Mysteriously saved

by rossetti, sloganeer

Summary:

come + save me walker

Notes:

The individual pieces haven't been changed (except for mistakes we missed the first time) and we've added nothing extra, so this won't read as a traditional, cohesive fic. We wanted to show everyone how it could fit together.

Pete says he met the kid on the internet.

"Jesus Christ," Tom moans, "how old is he?"

"16." Pete never lies. "And the friend he's bringing is 15."

Jon leans forward to put his beer on the table. He puts his hands together and pleads, "Tell me this has something to do with music."

"What do you think I am, Walker?"

Pete Wentz was the bass player for a Chicago punk band, kind of a big thing with the DePaul kids. He dropped out of university when they got signed, but it didn't last. So he started his own label, and now he trawls the city and the internet, looking for the next best thing. Jon and Tom and 504plan were the first band Pete signed.

Now there's Panic at the Disco. Pete plays them their tracks, and Jon can't help but be jealous how good they are, so young. Jon shouldn't be so jealous at 17.

Two days later, during study period, Jon gets a text: jwalk get my boys frm vegas @ airprot. He doesn't want to set a dangerous precedent of favours for Pete, but it's an excuse to get out of Math. Jon begs his older brother's car (he doesn't want to ask his mom--she's not Pete's biggest fan), and Tom brings the music, and they drive out to O'Hare, no idea when this plane actually lands.

Tom spots them first, the ones who look scared, but are hiding it well. As they get closer, Jon recognizes Ryan from his pictures. The boy walking behind him, hair in his eyes and still hanging on to the last pounds of baby fat, should be Spencer, the best friend. Jon thinks he plays drums.

"Hey, hi," Jon waves.

"Where's Pete?" Spencer asks, stepping in front of Ryan, and Jon knows, immediately, not to mess with this kid.

"This is Jon," Tom offers, his voice calm. "I'm Tom. Pete asked us to pick you guys up."

"It's fine, Spence." Dropping his guitar case, Ryan offers Jon his hand. "504plan, right? You guys are great. I'm Ryan Ross."

Jon doesn't know what happens after he drops them off--he can guess, he was there once--but it must've gone well because Jon gets another text, during another study period, telling him there's a panic partyy in thehooouse.

"What do you think?" he asks, taking the red cup when Tom hands it to him. Jon's noticed that neither Ryan nor Spencer are drinking, so he's stuck close to the keg, where he can watch them, but he doesn't have to talk. He's not sure what he would say. Even across the room, Spencer is making Jon's mouth dry. Pete monopolizes their time, but Tom was just over there in an animated conversation with Ryan that Jon guess, from the hand gestures, was about guitars.

"They're smart," Tom reports. "Smarter than you, at least."

Jon shoves him off. "Shut the fuck up."

Tom holds out a joint. "Wanna go get high so you can make out with them?" Jon lunges, but Tom is taller and just out of his reach. When he gets his balance back, and Tom has escaped to the deck, Jon looks up. Ryan is still on the couch with Pete, but Spencer is gone. Jon hasn't seen him talk to anyone but Pete--even with Ryan, they seem to communicate more with eyes and hands than words. Fifteen years old, but he looks like he has the room, and everyone in it, pegged.

"What do you think?" someone says, surprising Jon and making him spill his beer. It's Spencer, standing at his shoulder, hands in his pockets.

"Oh. Hi." Jon can see now how blue his eyes are. He's still not sure if he likes boys or girls, but he would really like to kiss Spencer and find out.

"You know Pete better than me. What do you think?"

"Um." He sets his cup on the table and moves them away from the keg. They reach an empty span of wall, and Spencer leans his shoulder against it. Jon likes the way his hip sits out. "I think Pete loves music, and he loves his friends. He's been burned, and he doesn't want that to happen to anyone else."

Spencer rolls his shoulder forward on the wall to push off. He steadies himself with a hand on Jon's arm. When Jon looks up, just a little, to see Spencer's eyes, his breath catches, and he completely misses any signs before Spencer kisses him.

Jon licks his lips and there's a taste there he doesn't know. "What was that for?" he whispers.

"For when you drive us to the airport tomorrow," Spencer shrugs.

Jon doesn't get to kiss Spencer again when they say goodbye and it's just as well. Fifteen. Jesus.

-

Parties at Pete's house are too much. He sticks close to Ryan's side, tries to keep Brent and Brendon within his eyesight, but also plays it cool. They're not used to parties like this, might never be used to parties like this, but that doesn't mean everyone he doesn't know needs to know that.

"Hi again, Spencer Smith!" he hears over his shoulder. He has to clamp down firmly on a grin.

"Hi there, Jon Walker," he turns just enough to lean a hip against the wall, tugs his blazer down.

"You're not fifteen!" Jon sounds pretty damn happy. And pretty damn enthusiastic. He's gripping a red Solo cup and Spencer feels better that Jon needed a little courage assist, too.

"No, no, I had a few birthdays in there," he shakes his head to clear his hair out of his eyes, tries to project an aura of adulthood.

Jon leans against the wall next to him, drops his head in close to Spencer's. "I hear you and your boys are going to be on tour with me and my boys."

Spencer grins and responds, tells Jon about the van they'll be in, about Ryan's unswerving confidence that they won't be in a van for long, about recording and designing album art and convincing his parents to let him leave school early. That last part seems to shake Jon out of his monosyllabic or head nodding contributions to the conversation.

Jon shakes his head and mutters something under his breath and rucks a hand through his hair then seems to come to a decision. "Come outside with me," he says, and pulls on Spencer's hand. Spencer follows.

Jon drags him out onto Pete's back porch. "I'm going to kiss you a lot, now, you can push me away or something if that's not OK, but I just couldn't not anymore," Jon's still disclaiming when Spencer just fucking fixes this and leans forward to kiss him.

"It doesn't have to be anything big," he whispers when he can. "But you're really cute and really perfect and we're going to be on tour together. We should hang out." He kisses Jon again and he really hopes Jon understands what he means by hanging out because he's not ready to say anything more.

He hums into the kiss, twirls his tongue around Jon's in a lazy, happy way, uncaring when the screen door bangs open.

"Woo!" someone yells. "We got some sexin' on the porch! I declare this a PARTY!"

Now he definitely does care about making out with Jon, since now he's in full view of everyone right inside the door, all peeping glances towards. He buries his head in Jon's protective arm and sways to the music. He can do this, he's allowed. Ryan wanders into his vision and he grips Jon's hair tighter, keeps him away from Spencer's collarbones. Jon moans into the pull, his eyes rolling back into his head a little. "This is so good," Jon whispers and Spencer smiles at him, kisses his agreement.

-

"We'll definitely hang out on tour," he whispers into the kiss, feels Spencer smile against his lips. He can't help but rub his thumb along the smooth expanse of Spencer's jawline, he's been thinking about it for weeks. When he dips under to sweep down to Spencer's throat, Spencer makes a noise of protest and pulls away, ducking his head down so his hair falls in his eyes.

"Not," Spencer clears his throat and scrunches his neck down further, pulling his chin into his collarbone. He mumbles something after that, something Jon can't work out.

"What?" he questions, trying to make it soothing. He's been trying to slip his hand down Spencer's back pocket but he can't seem to smoothly get around Spencer's blazer. It doesn't come out quite how he intends, it's a little strangled and a little self-satisfied as he finally gets his thumb into denim nirvana.

"Don't touch there," Spencer jerks his head up a fraction, which he thinks means Spencer's ass is fair game but not his chin. "Not under." Jon nods and kisses Spencer's temple, his cheek, his nose, anything he can.

"Show me where I can kiss," he pleads. Spencer rolls his eyes and puckers up. It's--Jon wants to know where Spencer learned this, who he's kissed to make him so perfectly kissable. They have an easy rhythm with bites and nips and tongues and they never run out of breath. He and Spencer lean against a wall and they kiss like kissing is the only thing they know how to do. It's amazing.

And then he really does want to know who else Spencer has kissed, who else might have had this experience. He's not sure what he'll do those people, yet, but it probably won't be nice. When he pulls back he realizes he can't ask that, not yet, so he starts smaller.

"I feel like we hardly know each other," he says. "There are so many questions to ask." He pulls Spencer's hand up with his, clasps it's loosely between their hearts, covers them with his other hand, reluctantly separated from Spencer's pocket. "What's your favorite color?"

Spencer laughs as he answers, his eyes crinkling. It's adorable, so Jon tries again.

"I'm a dog person," Spencer responds easily and he--

"No!" Jon gasps, squeezing Spencer's hand. He wasn't expecting that.

"Cat person?" Spencer's eyebrows go up but he doesn't try to extricate his hand. Jon nods solemnly in response.

"Clearly this is doomed," Jon switches to shaking his head slowly. "We can never cohabitate."

Spencer frowns. "That's not a word," he says slowly.

"Are you questioning my fine grasp on the language of the English?" he asks.

"Let's just go back to kissing." Spencer doesn't give him time to say anything, just leans in and catches Jon's mouth, just like he did the first time.

He makes a really unmanly whining noise into Spencer's mouth a few minutes in, right as he's wondering if they should go back inside, and Spencer pulls back. "Noooooo," he leans with Spencer, trying to get his mouth back.

"I'm cold," Spencer says.

He's dumbfounded with all the cheesy stuff he could say. He opens his mouth and closes it a few times, debating. Spencer's smiling at him. "Let me get you a drink?" he offers, disengaging his hands from Spencer's to run them up and down Spencer's arms, a fully-hearted but only half-effective warming gesture.

They head inside, Spencer following him. There aren't any hoots or hollers and he's thankful, not sure they could handle that, not quite yet. Tom slips him a discreet thumbs up and William winks lewdly but since that's not specifically in their direction he thinks they're safe.

And then Ryan Ross steps in front of him. "Have you seen Pete?" he asks. "Pete was looking for you."

"Oh," he turns to look at Spencer, who's looking at Ryan with a resigned expression. "Yeah?"

"Yes." Ryan starts to step around him, edging closer to Spencer. Spencer rolls his eyes again. Jon's starting to suspect Spencer does that a lot.

"I'll go find him, I guess," he waves at Spencer. "Uh. I'll bring you back that drink?"

Spencer smiles at him, that smile that Jon loves, the smile that crinkles his eyes and makes him think about when Dylan was a kitten. "Yes, please."

-

Ryan always said they had to play music and that it would change their lives. Spencer thought he was crazy when they were 12; at 14, he knew this wasn't a phase, and at 17, Panic at the Disco was famous. He had to concede that Ryan was right.

But that doesn't make him right about this.

"You know I am," Ryan says anyway. He lives to annoy Spencer. They're on the couch, while they wait for Brendon to get ready to go out. Brent doesn't want to go, so Spencer's going to stay on the bus. "He's going to ask where you are, Spence. What do you want me to tell him?"

"Tell him whatever you want. I'm not hiding; I'm hanging out with Brent."

Brendon's in a hurry (despite the last 20 minutes he spent in the tiny bus bathroom), and he whisks Ryan out into the night. Spencer settles in with the remote. He calls back to the bunks, but doesn't hear an answer. Brent must be on the phone again.

Spencer doesn't feel ready to leave it all behind either. He doesn't tell Ryan, but sometimes he looks at Brent across the room, and he sees himself. How can they have life figured out already? Spencer's closed his eyes to the TV when he hears footsteps, opens them, and sees Brent leaving.

"Hey! You said you didn't want to go out."

"Changed my mind," and he's gone.

Spencer sneers after him. Wrenching his Sidekick out of his front pocket, he flips it open, but doesn't call Ryan. Not yet. He won't admit defeat so early in the night. It's in his hand, warming, when it buzzes to life.

anyone home?

Jon, and Spencer smiles, but that doesn't mean Ryan was right. Still, Spencer has the time and an empty bus. Before he can overthink it, he texts back come + save me walker. The knock at the door comes when he hits send and makes Spencer jump.

He lets Jon in, but not without a teasing, "Stalking me?" Jon shrugs. He's smiling; he doesn't care. He's crowding Spencer back against the wall, kissing him, and palming his ass. It's good, Jon knows what he's doing, but he doesn't seem to know that he can go further. They've been doing this for a while now, since Jon leaned over one smoky night on The Academy's bus and licked his way across Spencer's cheek to his mouth. It took Spencer a month just to get Jon's hands below his waist.

Now that they're there, Spencer wants more. He hikes his leg up around Jon's hip, ruts up against him until Jon gets a clue. "Yeah?" Jon asks, lifting him right up off the ground. Spencer helps, his arms around Jon's neck, but, still, they lurch and stumble and fall, onto the couch, thankfully.

"Were you waiting for me, Walker?" They both get themselves naked. Spencer doesn't have time for easing Jon's shirt over his head or using his teeth to unzip his jeans. This needs to happen now. It's been long enough. "I was waiting for you."

Smiling when they kiss, they knock teeth, but it's still good. Jon just makes sure the next kiss is all tongue. Spencer climbs on top, knees on both sides of Jon's hips, grinding down. Jon's hands are back on his ass. His fingers slide between Spencer's cheeks and spread him wide.

"Oh, God," he whispers. Jon doesn't stop. "We don't have--Jon, Jon. Lemme get up a sec."

Jon grins up at him, eyes hooded, but bright and shiny. "OK," he says. "I can wait."

"Yeah, well." Spencer tries to kiss him and gets his nose instead. "Not too long."

He knows exactly what he's looking for and exactly where it is. There are always condoms in the cupboard under the bathroom sink (though Zack will deny forever that he makes sure they're always in there), but Spencer had to make an extra purchase and that he's been keeping in his pillow, away from prying eyes and nosy best friends.

When he gets back out to the lounge, Jon has slumped back on the couch, the straight long line of his throat exposed and his eyes on the ceiling. He's stroking himself, so slow it must be unbearable, and Spencer can hear, in the silence of the bus, his breaths coming ragged.

Spencer says his name and grins when Jon nearly breaks his neck snapping to attention.

"I was waiting," he tells Spencer. He looks guilty, but Spencer still gets down on his knees and licks Jon's cock, just a little, just to taste. He rolls the condom down and climbs back up on the couch. It's Jon's lap where Spencer really wants to be.

"Are we? Should we? Jesus, Spencer." Jon's head slams again into the back of the couch. Spencer likes the way his eyes roll back, the way his mouth falls open. He loves how Jon hangs onto his hips and helps the best he can while Spencer stretches himself open and slides down, not easily, but so eager, onto Jon's erection. Leaning forward, he kisses Jon's throat, he whispers, "This is what we were waiting for," then leaning back, he finds the angle he needs.

It's kind of exactly what Spencer wanted for his first time.

-

"You're so cheesy," Spencer tells him, as Jon turns the car onto a side road.

"You don't even know where you are. Admit it."

Spencer admits nothing. He sits in the passenger seat with a straight line of a smile, searching ahead and out the window.

A day off on tour isn't something to be wasted. Jon borrowed the car off one of the venue security guys who got high with them last night, then kidnapped Spencer off Panic's bus early that morning. He let Spencer get dressed, but was strong and resisted any attempts to wheedle information about where they were going.

But they could see the screen from the highway. Spencer was young (Jon always forgot that), but he must know what a drive-in looks like.

"If you think you're doing me in the backseat of this gross car, you're deluded, Walker."

"Spencer Smith, I am a gentleman."

He is, and to prove it, Jon parks the car up in the front row in front of the screen, gets out, and rounds the car to open the passenger door.

"Don't do that," Spencer says, hand stuck in mid-air where he was reaching for the handle.

Jon holds up his hands. "I've been warned."

"Don't treat me like that, Jon." He leans against the car while Jon roots around in the back, looking for his camera bag and the snacks he grabbed from the 7-11 next to the bus city. "I'm not a kid and I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not your boyfriend."

"What are you?" Jon asks, tossing Spencer a bag of Cheetos.

"I'm your friend." Spencer nods. He pops open the bag. Jon stalks closer. "And sometimes we make out," he admits, and Jon agrees by kissing him soundly. Spencer lets him, takes Jon's weight back onto the hood of the car, pushes his tongue back against Jon's. Spencer never gives up everything.

Jon remembered seeing the drive-in behind the trees that lined the drive into town. He pointed it out to Tom, who said it would be a great place to photograph. Pulling back with a last bite of Spencer's bottom lip, Jon digs into his bag and finds his camera, the big one.

"And sometimes I get take your picture?" he asks.

"Oh, God." Spencer shakes his head and his hair falls in his face. After a step back, a focus, a click, Jon gets the most blinding smile out of him because Spencer knows Jon just took a photo of his mouth turned down, eyes closed behind his bangs.

"I don't care," Jon grins back. "It's still you. It's more you," he proclaims and sneaks around the camera to catch Spencer's cheek.

They walk around the empty lot, checking out the concession shack, where Spencer dares him to eat the popcorn left at the bottom of the machine and Jon does. Down front, standing below the momentous screen, Spencer holds one hand up, stretching until his fingers just touch. He looks at Jon, sheepish, over his shoulder, and says, "I always wanted to know."

Jon takes a lot of photos. Most, when Spencer isn't looking, and he doesn't let Spencer see, not even when he crowds close as they head back to the car. "C'mon," he says and lunges, toppling them both into the backseat, Jon on top of his gear.

He goes, "Ouch," and sticks out his lip in a pout. Spencer tells him to stop whining, and he's right because this is exactly what Jon wanted. They get rid of Jon's cameras ("Carefully," Jon says) and their shirts, pants open, but still on. It's just a two door and, yeah, kind of gross, so Jon lays back on the seat with Spencer on his hips, moving forward, down, back. He stays up there, his own hand on his own cock, and Jon has to watch. There's not nearly enough pressure, friction, not even when Jon lifts up to move with Spencer's rhythm. He can't get there, but Spencer's already gulping for breaths, pushing hair off his sweaty forehead, and when he comes it's all over his hand and Jon's bare chest.

Jon gropes around for his camera, finds fast food wrappers and a fire extinguisher instead, but then Spencer whispers his name and slumps down, and Jon has to catch him. He wraps him up, Spencer's fluffy hair tickling his chin, both their bellies sliding in the mess Spencer made, and Jon's legs are cramping already, but it's fine. It's fine. It's pretty good, actually.

-

Of course Jon has to go. It's not like he's in the band. But Spencer didn't think he'd leave without saying anything.

Spencer gets back to the bus with Zack and food, and they're all in the lounge, waiting, watching something that looks like local news. Brendon hangs over one arm of the couch. He spots them, the plastic bag hanging from Spencer's hand, mostly, and says, "Feed me, Spence. I'm wasting away."

He tosses out a carton of rice. "Carb up. You're gonna need it before Walker steals you away for the night."

"Jon left," Ryan says. He leans over Spencer's shoulder, digging into the bag for chopsticks to go with his chow mein.

"What?"

"Cheaper flight," Brendon explains. He's eating the rice with his fingers, perched on the couch.

Brent takes the carton out of Spencer's hand and doesn't say anything.

"I thought--" but Spencer doesn't know what he thinks. "Did he--" leave a note, Spencer wants to ask, but he can't ask that, and, besides, his Sidekick is on. He checked. If Jon wanted to leave a note, he could.

Ryan stands close, hovering until Spencer lets out a breath and walks away, back to the bunks. "Spencer?" he asks.

"I'm fine."

He's not, but Spencer doesn't want to know how Ryan would try to comfort him about this. He's got his own crush on Jon--the whole fucking band does. Spencer lays on his back in his bunk. He flips open his phone, just in case. There are no missed calls and no new messages. Spencer guesses this is what a tour fling feels like. One more thing he didn't know before he signed the record deal.

When his phone rings, Spencer almost doesn't want to answer it. He checks the number, he takes a breath, and he says, "Hi."

"Hey, Spencer Smith."

He closes his eyes and calms his breath. "Where are you?"

"On the plane. Finally." Jon sounds so far away.

"You miss home."

"Yeah. And my mom misses me."

"Are you going to miss us?" Spencer cringes. "The road? The music?"

Jon says, "Yeah, I'll miss the road, the music."

It sounds so real, so final, despite the hush in Jon's sleepy voice. Spencer curls up with his phone. "Yeah. No, this is good. Clean. We'll just say goodbye."

"Hey, hey," Jon stops him. "You're gonna see me again. I've already planned to run into you by the DJ booth at one of Pete's parties. Or," and here he hums low and long, "I can be your booty call when you guys come through town."

"I don't need a booty call, Jon." He hates even saying the words.

"Stuck on that bus, and I'm not there. You'll call me from your bunk and beg me to get you off."

Spencer is surprised how hard he gets. That's never happened before. "Why don't you get me off right now?"

"Spence. That's what I'm here for." Spencer wants him on his knees, loves Jon on his knees in front of him, but this'll have to do. He presses his hand to his erection and waits for Jon to speak again. "You have to touch yourself for me," Jon whispers. "Let me really hear you."

"Not the last time," Spencer gasps, drawing his knees up to his chest and touching himself from behind.

"Not the last time," Jon agrees. "This isn't goodbye."

-

They're at The Original Pancake House because they're in Portland, and it's finally Brendon's turn to pick breakfast. He walks ahead of everyone off the bus, leads the way, and picks a table. He picks the booth in the window, just big enough for the four of them. Spencer slides in first, pushing his sunglasses up on his head. Ryan is next, a menu already in his hands.

"We're sitting over here," Brendon tells them. He pulls Jon down next to him. "This side of the table is the cool side of the table."

Behind his menu, Spencer says, "Cool side pays," and Ryan nods along.

They're so smug.

Jon hangs out with him the rest of the day. Brendon doesn't know what Ryan and Spencer are up to, but he's not going to complain when JWalk's in the house, putting up a decent fight, but dying with dignity when Bden schools him on Xbox.

They're cuddled on the couch, watching something on Animal Planet and eating microwave popcorn, when Ryan walks through. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, then shoves in next to Brendon on the couch.

"Where's Spencer?" Brendon asks.

Ryan waves his hand at the door. "Said he's waiting for something. Who knows?"

"Back in a sec." The popcorn bowl lands in Brendon's lap when Jon stands. Brendon watches him spinning around, looking for shoes and finding them under one of Ryan's coats, and then he's gone.

"So, what are we watching?" Ryan throws his feet up on the table and steals the popcorn.

During the next commercial, Brendon goes to the kitchen for more water. He's leaning over the sink to pull up the windowshade and catches what looks like Spencer's head in the corner of his eye. Sneaking up to the front of the bus, Brendon is as quiet as he can be opening the door and peering outside.

It's Spencer and it's Jon, and Jon is the one up against the bus, Spencer attacking his mouth. His hands are on Jon's hips. His sunglasses have fallen to the ground. Kisses that look like that mean more than just getting off.

-

Zack takes them to the consignment store Amanda's been talking about for weeks. Ryan has been hoping to visit but didn't know if they'd find time. Spencer rides in the backseat with him, Zack jokingly berating them the entire way about not getting paid enough to chauffeur. He plays something slow and happy, with a lot of guitars. Ryan likes it, but doesn't ask what it is. Zack has issues about potentially influencing their creative process.

Spencer's been clingy but distant all day, asking him to wait up on the way off the bus for pancakes and then grabbing Ryan's hand after, pulling him along. There's something on his mind and Ryan's waiting for him to figure out if he wants to talk about it.

Spencer flips through soft, faded tshirts while Ryan shops. He doesn't find much clothing-wise but grabs two pairs of sunglasses. Spencer throws down a pink tshirt that looks exactly like one he already owns and a white hoodie. He twists his lips, looking at Spencer. Spencer rearranges it so the don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me is showing. Ryan shakes his head but doesn't say anything.

When they get back, they settle on idly walking around tour bus city, their permanent temporary home. They pass the Dresden Dolls and Hush Sound bus three times before he sighs and pulls out his cigarettes. Spencer grimaces at him and snatches the pack out of his hands before he can put it away. He'd grab for it back if he weren't sure Spencer wouldn't throw it away. Zack would just get him more. Or he'd borrow from Jon.

Spencer shakes out one of Ryan's Parliaments and lights it up, a disgruntled look on his face. He doesn't like cigarettes, doesn't like that Ryan's taken to smoking them. Ryan's surprised. But now Spencer fits the image, yeah, of someone conflicted and seeking resolution, misguidedly. He'd been idly curious, before, but now he asks, wants to know. "What's going on?"

"He said he can't wait for me forever." Spencer's lips curl petulantly around the cigarette

"Who?" Spencer blows his smoke at Ryan and glares at him like he just kicked a puppy. "Jon?"

"Yes, Jon." Spencer drops the cigarette, less than half-finished, and snubs it out with a violent stab of his shoe.

