Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Teenage Kicks
UPDATE* I decided that this is a good place to stop, so what would have been the last chapter of this book will now be the first of the sequel. :)
5Hot
Jon’s house is notorious for being really cold, even in summer. His parents bought him a small bungalow with a little white picket fence and a quaint garden with a tree that blossoms cute pink flowers in the spring and some sort of berry that birds seem to adore, in the summer. They pay for everything; rent, electricity, gas, food, extra expenses, so Jon’s very grateful and tries his best not to waste money. Still, that doesn’t mean he should leave all the windows open during the night. When Spencer arrives, he’s practically sweating from the heat of summer, but by the time he’s given Jon a poorly sculptured hug, taken off his coat and shoes, unzipped his bag and produced a movie with a title he only understands half of, he’s cold again. He swings around, smiling and hands Jon the DVD box. It’s studied for a minute and then Jon looks up at Spencer and smiles. He catches Spencer shiver and asks if he’d like him to shut a window.
“It’s alright- wouldn’t mind a hot drink though. If you’re offering.” He replies cheekily and so Jon rushes to his kitchen to serve his guest. He sets the DVD down on the counter and opens the cupboard above the sink, in search of two mugs. He settles on one that his mom swears belongs to her- a sweet, white mug with a small ginger cat sleeping next to the handle- and a mug that he can’t quite remember buying, but has two pears printed on it and a green tint when the light hits it in a certain way. Out the corner of his eye, he sees a hand press against the movie case and slide it away from his view. He watches cautiously; gripping the cupboard knob open and wondering why Spencer’s standing next to him, so close his breath is hitting Jon’s shoulder, but not saying anything. Eventually, Jon tips his head backwards and looks at his friend. He shuts the cupboard and smiles vaguely.
“What’s up?” He asks- more quakes, actually.
Spencer looks down at his hand and watches his fingers twitch, almost as if he can’t control it. His chest rises and is suspended in a deep breath.
“Want a hand?” He asks in return, then exhales the breath. Jon hums, nodding.
“Okay, I was just going to pour us some coffee. Could you get the milk?”
The milk bottle chimes against the fridge door as it’s retrieved and Spencer is sure it’s warmer in there, than in the rest of Jon’s house, but he doesn’t complain, just hands the bottle to Jon and watches him pour a small amount into each mug- a little more in Spencer’s cup because he prefers slightly weaker coffee. Jon turns into the kitchen and licks his lips, watching every crease in Spencer’s perfect face. He swallows hard and grips the counter behind him and, when Spencer’s eyes lock onto his, butterflies dance around in the pit of his stomach. Actually, it’s more like a caterpillar inside him, using his organs as a cocoon and trying desperately to burst out of it; wriggling and pushing and bashing and twisting. He can’t tear his eyes away from Spencer’s and Spencer can’t take his from Jon, but his mouth gives everything away. It turns upwards into a sly smile and shakes a little when he licks his own lips. Finally, Jon snaps out of it.
“Shall we?” He asks, gesturing to the living room with a hand that is practically dripping with sweat. Spencer nods and lifts the DVD, before stepping into the hall and making for the living room. Suddenly, Jon realizes he’s been holding his breath and blows it out slowly- gracelessly- before lifting the two coffee mugs and following his friend. And turning the kitchen light off as he leaves, of course.
*
“Alright, what the fuck took you so long to answer?” Ryan demands, swaying. Jon apologies, but Ryan really isn’t listening. “You know who sucks? Brendon. He’s at work, know what that means? I can’t see him for a few hours. The prick.”
Jon tilts his head on the side and wonders if Spencer’s still sleeping, or if Ryan’s intoxicated attempt to batter down the door at eleven thirty at night has woke him up. Now that he thinks about it, he’s surprised Spencer fell asleep so early. He almost wants to laugh, because of just how lazy his friend has become recently. Instead, he folds his arms across his chest and asks what’s so terrible about Brendon being at work.
“Because I needed to see him. I needed to see him.” Ryan replies, unfolding a hand in front of his breast plate and karate chopping it with the other, to emphasize just how important it was for him to see Brendon. Because of this though, Jon catches sight of Ryan’s knuckles and panics.
“Ryan, you’re knuckles are bleeding. Is that your blood?” He stutters and Ryan shrugs casually.
“Some of it, yeah.” He states plainly. Jon stammers forward.
“Wh- what? Who were you fighting with?” He asks, cupping Ryan’s face in an almost parental way and examining it. Ryan struggles his chin out of Jon’s clutches and tells him he was fighting with his father. “Why would he hit you?” Jon requests and Ryan shrugs again.
“I dunno, bad habit? That isn’t the point. Brendon is the one who’s pissed me off and-” All of a sudden, Spencer’s standing in the doorway of Jon’s bedroom, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “What the fuck?” Ryan snaps and stares at Spencer’s bare legs. “Didn’t even think to invite me, no?”
