spilling something.)
It takes a full ten minutes for Jon to coax the words "Adam" and "wedding" out of the other man. He hugs him, drawing him close. "Calm down," he says, soothingly. "Do you want some tea? I can even spike it for you."
John just buries his face in Jon's shoulder and nods.
So Jon makes tea, and they talk quietly about what they're going to do (call Adam) and whether or not they're going (they are). And then they drink a whole lot and skip dinner to have a good old-fashioned drunken makeout session.
They end up in their bedroom, with John on the mattress under Jon, both of them completely naked. Well. Almost.
The thing with John is that he always wears socks. No exceptions. Excepting the shower, of course, but that'd just be weird, and he'd probably get Athlete's Foot. Jon has never been a fan of foot fungi.
*
Jon manages to go three days without hearing anything about the wedding, though John does spill more things than usual. The damage includes spaghetti sauce on his favourite jeans, a good apple juice rinse for his bare feet and John's socks, and then that one poor bowl that got broken.
*
They're just curling up in bed, when John bursts out: "We need to get clothes for the wedding. Jon, you can't wear shorts."
"Shut up," Jon groans, because it is twelve thirty seven and he is tired and he has work tomorrow, opening shift at Starbucks, which starts at a god forsaken five-thirty in the morning. He doesn't function well, when he needs to get up earlier than six a.m.
"No, seriously." John says, and he plops his skinny little frame half on top of Jon. Fucker, Jon thinks.
"Fine, I won't wear fucking shorts," Jon grumbles.
And John is satisfied.
*
They make a trip to the mall on one of Jon's days off, stopping at various stores so that they can find appropriate clothing . Well, really, clothing deemed appropriate by John, and Jon wonders why he has to be fucking someone that is such a girl.
"Do you think this blazer goes with these pants?" John asks.
He sighs. "I don't know. They're both. Um. Very black?"
John rolls his eyes. "Jon Walker, you're no help. I should have just come with Jesse."
Yes, you should have. That is the only thing that goes through Jon's mind. "Why don't you call him?" He suggests, trying not to sound to eager.
Forty minutes later, they're sitting in the food court with John's best friend. "See, Nolan," Jesse sighs, and steals a french fry. "I told you you should have let me come with you."
"I know, right?" Jon says, rolling his eyes. "That's what I told him. But he wanted to do the fucking couple thing..." Sometimes, Jon and Jesse like to commiserate about John. Regardless of his proximity. (When they are this close, this usually ends up with a couple smacks to the side of the head, and both of them scowling a little bit, before telling John he is lucky they still love him. Sometimes, Jon calls domestic abuse.)
"Let's go back to H&M," John suggests. "Jess, they've got this amazing corduroy blazer you've got to try on."
Jon tries not to groan. Shopping with the two of them is kind of ludicrous. He'd hoped he'd be able to go home.
*
That night, they fuck again, and John wears his socks. Jon gets annoyed with the fabric against his calf and curses, ceasing all movement, causing a needy whine to escape the mouth of the man under him.
"Jonathan Walker, you better have a damn good reason for stopping," John pants, squirming just a little bit, trying to get friction again.
"Your fucking socks are chafing my leg," Jon grumbles, but shifts into his boyfriend obligingly.
"Stop bitching and fuck me," John says, and his tone is alarmingly menacing for such a tiny man, so Jon does.
*
Jon makes it until two days before the wedding before he hears anything else from John about it.
"What shoes are you wearing?" That is the question John throws at him, and Jon thanks god that he doesn't have to open in the morning, because it's now two twenty-six.
"Um. I dunno. Flip-flops, I figured," Jon mumbles. Flip-flops are the only footwear he owns. (And yeah, November is brutal, but he only needs to make it from the house to the car and from the car to wherever he's going.)
John's eyes go wide and he lets out a shriek that Jon has only heard once before. From his boyfriend's sister. "JONATHAN WALKER DON'T YOU DARE."
"Oh," Jon says. "Um. Why not?"
"Because you can't wear flip-flops to a wedding!"
"Why not?"
"They don't go with your suit! And. And they're so informal!"
"So?"
John flails and looks really upset, and Jon thinks, ohshitwhatdidIdo, and then it comes out. "Because I need to prove that I moved on to a grown-up!"
And Jon thinks, oh.
And John keeps going. "And I need to prove that you are better than him and - and - and... and capable of socks!"
And Jon puts his arms around his boyfriend and says, "Okay. I'll wear socks. And grown-up shoes. Just for you."
John presses his face into Jon's shoulder. "Thank you."
"But you gotta do something for me," Jon says. Because he is not wearing socks without getting something out of it. Seriously.
"What do you want me to do?" John sighs, looking up at his boyfriend.
"Just. No more socks to bed. Okay? I can deal with them and you and your neurotic spazziness the rest of the time," he says, and presses a kiss to the tip of John's nose. "Just not in bed."
John frowns. "My feet will get cold..."
"No they won't. I'm warm."
"What if my feet smell?"
"John, I've been with you for a year. More than that. You spill juice on me. You listen to Morrissey at four in the morning when you're drunk. You get random urges to clean everything with bleach. I think I can deal with smelly feet."
He sighs again, and gives Jon a serious look. "You are lucky I love you," he says.
Jon beams. "I know."
When Jon sees his boyfriend's toes curl when he comes, he knows it's totally going to be worth a day of socks and dress shoes to see that all the time.