"How's he waiting for you?"

"Are you stupid or just blind?" Spencer glares at him. But--this isn't Ryan's fault. He's pretty sure of that much.

"If I'm not understanding, then he probably didn't understand either."

Spencer keeps glaring at him, but a different glare, now, one that means he thinks Ryan's right and doesn't want to admit it. Ryan just finishes his cigarette. "I really wasn't sure," he drops his cigarette and leans against the nearest bus, crosses his arms.

Spencer stomps on his butt for him, rolls his eyes. "Well, it wasn't a thing."

"Now it is?" It makes sense, Spencer deciding it wasn't a thing while Jon was still new to the band. Ryan wonders if Jon thought it was a thing.

Spencer stops. "Yeah, maybe it is."

"Maybe you should tell him that," he flicks Spencer between the eyes and heads back for their bus.

It's warmer inside, he hadn't realized he was cold. He curls up with Brendon, who asks where Spencer is. Ryan waves his hand at the door. "Said he's waiting for something. Who knows?" Sometimes Spencer needs a push.

He's unsurprised when Jon reads it for what it is and heads outside in a flurry of motion. He settles in and steals the popcorn.

Brendon wanders off while Ryan's checking his Sidekick. When he comes back he curls up closer than he was before and whispers softly in Ryan's ear, "I think it's love."

"Yeah." He smiles down at Brendon. "I do, too."

-

Jon is the last one off the stage. He's still talking to the crowd, taking in every one of their cheers, answering every proposal of marriage. Finally, Brendon decides to go out there to drag him backstage.

"Time for all sweaty little bassists to get in the shower," he announces.

They've got their arms around each other, holding the other up and laughing like kids at something only they know. Brendon gives Spencer a look, then passes Jon off. He falls into Spencer's arms and Spencer steps on his foot when he tries to right them.

"Ow, careful there."

"Well, if you wore real shoes or weren't, I don't know, falling down drunk."

Jon shakes his head. "Not drunk. I'm high on life."

"Please don't," Spencer groans.

With his hands on Spencer's hips, Jon walks him backwards to the wall. He gets down on his knees, and even in the dark, with the music and the screaming still ringing in his ears, Spencer knows exactly what Jon is trying to do.

"OK, up." He gets his hands under Jon's armpits and tries to pull him back up off the floor. "Not here. What are you thinking?"

Jon is a dead, but happy weight in his arms. He's laughing and making Spencer work for it. Across the way, Spencer sees Zack and waves him away in the same moment. They'll head down to the dressing rooms soon, but first Spencer needs to get Jon back on his feet.

From his chest where his shirt is open, up the side of his neck, and across his jaw, Jon puts wet kisses that get wetter and dirtier when he finally makes it to Spencer's mouth.

"We can do this here, right?"

-

"No!" Spencer's whisper is short and unhappy and it cuts through the foggy, whiskey-driven thickness in his head. Someone--probably Brendon, his latest stage prank on the new kid--had replaced the beer in his bottle with Jack. That'd be fine, was fine, but Jon had forgotten as they were closing it down, had taken the swig that ended him on his knees hoping to blow Spencer side-stage.

He decides to help, falls further into Spencer's arms and angles up for another kiss as Spencer tries to get his feet under him. "Fucking Christ, I'm going to throw you in the shower, don't think I won't," Spencer growls and, oh, yeah, Jon likes the tone and the idea.

"Shower sex, yeah," he pants, agreeing, and leans in to suck at Spencer's neck. It's all tasty and sweaty and right in front of him.

"Yeah, sure, whatever, if you can get it up, I'll blow you in the dressing room," and Jon's never had better incentive in his life.

"Which way?" He helps Spencer get Jon's arm over his shoulders.

"How did you even play the fucking concert?" Spencer grumbles. He leans in. Spencer's neck is still right there.

"Wanna hear a secret, Spence?" Spencer keeps moving them forward. "Your basslines are really simple. I'm going to write better ones for the next album."

"Are you now?" Spencer sighs.

"Uh huh." He nods but stops when it makes him dizzy. "'Cause 'm a professional." They pause in a doorway. Jon looks up. Oh, hey, it's the greenroom. He rolls his head closer to Spencer's jawline. "And I love this band." He meant to say that earlier.

"Oh, Jon." Spencer's sigh as they get moving again isn't nearly as pissy as he wants it to be, Jon can tell. "I bet you regret this in the morning." Spencer dumps him off on the couch.

It leaves him back where he wanted to be, staring at Spencer's belt buckle. "Yeah, probably," he absently agrees as he reaches up. "But right now I really just want to suck you."

Spencer doesn't help him, watches him fumble with Spencer's newest decorative belt buckle, but he steps closer, makes it so Jon doesn't have to reach as far. "Do you even care that people could walk in right now?" Spencer asks but doesn't stop him.

In answer, he unzips Spencer's jeans. "If you don't want to get caught, you'll just have to be fast." Spencer's still complicit, still close, visibly hard.

"It doesn't exactly work like--Jon!" Jon loves that. He can do that, make Spencer sound like that.

It's not pretty and it's not skilled. Spencer helps him, guides him in a way that's comforting. Jon could almost fall asleep after this, just fall back and curl up until bus call.

But he's pretty sure he was promised a blowjob earlier, and he's not going to sleep before that happens.

He thought he was doing a pretty good job, here, but Spencer puts a thumb to his forehead and pushes him off. "Let me just," Spencer starts stroking himself, the fast pace he uses when he's close and about to finish. Jon enjoys his stage-side view, follows the understanding that this is changing, now, that he's going to be washing his face in a few minutes.

It's about standard, as these things go. Spencer doesn't aim at his eyes. Thoughtful.

-

"Hey, Jon." Brendon whirls around from his microphone. "Count us off."

1, 2, 3, 4, with the sticks, then the force of the bass drum sets up the song. Jon drums barefoot because he likes to feel the vibration in the pedal. It keeps him on the beat.

He started drumming in high school because it was the best seat on stage. He saw everything differently back there. From that stool in his kit, Jon can see his band and the lights and their audience and the signs held up above the crowd. He keeps his eye on Spencer, matching his basslines, and another on Brendon for his cues. Mostly, the show goes like instinct, and that swell of accomplishment carries them off stage, Ryan's arm around Jon and laughing in his ear.

There's a party at some club, after, so Jon has to find shoes and he has to wait for the rest of them to change back into street clothes. Jon picks out a clean shirt and he's ready. Brendon takes forever, and Ryan lingers when he's not sure about going out, so Spencer is the first one to join Jon on the green room couch.

Their hands come together in Jon's lap as Spencer sits. There are callouses on the tips of Spencer's fingers. Jon loves the way they rub over his skin, and he lets himself remember how those hands feel around his cock. Groaning with the memory, Jon drags Spencer's hand to his jeans, encouraging him to move until Jon gets the pressure he's needing.

"We don't really want to go to the party, do we?" Spencer's grin is sharp when Jon looks over. He answers, shaking his head. Spencer leans in, he bites Jon's lip until Jon tastes copper, and they're laid out like that on the couch when Ryan finds them.

"Aw, Spencer, c'mon." Ryan's hands fly up to cover his eyes, and he's frozen in the doorway.

Spencer rolls off the couch, smooths his shirt, and stands above Jon like they weren't just moments from something indecent. "We're going back to the hotel," he says and holds out his hand for Jon.

"Please do," Ryan says, peeking through his fingers. Jon waves goodbye before he's yanked out of the room.

They're right downtown, with hotels on all sides, and Jon doesn't remember which one is theirs because his brain isn't working the way it's supposed to. He gets no help from Spencer, plastered against Jon's back, breathing at his neck, hard at his ass, wanting to know, "Will you fuck me, Jon? Jon, I really need you to fuck me."

It's like this, too, on stage, in the studio. Drum and bass, pushing each other on, holding each other up, the foundation on which to build a song.

On stage, in the studio, it's four of them. Tonight, it's the two of them, and Spencer is eager to see Jon get out of his clothes. He stalks him across the bed, throwing shirts, boxers, socks, across the room. Jon looks down the bed to watch Spencer squirm out of his pants, and then they're both naked, waiting for the next move.

Jon rolls away, over the edge to find condoms. They fell to the floor that morning and, under the bed, he can see the lube. He stretches and grunts, reaching for the bottle and trying, at the same time, not to fall off the bed. He's almost gone when Spencer is right there, molded to his back again, and they're already sweating. Spencer's insistent, not content to wait, pushing Jon on, always.

"I thought you wanted to go first," Jon says, face in the sheets, letting Spencer set a pace of rutting against the bed. He gets close, with Spencer's fingers between his legs, a perfect calloused touch behind Jon's balls.

"I want you to make me go first."

Jon draws his hands under him and uses the leverage to buck Spencer off, over, pin him face first in the pillows. With moves made familiar over months of this same moment, played out in hotel rooms across the country, Jon rips open a condom with his teeth, rolls it down one-handed, the other splayed over Spencer's belly to pull him up on his knees.

He's saying, "Yes, yes, yes," a chant that Jon can barely hear. "Yes, yes, yes," he's saying, not a breath, not a pause, even when Jon shoves in.

Spencer lets him thrust, work to his own beat. He doesn't fight back, not when Jon is right where they both want him to be. Inside Spencer, and he feels big and hot, but holds on long enough to make Spencer gasp and howl and reach back to squeeze Jon's thigh to a bruise. When he sees the edge, feels it boiling in his belly, Jon wraps a hand around Spencer's cock and gets him off fast, desperate for that clenching as he thrusts through Spencer's orgasm to his own.

Before they both pass out, Jon remembers to kiss Spencer, wherever he can reach, and whisper some words that don't mean the same outside of this moment.

Spencer told Jon once that he had considered drums, but that it made more sense, it felt right, being up front with Ryan, guitar and bass in tandem. It does make sense, and Jon understands that, even when Spencer crosses the stage to share Ryan's mic because there's always a look for Jon behind his drums, a promise of more, later, a different kind of rhythm.

-

Jon will never forget Spencer's tentative, "Hey, Jon," the day Spencer approached him about filling in on drums. "I know it's not--" Spencer had stopped and blown his bangs out of his face. "I know it's not a reasonable request but I have to ask." He bit his lips quickly before he finished. "Brent didn't show up at soundcheck, can you fill in on drums? Is that even possible?"

It's a pretty huge request. He'd helped with Panic's drum setup, once or twice when their tech has had problems, and while he knew their songs he didn't know their tracks, their arrangements. But he'd agreed to try. Spencer'd asked, how could he not?

Spencer grins and tosses him a tambourine. "Ready for the set?"

He grins back. "Have I ever met a tambourine I didn't like? Take me to your acoustic set, Spencer Smith." Spencer grabs his funny looking bass and shakes it at Jon, a similar grin on his face.

Jon always zones out during the acoustic sets. It doesn't take a lot to keep him shaking a little egg shaped thing to a beat, not compared to being on stage. He's taken to watching Spencer but he's trying to keep it on the down low. He's probably failing, but it's worth it for the times Spencer catches his eye and blushes.

"You were watching again," Spencer says as he comes out of the bathroom.

"Yeah?" Spencer's just in a towel, his hair still dripping, little rivulets running down his skin. Jon wants.

"Yeah!" Spencer gets close enough for a kiss, pokes him in the chest halfway through. "You gonna make it up to me?" he mumbles into the kiss.

"What?" he responds when Spencer pulls back to pull Jon's shirt off.

"Will you fuck me, Jon?" Spencer starts in on his jeans before his shirt's hit the floor. "Jon, I really need you to fuck me."

Spencer does this, says things that blow Jon's mind as if they're simple, easy--and Jon's starting to believe they are that simple, though it's never easy being with Spencer.

"Yeah," he responds too late, again, lost in Spencer already, in the way Spencer's thrusting against his hip, setting a pace for him even though Jon should be the one doing that. "No, hey," he changes his mind, pushes Spencer back onto the bed, crawls up after him. "That wasn't what you wanted," he reminds Spencer as he pushes Spencer's thighs apart, further, rolls Spencer on his back.

He doesn't bother with much preparation. Spencer shouldn't need it, not after this morning, and Jon's looking forward to the sound Spencer will make when he pushes in with extra force. He bites Spencer's nipple, bites hard, waiting for Spencer to twist away from it, before he shoves one of Spencer's legs all the way up, holds him open. "Fuck, yes, Jon," Spencer moans.

"Yes," he responds, just repeating what Spencer's said. "Yes, Spencer, yes," he continues as Spencer wraps a hand around his thigh to keep himself open. "Yes."

-

Somewhere on a road in Colorado, Spencer finds some time to read. Even if it is just the Beatles biography he found in a used bookshop three states ago, it's an actual book and Spencer is going to lay in his bunk, in the quiet, and he is going to read.

Of course, the universe has other plans. The universe has always had other plans for Spencer Smith.

Lulled by the calm woosh woosh of the bus, Spencer almost misses the smack of rubber on skin outside his curtain, but he doesn't miss when Jon squeezes himself into Spencer's bunk.

"I was reading," he says with a huff.

"Then I won't bother you." Jon kisses him, a quick, familiar press of lips, then settles himself against Spencer's side, head on his shoulder.

To get comfortable again, Spencer has to wrap one arm around Jon. He holds the book open on his hip with the other, and Jon reaches out to help when he needs to turn the page.

Between pages, Jon's fingers slip in between the buttons of Spencer's shirt. They're cold, and his stomach jumps and shivers, and Spencer bites his lip to stay quiet. Rubbing over Spencer's skin, tracing his goosebumps, Jon gets warm. He gets brave.

Two buttons pop open and allow Jon to reach further, to touch more. Spencer lays back and lets him, drops the book down the side of the bunk, and rests his hands in Jon's hair. Jon's nose is cold, too, but it doesn't stay that way, not when he's buried himself in Spencer's bellybutton. His tongue darts out, dives in to tease, Spencer's stomach clenching and breaths coming quick.

Getting a hold on what hair he can, Spencer tries to drag Jon up, but he's having none of that. He came in here with a plan, Spencer realizes, so Spencer stays quiet. He waits.

Jon works his way down. He pops the rest of the buttons, pushing Spencer's shirt away and splaying his hands across his stomach and his side. Jon's lips follow his touch, soft gentle kisses, then a surprise bite to Spencer's hip. It makes him gasp, but he doesn't cry out. He wants to swear and call Jon's name, but the bus is dark and quiet, and the look on Ryan's face over breakfast when he doesn't know anything is bad enough.

Moving slow and taking his time, Jon opens Spencer's jeans. He works careful, building on the warmth twisting in Spencer's belly, rubbing him to stiffness, but not letting Spencer off.

Not yet. Spencer doesn't want it yet. He wants it to last. Both hands cradle Jon's head above his groin, and Spencer plays with his hair, teases his fingers over Jon's ears, and runs the familiar line of his jaw. He doesn't guide Jon to the blowjob, but everything he does is encouragement. He knows Jon will get there. In every touch, Spencer says, I'm ready, I want it, I'm ready.

His breath stops, gets stuck in his throat when Jon's hand slide down into his jeans, between his legs, where Spencer's balls are already drawing tight to his body. He thinks he hears Jon speak, but can't make out the words, and then Jon's grunting as he pushes Spencer's jeans down. Spencer tries to help, lifting his hips and using his feet to kick them off and to the end of the bunk. His legs fall open, and Jon's hand is there, taking hold of what he's been looking for, waiting for. Spencer's been waiting for it, too, but that first touch of Jon's hand on his cock still, always, makes him gasp.

He almost breaks when he feels Jon's tongue, but Spencer is stronger than that. He can hold out. He won't let the bus hear him, but he has to let Jon know.

When Jon sucks him in, Spencer lifts his hips. When Jon pulls off, Spencer touches his cheek. They go back and forth like this, following the rhythm, the same woosh woosh of the bus on the road, and it carries them closer to the place where Spencer wants to be.

-

"You're staying with Ryan?" Jon asks.

Spencer nods, petting Hobo on the bed beside him. Jon doesn't say anything more, and that's when Spencer realizes he has to speak. Jon can't see him nod. Jon's in Chicago.

"Yeah, it's a big sleepover at the old Ross place. Brendon and Shane decided to stay the night."

"Better than them driving home," Jon adds.

Spencer sighs. "That's not what I mean, you know that." He hopes Jon knows, because Spencer isn't sure. He rolls onto his back, propping pillows against the headboard and trying to get comfortable. Hobo gets up, and she walks in circles before deciding to make Spencer's stomach her new resting place.

"It's like we're all here," he says, "but we're not. We're not all here, Jon."

The bedroom door is open, just enough to let Hobo out when she wants to, and Spencer can hear footsteps. Brendon pokes his head in, then smiles like he's found what he was looking for. He joins Spencer on the bed, curling around the dog and laying his chin on Spencer's chest.

He mimes the phone and mouths, Jon? Spencer nods and says, "I think Brendon wants to say hi."

Jon shouts, "Hi, Brendon!" before Spencer can get the phone away from his ear, and Brendon waves.

"He's waving. You don't want to talk to him?" Spencer asks. Brendon's eyebrows go up, trying to follow the conversation.

"I know Brendon's phone number, Spencer. I called to talk to you."

"Oh." He bites his lip, but he can't stop smiling.

With narrow eyes and a dirty look, Brendon gets up off the bed. He drops a kiss on Spencer's forehead (ducks the smack Spencer tries to give him) and takes the dog when he leaves. He shuts the door, too, and Jon and Spencer are alone. Kind of. It has to be good enough.

Spencer scratches his stomach, then leaves his hand there, low. "What if we didn't talk?" he whispers.

"That's good, too." Through the phone, a thousand miles away, Spencer can hear Jon's smile.

"What if you were touching yourself right now?" He pops the buttons of his shirt, lifting up on one elbow, then the other, to get it and his vest off. His breaths are coming fast now, nervous, as Spencer opens his jeans and pushes his boxers down, only as far as he needs. He likes the tight pressure around his thighs.

"I am touching myself, Spence. Why do you think I called?"

He lays his hand over his dick, getting hard in his boxers. God, Jon's voice when he knows just what he's doing. "Just keep talking," Spencer tells him and shoves his hand under the elastic to jerk himself off.

Chuckling on the phone, Jon says, "How about we make it good, not fast?"

"It's always good, Jon."

"But it could be better."

Spencer groans, but he loosens his grip. "You talked to Tom today, didn't you? He always makes you worry about artistic integrity."

"All right, I'm not gonna make you wait," Jon laughs. "Go ahead. Hold it. Are you hard yet, Spencer?"

"Yessss." He turns his wrist to find a comfortable position. In the shower this morning, he did it fast, to get off. This has to be about more.

"Move your hand--not too fast. Get the head with your thumb."

"And you?"

Jon moans deep in Spencer's ear, "Mmmm," and he's not sure if that's a yes or a no. Then he rasps, "Spencer," he slides over the Ss, and something in Spencer's belly flips over. His hand clenches, and he cries out.

"Fuck." Spencer rolls into the pillow, muffling the sounds he can't stop. Brendon's probably standing outside the door. "I need to come, Jon."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's do that."

His hips buck, and Spencer thinks, Fuck it. He gets up on his knees, brings his hand up to his mouth and gets it wet. He makes a tight warm space to thrust into and listens to Jon doing the same on the other end of the phone. Spencer can hear him making rhythmic grunting sounds, and laughs before he's overtaken by the wave of his orgasm, warm wetness over his hand.

Spencer says, "Nice job," when he can, and Jon says, "Artistic integrity."

He leaves the phone on the bedside table while he gets his jeans all the way off and finds a clean pair of sweatpants to sleep in. He strips the duvet off the bed, too, and lays on top of the clean sheets.

Jon sounds sleepy when he picks up the phone. "You guys take care of each other," Jon tells him. He's quiet, and Spencer listens to him breathing for a long time, not ready to say good night.

"You, too, Jon. We need to take care of you, too."

"I'll see you soon, OK?" and Jon hangs up before Spencer can say anything more. He turns off his phone and holds it over his chest, over his heart.

-

"How many is that?" Jon asks, chest heaving. Spencer doesn't know. He could count the condoms in the trash basket, but he can't be sure they all made it. He's been throwing, not looking.

When Jon reaches back for Spencer, he grabs hold of the first thing--an elbow--and pulls Spencer over to to him, flopped face first on the bed. Spencer snuggles down into Jon's side, but that's not enough for Jon. He grunts and shifts Spencer closer, until Spencer's on top, chest rubbing Jon's back, dick soft, wet, and cradled by Jon's ass.

"You're so good at that," Jon groans.

"Mmm," Spencer agrees. "We're good at that." He presses his face into Jon, scrapes his scratchy chin across Jon's shoulders. He's going to be red there for a week. Spencer likes the thought of that.

When Jon came back--back, Spencer thinks, like he was already a part of them before they made that phone call--he hugged each one of them in the airport, then said, "You three look like you need to get high." Spencer disagreed; he said it never worked for him. But this was more ritual than habit, and soon Spencer was on the couch, slumped into Ryan's side, their legs tangled together, talking about the color of sound.

Brendon wanted food ("Tacos, Jon Walker. Bring me tacos."), and Jon offered, but someone had to ride shotgun and make sure he didn't get lost. Spencer said he wouldn't let Jon get lost, and Jon said, in the drive-thru, waiting for the food, "Maybe we shouldn't. Just now, you know."

So they didn't. For a long time, they didn't. It was still there, of course. Spencer still didn't know what it was, hadn't known the first time, either, but he could feel it on the other side of the stage, and sometimes Jon sat too close on the bus. Ryan looked at them funny a lot, and sometimes Brendon knew exactly when Spencer needed a hug.

He also seemed to be the one who knew the agreement wouldn't last. Brendon was always scheming to get them in the same room, at the same table, pressed together in the middle of the same couch. Spencer knew it was Brendon because Brendon wasn't subtle.

"You're making Jon sad," Brendon said into Spencer's shoulder while they watched the guys play Guitar Hero. Spencer didn't tell him. Panic at the Disco wouldn't survive if Brendon was sad, too.

Along with the red rash of beard burn high on Jon's back, there are bite marks, one on each side of his neck. Spencer likes to suck there, the thumping beat of Jon's pulse under his tongue, while he fucks him. He likes to bite down when he comes, and Spencer likes to hear the rough painful shout hidden inside Jon's keening cries

He soothes the bites with his tongue, runs a finger over the hot skin to feel those indentations. Spencer likes that, too, maybe more, how he can press his thumb into one of those marks and Jon whimpers, just from that.

He's already rolling his hips back against Spencer, then into the mattress. He's holding one of Spencer hands on his belly, tempting him lower. Spencer isn't ready to go again, but he's getting there.

Spencer wasn't going to be the one to break. Jon could fix this stupid thing, and when he called to say he wanted to stay in Vegas with Spencer, not Ryan, not Brendon and Shane, Spencer thought it might be Jon's way of saying sorry. Jon hugged him hello at the airport, but sorry came later. They all had dinner, then Spencer drove Jon back to his house. He figured Jon would want some time to settle into the guest room, so he rounded up the dogs for a walk.

"Can I come?" Jon asked, waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

"Of course." Spencer let him hold Milo's leash.

They walked without talking, the only sound the dogs's nails on the concrete and the flip flap of Jon's sandals. At the end of the street, there was a strip of grass for kids and dogs to run, and that's where they stopped and let the dogs off their leashes, even though Spencer knew they weren't allowed.

"It's been a weird month," Jon said. A single month, and Spencer couldn't believe it. On the road, he was learning, time goes fast, or sometimes, it goes very very slow. Only a month, but Jon fit, Brendon loved him, and Ryan, too, more than Ryan loved most people. Spencer felt them drawing together, drawing inward, the four of them, and nothing Jon and Spencer used to do could break that. Not even Jon taking his hand in a park on a sunny day.

They didn't have sex that night, or the next, but Jon slept in Spencer's bed, and when they went on tour and when he went home to Chicago, he left a lot of himself there, in Spencer's closet and on Spencer's bedroom floor.

"So Jon kind of moved in," he told Ryan after they snuck off the bus for a quiet breakfast. "At least I think that's what all those striped shirts in my closet mean."

Ryan rolled his eyes at him, but he was also smiling. Jon was smiling, too, upside down on the couch when they got back with cold pancakes in styrofoam. He wriggled his fingers, arms outstretched until Spencer realized it was him, not breakfast, that Jon wanted. Leaning over the couch, Spencer had to turn his head uncomfortably to avoid Jon's nose and catch his bottom lip.

"Tonight," Jon said, wet on Spencer's cheek. "The hotel."