“Spencer said you couldn’t make it.” Jon explains, turning and looking at Ryan’s, now fuming, expression. Ryan shakes his head, confused and angry and drunk and more than anything else, feeling left out.
“Nah!” He shouts, marching towards Spencer. “Why would you say that?” He asks; scarily quiet, but equally as violent. He presses his hand against Jon’s bedroom doorframe and scans Spencer’s face for signs of reason. Spencer stutters, twitching his fingers again and apparently, Jon isn’t the only one who has noticed his habit, because Ryan taps Spencer’s hands sharply with the back of one of his, to stop him from fidgeting. He doesn’t take his eyes from Spencer’s face though, just stares blankly, with his mouth hanging a little open.
“You do know that this is your fault right?” He patronizes, showing his torn apart knuckles. “If you’d bothered to invite me I wouldn’t have gotten into a fight with him tonight.”
“Who?” Spencer asks, wide-eyed, despite his tiredness.
“George.” Ryan says dryly.
Spencer summons the courage to frown deeply, grit his teeth together and reply. “Does Brendon know about this?” Ryan tells him Brendon’s known for a long time and Spencer flips. He waves his arms in front of his face, pushes Ryan backwards and fists pieces of his own hair.
“Are you fucking kidding me Ryan? You tell him this kind of thing and not me? How long have you known me compared to him?”
Ryan pushes Spencer back- almost instinctively. He tries some words, any words; reasons, explanations, promises, anything, but he’s at a loss because he didn’t expect Spencer to be so angry. He stares at Spencer’s tensing body and forces his fists to unclench by his side. He won’t- no, can’t- hurt Spencer.
“What do I have to do to get you to talk to me, huh? Being best friends with you, for fifteen years might I add, sure as hell isn’t enough? What’s he doing that I haven’t done, really?” Spencer practically screams, shoving Ryan back a little with every dramatic pause for breath. Every cell in his body wants to hurt Ryan; every jealous, forgotten, angry cell in his shaking body. Ryan’s temper is bad at best, but he can tolerate Spencer’s occasional outburst of violence every now and again. Or so he’s certain. Until Spencer screams something Ryan can’t even hear through the surprise of his confident structure, and adds the word “faggot” for good measure.
“Ugh, I fucking hate that word!” Ryan barks, before he’s smacking both hands into Spencer’s chest and knocking him backwards. Spencer’s back crashes against Jon’s door and he falls straight into the room, landing on his back and squirming upwards to a cowardly sitting position.
“I’m sorry.” He mutters, shaking his head in his hand.
“And I hate you.” Ryan spits. Then leaves.
*
“Hey, hey, you’re alright.” Jon hushes, pressing his thumb perhaps a little too hard into the back of Spencer’s neck as he holds him in a hug. Spencer had refused to get up from sitting in the doorway, just started crying and hugging his knees, until Jon slide into the space between his body and the wooden door and pulled his torso into him.
“No, no, you don’t get it.” Spencer whimpers, tugging at Jon’s jumper to tighten the hug. “He’s never said he hates me before. Never.”
Jon frowns, then kisses the top of Spencer’s hair and begins to stroke it. Spencer’s slightly relieved for the removal of the pressure from his neck, but the stroking isn’t really the best of ideas, because every so often, there’s a little resistance and it’s more of a pull than a stroke. He doesn’t dislike it though; he hums softly when it happens and his eyes flicker a touch. All of a sudden, somehow, his face is being lifted up at the chin and pointed in the direction of his comforting friend.
“You okay now?” Jon asks, sympathy seeping out of every skin molecule.
Spencer wants to say yes, wants to nod or smile or something, but he doesn’t. His eyes flash a beautiful blue, before they’re closed tight and he’s leaning upwards in Jon’s face and kissing his lips as convincingly as he can. The force of the kiss tips Jon, but he doesn’t protest; he rolls onto his back and brings Spencer down with him, pushing Spencer’s mouth open a crack- just enough for his tongue to dart inside and lick around- and wrapping his arm around Spencer’s waist. His other hand yanks Spencer’s hair again, accidentally again, but this time Spencer doesn’t hold back the moan that had been creeping up his throat each time Jon had done it before. Something twists in the pit of Jon’s stomach and he pulls once more; smiling when Spencer makes another pleasured little sound into his mouth. Spencer presses himself closer into Jon’s body and somehow manages to part his legs. He grinds into him and moans again, but for some reason- much to Jon’s disappointment- only once, before pulling away into a kneeling position and looking around the room with a What-The-Hell-Was-That kind of look on his face.
“Oh my God. Fuck. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Spencer gasps, rising to his feet and cupping his mouth with both hands.
