Joncer# Jon contemplates making a move on Spencer.
“Don’t tell me.” He begins, playfully. “You’re thinking about that waitress.” He barely completes the final word through laughter. Of course Jon wasn’t thinking of the waitress. The response is a bitter shrug and a drop of Jon’s eyes. He stares down at his own hands. Brendon, who has more alcohol in him than sense by this point, finds clarity in the smoke he’s breathing into Jon’s personal space.
“Weigh it out.” He instructs; knowing all too well the true thoughts that perplex his friend. Jon ponders it for a moment and then recites a list. He starts with the cons- struggling to find a beginning.
“He’s just a kid, well, really he is, he’s straight, I work with him, Ryan would rip my head off, I’d lose a friend and, you know what? If it happened, we’d be like the twenty-first-century gay version of ABBA.”
“Okay, so that’s the cons.” Brendon states, and then shushes Jon when Spencer flounces over. The way his fitted coat seems far too fitted for him really highlights his waist. Jon eats his own lower lip, trying to avert his gaze. When Spencer has passed the two awkwardly seated, member of his band, Jon slaps his hand to his forehead.
“Pros: that.” He tells Brendon, who has lost interest entirely and is both tired and drunk. He hums as he drums his fingers on the table impatiently. Noticing Brendon’s eyes have become fixed on the face of Ryan, Jon dismisses him bluntly; calling him useless, as he waves his hands in front of his face to direct Brendon away. Brendon inhales his cigarette once more, before striding towards the band’s guitarist.
Jon watches; mesmerized by Brendon’s courage. When Brendon reaches Ryan, he grabs hold of his waist and whispers something filthy in his ear. He’s less than gentle in handling him, but Ryan doesn’t seem to mind. He, instead, steals Brendon’s cigarette from his clutches and takes a slow, relaxed draw of it; closing his eyes to take in the pleasure. Brendon kisses Ryan’s cheek and pulls him closer to his own body, whispering something else into his lover’s space. Ryan’s response is a less than subtle cupping of Brendon’s jeans and a bite of his lip. Jon can’t see Brendon’s face, but he sees his slight jump and can, unfortunately for him, imagine what his expression might be. Unsurprisingly, the two slink off to the bathroom of the tour bus.
“Just do it.” Jon whispers aloud to himself; quoting the brand of trainers that Spencer is dancing around in. “Spence? Fancy going for a walk?” He calls and Spencer ceases the dancing and nods.
“Just do it.” Jon orders himself again, in a lower and quieter tone.
Spencer forgets to lift his coat and the autumn is really settling into winter, so Jon finds it necessary to wrap his own coat around Spencer’s shoulders. Spencer himself is very drunk- he’s a lazy drunk at times- and refuses to drop his arms through the sleeves, so the coat rests on his shoulders and sways in the wind. Jon then retrieves his cigarettes from his jeans pocket, places one in his mouth and lights it. Spencer asks for one and the pair stops dead.
It’s pretty dark outside and though the tour bus illuminates the area immediately around it, the stars and street lights are too dim to give strong light; when Jon flickers his lighter, the orange flame coaxes his sight to see more than mere shadows and grayscale blocks. Spencer is swaying from side to side, despite his stationary feet, and his eyes are shut in contentment.
“I love you man.” Spencer mumbles and even though Jon knows it’s neither in the way he would hope, nor sincere, his heart skips a beat.
"I love you too Spence.” He replies, sarcasm masking his genuine words. He clears his throat.
“No, no, Jon. I love you man.” Spencer says again, this time more forceful. Jon has just about released a second cigarette from its cage when Spencer says this. He becomes frozen; clinging to the moment desperately and praying for truth in his words. He’s not a religious man, but if praying is what it takes, praying is what he’ll do!
“Spence, you’re drunk. Shut up.” Jon tells him, suddenly resentful, because he knows for a fact that the cons outweigh the pros. On the other hand, one tiny taste wouldn’t hurt anyone would it? Spencer protests, telling Jon he’s completely sober, but Jon barely listens; the sound of the nearby cars drowning out Spencer’s, somewhat, angelic voice. Suddenly, the ambiguous situation becomes simple. Brendon and Ryan have it figured out and it happened in much the same way.
He kisses Spencer- puts everything he’s got into that kiss; his heart, his mind, his smoke stained saliva. The jacket, which was previously curling around Spencer’s body, falls to the gravel, but neither seems to notice nor mind. Jon’s cigarette, too, falls from between his shaking fingers and leaves them open for Spencer to hold. At this moment in time, Jon wants nothing more than to carry Spencer to the nearest available private space and fuck him like the rabbits do, but of course, that would be unfair- Spencer’s drunk and impressionable at the best of times.
On the way back to the tour bus, Spencer dips his hand into the back pocket of Jon’s dark blue jeans and squeezes.
“Oh, you are so going to get it.” Jon tells him, winking playfully.