Spencer nodded, then had to get through the rest of the day with that promise. The radio goes easy, and he made Jon sit on the other end of the couch, Ryan and Brendon between them, steering the conversation, when they did the TV thing. On stage, Spencer didn't look further than his kit, save a couple of glances at Brendon for the cues, but on stage is the easy part. They know this. If there's anything Spencer knows, it's this.

Spencer settles Jon on the bed with an insistent hand on his hip. With his face in the pillow, Jon groans out a crazy kind of frustration from a man who's already come, many many times tonight.

"How can you want it this much?" Spencer murmurs in his ear. He's slipped off Jon's back onto his side on the bed, and uses that same hand to trace a line from hip to shoulder to wrist, then back.

Jon was loose and happy on the drive to the hotel. He was in the middle seat with Brendon and maybe they were wrestling. Spencer leaned his forehead against the cold window. Ryan was humming next to him, something brand new, something even Spencer hadn't heard before.

He watched Jon in the hotel elevator, followed behind him in the hallway, waving his good nights to Ryan and Brendon, who both seemed to know more than they should. Jon had the keycard to open their door, and then he was kissing Spencer, and sometimes it's easy like that.

The next time Spencer's hand finds its way to Jon's hip, he veers off-course, across the span of Jon's back, over Jon's ass, and down to Jon's hole, still wet, still open. He doesn't need any preparation. He tells Spencer that, too. "Now. Yes. Spencer. Yes," until Spencer finds another condom, jacks himself quick to get hard enough to roll it on, until he's back inside Jon.

He keeps it slow, this time. This time, it's not even about getting off. It's about how close they can be. Spencer pulls Jon onto his side, but Jon just twists up to say, "Outstanding," before flopping back on the bed and bringing Spencer with him. They laugh together, Spencer kisses away the burn on Jon's shoulders, and they come together, one long exhaled breath.

"God," Jon rasps. "My balls hurt."

Spencer snorts into his shoulder. "Does that mean you're done for the night?"

"Never." Jon shakes his head, rolling it back and forth on the pillow. "Never be done with you, Spencer Smith."

-

There are familiar places in Vegas, but it's not home. Brendon is driving them back to his house with sushi and beer in the back and Jon in the passenger seat. The lights in the distance never go out. It's past midnight and Jon can't see the stars. He doesn't know how to get to water if he needed to.

"How close is Lake Mead?"

"Um." Brendon turns onto a residential street, lined with the cookie cutter houses. "Less than an hour? You wanna go swimming 'cause we have pools."

"I kinda want to be in some real water."

"Yeah, but, Jon. Lake Mead isn't a real lake."

"Oh, right."

They pull into the driveway of one of the identical Spanish-style houses in a cul-de-sac. Jon is only sure it's the right one because he recognizes Ryan's car. Reaching around the seat, Jon grabs the food while Brendon turns off the engine. Bounding ahead, Brendon throws open the door and announces their return.

"We are home. We have beer."

Shane and Spencer are sitting up at the kitchen island, and somewhere else in the house, Jon can hear Ryan's guitar.

"You bought food, too, right?" Spencer gets up to take the bags from Jon. "Not just alcohol?"

"Of course," but Jon doesn't feel like sticking around for the party. He grabs a tall bottle of Asahi and leaves the kitchen. One weird mood shouldn't ruin sushi at midnight.

In the living room, the TV is turned to the listings, but muted, with Ryan's guitar still playing and filling the house. It sounds like home even if Jon can't feel it.

It's quiet, and he's almost asleep when Spencer comes to find him. Coming awake when Spencer shoves in between him and the arm of the couch, Jon jumps up to make space. He could complain, but he likes Spencer's arm around his neck, holding him close.

"You're being weird," Spencer tells him.

"Is that not allowed?" He curls into Spencer's side, head on his shoulder. The secret is he likes that Spencer is tall.

"Just this once." His hand goes to Jon's head, pulling him up, twisting so they can kiss, just once because Jon's neck hurts from the angle, but once isn't enough. Throwing a leg over Spencer's lap, Jon presses him down into the couch and kissing like that is deeper and easier and just what Jon needs.

"We can go." Spencer says this softly, privately, as the crowd in the kitchen calls out for Jon and Spencer to come back. "Do you want to go?"

"No." He's not ready to join his friends, but he likes knowing where they are. "I want to stay right here."

-

Spencer proves he's cool with Jon's weird mood. He doesn't push, doesn't continue to ask questions, kisses him softer and softer until they get up, reluctantly separating.

They rejoin the group in the kitchen. Spencer grabs them each a beer, handing Jon's over with a kiss. Jon steals Ryan's last bite of tempura. It feels more like family when no one comments on shit like this.

Jon stays mostly silent during the cutthroat game of five card draw. It throws Brendon off, and probably Ryan. His usual tells are gone--Jon ends up winning big.

Spencer keeps his chair close to Jon, not to cheat, just so he can keep his ankle hooked around Jon's. It's nice. Spencer hugs his cards to his chest with one arm, pushes Jon's cards face down with the other, and leans over to kiss Jon sweetly. Brendon declares the game over at the end of the hand.

"You ok?" Ryan asks softly him when Brendon and Shane start to arm wrestle for the last bottle from their case of imported beer.

"Lake Mead isn't a real lake," he replies. Spencer doesn't say anything, continues to re-arrange the deck of cards.

Ryan nods. "Largest man-made lake in the largest man-made state." The jab's a soft one. Ryan's comfortable here.

"Yeah." What he wouldn't give, right now, for the algae-windy-sharp smell of Lake Michigan.

"Slot machine supermarkets aren't home for you," Ryan responds a few minutes later, after Brendon and Shane have rejoined them for a hand of their bastardized version of Go Fish.

"No." He likes that no one's forcing him to be polysyllabic.

He isn't paying attention, not really, so he loses a discard-pile-slap-bet to Brendon, who is noticeably happier in this than the poker.

"I fold," Spencer informs them halfway through the next hand.

"You can't fold!" Shane protests, but with an understanding grin.

"There is no folding in Live Or Go Die Fish," Brendon agrees, but with an accusing, pointed finger. Spencer splits his cards in two piles and hands the halves to Ryan and Shane as he stands. Jon grins at Brendon's pout and hands him his entire pile.

"'Night guys," he waves as Spencer pulls him away. The chorus of goodnights that follows him is reflexive and casual, comfortable.

They head for one of the guest bedrooms. It doesn't surprise Jon that they're not leaving, not now, not at 3 a.m. Spencer pulls him into the room and pulls off his shirt, starts working on his jeans without hesitating. It's not heated, though, it's practical.

"I can undress myself," he tells Spencer.

Spencer raises an eyebrow. "Sometimes you just gotta trust someone else knows what's good for you. C'mon." Spencer walks him into the bathroom, starts a bath. Jon's feeling faintly ridiculous, now, standing on the bathmat, naked, with Spencer fully clothed and futzing with the tap and bath salts.

"Really, I don't need--"

"Shut up. Get in." Spencer points, at him, then the tub. "Relax."

Spencer doesn't get in with him. He sits with his back to the tub, leans his head back until Jon starts playing with his hair. The bottom fringe goes spiky, drips and soaks the collar of his tshirt. They murmur things back and forth, nothing significant, until Jon's prune-y and over-sensitive from the water.

Spencer helps him out, refuses to let Jon dry himself off. He blushes as Spencer rubs him down, not quite uncomfortable but not quite comfortable with the nakedness inequality between them. "C'mon," he whispers, grabbing at the towel. "Get yourself naked and let me get my hair." Spencer relents.

Jon goes for Spencer's hair with the towel, after Spencer's naked and standing there with his hands on his hips, watching Jon shake his hair out. They scuffle, slowly, unsuccessfully. Spencer lets him win. He slings the towel around Spencer's neck and pulls him in, pulls Spencer's tanned and freckled skin close to his own, still damp and pale.

"I'm all clean now," he whispers into a kiss. "Let's go get me dirty."

-

They're all there to meet Jon when he gets off the plane.

"Hey, boys."

Brendon nearly knocks him over with a hug. "Why don't you live in Las Vegas, Jon? You're never here when I want to hit an all-you-can-eat buffet." He's still hanging off Jon's neck when Ryan steps forward for his own form of a hug. Spencer stands back, hands in his pockets. He's chewing his lips, turned down.

"Gimme a hug, Spencer."

Ryan has to give him a push. All the air leaves his chest when Spencer gets his arms around Jon. He stutters, and his whole body shivers when Jon's hand comes up to tangle in his hair, when Jon's lips touch his skin.

"You were away too long," Spencer tells him, and he's not sure how long they stay like that.

Again, Ryan needs to give them a push, apart this time. He puts a hand on Spencer's shoulder, reminding them they're still in the airport, and Brendon makes obvious throat clearing noises. Spencer steps away, he avoids Jon's eyes and just takes his backpack. Jon keeps his camera bag and one of the guitars. Ryan grabs the other, and Brendon, the amps, and he leads them back to the car.

They can't do anything more in public, so Spencer satisfies himself with the residual heat where the backpack was pressed against Jon. He hangs back, letting Brendon describe the cabin they've rented and Ryan describe the songs he already has written. Jon's excited about the concept. He and Ryan have been on the phone since the tour ended, planning and humming, sending demos back and forth. Spencer hasn't listened to a lot of it, yet, but he knows Brendon isn't sold either.

But they're saving all that for the cabin. It's all part of the process, the adventure. When they finish packing up the car in the airport parking lot, Ryan drives them through Del Taco for food, and then they're on their way.

Jon sits up front with Ryan and Spencer fights Brendon for the hot sauce in the back. It's long and hot, and Spencer is twitchy the whole ride up.

After they split up the rooms, Spencer unpacks, listening to Brendon singing Fall Out Boy songs to test the acoustics of the bathroom. He jumps at the sharp squeal of feedback and shakes his head when Ryan calls out, "That was me," instead of "Sorry." Spencer's checking out the closet space when the bedroom door opens, and Jon slips in.

"Hey." He puts a hand low on Spencer's back and his mouth close to Spencer's ear. "We didn't get to say hey."

"Yeah." Spencer turns into his arm. "Hey."

He lets Jon lead him to the bed by his hips and falls easily into the space between Jon's legs. Now they get to kiss. The last time was in Jon's dad's car outside the airport, before Spencer had to catch his plane. Here, Spencer can do what he wants, what Jon wants, too, but this is good for now. He pins Jon's hands to the bed, away from Spencer's hips, where they want to be, where eager fingers will work their way under and in, and Spencer won't be able to stop once Jon starts.

Spencer wants Jon's mouth. He leans right, then left, right, right, keeping their noses out of the way and pressing in to find Jon's tongue looking for his, too. When Spencer puts his hands on Jon's face, holding him at just right angle, Jon is ready, his own hands wasting no time on their way to Spencer's ass and pulling him in hard.

"This now," he mumbles, both their mouths sliding wetly.

It starts frantic, until Jon's leg slips in between Spencer's, and, suddenly, he has something perfect to thrust against, and that's just fine. He could do this all day. Spencer focuses on that, the beat and the counterpoint of Jon and the way he hums through his grin when Spencer leans down for a kiss.

-

Jon can't even get it up. They collapsed onto Brendon's couch, separately, but as the night wore on, Spencer leaned into Jon and Jon leaned into Spencer, and then they were making out. But when Spencer tries to move them past the tongues and teeth, Jon can't even get it up.

"Jon, Jon." Spencer pushes him back against the arm of the couch. Jon goes willingly, stupid grin on his face. "Why aren't you hard?" Spencer asks, settling between Jon's legs and trying to catch one of his nipples between his teeth. Usually that gets Jon going.

Tonight, it makes Jon yelp. "What are doing?" he says, batting at Spencer's head.

"I'm trying to have sex here," Spencer explains.

"Not on the couch!" someone shouts from somewhere, maybe Ryan, maybe from the floor.

"Yeah, Spence." Jon pushes his t-shirt down, even trying to tuck it in. He really is gone. "Not on the couch."

But a handjob wouldn't hurt, and it might even wake Jon up enough to reciprocate. Jon stretches and settles himself on the couch. He wraps one arm around Spencer, holding him to his chest, under his chin. They sleep like this sometimes, in bed, usually, not on the couch, and, like habit, Jon's breathing evens out and rattles a little in his chest. Spencer doesn't want to sleep. The music's still playing--the party's not over.

He rubs Jon's belly, loving the happy rumbling noises. He works his hand down, sweeping closer and closer, until he's teasing the top of Jon's shorts and dipping underneath.

"No, no," Jon says fingers tightening in Spencer's hair. "I'm too wasted, Spencer. I'll never remember this in the morning."

"Don't talk. I'm trying to get you hard." Spencer tucks the elastic waistband under Jon's balls and pulls his still-soft dick upwards to rest on his belly, under Spencer's hand. He keeps his touch gentle, at first, drawing out breathy moans from Jon. He uses his fingertips and the rough calluses on his palm. When Spencer finally wraps his hand around Jon's dick, he gets a sharp gasp, then nothing. Turning his head on Jon's belly, he sees, Jon biting his lips so hard, trying to stay quiet, trying to obey.

Spencer's determined. They've done this before. A little smoke, a little alcohol is nothing when it comes to orgasms. He keeps his grip loose, but confident, letting Jon get used to it, and finally finally hard, before Spencer turns this into something that Jon will remember tomorrow morning.

Jon's thrown his head back against the armrest. He's still biting that lip and making Spencer crazy. Spencer watches from where he's resting on Jon's belly, one hand maintaining an easy rhythm. He watches Jon's chest heave, watches when he brings one hand to his mouth, when he throws the other arm over his eyes. He's trying so hard to be good. Spencer has to smile.

His own head is feeling fuzzy, so there are no fancy moves tonight. Spencer's lucky he can crawl up to kiss Jon's mouth without losing his grip.

"You gonna come?" he murmurs.

Jon laughs into their kiss. "I don't think so. It feels amazing, Spence, but," he bites Spencer's lip. "I'm kinda numb all over."

Dragging his lips away, Spencer kisses Jon's cheek, nose, jaw, all the places he wants to kiss and some he wasn't really aiming for, but they're good, too.

"Don't worry," Jon says. He pulls Spencer back under his chin, where they started the night. Spencer lets go of Jon's dick, but he doesn't stop touching it. It's still so hard. "I won't forget to make it up to you tomorrow."

-

"God fucking dammit," Jon presses the heel of his hand down into the center of Spencer's upper back, right where he can never scratch on his own, and pushes him down further into the table he's bent over. He strains against the controlling force, clenching his back and stomach muscles. "Would you fucking stay down?" He's feeling the strain, now, in his muscles, but Jon's annoyed tone just makes him push back harder, buck up against the weight.

Jon grunts. Spencer feels Jon's wrist grind in harder, briefly but still long enough he starts to feel breathless, before the touch disappears. He blinks and waits but then starts to push himself up when he hears Jon on the other side of the table.

"Nuh uh," Jon growls in his ear, and his hands clamp down on Spencer's shoulders, from the front this time, and slam him back down against the table. He gasps into the smooth wooden surface, feeling his cheeks heat. Jon's not playing, not anymore.

"Stay the fuck there." He doesn't move when Jon's touch disappears. The table's a little high and the backs of his thighs are starting to ache so he shifts and Jon--Jon fucking tickles him.

"No," he gasps, twisting to the side, but then Jon's there again, holding him down, one hand spanning the back of the neck and one hand reaching around to work his buckle open. He whimpers and stills, lets Jon tug his jeans down slowly, roughly. Jon still has his jeans on but he thrusts against Spencer's ass a few times. The friction burns.

"Are you going to stay?" Jon asks. He nods into the table. Jon steps back and he heard Jon's zipper come down slowly, so slowly. He cocks his ear back to listen but freezes again when Jon swats at his hip. He stays so, so still even he as he hears Jon curse when he rips the first condom.

Jon pushes in without stretching him, something he's never tried before. Spencer tries to stay still, he really does, but can't, not with Jon breaching him steadily, solidly. He hears the tempo of his breathing speed up.

When Jon bottoms out he groans, but it turns into a gaspsob when Jon jerks out just an inch, just enough to the grind back in with force. It's amazing and Jon keeps doing it, keeps him gasping for breath.

Jon gropes for his hand, curls his fingers and tells Spencer to jack himself. He gets a counter-rhythm going but then Jon changes everything--he pulls back, nearly out, then thrusts back in so hard Spencer shouts and comes at the sheer unexpected rush of it. Jon keeps going, long past him going limp with his damp hand braced on the table. Spencer gives himself up into it but still jumps when the shocks and zings hit him. After one jump Jon whispers, "Spencerrrrrr," and thrusts in one, final, desperate time.

Spencer can't bear the thought of ending up cuddling on the cold, dirty kitchen floor. Luckily, the couch is close enough that a little momentum gets them there. He pulls Jon over him then pulls on the blanket that covers the back of the couch.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Jon whispers into his hairline. He blinks at the ceiling and pats Jon's hip. Jon keeps repeating it, though, so he brings a hand up to cover Jon's mouth.

"What?" he asks, removing his hand.

"I was actually," Jon won't meet his eyes. "I don't know why but you--I was so mad and you were there and that got weird and I'm sorry."

"Jon," he leans in to kiss between Jon's eyes. "You didn't hurt me. That was," he swallows. "That was fun."

"Well, yeah," Jon still looks sheepish. "But I shouldn't have started it knowing I was going to be all rough."

He pulls his teeth over his upper lip, tells himself to just say it. "You know I trust you, so, y'know." Jon's still got a little crease between his eyes. "Oh my god, whatever, I liked it, ok?" He tries to keep it serious even though everything in him is screaming to turn it into a joke.

"Oh," Jon's mouth falls open with a quiet sound. "Wow, yeah?" His eyes flutter closed and when they reopen Spencer shivers. "Awesome."

-

When Spencer wanders outside to clear his head, he stretches up to the clear dark sky, then stumbles over Jon, laid out on a blanket on the ground.

"Wait." He whips back to the door, still ajar, and Ryan and Brendon laughing in the kitchen beyond. "Weren't you just inside?"

Jon's smile is a permanent feature here at the cabin. It makes it really hard to know what he's thinking.

"Is it time to cut you off, Spencer?" he laughs.

"It's time to go home." He falls into an empty space beside Jon and doesn't think at all about burrowing into his chest, Jon's gray hoodie warm and fuzzy beneath his cheek.

"You're not wearing a jacket," Jon whispers, rubbing his hand up and down Spencer's arms, leaving goosebumps behind.

"I don't know where it is. I think I remember Brendon wearing it last. When we sent him out for Cheetos."

Jon rests his chin on top of Spencer's head. "He came back, right?" His voice is warm and thoughtful, and Spencer isn't sure he's not joking.

"Of course he came back."

"'Cause it would be really hard to make an album."

"I don't think we're going to make an album." Spencer doesn't remember the last time he was behind his drums. He doesn't know what day it is.

Jon tells him to stop worrying. He says, "Tomorrow. We'll make an album tomorrow," because that's what Jon does, and Spencer feels calm.

Under his sweatshirt, Jon isn't wearing anything else, so Spencer gets skin, rough with hair, when he ducks his hands inside. Jon jumps, yelps, but Spencer's fingers get warm quick. He skims them up Jon's chest to his nipples, chuckling as Jon yelps again when Spencer pinches hard. Pushing the hoodie up, Spencer leans over to kiss Jon's nipples, his chest, and the soft swell of his belly. Lower, his kisses the place above his jeans, where the elastic of his underwear sticks up too far.

"These aren't yours." Spencer snaps the band to get another sound out of Jon, a surprised shout. They're all living out of suitcases and crawling into whatever room is closest as the sun comes up. Spencer only knows when he's in the right jeans when he can't pull them on any higher.

He pushes the button through its hole, slides the zipper down easily, and presses his face to the bulge in Jon's briefs. They have rocketships on them, and they might be Brendon's. Jon's still soft when Spencer pulls him out. He rubs his cheek against the soft skin and kisses the tip.

"Look, Spencer, look," Jon says, a hand insistent in his hair, and Spencer does. He can see every single star. "The sky is really amazing up here," Jon breathes. It really is.

-

"You're staying with Ryan?" Spencer asks.

"Yeah," Jon sighs. "Yeah." The first is too loud and the second is too sad. He kicks his heels against the kitchen cabinets, annoyed. He understands, of course he understands he's been looking after Ryan his entire life, but he'd gotten used to being under the same roof as Jon. As much as the cabin was about always-open doors and falling asleep as a group on the basement floor, it also meant waking up stiff and with drymouth and blundering off to bed arm-in-arm with Jon.

But Ryan's hollow eyes and empty notebook were proof enough of their failure, without Brendon's manic cheerfulness. They both tried to talk about their time in the cabin with the same affection he and Jon had expressed, but it had been forced. Spencer knows he made the right decision, calling an end to it all, and he's torn between wishing he'd done it sooner and wishing he hadn't done it at all, had continued having Jon under his fingers every day, every hour.

"What are we, a ten minute drive apart?" Jon startles him. He hadn't realized they were still on the phone, somehow, the connection too tenuous for him to hear each of Jon's breaths.

"Yeah, the way Ryan drives. I could get to you in five," and he doesn't mean to make it sound as dirtypromising as he does, really, he just--he could pick Jon up and have him back all while Ryan was asleep, he's sure. Almost in the same condition, too. It'd be easy, if almost a lie.

"I could take a walk down the street, you could roll on by," Jon's voice is dark, contemplative; Jon's probably thinking on the same paths he is.

"Oh god, do you have hooker role play fantasies?" he asks it purposefully overeager so he and Jon can laugh together comfortably over the distance.

"Yeah, you never know," Jon's voice is warm, so warm, "I could have a whole arsenal of kinks I just haven't told you about yet."

"How about this?" he asks, dropping his voice. "Do you want me to tell you all the things we'd do if you were here? Is that in your arsenal?"

"Mmm, it could be, yeah," Jon's voice drops in response. "But I'm not going to tell you if it is or not, so you have to work hard for it."

"Hard, Jon?" he tries to make it as growly as he can, even though he feels faintly ridiculous. "You want it hard?"

Jon makes a choked off sound and hisses and, wow, yeah, they're starting to do this.

"Jon," he confesses, "I don't really like doing this."

"This what Spence?" Jon's back to being warm, only warm. "We're just talking."

He snorts. "Talking with dick in hand."

Jon's delighted laughter and, "maybe," inform him he's not wrong. He relaxes and laughs along.

"I just--it's weird!" he shoves a hand through his hair.

"It can be weird, yeah," some of the heat is back in Jon's voice. "But it can be really good, too. Close your eyes. Just pretend I'm next to you."

He does. It's not the same, of course it's not the same, but as Jon speaks to him, slow and steady and progressively dirtier, he starts to get it, and get into it. It's still them, still him reacting to Jon and Jon reacting to him, the hisses and groans he lets out unconsciously to the tale Jon's weaving. He unzips his jeans one-handed, keeping his eyes closed, and starts to murmur back, doesn't leave Jon out there alone.

"Jon, oh, Jon," he begs when he's close. Jon's voice hitches before he gasps, and Spencer realizes Jon's gone. "Oh, you fucker," he growls, "next time you wait for me."

When Jon mutters thickly, "next time, yeah," he jerks extra hard, knowing he's signed himself up for regular calls.

-

"I bet," Brendon says around a lollipop, "I bet you could hold hands right now and no one would notice." Jon's shoulders stiffen. Spencer crosses his arms.

Jon frowns in his general direction, where he's standing with Ryan. Spencer bites his lip then smiles vaguely before pulling his sunglasses down. Jon smiles back tentatively before he grabs Brendon's shoulder. "Hey, Bren, let's find that bar Erick was talking about."

"You gotta trust a guy named Erick in a town called Dusseldorf," Brendon agrees and wanders off, arm in arm with Jon. Spencer shakes his arms out, unclenches his fists. He closes his eyes until Jon's out of sight.

When he opens his eyes Ryan's looking at him with a questioning expression. "Let's head back to the hotel," he turns and walks back to where Zack is waiting. He's tired. "I need to sleep," he says and Zack nods.

"Why are you here?" Ryan questions, and not rooming with Jon the painfully obvious under layer. Spencer drops his bag on the bed.

He kicks off his loafers. "I'm staying here tonight." He pushes his jeans down to the floor, steps out of them and crawls under the covers. He doesn't bother moving his bag, just curls around it.

"Spencer?" Ryan hovers over him. He doesn't respond and Ryan goes into the bathroom. When he hears the shower go on he rolls over and turns the television on, flips through the channels on mute so Ryan won't hear him. The water's still running twenty minutes later so Spencer orders food.

Ryan comes out and he looks about fourteen. His hair is combed back in strict lines and his skin is flushed and damp. "You ready?" Ryan asks, as if they were continuing a conversation.

"I ordered us food," he replies, clicking the volume up on the tv. Ryan picks up Spencer's bag and puts it on the other bed, pulls back the other half of the covers and crawls in to join Spencer's pity party.

"He wants us to take a break." He looks at the television. Ryan waits. "He thinks we need to be four for a while, instead of two."

Ryan takes the remote out of his hand, clicks the sound off on the television. Spencer buries his head in Ryan's tshirt collar, marvels in the familiarity. "I hate to say this," Ryan's voice is more of a rumble in his head than anything else, "but he's probably right. It's been." Ryan pauses and Spencer sighs then finishes for him.

"It's been better since the cabin but he's right. We need to be a band right now. We need that easiness back." He lets himself have one more hot sigh, since he won't indulge in tears. "We have to go back to being friends, for a while. We can't risk anything tearing us apart." Spencer knows Ryan will understand which us he's talking about.

Ryan's silent beneath him, stays silent. Spencer answers the door when the knock comes, gets up and goes on when he needs to. They eat on the other bed, the still-made one, telling each other stories about what's happening on the muted screen.

Ryan pulls out his special pipe when they're halfway through. By the time they're done, they've eaten every scrap of food on the trays and Ryan's dipping his spit-moistened finger in a pile of salt, then touching it to his tongue between sips of water.

"Bed, Ryan." Ryan looks up, surprisingly alert.

They're curled up together, Spencer having weaseled his way into being the small spoon, when he hears Jon and Brendon clatter into the adjoined room. Ryan stiffens along his spine.

"It's ok," he whispers. "It'll be ok." Ryan hrmphs behind him but his breath evens out before Spencer's heart has fully settled down.

Spencer's just thinking about getting up for a glass of water when he hears the door open. He opens his eyes and watches Jon track his way across the room slowly, determinedly in the dark. He drops to his knees next to Spencer's side of the bed. They're looking at each other but neither of them say anything until Jon leans forward to kiss him softly on the cheek. His breath is minty, but layered over beer.

"I'll miss you so much," he says, and Spencer closes his eyes, shuts the pain out. Jon kisses his cheek one more time before Spencer hears him get up and shuffle away.

-

"Hey," Jon greets him quietly, sliding the lounge door closed behind him. The day requires quiet somberness, he thinks. It's their off-day but it's rainy and dark, straight out of a English period piece. They're pretty much stuck on the bus and it feels wasteful to just sit around on the bus if they're not in transit. They should be, could be out there experiencing something, anything.

"Hey." He half-turns from looking out the tiny window, leans his head against the cold, cold glass and just gazes at Jon.

"You doing ok?" Jon leans back against the doorway, spreads his legs and curls his toes into the carpet. He doesn't try to get close to Spencer and he's glad. He feels fragile, too loose and too tight in his skin.

"Yeah, I think," he responds, the window feeling less cold, now, under his temple. Either he's grown used to the coldness or he's warmed the glass.

"You look cozy," Jon smiles down at where he's curled up, knees pulled up tight. "Can I join you?"

He nods. He shakes his head after Jon pushes off the door, though. "Go get another blanket." Jon's eyebrows go up. "I mean it. This one's too small." Jon reaches forward to brush Spencer's hair up over his ear before he turns and slips out.

Jon comes back and settles next to him, spreads the extra blanket over both of them. Jon must have just grabbed it from his bunk--it smells like Jon, his scent. His faint but familiar scent under the cigarettes and weed and sweat and bodywash. He pulls the blanket close for just a second then pushes it away, down, back over onto Jon.

"Brendon says I'm making you sad," Jon says. He stiffens. Fucking Brendon.

"I'm fine, Jon." He doesn't move away, forces himself into stillness. "It's better, you were right. We were too greedy."

"Not that, Spencer, jeez, never that." Jon grabs his hand. "I'm sorry." Jon squeezes his hand hard, almost harder than he can bear.

"Let's just," he clears his throat. "Let's nap," he says evenly. "It's a rainy day, we should curl up out there and nap, all of us, and watch some Food Network or TNT or something." He lets go of Jon's hand. "Then make Zack take us to Starbucks." There's always a Starbucks near a venue.

"How about you and I nap now," Jon flips his hand from face down to face up, opens his palm wide, "then we all nap later." Jon says it softly, makes it feel stupidly profound. He rolls up on his hip and into Spencer, forces his way into Spencer's space. "We don't always have to make sure they're with us."

"Yeah?" he turns to face Jon, lets Jon in. "I'm following your lead on this one." Jon smiles tentatively. "So. Nap, now, yeah?"

"Yeah," Jon drapes an arm around, fits the heel of his hand into Spencer's lower back. They don't thread their legs together, don't kiss, don't rub. He budges down and touches his nose to Jon's neck. They slot together like puzzle pieces. Spencer's last thought before he drifts off is that this is where he wants to be.

-

"I didn't think, oh God," two fingers bend just right inside of Jon and he lets out a moan, "didn't think you wanted this."

Jon wanted this. He had been thinking about it, actually, right before Spencer pounced. He was staying at Ryan's house, with the amazing shower, jets coming at him from all directions, and Jon was taking his time, enjoying himself.

"I'm coming in!" a voice called out in warning.

"Well, don't! I'm naked in here, Spencer!" When Jon poked his head out, Spencer was getting naked, too. Now he has Jon pressed over the sink, and he's fingering him open. "That's really good. Oh, that's really good. Anytime now, anytime, Spence."

He had shown up when Jon and Ryan were standing in the kitchen with bowls of cereal, and then Brendon was at the door--Shane waving hello over his shoulder--having heard rumor of the Rickenbacker. It's always so easy to fall back into this.

But this is new. Jon arches up when Spencer's cock slides inside. He drops his head, he groans, his eyes fall closed. His fingers slip in the sink, and the cold water comes on when Jon reaches out for something to hang onto and finds the tap. When Jon looks up to laugh, Spencer is watching him in the mirror, the look on his face fierce, and Jon almost loses it.

They hadn't been talking about anything, really, down in the basement studio Ryan was still building. Shane working on a gallery installation, and their new puppy eating Brendon's shoes. Ryan and some new book he wants everyone to read, but Spencer was kind of quiet. Jon was on the floor at Brendon's feet, and, every time he looked up, Spencer was watching him.

Spencer hasn't looked away from the mirror. His fingers have tightened their grip on Jon's bare hips, but he's perfectly in control. Each thrust goes hard in, long out, each one making Jon gasp and scrabble for something to hold onto. Each one is matched by a grunt from Jon, but cool calm from Spencer until he starts to stutter, until he presses his forehead between Jon's shoulderblades, until he bites hard when he comes inside.

Jon is still hard. He still has shampoo in his hair.

-

Spencer's come but he's not finished. He presses Jon further into the cold bite of the sink and keeps his hot bite on Jon's neck. Jon relinquishes his hold on the sink tap and his control, bends as far over as he can and shoves back at Spencer, seeks more in the way the moment demands. He's not sure what this is, what this will be, but right now he's desperate for it and unafraid to be so. He wants to get off, he wants to join Spencer in the after-moment, the moment where they can talk about this.

It astounds him when Spencer stands back up and starts to harden again instead of stepping, slipping away. The undeniably erotic feel of it is completely novel, carnal and filthy in a way he can't ignore, with the release still inside him easing the way. He gasps and grunts and sobs and pushes back into it, ignoring the burning in his eyes from the shampoo and the sweat.

"Please," is all he can say. He repeats it after every thrust, lets it become the mantra that takes him over.

Spencer doesn't say a word, just digs his fingers into Jon's hips in a bruising hold and hoists him up, leaving him no purchase on the ground, practically hanging between Spencer's weight and the sink. Every time Spencer draws back he starts to fall and every time Spencer slams back in he's saved.

He lurches forward to rest his forehead on the cool expanse of the mirror. His fingers scrabble for purchase on the slippery surface, already fogged from his breath, and leave only wet streaks in their wake. "Spencer," he sobs. "Spencer, Spencer, please."

Spencer stops and pants into his ear. "You're mine," Spencer growls into his neck and he lets go, completely, released past thinking into Spencer's even more achingly perfect thrusts.

Spencer doesn't stop after Jon comes, doesn't relent. Jon's going to have bruises, so many bruises. He drops down until he's completely prone, unable to hold himself up even a fraction, and glances up to see Spencer still looking at him in the mirror. "Please," he repeats and Spencer collapses over his back, coming inside him again.

"Break's over," Spencer grunts into his neck. "There'll always be four, now. We need to be two." Jon nods, sliding his cheek against Ryan's granite countertop. "Come home with me?" Spencer asks--fucking asks after this demonstration!--and Jon laughs.

"God, Spencer," he can't move, shaky from the sex and breathless from the laughter. "Let's go finish my shower. Then I'll pack." He winces when he flexes his leg muscles, trying to find purchase after giving it up for the greater good, and they scream at him.

Spencer still hasn't moved from on top of him. "I'm sorry," Spencer whispers into his neck. "I just couldn't, anymore," he kisses Jon's neck, his cheek, their skin slipping and scratching where Spencer's growing his beard back in. "I couldn't pretend that I don't want you every day."

-

Spencer rubs them both dry with the same towel before they flop onto Jon's bed in Ryan's house.

"You don't really want to leave now." He yawns and stretches. "Sleep first?" Jon wasn't expecting any of this, least of all sex in Ryan's bathroom. There are rules about that kind of thing, at least there were. Ryan hasn't had to glare at the two of them in a while.

Spencer says, "C'mere," and Jon comes. He rolls over onto Spencer's chest, and now they get to kiss. Now they really get to say the things that have stayed quiet for months.

Jon gets to lay next to Spencer's long curves, put his hands next to Spencer's head on the pillow, lean down into his space. Jon gets to lick into Spencer's mouth and hear that intake of breath, that surprise every time.

He probably missed the kissing most. There hasn't been time to think about it, really, not with Ryan wanting to work on the new album. He's been testing Jon on the idea of a side project, too. Jon suspects it's really Ryan keeping him distracted. Brendon is less subtle. Brendon shows up and takes Jon hiking or to the mall for smoothies or just a drive around Las Vegas, the Life of Brendon Urie Tour.

It's not like Spencer wasn't there. He was still Ryan's best friend and Panic at the Disco's drummer. But when the two of them were there together, he was less Spencer than usually. He didn't roll his eyes or sigh, none of those things the band would tease him for. Spencer was quiet, but, then, Jon figures he was, too.

The break was Jon's idea, and it was pretty stupid, especially when measured against some of the great fucking ideas he's had in his life. So they were a band. That didn't mean he wasn't allowed to fall in love.

"I love kissing you," Jon says. Spencer's a really good kisser. When something's worth his while, Spencer makes it worth your while, too. Jon pulls back so he can see Spencer's eyes when he says, "I missed kissing you."

Spencer bites his lip, but he's smiling. Jon hasn't seen that smile in so long.

They're still naked from the shower, so Spencer's hand reaching down between their damp bodies isn't a shock. It's a welcome and familiar touch that Jon moves into. That he gets hard again is enough to make him gasp. Jon wasn't expecting any of this.

Jon pushes himself up to his knees. He pushes his forehead against Spencer's chest so he can look down and watch Spencer's hand remembering everything that makes Jon shiver.

"We used to do it like this in the bunks," Spencer says into Jon's hair. Jon licks one nipple, then the other. He can't look up, not yet, not yet. Spencer knows; Spencer's waiting. His fingers clench in Jon's hair, but he's not forcing Jon up. "Then you would turn me over on my stomach, pull my hips up in the air. Remember? Jon, do you remember?"

"Yeah, Spencer, yeah."

He's still stroking Jon with his other hand, setting a punishing rhythm with a vicious twist each time his hand rounds the head, and Spencer's ready with a kiss when Jon finally lets himself look up, meet Spencer's eyes. He's ready when Jon falls forward because now he's coming, because it's too much, because it's Spencer, and Jon wasn't expecting that.

-

Zack lets him have an hour off the bus. One hour, because Jon sighs at the window and knows exactly what to do until Zack can't stand it anymore.

"Go, go," he says, and Jon picks up his camera bag and runs before Zack changes his mind.

Spencer is the only one on the bus when Jon comes back. "They went for food. Where did you go?" he asks, and Jon holds up his camera. Spencer grabs at it, around Jon's neck, pulling them both over to the couch to look at the photos. He skips through shots of fall leaves and running water and the backs of heads. "You're kind of a pretentious fuck, aren't you?"

"Everyone shoots rock stars." Jon shoves up close to watch the photos over Spencer's shoulder. "What are rock stars supposed to shoot?"

He distracts Spencer, biting his ear to steal the camera back. Spencer leans into the moment. His hands clasp at nothing and then Jon's thighs. "I think you should..." he breathes against Jon's cheek.

"Wait." Jon untangles himself from Spencer and his camera strap and sets it, carefully, on top of the TV. Spencer's laid out on his back when Jon looks back. He holds up a finger, one minute, and hopes Spencer doesn't start without him.

Jon has to step over shoes and empty bottles and a tiny pile of tiny teddy bears, but he finds a bag that might belong to him and he finds his always reliable PowerShot inside.

"I thought maybe you wanted to take some pictures," Spencer is saying when Jon returns. He's made himself comfortable on the couch. He's lost the headband and the vest.

"Yeah, that camera's a pain in the ass." He climbs on top, pins Spencer on the couch with knees on both sides of his hips, and snaps a frame above Spencer's mouth fallen open. "I'd rather kiss you that worry about aperture."

"You don't want your baby to get hurt," Spencer teases. Jon shuts him up. He bites harder than usual. He pulls back to rub his fingers over Spencer's wet and swollen lips.

"Did you just take a picture of my mouth?" Spencer asks.

"I don't know. I'll look later." Jon is clicking; he isn't looking.

"What did you want to shoot?" Reaching back, above his head, Spencer lays himself out for Jon's lens.

It makes Jon sit up. He holds his camera close to his chest. His finger stutters against the button before he knows he wants the photo. "That looks about right." He stutters again when Spencer slips his finger under Jon's shirt, when he unbuttons Jon's pants.

The camera gets caught uncomfortably between them when Jon surges forward for a kiss. Spencer complains into his mouth, then soothes the harsh words with his tongue. They turn and twist on the couch, trying to find a new position, a way to do this without falling to the floor. Jon feels awkward, but he doesn't want to stop kissing Spencer. He doesn't open his eyes, but he clicks, clicks, clicks, one hand holding his camera up high and the other holding Spencer up close.

He'll look later.

-

After, they lay there, smushed together not-quite-uncomfortably on the narrow bus couch, Jon's head over his heart. When they hear the door whoosh open Spencer bellows, "Don't come in!" and pushes Jon away enough to drag his jeans up to cover his bits. "This is fucking ridiculous," he mutters to Jon, now braced over him like a four-legged spider, his bits still exposed.

"We've seen it before you sluuuuuts!" Brendon calls, sliding through the word like he does on stage, but he waits, whispering with Ryan and--ugh, whoever they have with them, and they'll all know and--

"Let's just go back to the bunks," he whispers. Jon nods.

They hide and Spencer tries to forget about it, does a radio interview with Ryan (he only gets a smirk, thank god), decimates a green room veggie tray, plays a fucking spectacular show, makes out with Jon while they wait for Brendon to shower, waves goodbye to Ryan and Brendon as they head off to the after party, and walks out of the bathroom to find Jon looking at a gigantic picture of his nostrils.

"Is it sad I know that's me?" he says, flopping next to Jon on the bed. "Are those from earlier?"

"Yeeeeaaaah," Jon responds, drawing it out. "Some of these are," he pauses, swallows. "Here, I've put 'em in a folder." He clicks it open and pushes the computer at Spencer. He hovers as Spencer slowly starts to click through them, taking more time than he did earlier with the pretentious shots. He finally settles by curling up with his head on Spencer's thigh.

They're mostly close ups, mostly Spencer. They're mostly-- "Shit, this is obscene," he can't help himself when a picture of his mouth comes up, wet and shiny and swollen, with Jon's thumb just starting to push its way into his mouth.

"Yeeeeaaaah," Jon drawls into his thigh, breath hot on his skin through his jeans. "I'm keeping them forever." His voice is low and dark and Spencer thinks oh, gets hard as he realizes Jon likes this, likes pictures.

"What's your favorite?" he slips his fingers through Jon's hair. "Which one would you jerk off to if I weren't here?"

"Go forward three," Jon tucks his face into the curve at Spencer's hip. "I wouldn't get it printed, don't want anyone else to see." Jon tries to snuffle in closer to his dick, has to push himself up to get the leverage. "Just me," Spencer makes out, faintly, more groan than words, as he opens the file.

He helps as Jon starts to unbutton his jeans, tries to see why Jon likes this photo best. It's not as obvious as Spencer's wet lips, and when he realizes that it's his own tightly closed eyelid from just as Jon was finishing jerking him off, just as he was coming, he clutches Jon's head closer and has to stop himself from just rubbing off on Jon's face.

"Jon." He tugs on Jon's hair. "Sex, Jon, we need to have some." He pulls harder when Jon doesn't move. "Now, fucker."

Jon doesn't give in, pulls his head down against Spencer's grip. He's rubbing his nose into Spencer's dick. It's distracting.

"Jon," he groans. "Go get your camera," and he's said the magic word. "Get naked, too," he reminds him after Jon just focuses on fumbling his battery from the charger to the camera.

"Right," Jon pushes his hair off his forehead, his cheeks flushed. Spencer likes him like this, likes it a lot.

"C'mere," he can't help the fondness in his voice.

"Yeah," Jon swings one leg over him with a pretty damn fond look of his own. He raises the camera up to the side, angles it toward them, then angles Spencer's face before ducking in for a kiss. Spencer sees the flash behind his eyelids.

-

Australia's awesome. Jon firmly believes this. He's played some amazing concerts in Australia, had a lot of great beer. They're all more relaxed when they tour in Australia, for some reason they've never examined too closely. For fear of losing it, Jon suspects.

So, of course, they're comfortable, excited and packed about as well as they normally are--which is to say, willy nilly and with the knowledge that home is not the only place to purchase necessities--meaning their carry-ons are full of the most fragile and least functional items, which is why the announcement that they're making an unscheduled stop in Hawaii to switch planes is more than a little frustrating. The only extra clothing type item in his bag is a hoodie. He's getting a sinking feeling he'll be wishing for a fresh pair of boxers before they land in Sydney.

"This is such a tease." Spencer is perched on the sliver of handrest between two chairs, his arms crossed as he looks out at the unrelentingly blue sky.

"Yeah," he responds just to say something. Their boarding time keeps getting pushed back in increments. They've been here for two hours and are supposed to re-board in an hour, but that's also what they said an hour ago.

Brendon wanders back up with a string of orchids around his neck, a box of chocolate covered macadamia nuts under his arm and a tray of Starbucks balanced in one hand. He looks tired. Jon scoots closer, tries some small talk and coffee to get Brendon talking. He's suffering from traveling weariness more than the rest of them are, Jon's sure of it. He doesn't want Brendon to burn out.

"Nap time, Jon, please?" Brendon asks quickly, a coffee in one hand. He plays it off, making it inconsequential, a joke. They all know better by now but Brendon needs his facade.

"Yeah, course," he switches to a seat where Brendon could curl up, into him. They drowse together, Jon focusing on staying somewhat aware but losing the battle. When he wakes he realizes two things--the first being that it's gotten rather dark and the second being that Spencer has taken Brendon's place.

"Hey," he whispers down. Spencer's eyes flick open in annoyance. "Where's Brendon?" he asks. Then he takes another look around. "Or--where's Ryan or Zack or anybody."

Spencer stretches in his lap, like a cat. He twitches and makes little stuttery sounds and clenches his fists and Jon loves it, loves Spencer the hissing cat on his thighs. "They went to look for some real food," Spencer doesn't move his head resting on Jon. "They'll call or text if they need to."

He once again wonders how Spencer can take this all so seriously yet so flippantly at the same time.

"Hey, hey," he smiles down at Spencer. "It really can't be too long now, we have better luck than this.

"You just completely jinxed us." Spencer closes his eyes.

Sure enough when Zack comes back he bears the news they're grounded for the evening, until another plane can be flown in. "Consider it an early hotel night," Zack pulls Spencer up. "But don't fucking make us late catching the next flight, got it?"

He takes his lumps but he's a little annoyed that he's the one receiving a suspicious look.

"Seriously," he tells Spencer as he folds their only clothes neatly. Jon is seriously starting to believe his grandmother was right about always needing spare underwear while traveling. "Why does he think I'm the one that makes us late?"

"Seriously," Spencer responds in a bored voice. "Could you stop fucking worrying about Zack for five minutes and get over here and fucking fuck me already?"

Jon stops futzing long enough to glare at Spencer. "Not if you ask like that, no." That calls for some pretty severe escalation, in his mind, so he refuses to fuck Spencer.

They're both regretting that decision three days later. Three days later they've made it to Sydney and played a show and done about a million interviews and Jon realizes he passed up an opportunity to lazily fuck Spencer at a hotel in Hawaii and decides to try to make up for it. He gives Spencer a special blow job, a long one, and asks Spencer to fuck him, when he's ready.

"What is this, Christmas?" Jon gasps as Spencer adjust his thrusts, leans back and pulls Jon's legs over his shoulders.

"Sex Christmas," Spencer grunts, then giggles. They finish like that, giggling even as they wind down, and Jon remembers, yeah. Australia is awesome.

-

Slowly, slowly, the tour moves onto the Panic bus, settling in for the night with beer and Rock Band. The Cab, The T's, and the crew sprawled on the floor and on couches, watching the tournament of the night.

After Spencer and the drummers beat Brendon and the singers, Jon finds the perfect opportunity to slip away.

He stands at the door, trying to catch Spencer's eye amid the gloating and the high fives. Floating on his victory, Spencer blinds Jon with his grin and steals the last of his Sam Adams.

"That's my beer," Jon pouts.

"Too bad," Spencer tells him. "I won."

Behind them, another game starts up with a driving bassline and a cheer from the crowd. With the rest of the bus distracted, Jon can drag Spencer away, through to the back, where the bunks are quiet.

"We're practically alone," Spencer whispers into Jon's mouth, hanging around his neck.

"We're really not."

Loose-limbed and grinning, Spencer drags himself up into Jon's bunk. He grunts and rolls and disappears behind the curtain. When he peeks out, Jon's eyes get stuck on Spencer's shiny lips.

"Get in here, Jon."

He kicks off his flip flops, shimmies out of his jeans, peels off his t-shirt, and, in boxers, Jon climbs up after Spencer. A shirt flies out to hit him in the face on his way up.

"Hey, hey," Jon tells him. "Those buttons are lethal."

Spencer oofs when Jon flops on top of him, but his hands are quick to grasp at skin and manhandle Jon into the position he wants. "Smart boy," Spencer says as he shoves Jon's boxers down and finishes the job.

The bunks aren't the best place for this, but Spencer's determined. With his heels on Jon's back, he pulls them together, and with his hands on Jon's ass, he sets the rhythm.

"Now kiss me," he says, and that's how they come together, still sweaty from Rock Band and sweet-mouthed from the beer, gasping and biting and with a particularly embarrassing squeak from Jon.

He rests his forehead against Spencer's shoulder while he catches his breath and is careful to fall towards the wall and not the floor. Spencer follows, not willing to let Jon's mouth get too far away.

"Are those jeans new?" he asks. "Your butt looks really good in them."

Spencer's hands are sticky on Jon's skin. That's where his brain is right now. Spencer keeps talking, of course, but Jon wants to stay here in this moment, crammed tight in his bunk, warm body beside.

-

The party's on their bus so it's not like Spencer can just say no when he's recruited to be part of the, "team that's going down, Spence, me 'n' my boys, here, the boys who sing, we're going to whoop the ass of every single one of you pretty boy drummers." He rolls his eyes and rounds up the drummers, plays the captain. It's not like he's that bothered, anyway, he's "not pretending to be sick of it just 'cause I think I'm too good for it, like some people I know, Ross."

He thinks he deserves some reward when he and his pretty boy drummers--some prettier than others, Johnson has his hair up in something resembling a hairnet--win, and win big. "VICTORY!" he proclaims, raising his arms high, high-fiving anyone who'll let him. He looks around for another beer and instead finds Jon, lingering in the doorway to the bunks, half turned away. His jeans are low-slung and stretched tight and Spencer knows what he wants as a winner's treat.

He steals the last of Jon's beer and grins when Jon drags him to the bunks, one hand fisted in his shirt. Looks like they're on the same page. He can still hear the noise from the "seriously, epic, it's going to be on Wikipedia in the morning, if you miss it, you'll cry" tournament, but back here it's like they're alone. Jon protests but still follows Spencer into his bunk when he climbs in, with only a little prodding, the hint of nakedfuntimes. Spencer's good at figuring out what'll get Jon with the program, these days.

"Ugh," he grunts when Jon lands heavily on top of him. There's not a lot of space, but Spencer wants his reward. Jon's ditched the jeans, the jeans that Spencer's only going to let him wear in private, so Spencer digs his fingers into Jon's ass, gets a rhythm going, one of his own choosing, unconnected to the fake Rock Band downbeat still surrounding them.

It's fast and it's messy and it's perfect, like bunk sex should be. Spencer can't help but demand kisses as they rut against each other, barely contained inside the three walls and a curtain. There's not quite enough room but that's part of the appeal. Spencer grins to himself when Jon squeaks, then can't help but kiss Jon's shoulder, the closest piece of skin, then angle up for Jon's mouth, but taking the slow route on the way.

Spencer keeps his grip on Jon's ass as he sinks down between Spencer and the wall, wonders how soon they can go again. He leans in for a kiss and kneads Jon's ass a little longer. He starts telling Jon, under his breath, all the things he's going to do to Jon's ass, when he has the time, the space. He's edging quickly towards a nap but captures Jon's mouth one last time, tells him, "be ready for more later," and squeezes extra hard.

-

He and Brendon do an interview for some online channel at a picnic table outside the venue. It's a gorgeous sunny day in Houston, and the girl behind the camera says they should take it as a sign. Jon loves doing these kinds of interviews, the ones where they're allowed to talk, not fighting to say something intelligent above the screaming crowds.

They're just chatting afterwards, the camera off, and the crew packing up, when Brendon jumps up on the table, waving at the buses, shouting, "You're goin' down, bitches!"

Jon turns to see half The Cab coming at them, and he's a smart guy--he knows when to escape.

He doesn't have anywhere to go, but he escapes. Jon doesn't want to go back to the bus, not alone. Spencer's been in a mood all day. He says he's sick, but no one's buying it. He made Zack buy him cough medicine, the sickliest purplest stuff on the shelf, and it's still sitting in its box in a bag on the table.

"Spence?"

He's curled up grumpy on the couch, wielding the remote like a sword, stabbing the channels out of sight. "I'm not playing tonight."

"Yeah, I'm with you." Jon shoves him over and drags Spencer's socked feet into his lap. "Why would you want to get up in front of thousands of people to play your own music with the people you love and hear all those kids sing it back to you? Who wants that?"

There's a scowl on his face when Jon bends over to kiss him. He bobs and weaves, but Jon catches him. "Why won't you let me make out with you?"

"Because you're a jerk." The corners of Spencer's mouth go down, but that only makes Jon smile wider, try harder. He puts his hands on the sides of Spencer's face, where he can feel his pulse running fast.

Jon says, "You don't really think that," and when Spencer sticks his tongue out, Jon takes it as a sign. He covers Spencer's mouth, pushes their tongues together, fights until Spencer gives in and Jon feels him kissing back. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

When Spencer finally decides this is what he wants, that's when it gets good. That's when Spencer pushes back against Jon, sweeps his tongue in deep, wet. A groan rumbles up between them, and Spencer pulls back enough to bite Jon's lips, nibbling the bottom one until it's swollen and sore, but Jon won't tell him to stop.

This is the Spencer they need in the band, the one Jon needs, too.

They don't get any further than the kissing before the front door bangs open. "Looks like Spencer gets his wish," Ryan says, coming into the lounge. Popping up over the couch, Jon can see Brendon bringing up the rear and the brilliant grin on his face. He looks like he's vibrating. "Show's cancelled."

"What?" Spencer jerks up from the couch, smacking into Jon. He finally looks like he's sick.

"We got bumped." Ryan folds himself into the chair across the room. He throws his hat towards the bunks, pissed, and it's the only thing he can do.

"Who?" Spencer asks, carefully. He doesn't really want to know, but Jon's curious. "Who bumped us?"

They all look at Brendon, waiting to burst. "Disney on Ice!"

Spencer falls back to the couch. He takes Jon's hand with him, using it to cover his eyes.

"They gave us free tickets, guys! It's gonna be awesome. Best night of the tour!" Brendon proclaims, and it takes them a lot to convince Spencer to get off the couch, but Ryan gives a look and Jon, a hand, and the three of them follow Brendon off the bus.

-

"This sucks," Jon kisses him again. "Really, really sucks." He lets Jon kiss him quickly two more times before he grabs the back of Jon's head and holds him in place for a longer one.

"I know," he agrees, trying to sooth Jon's unexpected agitation when Jon reluctantly pulls back after Spencer tugs on his hair. "It's going to be a whole, like, four hours until we see each other again."

"Shut up," Jon bites his lip more than kisses it. "I just got you back I don't wanna let you go." Spencer rolls his eyes but can't stop a pleased little smile from escaping. He keeps his hands on Jon's head, doesn't let himself think about straying, staying.

"I can't believe you," he's blushing and he knows it but Jon. "You're ridiculous. And I have to go do this interview."

"It's been ages since we've had more than a couple of hours together," Jon's coupled hands settle low on his back, try to pull him in. "Is it so wrong I wanted to spend those four hours with you instead of without you?"

Jon goes up on his toes to kiss him, so they're at eye level, but it's wobbly and Jon makes his pleading little whiny noise and--"Fuck it," he decides, "we can do this quick, right?" He doesn't bother waiting for a response, grabs Jon's hips and pushes him back into the wall.

Jon's with him immediately, sucking on Spencer's tongue and canting his hips and whining again, deeper and more desperately. When they have time, later, he's going to make Jon fuck him forever. He'll make Jon wait until he's ready, make eyes at Jon about their hasty fuck in the front hall and how he's due something to make up for it. "Get your legs around me, come on," Spencer urges, tugging on Jon's knee.

Jon gets one leg hooked around him, his bare foot pushing into Spencer's ass as he arches against the wall, but they don't have quite the right traction, not yet. Spencer grinds into Jon, spreading his legs and tensing his thighs. "Oh god," Jon's head drops back against the wall.

"I want you fucking wrapped around me," he pants as he slides his hands under Jon's ass. The next time Jon arches he runs his hands down from Jon's ass, dragging his nails down the back of Jon's thigh, to pull on his other knee, forcing Jon to hang between him and the wall. "Fucking hook your ankles together," he growls, getting his both hands back beneath Jon's ass.

"Carry me," Jon gasps into his ear before he nibbles at the upper cartilage in the way that drives Spencer insane. "Carry me anywhere, please, it'll be so hot if you pick me up."

Of course he has to try. It's not elegant. He staggers side to side twice before he figures out how to balance Jon's weight between his hipbones and his hands. It's worth it, so worth it, when he drops Jon onto the kitchen table and Jon falls back perfectly, his arms going wide but his ankles staying locked around Spencer. Jon's chest is heaving and his lips are red and swollen and his eyes--Spencer falls forward, braces himself on his elbows above Jon, teasingly kisses lightly into his mouth, trying to get Jon to work for it.

Spencer gasps when Jon jerks on his hair, pulling his head back. "So not fair," Jon grouses as he nips at Spencer's jawline, harder than he should since Spencer's supposed to go out after this. "Can't you call it in?"

"Can you be quiet?" he counters, pulling further back so he can work his phone out of his pocket. Jon releases his grip on Spencer's hair, pinches his nipple quickly instead before he starts to pull of Spencer's shirt. Spencer lets him try.

He keeps his eyes locked with Jon's as he calls Crush. His voice is a little wrecked already so it's not difficult to convince them he'll need to either reschedule or do this interview by phone. Jon stays silent through the call, even when Spencer cradles the phone to his ear and tugs Jon's sweatpants down and starts jerking him with rough, dry strokes. Jon's mouth drops open and his heels dig into Spencer's ass but he doesn't make a noise. Spencer rewards him by pausing to lick his palm, smirking down at Jon when he can tell Jon would be whimpering.

Spencer finishes the call and drops the phone next to Jon's head. "I love that you didn't go," Jon whispers, arching up so Spencer can pushes his tshirt up past his nipples. Spencer scratches his thumbnail across one, squeezing at the base of Jon's dick at the same time, and Jon groans softly.

"Yeah, well, it's not like I really had to go." He stops jerking Jon, squeezes tight, enjoys the way Jon jerks but wants more. "Let me really hear you, now," he requests evenly, leaning in for a quick kiss. "Now that there's no goodbye."

-

Spencer wakes up early, from jet lag or tour lag or simply the sun coming in through their bedroom window. He lets his eyes fall close, tries to slow his breathing, but it's no use. He's up. So he decides to make breakfast.

When the coffee's on, he lets the dogs out and watches them tear across the backyard to their favourite hole at the fence. The cats are asleep, somewhere, and won't emerge until Jon gets up.

The man himself finally crawls out of bed after Spencer's second cup of coffee, after the pancake batter is mixed, and the bacon is frying. It might have been the bacon that woke Jon up.

"That's what I'm talking about," he says, coming into the kitchen and ending his announcement with a yawn. He smacks a kiss on Spencer's cheek, then hoists himself up on the counter. Spencer knows exactly where Jon is behind him because he kicks with his bare feet and pokes Spencer in the butt.

"Is that your idea of foreplay?" Spencer asks.

"I don't know. Is it working?" Jon grabs hold of the back of Spencer's pajama pants and pulls him in. He wraps his arms around Spencer's chest and sucks kisses on his neck and where his neck becomes his shoulder. "I hope you're making a lot of pancakes," he whispers.

Spencer twists out of his hold to look at Jon when he asks, "What did you do?" The bacon spits at him.

"Ryan might be here in about an hour?"

"Jon!"

"He's your best friend! Isn't he allowed to come over and play?"

"Of course. Until the two of you start fondling your guitars and my seven days off becomes a recording session."

Jon puts on a pout, and Spencer just manages to turn the stove off before he gets reeled back into the grip of Jon's thighs. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"It's fine, really. Ryan owes me fifty bucks."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I told him he couldn't last a week." Spencer sighs. "That was yesterday." Jon laughs into Spencer's neck, a rumble in his chest.

"It's just, there is a time when I'm in a band and there is a time when I just want to be 22."

He pulls back to looks at Spencer. "Is this one of the 22 times?" Spencer nods.

His hands slide up under Spencer's shirt, so warm. Jon holds them together, between his legs and in his arms. When Jon kisses him, Spencer feels it in the craziest places. A bite to his lips makes his fingers clench in Jon's hair and a sweep of tongue is like a warm caress at his hip.

While Jon's hands and lips are distracted with the kissing, Spencer drags his own hands out of Jon's hair, down, over his chest and under his boxers.

"Something like this?" and he emphasizes his point with a quick pull of Jon's dick. He's halfway hard already, but Spencer gets him all the way there with a firm grip. "Slow?" he asks.

"Make it quick," he pants in Spencer's ear, "then get back to the pancakes."

Spencer doesn't let Jon come until he's gone lax on the counter, until he's begging and promising to do the dishes if Spencer will just fucking do it already. He shouts loud enough to scare the cats. After, Spencer washes his hands, preheats the griddle, and starts the bacon frying again. You can't let it sit in the grease too long.

-

Jon and Ryan sit around with their guitars all day. It's like a cross between a mutual admiration society and a circle jerk. Spencer snickers to himself when he thinks this. Because, no. It'd be some very conceptual, very stoned, very misfortunate jerking off.

He decides to treat this as some type of opportunity. He cleans the kitchen--not just cleans it up from breakfast but really cleans it. He takes Milo and Boba to Petsmart, gets them new water and food dishes just 'cause he can, lets them pick out treats and slips a few cat toys in at the end. 'Cause he can. He realizes halfway through the drive back that he didn't plan this out that well, since there aren't many places he can go with two dogs in tow. Not without feeling like a douchetastic animal abuser, leaving them on the sidewalk or in the car. Unacceptable.

Except. He risks a run into Port of Subs, since it's nearly empty. They have a dish of water near the door, he can leave his babies there for a few minutes. He decides to order more subs than three men can reasonably eat. He'll send some home with Ryan.

He's completely unsurprised that the superbake twins are still on the floor, with the same guitars. Jon's eyes are closed as he plucks out a sedate but haunting bass line, his head bobbling around to the beat. Ryan's meandering through an accompanying melody line, staring at his guitar like he can't believe it's real.

When Jon's eyes open he sees Spencer. The resulting grin makes Spencer forget any lingering irritation. They're both just so goddamn happy like this. He raises the bag of subs and his eyebrows, then heads to the kitchen.

He hears them tumble in just as he's finished pre-washing the new doggie bowls, the subs already spread out on the island in a fit of domestic perfectionism. Jon comes up behind him at the sink and buries his nose in the back of Spencer's neck. Spencer can tell, by the wobbliness and the height, that Jon's on his toes. "Spencer Smith you treat us so goooooood." Jon shouldn't be using that voice when Ryan's in the room. It's just wrong.

"Yeah, wow," Ryan's speaking with his mouth full. Spencer closes his eyes as Jon slips his hands into the front pockets of Spencer's jeans. He's probably doing it for balance, but Jon's left thumb starts sweeping up and down, dipping under his waistband.

"Hey, Ryan?" he can't turn around, not with Jon pressing into him, and he wouldn't want to right now, not when he's too aware of Jon's hands on his skin and breath on his neck. He thinks he can feel Jon's eyelashes flutter. "You can take as many subs as you want if you just leave. Now."

"Hey, now," Jon objects softly. "I'm hungry." He blows softly onto Spencer's neck then kisses at the skin exposed. Spencer can't stop shivering.

There's no sound behind them. "Ryan?" Spencer dares a peek. There's no sign of him and only one sub is missing. His pocket vibrates and Jon digs his fingers in deeper to pull out Spencer's phone. be quick, Ryan's text reads. am picking up hobo. done when i get back, pls.

Jon chuckles into his neck and Spencer's irritation catches back up to him, spreads to the both of them. "That just ruined the mood." He tries to buck Jon off.

"No, it really didn't," Jon insists, digs his fingers deeper into Spencer's pockets. He's hard against Spencer's ass, has been hard, but starts rubbing in earnest now. "We just gotta be quick."

"I so would have thought you'd learned a lesson this morning," he's not resisting, now, but, seriously? He's not very into hasty frottage before Ryan walks back in.

"Yeah, well," Jon undoes his jeans, tries to slip them down Spencer's hips. "It ended in an orgasm. Not likely." Spencer's not helping so he doesn't get the jeans down very far. Jon huffs into his neck and pulls back, his warmth disappearing. But he's not leaving, Spencer hears him unzip, and. Oh. It's too dry, but it's still good.

"OK, maybe I can get behind--" Jon's thrust hits his balls again and shuts him up.

-

It's after too many beers and a few too many times through "Band on the Run" on Guitar Hero that Ryan announces his idea. He stops mid-riff, stands there in the middle of the floor when Spencer looks back at him, and says, "We should break their record."

Pete and Patrick's Guinness record, he explains, and Spencer scoffs and steals the guitar controller. He's gonna get "Heartbreaker" on expert if he's up all night.

Ryan brings it up again at breakfast, hours after Spencer's forgotten. "C'mon, Spence. We can beat them. 72 interviews in 24 hours? That's nothing."

"Wait, me?" Spencer chokes on his Froot Loops. "Why do I have to do this? Ryan, we hate doing interviews."

"But you're my best friend. Pete got to do it with his best friend."

"You are such a dick," and he is, but Spencer still shows up to the studio in New York, sits down, and puts on the headphones. Because Ryan is his best friend. Brendon and Jon wave from behind the glass because someone needs to go for coffee and someone else needs to be there to stop Spencer from strangling Ryan with his fringed scarf.

24 hours and one broken record later, Spencer escapes. Ryan's on his Sidewalk, up ahead, already gloating to Pete, who called in himself near the end. Brendon hangs over Ryan's shoulder, telling him what to say, showing him how to make HTML hearts.

Spencer's ass is numb. He glances back at Jon, bringing up the rear as Zack leads them up a busy New York sidewalk to the hotel that is home for the night. Jon is biting his lip, and when he sees Spencer looking, he holds up a finger to his mouth. They've all used up their words for a few days at least. Spencer is looking forward to the silence.

When they get upstairs to their room, Jon flops onto Spencer's bed, above the covers, like he was the one who stayed up all night, not the one who went for a coffee run at 4 and came back an hour late with pillow creases on his cheek. Kicking his shoes to the ceiling and wriggling out of his jeans, Jon puts on quite the show. He's making noises, too, completely unselfconscious, completely unfair because Spencer is exhausted, but, God.

"Do you know how you sound?" Spencer snaps.

"Pretty damn gooood," he drawls.

Spencer leans against the locked door. He groans, but gives in. "Get over here."

"I'm already on the bed, Spence." Jon's feet hang over the edge, toes stretched to a point. His arms are above his head, his fingers in the sheets. "Bed."

"My ass is numb. Get over here."

Rolling up at the waist, Jon loses his balance and falls off the bed. He jumps up to a crouch and darts a glance around the room to see if anyone saw him.

"Up here, Boy Wonder." His voice is rough from the night, but he knows how he sounds: so damn fond. It's hard not to, looking down at Jon crouched barefoot on their hotel room floor.

Jon grins, then attacks. He kisses Spencer up against the door, a hand in his hair, but also protecting Spencer's head from falling back and hitting wood. Little things like that. The way Jon hooks one foot around Spencer's ankle, not for support, but another place to touch. He likes the touch of Jon's lips on his, too, Jon's tongue dipping into his mouth.

Jon's hands find Spencer's hips, and he slouches down against the door to let Jon get closer, seeing where this is going and how it can go better, but Jon has other ideas. He uses Spencer's hips to turn him, pin him chest against the door, the only thing holding him up.

It doesn't take long for Jon to get them naked--as naked as he needs--they've done this before. Spencer spreads his legs, gets comfortable in a wide stance, and presents himself for Jon.

But Jon wants to take his time. He's dropping kisses down Spencer's back, each one makes his stomach flutter, makes him gasp. He starts when Jon grabs his ass, both hands. He squeezes and soothes and strokes. Over his shoulder, Spencer can see Jon's determined look. Their eyes meet, and Jon leans in for a kiss, one hand sliding down between Spencer's cheeks to tease his clenching hole.

"You said you were numb," Jon whispers into his mouth. He kisses and bites at Spencer's shoulder. "I'm not that kinda guy, Spence."

"Are you the guy who's going to fuck me now?"

"Yeah." Jon's finger goes in, and Spencer cries out at the stretch. "I can do that."

He does, against their hotel room door, and Spencer is tired, his voice hoarse from 24 hours of on-air bickering with Ryan, his back hurts, his head throbs in time, but Jon holds him up, keeps him going, brings him off, and brings him down. Jon holds him around the waist, guides him to the bed, kisses his hair, and lets Spencer sleep.

They do the same thing when they wake up, late afternoon, except it's Jon against the door and Spencer saying, Thank you for being that kinda guy.

-

"My ass is numb. Get over here." Jon can't help but obey an order like that, as teasing as it sounds, so of course he falls off the bed in his haste. When he pops back up over the side of the bed Spencer's grinning at him and, damn. He has a hard time resisting Spencer in general, but when he's pleased with himself, content and proud after achieving something with Ryan, well. Spencer just glows, and now he's glowing in Jon's direction. "Up here, Boy Wonder," Spencer husks at him and he grins.

He crowds into Spencer's space, kissing the hell out of that smooth-talking mouth. He'd already decided to make this night all about Spencer, after the twelfth interview where Spencer had glared at the switchboard operator as if it was the station's fault Ryan had gotten them into this mess. He and Brendon had secretly agreed they were very, very happy Ryan's competitive edge only flared up on occasion, now, and less frequently.

It looks like Spencer's wants Jon to take the lead, here, but he's so responsive under Jon's fingers, his tongue, his toes, Jon just wants to touch, doesn't want to think. He wants to get closer, so much closer, and Spencer helps by sliding down the door, until he's cradling Jon's body but held up by Jon's hands on his hips. God he loves it when Spencer lets himself go, puts himself in Jon's hands. He tests to see if Spencer's with him on this by shoving him around, pinning him to the door, pulling his hips back to unwork his jeans roughly. Spencer doesn't protest, and doesn't just follow Jon's lead--he arches back into it, spreads his legs even further, steals Jon's breath away. Jon rewards him with hot, scattered kisses everywhere he can reach while he catches his breath and gets them both naked. He doesn't even know Jon thinks, how fucking amazing he is.

He grabs Spencer's ass with both hands, a solid, full-handed grip he's never tried before, and squeezes until Spencer squeaks, then softens his hold and tries kneading, fascinated at the way Spencer rocks back into his clutching fingers. Spencer keeps trying to up the pace, to make this go faster, and when he does Jon gentles his touch even further. He goes up on his toes to lean in and kiss Spencer, rewarding him by finally dipping between his cheeks, brushing a thumb oh-so-delicately over Spencer's hole. "You said you were numb," he reminds Spencer after the kiss, as he settles back to bite at Spencer's shoulder. He doesn't push in any further, just sweeps his thumb up and down slowly. "I'm not that kinda guy, Spence."

Spencer pants into the door and spits out a fierce, "Are you the guy who's going to fuck me now?" Jon grins, knowing Spencer can't see it. Of course he's that guy. Spencer.

"Yeah." Jon's finger goes in, and Spencer cries out at the stretch. "I can do that.

-

"Only if I get to be in VIP," Spencer crosses his arms and stares at Ryan. Ryan blinks back at him, unconcerned.

"Yeah!" Jon finally enters the conversation to agree with him, perking up from his sprawl on the couch. "We'll go if I get to hold Spencer's hand in secret in the dark!" He sits up, eyes bright, and adds an energetic, "and get free bourbon!" He's already a little tipsy.

Ryan shrugs and straightens his tie. "I'm sure Zack can make that happen."

On cue, Zack opens the door, "Alright little dudes, your car's here."

"I haven't said yes yet!" Spencer chops his hand through the air, trying to convey his displeasure, but everyone just stands to file out.

Jon stops and looks back from the door frame. "Like you'd say no to Ryan when he asks you to see Pete's new baby band." He smiles a happy, humored smile. Spencer thinks they're all being dicks.

The thing is, though--Jon's right. But Spencer still fucking prefers to be fucking asked.

He's not content to trail along. He makes his way out and to the front of their little crowd, claims shotgun. No one argues. No one says anything, actually.

He lets Zack escort them in before he settles at what he decides is the head of the table. He orders everyone's drinks and low-key flirts with the waitress. It's always worth it to do so, in the long run. Spencer considers it another obligation, another social nicety he's normally happy to perform but tonight feels forced, uncomfortable on his shoulders.

He can't decide if it pisses him off that no one says anything, that no one acts like this is anything out of the unusual, which it isn't, he supposes, but it feels different since he doesn't want to be doing it this time. He orders Ryan's second martini extra dirty, with three olives, trying to get a reaction. Ryan nudges his drink toward Brendon, who gulps it happily.

"Three Virgos in one band is two too many," he declares before he heads for the bathroom, pushing Brendon and Jon out of his way to get out of the booth.

The baby band's not half bad, he decides as he walks. He wouldn't expect anything less of Pete. Pete's spent half a lifetime honing his indie instincts.

They're eager. Spencer can hardly remember being that eager.

He splashes water on his face when he's done, trying to cool his cheeks down. He drank too much too quickly. He misses the door opening and closing behind him.

"I think someone needs a blowjob," Jon appears over his shoulder in the mirror. "I got Zack to watch the door, c'mere."

"You think you can just decide that?" he takes his time drying off his hands, making sure to not look at Jon.

"Yes!" Jon laughs at him. "I can definitely just decide that, jeez Spence." Spencer doesn't go to him, he waits until Jon comes to him. And Jon does. Jon's undetered when he doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything, just leans back against the already wet counter top, curling his fingers around the lip of the sink. "Stop being so you, just for a sec," he says before he drops to one knee. Jon doesn't fall to his knees gracefully, has to dig a hand into Spencer's belt to stop himself from falling too fast. Spencer thinks he's not the only one who drank quickly, possibly too quickly.

"Kiss me," he demands, bending over to get closer to Jon's mouth. Jon looks up, surprise writ all over his face, and Spencer bites his way into Jon's mouth. Jon tastes sharply of whiskey, still fresh and smoky. "Keep going," Spencer demands when he leans back.

Jon smiles up at him, immune to the shortness of his demands. Jon works his jeans open slowly, teasingly. Spencer doesn't care, doesn't wait. When Jon doesn't unzip him in short order he does it himself, sighing loudly. He purposefully pulls his dick out quickly, hitting Jon's cheek twice before Jon pries his hands off with the judicious application of a mouth-and-hand combo.

Jon sucks him in noisily, deliberately. He rubs at Jon's lips, his nose, his cheek, but doesn't try to control Jon's pace, keeps his hands off the back of Jon's head and his neck. Jon's ignoring him anyway.

He knows enough to know he wants Jon controlling the pace and the tempo of their interaction. He doesn't want to just use Jon, Jon's red mouth and generous hands, he wants Jon to take away his decisions, his responsibilities.

So he does. He watches Jon, thrusts gently when he wants to but lets Jon take the pace and the ending away from him. Jon knows him, knows his body, will know when he's ready.

-

They're supposed to have dinner with Jon's parents when they get into town, but Spencer won't shut up about Lou Mal's.

"He's the only reason I come to Chicago," Spencer claims, and Jon punches him in the shoulder.

The place is quiet, not packed with DePaul students like it should be on a Friday night. Lou Malnati's hasn't changed since Jon was a kid. It smells the same, which is the kind of thing a guy likes to make sure of when he comes home after a tour. Plastic on the tables and a pattern on the carpet that he wouldn't be surprised to see Ryan wear as pants.

Searching out the darkest table in the furthest corner, Spencer drags Jon behind him, hands tangled together. The waitress is right there with a water jug, her pad and pen, eager for something to do. Spencer picks up the menu, to look at the pictures, because they always order the same thing, just more of it when there's more of them.

Spencer leans over to say, "Extra cheese" in his ear, chin on his shoulder, and Jon adds spinach bread to share while they wait for the pizza.

Both their phones go off at the same time, skittering across the table and meeting at the parmesan. It's Jon's mom, so he has to take it, and Spencer flips his Sidekick open to read and type. Jon makes their case for Lou Mal's. "You've had what Vegas passes off as pizza, Mom. Spence has been deprived," he tells her, and she agrees, but makes him promise to at least phone when he gets off the plane next time. He feels Spencer's hand on his arm, looks up and sees him stand, weave through the tables to the bathrooms in back.

"OK. OK. OK. Mom, OK. I love you, too. Bye."

Jon turns his phone off, then picks up Spencer's from the table because he's sure the message was from Ryan. He skims back through their conversation--mostly cursing and song titles--before the waitress comes back with a pitcher of Coke and spinach bread with tomato sauce, and Spencer's been gone far too long.

He pokes his head in the bathroom, calls out, "Spence?"

The door to the furthest stall bangs open. "What took you so long?" Spencer glares across the tiny tiled bathroom.

Jon holds up his hands. "I didn't know we were doing this!"

"Get in here."

He mutters, "Yes, sir," as quiet as he can because the acoustics sound pretty good. Spencer's arm comes out and grabs him, pulls him into the stall, and they're kissing before Jon can find his balance.

"Lock the door," he breathes into Jon's mouth. "I want something to lean you against."

"What are we doing?"

Spencer shoves him into the door, shoulders back, hips out, Jon has to hook one foot around Spencer's calf to keep himself up. His hands clenched in Spencer's t-shirt, Jon drags it up, getting desperate for skin. Their kiss is broken with a groan from one or both, lips buzzing and wet. It's Spencer that pulled away. Jon can't figure out why until Spencer slides down to his knees.

"You're not," Jon whimpers. Spencer bites him through his jeans. "Oh God, you are."

His head hits the door when Spencer reaches in through the zipper, his boxers, to pull Jon, just hard, out of his pants. Jon can't look. He wants to, oh so badly, but he can't. He'll never last, and Spencer'll be pissed, and that's just not the way Jon wanted to spend his first day back in Chicago. So he takes big, deep gulps of air and lets his eyes fall close as Spencer's tongue licks his cock, the head, and up, up. Jon's hips buck, Spencer takes him all. He doesn't complain, he sucks, making a warm wet place for Jon to be, to thrust, to release, to rest.

A long breath and, "Oh fuck," and Spencer doesn't let him go right away. He cleans Jon up, tucks him away carefully, and leans back on his heels. His hand is pressed into the front of his own jeans when Jon stares down at him, on Lou Malnati's bathroom floor, and his mouth falls open, and Jon touches his fingers to Spencer's lips.

"That was really good," Jon tells him, offering a hand up. "I can't believe you got down on your knees in here."

"I know. It's disgusting." They stand shoulder to shoulder at the sink, washing their hands. Spencer sighs and wipes at his pants with a paper towel.

Jon holds open the door. "How about I buy you a pizza?"

-

Spencer tries to ignore his damp knees and hard cock as he crunches his way through Chicago's best pizza. Jon can't stop grinning, is bonelessly slumped into Spencer as he eats. It almost makes Spencer blush. The pizza's just right but the spinach bread's gone cold. He pokes it with a knife. The hazard, he supposes, of spontaneous sex in a restaurant bathroom.

"You do realize you get to reciprocate, right?" he rumbles. Jon just nods as he takes another bite of pizza. "In the car," he adds, as low as he can manage, right into Jon's ear. Jon shivers and nods again.

Jon sits forward to pour them each more soda. "I kinda want to blow you while you're driving," he says meditatively. Spencer chokes. "But it's dangerous, or so the movies tell me. We'd end up dead or arrested or something."

"Jesus." He drops his crust, reaches for the napkin on his lap. After he wipes the grease from his fingers, he rolls up to press his dick against his wrist--just a hint, not too much--as he arranges the napkin.

"Yeah," Jon sighs as he sits back, crowds into Spencer's space. "I really have this thing for blowing you. I dunno, I've never wanted to this much before." He turns to look Spencer in the eyes. "This often."

Spencer licks his lips. Jon's eyes fall down to them, don't look back up even when the harried waitress stops and asks them if they need anything. "The check," he replies, when Jon just keeps staring at his mouth.

"I couldn't look, before," Jon tells him when she's gone.

"What?" he bites his lip just to watch Jon's reaction.

"In the bathroom, I couldn't look at your mouth." Jon reaches out with one greasy finger and touches the center of his lower lip. "It's still swollen."

"You fucker," he closes his eyes. "You'd better have cash, we're leaving."

"What about all this amazing pizza?" When he opens his eyes to glare Jon already has his wallet out.

"It's a fucking chain restaurant, Walker." He starts to push his way out before Jon's ready.

"It's a Chicago institution," Jon counters. He pushes himself up using Spencer's thigh then offers a hand. He's left at least double the bill in cash. Spencer takes the hand and pulls Jon towards the door.

Jon laughs, doesn't keep up with him. He laces their fingers together when they get outside, trails after Spencer by an arm's length. Spencer turns to glare. "Just 'cause you've already," he wriggles his eyebrows and jerks on Jon's hand.

"It's ok, I'm a sure thing," Jon says earnestly. Spencer hears the double beep of the car doors unlocking and pulls harder.

He doesn't wait, climbs in the passenger side door and pulls Jon behind him, only gets halfway across to the other seat when Jon starts unbuttoning his jeans. "Close the door," he hisses, twisting to avoid the steering column. Jon starts a series of wet, sucking kisses on his hip and, god, this isn't going to last long. He's been hard since he got on his knees.

-

"Close the door," Spencer hisses. He twists as he burrows further into the car. Jon's firm grasp on Spencer's jeans leaves one pale hip open to attack so attack he does, sucking fiercely at the soft skin over Spencer's hipbone, pulling back between to see if his handiwork is visible yet.

What he forgets, sadly, is to shut the door.

"Fuck," Spencer jumps when the door swings open. "I fucking told you to shut that, I'm ten seconds away from coming in front of god and man, here." He kicks lightly, but not enough to hurt Jon.

"Don't worry," he tugs on the door and Spencer's zipper with different hands. "I can't see anything good yet."

"And you're not going to until you get the door shut," Spencer twists further, so he's face down, and Jon can't understand what he's doing until the driver's side door pops open and Spencer starts to crawl out. Actually, he still doesn't understand what Spencer's doing, but he's enjoying the view. He pulls his door fully closed and starts to follow Spencer across the car, but Spencer stops him with a flick of his eyebrow when he turns around. "I'll meet you in the backseat?"

Spencer shuts the door in Jon's face. Jon can't believe it, he's left gaping at Spencer through the window. Spencer raps twice on the window, short knocks that seem to say get with the program. Jon decides he doesn't have much shame, here, and launches himself for the backseat, scrambling between the black bucket seats.

He might--well, no, he definitely kicks the horn, that's when Spencer opens the back door and thwaps him in on the forehead. "Way to make it even more obvious we're about to fuck in the car."

Jon's somewhat stuck, so he doesn't respond.

"Are you?" Spencer closes his door, tugs on Jon's arm. "You're stuck, aren't you?"

"Carefully," Jon says, but Spencer's so strong, one firm tug and they're sprawled together on the backseat. Jon's sweating and tired and Spencer's just fucking lucky Jon's devoted to getting him off. He's not even hard again. Yet. He blows his bangs out of his face and offers, "how about I just jerk you off?"

Spencer glares at him and lifts his hips to push his jeans down. "I seem to remember you having something for blowing me, Walker. Also, something about you being a sure bet." Spencer lifts his boxer briefs over his cock delicately. "So get to it."

There's not enough room for him to get on his knees in the car so it almost feels like he's fallen onto Spencer's dick, his body weighted too heavily over Spencer's lap it's only his straining arms and Spencer's thickness nearing his throat keeping him from tipping over entirely. It's really surprisingly hot. He gets into finding the right angle to breathe without pulling back, seeing if he can swallow Spencer down further. He forgets a bit about actually sucking, but Spencer is a human-shaped bellows above him so he thinks he's doing well.

Spencer twitches and digs into his shoulder and all of the sudden it's over but Jon is more than satisfied with his results: Spencer sweaty and lax, sprawled over the backseat, still tasting of pizza. Jon kisses Spencer with the taste of him still heavy on his tongue. Spencer lets him, lazily swipes his tongue against Jon's. It's pretty clear he's into it but also out of it.

"I love Chicago," Spencer sounds dazed when he pulls back. He pulls Spencer down with him onto the seats, crawls back up and leans his forehead against Spencer's shoulder, murmurs appreciatively when Spencer starts to play with his hair. "This is nice," Spencer sounds drowsy, now. Jon mentally debates between napping in the car--it's already a little chilly, they couldn't for long--and doing something silly like slapping himself awake to drive them home.

He drowses off before he can decide which course of action he'd actually prefer. He wakes to Spencer moving above him. "What?" he yawns around it.

"Shh," Spencer kisses him quickly. "Stay back here, I'll drive us home."

"Home," he repeats, slipping back under. He shivers when Spencer opens the door and cold air spills in, but Spencer turns on the heat as soon as he turns on the car. "It's perfect back here," he tells Spencer, hoping he's not slurring to much to make sense. "Warm and Chicago and smells like Spencer."

Spencer chuckles but doesn't respond. He knows he'll have to wake up to go out in the coldness to get into his apartment, but for now this is fine. It's pretty good, actually.

-

Spencer's been withdrawn since Jon asked him to move to Chicago. Withdrawn, gone, guarded, measured--using every single sneaky trick he normally uses on journalists he hates. Jon's just about ready to tell him it was a joke, he didn't mean it, when Spencer corners him in the studio.

Asking Spencer to make a life changing decision while they're trapped in the studio probably wasn't fair of him, he realizes, now that he thinks about it. Recording time, much like touring time, has a different feel. Separate, segmented, distinct from the flow of regular time. By that logic a slim portion of his life is regular time, but recording and touring do have a different feel. He allows himself certain emotional extravagances he normally wouldn't, in regular time. Regular time is when adult decisions should get made, decisions that involve legal paperwork and calls to your parents to tell them more than you're still alive and well.

Spencer corners him in the studio after everyone else has left for the night. It's Jon's turn to make dinner, he's sure Spencer knows that, but he's just as sure Ryan and Brendon can order something if they're hungry before he and Spencer are finished. Order something or stop by the vegan cafe they've all grown to love, whose profits they've probably doubled, if not tripled. Spencer's stopped making jokes about being a bearded gay hippie and started talking seriously about it, as seriously as he can when he's high and has a bandana tied around his head.

Spencer corners him in the studio and kisses him, their only lighting the rows and rows of white Christmas lights Ryan believes brings them luck. It's dimly romantic and makes him wish he could kiss Spencer and photograph himself kissing Spencer right here, right now at the same time.

Spencer corners him in the studio and tells him yes, yes, Jon, yes, Chicago, yes and Jon kisses him again, kisses him for always, but knows that he'd let Spencer change his mind without an ounce of bad feeling, if Spencer needed to once studio time ended. He'd do it and he'd be ok with it but he can feel it, Spencer won't change his mind. Spencer's present, now, all the guarded measuring gone from his gaze. "No hiding," he tells Spencer, as they bump into a cymbal. He doesn't think Spencer understands but it doesn't matter. Spencer quiets the hi-hat and drops to his knees, pulls on Jon's jeans. Jon doesn't want it like this, though, wants to stay level with Spencer, with Spencer's mouth, his kisses.

Spencer corners him in the studio but he corners Spencer right back, undresses Spencer next to his drum kit, tells Spencer all about the hardwood floors and stainless steel appliances they'll own. Spencer looks at him as he talks about windy Chicago winters and properly sealed windows, an indulgent smile on his face.

They're in no rush, in this corner together, nestled in a bed of their own clothing as they roll and rub and Jon talks, thinking out loud. They're in no rush until Spencer rolls him onto his back and settles between his thighs, shushes him in a kiss, tells him to get his fucking hand around their dicks, to stop fetishizing their future kitchen. Jon laughs into Spencer's mouth, tries to get a grip around both of them, can't quite with Spencer pushing in so close. Spencer pulls back with a disappointed expression, bats Jon's hand away and wraps his large, calloused hand where Jon wants it most. It's symbolic, he thinks, getting up on his elbows to watch Spencer readjust his grip, spreading around the precome to make it easier, make it almost slick.

Spencer corners him in the studio and jerks them off, but none of the words Jon could use to describe this act, this moment, would depict even a fraction of the whole. No lyric, no photograph could capture them, capture this, celebrating and uniting, surrounded by the trappings of their musical livelihood. Speaking without words.

-

"First night of tour, first night of tour. Didn't you know? It's the first night of tour!" Jon and Ryan smoked up right after meet and greet, quickly, as if Zack would care if he caught them. They're sprawled out on the green room couch, now, and certainly don't care about much.

This is their third song about first night of tour. It's not their best.

"We're writing a song," Jon grins up at him, where he's leaning against the back of the couch and surveying his domain. He pats Jon's cheek.

"I know, babe," he replies and heads for the bowl of peanut M&Ms. OK, maybe they'd all smoked up.

Brendon grins at him around a mouthful of Cheetos. "First night of tour," Spencer intones and Brendon snaps and points at him.

"You know it, you sexy, bearded beast," Brendon wags his finger at him then grabs for a handful of pretzel sticks. "So crunchy," he croons.

He eyes Brendon, since he's creeping closer to Spencer's M&Ms. He curls his hands around the pile of packets. "Are we going out to watch the Cash and the Alexes show?" Brendon grabs a Snickers bar nonchalantly as he shrugs.

"No, you're not," Zack says as he pokes his head in the door. Brendon jumps.

"How did you even hear me?" Spencer wonders.

Zack raises his eyebrows, his classic why are you so stupid? expression warring with his why'd I give you two joints? one. "Why would I tell you my secrets?"

Spencer nods, conceding the point, and tries a new tactic, "How are you so awesome?" he adds his own pointed finger in Zack's direction. Zack shakes his head and disappears. When he looks down his M&Ms are gone, a Snickers bar in their place.

"Oh, FUCKER!" he looks around for Brendon. Jon and Ryan look up from the couch. "My M&Ms!" he whines at them. "Everyone knows the peanut M&Ms are mine."

"Probably why he took them," Ryan straightens his tie and stands up, a stern expression on his face. "I'll go take care of this."

His eyes meet Jon's and, by the look of Jon's face, they're both having to fight bursting out laughing. "Thanks," he chokes out. They watch Ryan walk out the door with a determined stride.

"Jon, Jon," he collapses next to Jon on the couch, in Ryan's place. "Did that just happen?"

"Ryan the enforcer," Jon breaks out into his stoner's giggle, one hand over his mouth in an almost prim gesture.

"Hey, hey," he begs, turning to look in Jon's direction. Jon's head swings in his direction. "Kiss me." Jon's eyes cross as he focuses on Spencer then unfocuses his eyes as he leans in. They kiss and they kiss and they kiss some more, their mouths the only point of contact between their bodies. Spencer feels too big for his body, for his head, but also that he's too small; the universe is expanding around him, falling away from him, them, this couch.

"My eyes!" Brendon yells.

He breaks away from Jon's mouth long enough to glare and ask, "My M&Ms?" Brendon pelts the handful of yellow packets at him. Spencer catches them, one by one, glaring as each one keeps him away from Jon longer. He rips the last pack open and pops a few in his mouth, then a few in Jon's mouth. Jon bites at his fingertips.

"Hackey time!" Zack's voice floats over them from somewhere down the hallway.

"Yes, Spencer," Ryan's dry tone is smug. "We have to play a show, now. You remember those, right?"

He and Jon lever each other up off the couch. "Why would you want to get up in front of thousands of people to play your own music with the people you love and hear all those kids sing it back to you?" he asks dryly as they head toward the door. "Who wants that?"

-

"I bet," Jon says, for the group, but looking at Spencer, "I bet we could holds hands right now and no one would notice."

Brendon asks if they even have paparazzi in Canada, and Jon points at him, saying, "Exactly, exactly."

The two of them get like that on tour, like anything is possible. Ryan likes to save that feeling for the studio. On tour, he needs to feel like there's a plan and that it gets followed. He hooks his arm in Spencer because Ryan knows he feels the same way. He's smiling when Ryan looks over, but they share a second look, the exasperated one.

"Fine," Jon says. He steers them through the tourists wandering the streets. With purpose, Jon leads them past boutiques and sushi and stores selling leftover Olympic souvenirs. Then he stops, and Ryan doesn't even have to look up at a sign to see where they are. The Fluevog store is Fluevog top to bottom. Jon's pulling out the big guns. "Now will you let me hold your hand?" he asks.

Spencer shakes his head, but he does let go of Ryan's arm and lets Jon buy him a pair of white Hadleys. He stands behind Jon at the till, chin on his shoulder.

He wears them all day, through the interviews and the show, and he's still wearing them, on the hotel bed, when Ryan comes out of the shower.

"Why are you here? I thought you and Brendon did your sneaky switch already."

"Nope." Spencer uncrosses and crosses his ankles, admiring. "I'm staying here tonight."

"You have your shoes, you don't need your boyfriend?"

He scoffs at Ryan. "They wanted to hit a few bars in Gastown. I ordered us food."

It's not unusual, but Ryan's sure something's up. He ducks back into the bathroom with a T-shirt and boxers before curling up with Spencer on the bed. He has the remote in one hand, but is just watching music videos with the sound off and closed captioning on.

"Mac and cheese," Spencer says. He flips the channel to CNN.

Ryan can wait. If Spencer wants to talk he has to start, because it's hard enough when two of your best friends are dating. Ryan and Brendon have to try so hard not to take sides. Ryan loves Jon a lot, but Spencer was there first, and he's here now, fingers in Ryan's damp hair, tapping the remote against his thigh.

"He wants to buy a house."

Of course he does. Jon Walker always looks for the calm centre. With this tour just starting, just starting to spin, he needs something to hang on to. Spencer, even after 20 years, is harder to peg. "You don't?"

"No, we--we found a nice one."

"So tell me about it."

"We hired an agent, he made a list, and we looked at them during the break last month."

"Oh. You mean--"

"Yeah." Spencer sighs and turns off the TV. "We're buying a house in Chicago." They're still lying there in silence when food arrives.

"God, Spence," Ryan says, after the porter is gone. He grabs a fork and a plate, and they settle on the bed again, backs against the headboard, shoulders touching. "We are in Vancouver. You guys could get gay married right here.

They laugh, and Spencer shakes his head, but Ryan catches the smile Spencer tries to hide around his fork. There's no more talking tonight, just a quiet hotel dinner, and Ryan dozing on Spencer's thigh after.

He comes awake when the connecting door flies open and Brendon announces their drunken arrival. Jon's wearing a goofy smile, and Ryan just barely gets out of the way before he flops on top of Spencer on the bed.

"You missed me so much," he slurs, that subtle lisp heightened by alcohol. Ryan has Brendon to deal with before he passes out on the floor, so he only just catches Jon burying his face in Spencer's neck, Spencer rubbing his back and telling him, "I love my shoes."

-

They don't have any furniture.

"Like, none at all," he tells Ryan as he opens the last cabinet. He turns Ryan on speaker phone so he can step back and get a pic of the kitchen with every single cabinet, wide open and empty. "It's like we're living in a weird show-house."

"Do you have toilet paper?" Ryan asks faintly. "I could have Zack bring some over."

He's not sure if Ryan knows how preposterous that sounds so he stifles his laugh. "I think we've got it, thanks," he responds, though he's not actually sure if they do have any toilet paper.

There was a plunger resting on the door step when they rolled up. He'd grabbed Jon, made sure Jon had his camera and had hustled everything into the backyard. He'd shot the plunger over the fence like a javelin, faking it twice so Jon could get the photograph he wanted. Jon's promised to frame a triptych for their foyer.

Their foyer.

"So you're definitely staying in your cold, empty house instead of with the rest of us at the hotel?" Ryan sounds like he's moving.

"Yeah, I guess," he sighs. Part of the point of having a house is to stay there not just on break but also when they're on their way through town, he thinks. It would have been nice if they'd been able to finalize everything before the tour, though, so they could have had anything in the house.

The door bell rings right as he finishes shutting all the cabinets. "Jon?" he calls out. "Can you get the door, Jon?"

There's no response so he heads for the door himself.

"Hi, what?" he asks as he opens the door. It's Brendon, Ryan and Zack, Ryan still with his cell phone to his ear, and Zack's holding four sleeping bags, albeit with an expression that says There's a reason I earn money hand over fist now but I don't think this is covered in my contract.

"Welcome to your new house!" Brendon throws his hands in the air then bends down to grab the Target bag at his feet.

"Here," he thrusts it at Spencer. "It's a bag of toilet paper."

He hangs up on Ryan and grabs the bag, looks inside to find toilet paper and hand soap and a box of condoms. He shakes his head. "Thanks." He pulls the door wide open and lets them in.

"Which room has the softest carpets?" Ryan asks,

"I take it you're staying?" he counters.

"How'd you figure that one out?" Zack mutters. "Also, not me. I'm going back to my bunk."

"I ordered food," Jon informs them, coming down the stairs.

"Did you know about this?" he asks.

"Yeah, I was really surprised Ryan didn't tell you," Jon rocks back on his heels, a grin on his face. "It means I owe him fifty bucks."

He snorts. "That's how he was able to do it, jeez."

Brendon hugs him, turning quickly from looking out the window. "Co-homeowners!" he exclaims gleefully.

"Should I put your sleeping bags in the master bedroom?" Zack asks, straight faced. Spencer pulls out the box of condoms, shakes it in his direction.

"Uh," Jon stammers. "Sure." Spencer leans over and kisses his cheek.

-

It has something to do with time zones and the way the Earth turns on its axis. Brendon tried to explain how the flight home is shorter than the flight overseas. Then he and Jon started doing math on the napkins under the Jack and Cokes. Spencer called bullshit. It's already been too long.

Zack rushed them out of the hotel. No one was packed. Jon's still in his pjs, Ryan's in last night's stage clothes, and Brendon's shirt is on inside out, both of them. Of the whole lot, Spencer is the only one who looks presentable.

He's also the only one left awake. Brendon's gone back to his own seat across the aisle, curled up between Zack and Shane, and snoring. The flight isn't full, but there were a few fans up front. Ryan went to go talk to them, sign some autographs. Spencer's sure he was only trying to keep them away from the mood Spencer had been cultivating since last night. When he came back, he made Jon switch seats, so now Ryan's on the aisle, head on his hand, and Jon's snuffling into Spencer's shoulder, in a white v-neck, grey sweatpants, barefoot, and Spencer can't touch him because they're on a plane, and Spencer doesn't do those kinds of things.

No matter how much Ryan thinks it would help his mood. Besides, it's not a mood. He's tired. It's the end of tour. He wants to be home.

The steward comes around with the cart again, and Spencer figures, if he can't get off, he might as well get drunk. Straight, no ice, he reaches over Jon, throws back the drink and asks for another.

His lips are buzzing when Jon stirs, rubbing his nose on Spencer's shoulder and flexing his hand on Spencer's thigh. It takes nothing at all for Spencer to go hard. He's been halfway there all morning.

"Jon, don't." Spencer intercepts the hand as it travels up along his inseam, before Jon reaches anything he shouldn't be touching in public. "We can't."

"But we could."

"Hands off." With purpose, he puts Jon's hand on his own thigh. He shakes some of the fog out of his head and stares at the window. It's easier than looking at Jon.

"But you want it, Spence." He curls himself around Spencer's back. Last night, Jon fell into bed, long after Spencer. He barely made it that far. He was better in the morning, but there was no time for anything. Of course Spencer wants it.

He grits his teeth and leans back in the seat. "Not here, Jon. Not now." Jon's hands are in his lap again. He kneads Spencer through his jeans. He pants against Spencer's cheek.

"You want it," Jon whispers.

"Of course I want it, you jerk." Grabbing Jon's chin, Spencer kisses him, just enough distraction to yank Jon's hand away from his erection. "Not here. Not now. Sit your ass back in your seat."

Jon yawns and scratches his belly. "You'll never last."

"You just stay over there," Spencer snaps, and Jon laughs, low.

Spencer doesn't sleep, but Jon does. Again. He's good, leaning towards Ryan this time, and Ryan leans back until their heads touch and their breathing matches. Spencer grabs water the next time the guy with the cart comes around. His head is pounding. His cock is throbbing. He tries to remember the last time. It didn't happen in the shower--he was waiting for Jon, who never joined him. It wasn't last night--they all got high, lying on Ryan and Brendon's hotel room floor until Spencer dragged himself to bed. He definitely got to make out with Jon in the green room before the show. Maybe the last time was the hotel in Berlin.

They fly into New York, then into McCarran, and despite the whiskey, no sleep, the knot in his belly, Spencer walks off the plane without a hand holding him up. Everyone else stumbles and fumbles into the van. Brendon lands on Spencer; Jon, on the floor. Spencer leaves him there when they pull into Ryan's driveway. He gets upstairs with his bags, tripping only once on a piece of carpet pulled up, and into the shower.

He stands in there a long time, forehead against the cool tile, back against the hot spray, washing the last few months away. He thinks he might sleep until the next tour. Spencer thinks he might sleep right now, closes his eyes to do just that, and then Jon's there, at his back, hands everywhere.

"Holy crap, you scared me." He tries to turn around, but Jon won't let him. Jon won't let him turn around, but he drags his hands over Spencer's chest, down, down. "All right," Spencer says. "Here. Now."

Jon hums agreement into Spencer's neck, where he can feel Jon's tongue and smile. He reaches around to take hold of Spencer's cock, hard, waiting, slick on slick, they move together. Jon's hard, too, he can feel it, poking up between his legs, searching for the right spot to rub. Spencer leans over as far as he can to give Jon that spot. He lets out a cry before he comes, before he shudders and loses his balance, hands going out to brace himself against the tile. Jon holds his hips, not done yet.

Spencer says, "You don't have to wait," and that's when Jon groans, when he slips inside, one too-frantic thrust that makes him rear back and shoot over Spencer's back.

"Hey." Jon pulls Spencer up and back into his chest. "You gonna sleep now?"

"Yeah," he nods, "I can do that," and lets Jon take him to bed.

-

Spencer can't even get it up but he keeps demanding Jon fuck him.

"Spencer, stop," he whispers, twisting away from Spencer's grip on his ass. For all that Spencer's drunk he'd still pounced quickly when Jon had emerged.

"No, you stop," Spencer smiles slowly at him, his cheeks flushed to a dark red.

"That doesn't even make any sense." Jon gives up on twisting away, tries to pry Spencer's hands off. The party's still going strong down the hall, loud and noisy and drunken. Any second someone's going to walk this way, needing the bathroom.

"Noooooo," Spencer squeezes tighter, spreads his legs open, stumbles back to lean against the wall, pulling Jon with him. "Stay here, fuck me."

"I'm too drunk to fuck you." He braces his arms on either side of Spencer's head, pulls his hips back. Spencer just digs his fingers in again. "Jesus, stop, I'm going to have bruises."

"Mmm, yeah, bruises," Spencer slides down to suck on his neck, just the perfect spot between his ear and his jaw. He shivers and thrusts and Spencer pulls back from his neck, a triumphant expression on his face. "You can so fuck me!"

"Spencer, it's Ryan's birthday party," he pulls back to look Spencer in the eye.

"It's my birthday, too," Spencer pouts, his lower lip wet and chapped. Jon leans up to nibble. Spencer flicks his tongue out, teasing, and how could Jon resist that? They make out against the wall despite Jon's doubts. They've been making out so often lately, the taste of Spencer on his tongue isn't just familiar, it's necessary.

He jumps when he hears someone clear their throat behind them.

"Go 'way, Ryan," Spencer bites his tongue, doesn't let him pull back.

"I will, but if I must depart in these conditions I will be forced to rescind my potential offer to share this fine joint with me," Ryan enunciates clearly, a sure sign he's already drunk enough to try to pretend he's perfectly sober.

Spencer doesn't let go of his tongue until Jon whines into his mouth. "Please, c'mon?" he asks when he pulls back. Spencer makes a face, a you're so annoying sometimes face, and he knows he needs to offer something more. "If you let me go and smoke up with Ryan I'll fuck you in the bathroom?"

Spencer's eyes light up but he continues to bargain. "I smoke up with you, and you let me try to jerk off on your face."

"Aww, fuck," he hears Ryan hastily walk away and can't help giggling.

"Deal," he kisses Spencer, a hint and a promise, before pulling away to follow Ryan. "Quick, we can't let him get too far away," he tugs at Spencer's hand. They laugh and race down the hall together, catching Ryan just after they emerge into the dim, noisy main room.

They sneak outside, sneak drags off of Ryan's fat blunt. They don't want to be caught 'cause they don't want to share. Ryan and Spencer lean together, whispering, until Jon grabs Spencer's hair and tugs him over to shotgun his last toke. Ryan pries the end of the joint out of his fingers when the shared smoke smoothly segues into a series of hot kisses.

When he pulls back he notices Spencer's blown pupils first, before he notices Spencer's lips. They're so far past chapped, now, they look bruised in the moonlight, puffy from all the kissing they've been doing. "Jon," Spencer whispers, and he remembers his promise.

"Yeah," he whispers back, then lets Spencer guide him through the house. They wave to a few people, smiling and nodding to get past others, and overall he doesn't remember a thing.

"This is our bathroom," Spencer tells him proudly, nudging the door open with one toe. "We claimed it."

"It's the bathroom where I'm going to fuck you silly," he closes the door with his heel. "Take off your pants, get over the sink.

Spencer stares at him for a second. He wonders if he'll have to repeat himself, have to wrestle Spencer into place over the sink, but it looks like this is one of those times Spencer wants it badly enough to just do as he says.

"Good," he leans down to kiss Spencer's lower back. He's there and Spencer tastes so good, skin and sweat and smoke and Spencer, he kisses and licks and bites his way down to then lick Spencer open. He fumbles his jeans open and a condom out of his wallet still crouched, his teeth sunk into the curve of Spencer's ass.

He stands up and slips in and settles his hands on Spencer's hips. Spencer leans further over the sink and sighs.

It's not the fast fuck Jon thought it would be, it's slow, almost soft. Spencer watches him in the mirror, his head pillowed on his crossed arms, and it's almost like there are two Spencers, the one he's staring at and the one he's fucking. Spencer doesn't thrust back, doesn't fight for or against him, just watches him, resettles his head every once in a while.

He switches his grip from Spencer's hips to his shoulders, scratches his nails down Spencer's back. Spencer shivers under him, his eyes finally slipping closed. That's when Jon comes, and it surprises him. He would have been content to fuck the two Spencers forever.

"Spencer," he doesn't want to pull out, knows he has to.

"Yeah," Spencer's voice is deep, thick, distant.

"You still wanna try to come on my face?" He pulls out, slips one finger back in, just to the second knuckle, just far enough to press into Spencer's prostate.

Spencer's eyes shiver open. "Yeah."

-

"Mmmmmm," Jon nuzzles into the back of his neck, his beard scratching Spencer's skin enough to wake him. But he's ready to wake up if it means this. He smiles into Jon's lips when they press briefly against his, a smudge-hint of a kiss. "Ready to get up?" Jon's voice is mellow and teasing. He always seems to know which mornings Spencer isn't ready for the world.

He doesn't bother opening his eyes but he makes a rusty-squeaky-rumbly sound as he stretches. He twists subtly so he can end with his arms around Jon. "Not really," he finally responds. Jon snorts, his nose pressed against Spencer's collarbone, but it doesn't appear he actually wants to get out of bed himself. They murmur potential plans for the day back and forth drowsily, debating between another O.C. marathon and the Food Network, until Spencer's nearly asleep again, Jon's head heavy and warm next to his heart. That's when he feels Jon's knuckles drag softly between his thighs. "Ha," he laughs, keeping his eyes closed, "I should've known."

"You're so warm," Jon rumbles into his skin and he shivers. Jon doesn't start anything fresh, just runs his fingertips up and down Spencer's inner thighs and over his balls, presses lightly against the side of Spencer's cock as it slowly, slowly hardens. It's sensual more than sexual, Jon's strong fingers exploring but not teasing. He rolls fully onto his back and spreads his thighs wide open, pulling Jon with him. The movement tugs open a gap in the warm pocket of air they've created between the comforter and the bed and he makes a noise in protest. Jon closes the gap and kisses him on the nose. "I'd really like to finger fuck you all open for me," Jon murmurs, "but I don't want to move away from you to find the lube." Spencer throws a hand out to the bedside table, rummages in sense memory, and reaches down to give Jon the help he needs. "Thank you, kind sir," Jon says as he rubs two fingers over Spencer's hole.

He tries to nudge down into Jon's touch but Jon doesn't let him, rides the action out without giving him what he wants. He makes another protest noise and Jon just kisses his cheek and shushes him. He's kept his eyes closed, is focusing on the sensations building with each brush of Jon's fingers, and he finds he's reluctant to open them, to break the spell of touch sensation between their bodies. Jon knows him, knows what he likes, gives him just enough of what he needs to keep him happy, holds back just enough to keep him wondering. It seems like Jon plays him open for hours, for days. He's stopped trying to push back, is just letting Jon sloppily drive three fingers into him over and over and over, when Jon adds the fourth. He can't help the slow, shuddery groan that comes out of him, and with that goes the last of the resistance from his body, the muscle tension he hadn't realized he was still carrying released to Jon's insistent fingers. "Yeeeeeah," Jon groans back at him, and he takes that as permission.

He comes without warning, before he's really ready for it. "Jon, Jon," he pleads, and Jon's tongue runs up from his neck to thrust into his mouth. He sucks on Jon's tongue and whimpers as Jon keeps driving into him, keeps him on the edge even as he should be coming down. Just when it's about to be too much Jon pulls back, out, drops his forehead onto Spencer's shoulder and gasps, leaving Spencer empty, so empty. He protests again but understands when wet heat hits his hip. "Yes, Jon," he reaches out, cups Jon's head. "Jon."

-

They're both in the old threadbare La-Z-Boy in the living room, the one that Jon's mom insisted he take when he first moved out. It's actually pretty comfortable. Jon is mostly on his back, feet up, Spencer mostly on his side, one leg over Jon's, one arm around. There's still rain outside, and Jon hasn't really moved since lunch. He was in the chair alone, watching The O.C.--season four, which nobody believes is the best when he tells them--all morning, then Spencer wandered over with a bowl of last night's risotto, warmed up, and two forks.

Jon mutes the TV when Spencer's head falls to his shoulder, when Spencer's lips press against his neck. Jon wriggles and hums his contentment, and he feels Spencer laugh. "I'm just happy, is all," he explains. One arm is wrapped around Spencer's waist, fingers teasing under the hem of his shirt, already too small and showing skin.

They fall so easily into kissing. Spencer is right there, pressed all along Jon, but he wants more. He keeps his fingers on Spencer's lips between kisses because he can't bear to leave them alone. Spencer's mouth is amazing, fallen open when Jon drives them both to orgasm or just soft like this, waiting for Jon to kiss him again.

"I could sit in this chair all day," he says, leaning further back and bringing Spencer with him.

"Jon, you already have."

"If you bring me my guitar, I'll play you something."

He grins up at Spencer, who shakes his head. "Let's just do this."

Kissing's good, too, each one going a little deeper than the last, lasting a little longer. It turns into something more, Jon's fingers working at Spencer's zipper and his own, pulling both their cocks out and stroking them together in his fist. He slips and loses his rhythm, Jon grunts and groans trying to get them off, until finally Spencer gets with the program and helps the cause.

"Slow, Jon, slow."

They pull together, Spencer shuddering into every one of Jon's touches. They come before Jon's really ready for it, and he bites Spencer's lip in surprise. When Spencer tries to get up, probably thinking he needs to clean up, Jon holds him down. They fit together pretty well in this chair.

"Let's just do this," Jon says.

-

Parties at Pete's house are too much. There are too many people, the music's too loud, the dogs too eager to hump Spencer's leg. The band loses each other, one by one, until Spencer can only see Brendon's hands held high on the dancefloor, Ryan's hat in a doorway, and Jon's nowhere at all. From the DJ booth, Spencer waits and watches, red cup in hand, and when he sees Travis and Katy get up across the room, he swoops in to steal their spot. There are never enough places to sit.

He sinks down into the couch and he closes his eyes because someone's turned on a strobe light.

A voice says low in his ear, just under the music, "You're not having any fun, are you?" Jon is there over his shoulder, and Spencer has to twist to catch his eye.

"I was." He leans his head back, offering a rumble of appreciation when Jon's hands fall to Spencer's shoulders. "Then Brendon ran off and Ryan got dragged away. And I haven't seen you all night."

"Yeah, me and Joe had to...go do something."

He should have known. "Why didn't you come find me?"

"I looked! This house is too big."

"Yet never enough furniture," Spencer mutters.

Someone bumps into Jon behind the couch. He goes, "Hey!" then he disappears into a hug and a conversation. Spencer watches them upside down. He sees curly blonde hair and figures it must be Greta. He waves when she waves and watches her swallowed up by the crowd, distracted when Jon launches himself over the back of the couch and lands on Spencer's head.

"So, I was thinking," Jon explains, patting Spencer's hair down and straightening his lapels, "we could just do this right here."

Spencer checks Jon's pockets, ducking his fingers into the front Jon's rumpled dress shirt, palming his jeans, frisking him while Jon tries to right himself, sit himself comfortable on Spencer's lap. "You have another joint?" Spencer asks, hopeful, glancing up, half expecting the party to descend on their spot when he says the word.

"I was thinking," Jon says, his mouth carefully forming each word. "I was thinking sex."

Hands on both sides of Jon's face, Spencer checks his eyes. "You're really gone, aren't you?"

"Kinda." He rolls his hips down, up, against Spencer. He licks Spencer's mouth, or tries, misses and goes up Spencer's nose.

"Oh, gross," Spencer says, too loud, leaning forward to wipe his face on Jon's shirt. At the other end of the couch someone snorts, the someone curled up over the edge, in a purple hoodie, but not nearly tall enough to be Gabe. He looks like he's sleeping. Spencer's sure he hasn't moved, not even when Jon landed himself in Spencer's lap. The guy doesn't move when Spencer pokes him.

He's brought back to the moment when Jon's hand goes down his pants. He jumps, yelps, throws another quick glance around the room, and hopes Pete's holding court somewhere and keeping the entire record label from looking over to find half of Panic at the Disco in the most compromising of positions.

"Jesus, you're not going to let up." Spencer grabs hold of Jon's wrist, but it's kind of too late. A shiver goes through his body and he lets out an indecent groan, a counterpoint to the beat of the song filling the room. He lets Jon jerk him off, presses his face into that warm curve of Jon's neck to keep himself silent, hidden. Spencer uses his left arm around Jon to shield them from the party, but with the right, he opens the button fly of Jon's jeans and reaches in to hear that sigh Jon makes each time Spencer touches him there, the way he always does. It's right at his ear, Jon's sigh, hitched, but Spencer hears him.

Even in the chaos of this moment, Spencer would know that voice anywhere.

-

"Fuck," Spencer says, seething as soon as he comes in the door. For a moment, Jon is sure he's speaking to Ryan, coming in behind him with Hobo on a leash and a bag of groceries.

"Was that you or me?" Jon asks. Ryan shakes his head and disappears into the kitchen. They were making roast chicken for dinner tonight until Spencer realized he didn't have any lemons. That's why he and Ryan went out. Jon sees the lemons where Spencer left them on the floor.

"It wasn't me," Brendon announces. "I have been good all weekend." They've been playing Super Mario all morning, and he holds up his controller like a prize for good behaviour.

Jon can't find his shoes, so he's barefoot when he steps outside. He doesn't know what he did wrong, but he knows how to fix it. They're done this enough times.

It's barely noon, and the sun is warm and high. The property is lined with tall trees--for privacy, Spencer had said when they first looked at this place. Jon had leered then, and Spencer had laughed, but there hasn't really been anything for their neighbours to see. They've only been home a month.

Jon expects to find him out there, arm crossed, waiting to snap. Instead, Spencer's raking.

"Fucking Chicago trees," he says when Jon gets close.

"They have trees in Las Vegas, too."

"I don't fucking rake leaves in Vegas, Jon." He's so angry, but this isn't about the leaves. Then Spencer turns to Jon, and it's a surprise. When it's someone threatening his friends, it's real. But for Spencer to turn that look on Jon, it's something else. It actually makes Jon stumble backwards.

"OK. You tell me when you're ready to talk." Jon holds up his hands in surrender. He steps away and towards the house.

"The fucking interview." He holds the rake up between them. "You did the fucking interview."

"No." Jon's confused. "We did the interview together. We agreed."

Jon turned 30 last year. Things changed more, faster, than he expected, and writing another song about it all wasn't working. 'It's not enough anymore,' he told Ryan, who didn't quite believe it. He and Spencer are practically out already. Jon won't let him drop their hands on the red carpet and Spencer hasn't owned property in Nevada for years. Still, Jon wanted to say more. Rolling Stone wanted an interview.

"The fucking reporter phoned me. They want to put us on the fucking cover." And as soon as he gets the word out, Spencer deflates. He drops the rake.

Oh. Jon holds out his hand, but Spencer shakes his head. Jon steps forward, "You're not mad at me," he tells him and pulls them together, holds tight until he feels Spencer unwind and let go. They breath, slow, as Jon thinks about what to say next, but he doesn't get a chance before Spencer pushes him away, both hands flat on his chest.

"Spencer!"

"Fuck you, I'm not mad at you. You get to decide that?"

He can't make it easy. Life with Spencer is never easy. Jon has to fight for every inch of ground.

He twists away before Jon can grab his hand. He's headed for the house, but changes his mind at the sliding door, long legs carrying him around to the shed fast enough that Jon has to jog just to catch up. Jon trips, loses his balance, grasps at the back of Spencer's shirt to right himself, and they both go tumbling forward over the bench Spencer uses for gardening.

"Asshole," Spencer bites out, but Jon's hands have slipped, and he can feel how hard Spencer is. He presses in so Spencer can feel him, too.

"I know," Jon says. He presses his nose into Spencer's hair. "You hate it."

One-handed, he unbuckles Spencer's belt and shoves his jeans and briefs to his knees. When he stands up to do the same for himself, he's not surprised that Spencer stays there, bent over the table, head on his arms. He's stopped fighting, but Jon never knows for how long.

He spits in his hand to help them along. He presses inside, one long, slow, painful thrust, and Spencer groans out another Fuck until Jon's all the way in. Spencer's still steaming, Jon can tell, so he leans all the way forward on his next stroke to kiss the back of his neck.

Spencer grunts, "I fucking do. I hate you," but he's working frantically back into Jon's movements and, together, it doesn't take anything at all for Jon to come. Up on his toes, he holds himself inside and reaches underneath to bring Spencer off next. His hand finds Spencer soft, sticky.

"Jesus," Jon whispers. He raises his hand to lick his fingers. "You must really hate me," he grins next to Spencer's ear.

As Spencer rolls himself up, Jon falls back, down on his heels. He slips out soft, and they both sigh when they're separated. Jon wraps one arm around Spencer's neck to pull them together, back to chest. He offers his other hand so Spencer can taste himself.

"I can't believe you fucking did that," Spencer says, biting the tips of his fingers.

"You make me crazy, Spencer Smith." He turns them around so they can kiss, finally. There's even the beginning curve of a smile on Spencer's lips. "That's what I told Rolling Stone, so don't look at me like that."

"I don't want to do the cover, Jon." He says it simply, like it was easy getting here.

"We don't have to do the cover, Spence." Jon holds Spencer's face in his hands. He doesn't let him look away. "You're supposed to tell me these things."

"No." Spencer shakes his head. "You're supposed to know."

That's what this is. Jon failed, and Spencer is pissed, and it has nothing to do with Rolling Stone or coming out.

"You don't want to be on the cover without them, right?" Spencer looks up from where he's struggling his jeans on. Jon's surprised him and he gets a little thrill from that. "You want to be on the cover for your music. Don't think I don't know you."

He kisses Jon when he's done, and it feels familiar again. He says, "You make me happy, Jon Walker," and the sun is still high above their trees.

-

They rent a house in Jersey for the fourth album. There isn't much money this time around--not on their new label--but Ryan's convinced them all it's worth it. He's been right before.

Jon and Spencer can't fly out until the weekend. They have to get the animals sorted, and Spencer has one mother of a list for the guys at their gallery. When they're finally able to get to the house, Ryan and Brendon have laid claim to everything. Spencer glares at Brendon until he gives up the master bedroom, which is fine for sleeping, but Jon needs a little space of his own.

The only room Jon finds left is off the laundry and must have been a sewing room in someone's past. There's a door and no window and nice deep counters for him to lay out his darkroom. Other than that, not much space to move. Jon does all the developing in there. He has to go back out to use the sink. When he wants to look at his photos, he strings them up above the washer and dryer.

There's a sign on the door which reads, FUCKING KNOCK FIRST. It's mostly for Ryan. He's the one who forgets that film is different than tape and you can't just take a photograph again the way you can play a song. So, when Jon hears the quiet knock, he shouts, "Not now, Ross." Ryan promised him two hours where he didn't bother Jon about the album.

"Not Ryan"

It's Spencer, but he wants to be sure. "Ryan isn't with you? Bden lurking in the corners?"

"Just me, Jon."

Jon puts things away where light can't hurt them. "You can come in. But no one else."

"You've been in here all morning," Spencer says, locking the door behind him. "Working?"

There's no clock in here, only the timer. Jon likes it that way. He likes that there's not even a window for him to stare out. It's been a month, and they have 36 songs, but no album. Ryan's jaw is permanently clenched, Brendon thinks he can play all the instruments, and Spencer's reverted to 21, smoking even more than Jon.

"This is the only place I actually get work done."

"Not much room." Spencer doesn't have to slide in far before they're close, hip to hip, and one hand tucks into Jon's jeans.

If the house were twice as big, it would still feel claustrophobic. Jon's felt it since he got here. Maybe he wasn't ready for Panic to get back together.

Hot breath at the back of his neck shakes Jon out of his mood, and he's instantly hard. Spencer knows him too well. "Do you wanna fuck me, Jon?" and his voice is slow. "I don't mind. Or I could bend you over this counter," Spencer says, so matter-of-fact, his finger rubbing down to Jon's hole. Jon rises up onto his toes, then tumbles forward when Spencer pushes in. He goes with it. They don't have any room to turn around anyway, not with the two of them in here.

"How about we do that, yeah." Bent over, Jon gets his pants open, and he can hear Spencer do the same behind. Fast, Jon wants to do it fast, before the guys can find them. Spencer just wants to do it, so he does, shoves deep inside Jon with no prep and only spit to help him along. Jon's grunts echo off the walls. The counter holds him up, but bites painfully into his hips, until Spencer reaches around to cup him, protectively, not ready to let Jon get off.

Spencer comes first. He barely makes a sound. Then he moves his hand, and Jon lets go. He makes sure Spencer knows how much he wants it.

When they're done, he leans back into Spencer's chest. There's nowhere else for them to go. Right here is just fine.

-

"No, no," Ryan stops playing and waves his arms, looking vaguely like Gumby. Spencer stops, well almost--he continues just tapping a light rhythm on his crash cymbal. When Ryan and Brendon start arguing he ignores them, finds a jaunty little beat, then tries to jazz that beat up a bit. Jon seems to get it, seems to feel the jazziness, 'cause he starts plucking a staccato bass line and wanders closer, his grin matching the one on Spencer's face.

"We could drop those two, become a rhythm and bass duo," Jon bops his head as he says it, the picture of a million Beat book covers.

"Naw," he stops, this time for real. "We could go get a coffee," he suggests instead, when he sees that Ryan and Brendon are seated next to each other on the piano bench.

"Sure." Jon hasn't stopped playing, ends with two emphatic notes after Spencer stands, an aural punctuation to his movement. "Coffee, eh?" he turns to smirks at Spencer as he takes off his bass.

"Shut up," he stretches backwards, folding his hands into a little bridge. It pushes his hipbones out. He catches Jon looking as he straightens.

Jon waves at Ryan and Brendon, who've stopped verbally arguing and are plunking out conflicting melodies. Ryan's is a choppy Moulin Rouge tribute, Brendon's an overeager ragtime.

Spencer heads straight for their room. Jon laughs at him but is hot on his heels. "Shut the fuck up, you know they don't need us right now," he works his belt off as he walks.

"They'll always need us," Jon responds softly and it's--

He remembers, last time, for Three, watching Jon watch Ryan and Brendon argue. Jon had looked mostly calm but Spencer could see the worry, the fear underneath. He couldn't figure out why Jon was so worried--Ryan and Brendon were always like this, in the studio, were calmer, in fact, this time.

They hadn't talked about it, Spencer hadn't asked about Jon's increasing worry, obvious only to Spencer, over Ryan and Brendon's process. Jon had the same type of quiet air about him he'd had just before he'd approached Spencer that terrible day in Dusseldorf. Spencer didn't want to ask Jon, didn't want to risk it, but he'd made sure to show Jon that sometimes you just had to leave the room, let the wonder twins get their shit out, and wander back in half an hour later with a coffee or some Cheetos or M&Ms in hand. Gifts of food or excuses that involve food go a lot further than any other kind, even when your singer-songwriter duo are no longer in their teens.

One memorable time he'd called the Palms' concierge and booked a room, dragged Jon up and fucked him in the bathroom, just to remind him. They'd ordered room service after, but only eaten a few bites before Ryan had texted, wondering where they were. They'd carried everything back down to the studio, through the casino, walking past hundreds of patrons looking well fucked and burdened with food, then enjoyed their meal on the floor of the studio, sitting knee to knee in a circle.

Jon had returned the favor a week later. They'd ended up with quite a tab to split, just one reason Spencer's glad they have a house with a room, their room, this time. He misses the room service, but they've collected a pretty impressive set of delivery menus. And the house is private and quiet but not isolated, theirs to use and love but full of technicians and visitors on a daily basis.

"We should find a studio with a hot tub, next time," Spencer muses out loud.

Jon hums noncommittally behind him, right on his heels as he finally reaches their room. "I dunno, this house is purple. Do you think a hot tub can really make up for that?"

"Also, what a cliché," he tuts as he pulls Jon's shirt over his head. "Rock stars, hot tub, blah blah blah."

Jon's struggling to pull Spencer's shirt over his head, too short to actually get it off without Spencer's compliance, so the thoughtful, "I would really like to fuck you in a hot tub sometime, though," is muted. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears, though.

"You have, idiot," he wraps his shirt around Jon's neck, pulls it snug but not tight. "Do I need to remind you?"

"Sure," Jon breathes out, immobile under Spencer's hold. "Tell me all about it." Jon still likes that, Spencer talking to him. It's taken Spencer a while to get into it, find the line between what Jon wants and what he's comfortable with, but they've gotten it down to an art.

"Naw," he decides, dropping the shirt and taking off his jeans. "We can't take too long. How about standing? I don't want to have to re-make the bed."

Jon gapes up at him, stopping with his jeans open and only partially pushed down. "Are you telling me you're too lazy to get fucked on your back?"

He makes a face. "That's not it at all!" he protests. "I'm just thinking, y'know, efficiently."

Jon puts his hands on his hips, a gesture Spencer swears he didn't use until after he'd been in the band over a year. "Please don't tell me we've actually gotten to the point where efficiency rules our sex life."

Spencer groans and walks to the bed, falling backwards over the covers. "No, OK, are you satisfied? Would you get over here and fuck me?"

Jon eyes him suspiciously but steps out of his jeans. "Yeah," crawls up, over Spencer, propping himself up on his knuckles and knees. "But I gotta tell you, I'm a little worried about what this says about us." Jon ducks his head down, keeping his body off of Spencer's, and kisses him questioningly.

He wraps his legs around Jon's waist, rolling his hips up to give him extra traction. "Would you calm the fuck down?" He pulls Jon back by the hair, pulls his head back up in alignment with his body. "I wasn't implying anything more about our sex life than a mild preference for standing positions during the daylight hours."

Jon repeats the last half the sentence, humor in his eyes. "Well," he says after he's stopped to think about it. "As long as you're not getting tired of me.

"Never." Spencer shakes his head, rolling it back and forth on the pillow. "Never be done with you, Jon Walker."

-

He's still in bed when Spencer gets back from the station, the lazy bum. Ryan and Spencer agreed to do the morning shows, if Jon and Brendon would go to the pre-show thing tonight with the screaming girls. It's 10AM, Spencer's done until they go on stage, and Jon is still in bed, asleep, one bare foot hanging over the edge. He was grumpy and refused to move when Spencer and Ryan got up at 5. Spencer threw the blankets on the floor then, but, obviously, Jon woke up enough to recover them.

They didn't have time for a Starbucks run, and the coffee at the radio station was awful. Spencer told the DJs that, too, and would have complained about the danish if Ryan hadn't jumped in. He sits on the edge of the bed, pokes Jon, who grunts, and picks up the phone to order coffee, croissants, and fruit. He doesn't want to see another danish for the rest of the tour. Today's the last day, so it shouldn't be too hard.

While he waits, Spencer brushes his teeth real quick and strips down to his boxers. He catches himself in the bathroom mirror. When Spencer looks, he's not sure about what he sees. There's a red mark on his collarbone, where Jon likes to suck too hard. His chest is pale, and the mark stands out. His arms are dark with the distinct line of a farmer's tan on his bicep. He rubs his beard and thinks about shaving it all off again. Maybe he'll get a haircut today. Maybe he can convince Jon to come, too, get a trim, at least. They've both let themselves go a little mountainman again.

The tour is almost over. They fly to Vegas Friday to see Spencer's parents. Then home, but who knows how long his mom will want to keep them around. This moment, right now, in a hotel in Miami in the late morning, could be the last time their alone for a week. Jon can't sleep through their last day.

He's on his side, facing Spencer, one hand tucked under the pillow. He's left space on the bed, the same space Spencer vacated that morning, like Jon knew he would be back. The mattress is soft and dips when Spencer lays down. Jon rolls into him and, finally, his eyes open.

"Hey there," Jon says, sleepy. He leans up for a kiss, no waiting. "How did the radio thing go?"

Spencer pushes Jon back on the bed and bites his jaw. "We don't have to talk about that."

"OK then."

Having Jon in a bed is a treat. It's so hard to do this in the bunks. Here, Spencer can spread him out, touch and kiss familiar bits of skin and new. While they kiss, with Jon's hands tangled in his hair, Spencer's hands duck under the covers, and that's when he discovers Jon's naked. He pulls on Jon's cock, already leaking and helping Spencer along, twitching, and then Jon starts gasping. He's making noises into Spencer's mouth, desperate, and Spencer decides to set aside any other plans and just let Jon come. They have time.

He keeps up the rhythm, tightening and twisting his grip until Jon's hips and bucking frantically, and he's pulling on Spencer's hair. It hurts, but Jon's close. Spencer ducks down to leave his own red mark on Jon's chest, and then he's coming. He's crying out, "Fuck, Spencer, fuck." It makes Spencer smile.

The food arrives with a knock, and Spencer pulls away with a frustrated groan loud enough that the room service guy must hear it on the other side of the door.

"Bring me coffee, Spencer," Jon pants. Spencer wipes his hand on Jon's thigh.

He hates to leave the bed, but Jon's not going anywhere. Spencer knows that.

-

Jon's there to meet him when he gets off the plane, sitting in front of a slot machine near his gate. He's got one eye on the machine and one eye looking for Spencer, but his slot machine eye appears to be winning. Spencer spots him when he's still only halfway up the jetway and nearly breaks out running.

He doesn't think Jon's seen him but when he gets closer Jon looks up, straight at him, and smiles. "Hey there, boy," he tips up for a kiss. "I'm really glad you made it."

"Yeah, yeah," Spencer nods as he rolls his eyes. "You almost done there?" he asks. Jon looks down and smiles, presses the button to play all his remaining credits, then stands and slings his bag over his shoulder. He grabs Jon's hand when he starts to walk away, half-remembering a saying of his father's. And sure enough, when the fake digital rollers stop spinning the machine switches from chirping discordantly to dinging and making the fake coin return sound that doesn't quite compare to the sound of actual coins hitting a tray. When he can, Spencer always gets his payouts in coins. Ryan does the same, but more 'cause he likes carrying around a bucket of nickels.

"It's not the jackpot," he informs Jon when the dinging's stopped, "but it'll keep us in kitty litter and kibble for a while."

Finding the right desk to cash out Jon's winnings takes longer than Spencer would want. It's past midnight, late, and he's tired and wants the smell of airport out of his nostrils. Jon's proud smile as he waves a fifty dollar bill at him is well worth the wait, though.

"I'm going to blow it all on cat toys and rawhide bones," Jon tells him. "I'll have to buy an extra duffel bag to get it all back home."

"Speaking of," he tugs on Jon's elbow, "shall we?"

"Yep," Jon carefully tucks the bill into his wallet. "I called your mom, told her I'd just wait for you and we'd split a cab."

"I can't believe you didn't wait for me," Spencer complains as he takes Jon's hand.

"I can't believe you missed our flight!" Jon shakes his head. "I thought you said you were just going home to check in on the animals one last time!"

"It's not my fault, I told you!" he can hear the whininess in his voice, wishes it weren't there.

"And I wasn't sure we could both get here if I didn't catch our original flight," Jon replies, sounding a little annoyed.

"Yeah, yeah," he still sulks as they wait in the extra long cabbie queue, standing in the desert night air. It smells dry and salty and like home.

"No-ot my faulttttt, no-ot my fauuuuuullt," Jon sing-songs under his breath. It takes him a second to place it, but--

"Is that Ride of the Valkyries?" he grins down at Jon. Jon grins back.

"Well, you know," Jon shrugs. "Christmas Eve."

And he'd wonder at that except he just experienced his first Walker Family Christmas. He's met Jon's parents and siblings before, yeah, but now Jon makes sense on a whole new level.

They reach the front of the queue. Spencer gives directions after they get into the cab, hoping the damage won't be too bad.

It's bad.

He's still a little in shock as they walk up to the front door. It opens before they can knock. Spencer is unsurprised to see his mother in her robe.

"Hey, honey," she pulls them both into a fierce hug. "Everything's made up, let's get you settled."

She settles them in the kitchen with milk and cookies. They nibble and catch up. It's domestic and cozy and mercifully brief--just what he needs.

"Ok, boys," his mom takes their plates without asking if they're done. "Time for you to go and wait for Santa."

They brush their teeth side by side, making faces at each other in the mirror.

"We didn't really get to say hey," he steps back when he finishes first. He stretches up to hook his fingers in the doorframe, trying to loosen up his arms.

"Hey there," Jon turns around.

"I miss Chicago," Spencer admits as Jon wraps his arms around him.

"Well, Chicago's amazing," Jon replies. They don't need to have this conversation, not really. They've had one form of it or another about two dozen times. They live in Chicago, they visit Vegas, that's that and Spencer does really like it.

"Look at you all festive," Jon snaps his Snoopy-themed boxers. "Are these for me?"

He kisses Jon instead of responding. Of course they're for Jon.

-

They wait in the hall just inside the door. Zack keeps watch, on high alert with the sound of screams outside. Spencer is ready to leave, has been ready to leave. He's leaning against the wall, trying to get some sleep when Brendon sneaks up.

"Hey."

"Fuck, Brendon," he snaps, but when Spencer opens his eyes, Brendon looks genuinely sorry. He's more tired than he thought. Spencer holds his arm out and draws Brendon into a hug. "Sorry." Their heads fall together.

"You not up for post-show fun?"

"God, what do they have planned?" He glances up the hall. "Where are they? Getting high already?"

Brendon tucks in closer, rumbling with pleasure when Spencer squeezes the kinks out of his shoulders. "Ryan says there's a show."

"I don't know if I'm up for that," Spencer groans.

A door clatters and it echoes through the hall. They don't pull apart, just wait for the crowd to come around the corner, Jon's laugh leading the way. He's the one who spots them first, too, holding up his arms in victory.

"Nice show, Mr. Urie."

Brendon pulls away for Spencer to throw himself at Jon. "You, too, Mr. Walker."

Ryan slides his arm around Spencer's waist to pull him away from the wall. "All-girl cover band, Spence. It's gonna be fun."

Zack leads them out, but Spencer keeps his head down. They're all yelling for Ryan and Brendon anyway. He's shoved into the car, Ryan next to him, Spencer looks up to make sure Brendon and Jon made it, and then they're off.

"What kind of all-girl cover band?" Spencer asks.

"Panic at the Disco, Spence! They even do the costumes, right, Ryan?" Jon leans over his seat, grinning.

"You're kidding."

Ryan's grinning, too, when Spence looks over, and, yeah, he and Jon are holding out.

"Which era of the Disco do they do?" Brendon wonders, up front.

Spencer leans back into his seat, and he must sleep, a little, because the car is stopped when he opens his eyes, empty, except for Jon sitting next to him. He says, "Ready?" when Spencer opens his eyes, and Jon kisses him back to life.

"I guess." He sighs, lets Jon slide their hands together and lead him inside.

The show has started, and everyone is upstairs in the VIP lounge. There are even drinks waiting on the table. Spencer settles in, content to watch the action just beyond Ryan, leaning over the railing, but he doesn't expect Jon to sit long. He'll finish his drink, reach under the table for a grope, then be off, to the dancefloor maybe, wherever Brendon is.

Spencer is going to stay here and let people bring him drinks and if he feels like it, he'll let them sit.

"What are you thinking about?" Jon asks, still at Spencer's side during the one-girl drumline. The singer exits in her top and tails, returning with cowboy boots and vest.

"Nothing. I'm thinking about nothing." He rubs a hand over his face. "Maybe bed."

"I think someone needs a blowjob," Jon declares.

Spencer laughs, loud and embarrassing, but there's no one left up here on the balcony. They're all dancing to "Nine in the afternoon" down on the floor. But Jon is completely serious. He gets Spencer's pants open, pulls him out through the slit in his briefs. Spencer isn't even hard--more surprised than anything--but Jon takes care of that. He leans over into Spencer's lap, one hand around the shaft, warm and warming, move just enough. His other hand, Jon uses to brace himself on Spencer's thigh, and then he's sucking.

The girls are playing "Behind the sea" now. Spencer cradles Jon's head in his hands. He sinks down into the couch. He closes his eyes. He floats on.

-

"First night of tour, first night of tour, didn't you it's the--" Spencer clamps a hand over Ryan's mouth as quickly as he can, looking over his shoulder for Jon.

"You promised," he glares at Ryan's overly innocent expression. "No! No more first night of tour song!" He draws a line across his throat with his pointer finger. "If you get it in Brendon's head he'll start singing it and then Jon will want to put it in the set list and we agreed no more revisions!" Ryan makes pleading eyes at him over his hand and he pulls away with a groan.

"Recording that song was the best thing we ever did," Ryan hums the melody line happily. "It's such a nice little slice of life."

What sucks is that he agrees. Well. He agrees it's a nice little slice of life, not that it's the best thing they've ever done.

"Look," he puts his hands on Ryan's shoulders. "We have three more hours here before we have to head for the venue. I'd like to spend those hours with my boyfriend, preferably locked in our hotel room. If you distract him with the silly hidden track song you and Jon wrote one time you were high, my chances of that diminish." He makes an exaggerated sad face. "That would make me sad, Ryan."

Ryan shakes him off with a laugh. "Dude," he backs away, his arms raised, "I am going to go now, OK?"

"Coffee, Spence?" Jon asks quietly behind him. When Spencer turns around Jon is there, a stupid smile on his face.

"What are you smiling about?" he grumps as he takes his coffee.

"I'm smiling 'cause I'm happy," Jon takes his hand. "And 'cause it sounds like I'm going to wake up next to you in a few hours."

"Wake up?" he pulls Jon down the hall toward their room. "I don't remember implying we were going to sleep."

"Yeah, but, see, we can have the best of both worlds." Jon lisps the end of the sentence and Spencer gets out his keycard, dropping Jon's hand to do so. "We can have some awesome sex, then nap, then shower. It's the trifecta." The door snicks shut just before Jon finishes.

"Yeah?" he asks, setting his coffee on the side table. "OK, then, take me to your amazing sex." He leans back against the wall, pulling his hands behind his back.

"Oh, Spencer Smith," Jon leans in and Spencer smiles. Jon kisses him lightly, teasingly. Jon's fingers start to pull at the hem of his shirt right away.

"OK, OK," he pulls it off.

"Yesssss," Jon hisses as he leans in to suck on the bumpy curve of Spencer's collarbone. He mouths at it, bites and sucks, then moves over to the other side. Jon's been making his way around Spencer's body slowly, making sure to mark him in the same area every time. Spencer likes to track the progress.

"Mmm, Jon," he pulls at the back of Jon's shirt. "Nakedness equality, Jon," but he sneakily undoes his jeans while Jon pulls off his shirt, and then it's a race to nudity, then the bed.

"Yeah, yeah," Jon growls, trying to roll him onto his stomach. "C'mon, we can do this then nap," Jon says reverently.

"Jon," he grunts as Jon pulls his hips up. He tips forward, his arms not able to catch him in time. "Seriously, we can nap if you want, but fuck me now."

-

Spencer wakes outside, cold and stiff and really wishing he had less pride. It's dark, now, and crisp and if he were snuggled with someone (Jon) on the porch swing, he'd probably be fine in the hoodie he has on. Instead he jams his hands into his armpits and draws his knees up.

The screen door bangs open and Arlo comes racing for him. He sits up and holds his hands out, trying to forestall the oncoming Great Dane onslaught. "No, Arlo, down," the instructions don't get him anywhere and he fervently wishes obedience school had started sooner. Arlo weighs more than Ryan does. He glares down as he scratches between her ears. Ryan.

"Are you over your snit fit yet?" Jon's voice is full of the good humor Spencer doesn't feel.

"They're going to have freakishly tall children," he responds and Jon chuckles and ruffles his hair as he drops down next to him in the porch swing, setting them on a shaky journey.

A snit fit's both a softer way to describe his reaction to Ryan's phone call and a more dismissive one than he's comfortable with. He wants Jon to take this seriously.

"I want kids, too," he doesn't stop himself. "Actually, I wanted kids first." Jon shifts next to him and he doesn't look over. They've never talked about it. Which, yeah, is ridiculous. He hoists the rest of Arlo's weight up onto the swing with them, between them, allowing her on the furniture when he shouldn't.

With four cats, three dogs and two budgies you think they'd have talked about kids before now.

"Really?" Jon sounds surprised. "I do, too." Spencer can't help the smile at Jon's tone, easy and agreeable and unaware or uncaring of Spencer's continued angst. "Not first now, obviously, unless we want Keltie to be pregnant for, like, two years." Arlo shifts between them and Jon's hand intertwines with his in her fur.

"That would suck," he agrees. "I just--how would we even do that?"

"Well," Jon draws it out. "Even with your birthing hips, it's pretty clear after all this time that I'm just not going to get you pregnant." He clamps his lips and shakes his head and Spencer can't help but laugh at his sorrowful expression.

"Jon," he says through the laughter. "Seriously!"

"Seriously, what? We're not the first couple of dudes to want a kid." Jon scratches at his beard. "We'll figure something out."

"You think it's that easy?" he winces when it comes out sharp and dismissive.

"No, duh." Jon turns to face him, as much as he can with a blissed out oversized dog between them. "But it'll be worth it."

"You're not worried about the band?" Jon sighs and pushes Arlo down to the ground, crowds in close to him. Spencer puts a foot down to stabilize their jangling perch and Jon crawls in between his thighs.

"Spencer, I had that freak out once. It wasn't worth it." Jon kisses his collarbone, the place he normally likes to bite. "And since Ryan's having a kid we'll just, whatever, get a band nanny, an extra room at the hotel, a second bus, something."

"We'll make it work," he answers, and Jon nods.

He feels Jon's fingers start to work open his belt and he chuckles, lifts his hips up to help. "You wanna try one last time?"

"Don't be ridiculous Spencer," Jon lisps purposefully, he's sure, because he knows Spencer finds it appealing. "You're not a female type person." He's grinning up at Spencer as he finishes unzipping him, pulls him free into the night air.

"Really?" he asks dryly as Jon starts jacking him. He skims his lips over the crown lightly, smiling. "I wasn't sure you'd noticed."

-

Spencer loves Jon. Spencer loves Jon and Jon's newfound commitment to the classic film development process. He loves Jon's excitement at co-opting one of the rooms in their house just for his nasty smelling chemicals. He loves that Jon actually spends quality time in his nasty smelling room. Well, Spencer loves it except the room smells nasty and he doesn't like spending time in there.

"Hey," he pokes his head in the door. It was cracked open, Jon's unofficial indication he's not actually processing any photos. "I'm making a sandwich, you want one?"

Jon's eyes light up when he looks in Spencer's direction. "Yeah!" He wrinkles his nose. "But I'll be a bit longer in here, that OK?"

"I think a freaking sandwich can sit out a few minutes," he responds dryly.

Jon's responding grin is indulgent. They lean together to kiss, briefly, before Spencer wanders away.

Jon takes longer than a few minutes but Spencer's decided to make soup instead so it all works out. They eat slowly on the back porch, enjoying the sun and the neighborhood noises and the sight of three dogs tussling.

"Jesus it's like we're my grandparents," Jon laughs after he puts his spoon down.

"You're the one who chose the hobby from a bygone era," he replies as he takes Jon's hand.

"It's not the hobby I'm talking about, Spence," Jon's smiling, though. "We use our down time like we're eighty. That's not a bad thing, not most days."

"Also, in our not-downtime we're rock stars," he points out.

"Right," Jon repeats.

They sit longer, until Arlo runs up with a stick, then Jon's off like a shot. Spencer watches.

He's in the pantry when he hears Jon come in. "Did you wear her out?" he yells out, too loud to his own ears. "Or did she wear you out?"

"Ha," Jon's voice is soft, and right behind him.

"Jesus," he jumps as he turns. "You're right there."

"Yeah," Jon steps in, closes the door behind him. "I am."

"Jon?" he asks when Jon flicks off the lights.

"Remember my little darkroom in Big Purple?" Jon asks rhetorically, nostalgically, close by.

"Yeah," he swallows.

"Remember that time you got me all hot and bothered then fucked me over my stills?" Jon's hand smooth down his sides and Spencer drops the can of black beans he's holding.

"Yeah," he swallows again, closing his eyes.

"Turn around," Jon whispers in his ear and oh god.

"Fuck, yes," he whispers back, turning. Jon hasn't kissed him yet.

"Spread your arms out really wide, on the high shelves," Jon unbuttons his shirt slowly then leaves it on him, open and loose. He works Spencer's pants open slowly but not quite teasingly, leaving them roughly open around his thighs. Jon must have planned this, Spencer knows he never stocked the pantry with lube, but here Jon is clicking closed a tube and pushing two fingers in quickly. It's good, it's really good, even with the bite of the metal shelves in front of him.

"Aw, fuck," he moans after Jon's in deep. "I really don't want to think about your grandparents doing this."

Jon stops. "That is disturbing, Jesus," Jon says before pulling back and thrusting in again, hard, quickly followed by another half thrust. "No, no!" Jon whispers into his ear after another thrust, after he stops. "Did you have to mention my grandparents?"

He tries to hide his laugh, but. "Oh, Jon," he giggles. "This was all sexy, too, for a few minutes there."

Jon moans softly behind him, an unhappy moan. "I'm thinking about you sucking my dick now, nothing else. Shut up."

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of diedandreborn