“Don’t say that. Don’t tell me you didn’t mean that.” Jon soothes, standing too and catching Spencer’s head in a hand. He pulls it closer, smiling and the second Spencer’s hands move away from his face, he’s kissing him again. Sure and passionate and definite. Bliss.
*
Brendon’s rubbing some crazy cream that Ryan’s never even heard of before on Ryan’s knuckles. Apparently it’ll sooth the burning feeling, but all Ryan can deter from it is that it’s a cream made to amplify the pain. He hisses and jerks his hand away from Brendon’s.
“Oh shush you.” Brendon giggles, dragging Ryan’s hand away from his chest and smiling because when Ryan frowns like a toddler, it’s sort of adorable. He shakes his head as he massages Ryan’s knuckles, kisses them better and continues kissing in a line up to his elbow. He then moves Ryan’s arm to around his waist and hugs him. Sighing, Ryan lies back on his bed and stares at the ceiling. Brendon snuggles into him and begins drawing circles on Ryan’s tee shirt; small circles at first, but they grow in size and eventually become hearts.
“I’m sorry I had to work so late baby.” Brendon mutters.
“Shush you.” Ryan replies sleepily, smiling smugly and tracing lines across Brendon’s shoulder. It makes Brendon smile, because he knows that Ryan isn’t angry at him, but he still feels bad that he couldn’t have been around sooner.
“Do you think I should call him?” Ryan whispers, eyes still tightly shut under a slab of caramel masquerading as a fringe. Brendon nods and Ryan grunts as he sits. “He’s probably asleep- it’s gone midnight.”
“Call. Him.” Brendon instructs lovingly, so Ryan does, but he protests for a few more minutes before he dials.
When Spencer answers, his voice is hurried and raspy. “Hello?”
“Spence, it’s me. I’m sorry, I don’t hate you.” Ryan replies, watching Brendon as he changes for bed. (If you can call it changing- in actual fact, he simply takes off his jeans and shirt and replaces that with a black band tee that Ryan owns but never wears. It’s Brendon’s favorite item of Ryan’s clothing, so he commandeers it whenever he has the chance.) Ryan smiles at his boyfriend as he climbs onto the pillow of the bed, behind Ryan’s back and begins to massage his shoulders.
“Yup. Cool. Water under a bridge.” Spencer gasps into the receiving end of Ryan’s cell. He seems breathless and something produces a muffled giggling sound near him, before Spencer’s shushes it.
“You- you alright man?” Ryan asks skeptically.
“Mmm, good. Talk to you tomorrow.” Is the reply, followed by a short groan that really just had to dribble from Spencer’s mouth at exactly that moment, didn’t it? “Seeya.” Spencer quickly says, before hanging up the phone.
*
The second Spencer’s hung up his cell, Jon’s attacking his lips again, sucking and biting and licking and pressing against him so hard that the mattress is dipping. Spencer groans again, as Jon’s hand roams over his waistband and his legs swing over his knees. His lips pop off of Spencer’s and his tongue drags down his chest as his hands move Spencer’s underwear down his thighs.
It isn’t anything of what Jon imagined it would be like, he thought he’d choke instantly, but he manages to start a steady rhythm with his lips and his tongue grows a mind of its own; moving in an exploratory way. As Spencer’s whining happily to himself, Jon thinks he’s figuring this out. Plus which, the encouraging noises and shakes Spencer’s making are building his confidence. When Spencer balls up the bed sheets in his sweating hands, Jon hollows his cheeks and he sucks harder.
“Fuck.” Spencer pants, suddenly taking a hold of Jon’s head and pulling it upwards. “Don’t I’ll- that’s not really fair for you.”
Jon nods, but he was secretly starting to enjoy it and honestly, he kind of wanted to get Spencer off that way. He smiles though, because Spencer’s face is bright red; flushed and his hair is sticking to his forehead and he looks so incredibly sexy that Jon could just fuck his brains out right here and now. He slides up Spencer’s body, until their faces are inline again.
“I’ve thought about this so many times.” Spencer sighs wetly and Jon smiles a genuine, caring, appreciative smile, as he kisses into Spencer and wriggles out of his underwear. He’s grateful for the nightstand beside him and the lamp whose switch is accessible from his bed. He reaches for it and switches it on.
“You don’t mind, do you?” He croaks, as Spencer’s gnawing on his collar bone and mumbling happy groans into his skin. “I just- I’d rather be able to see this.” He sort of chuckles after saying these words. Nervously of course, because everything about this is nerve-wracking.
And then, all of a sudden, nothing is soft or gentle anymore. It’s raw, rough, wet, hard, loud. Zealous. It’s sweating and tugging, writhing and biting and grinding. It’s moisture filling the room and sticking to the fogging windows. It’s nails disappearing into skin. It’s sounds becoming inaudible through the humidity and giant gasps for air between kisses. It’s the word “fuck” being overused so much that it barely sounds like a word anymore; it just sounds like another incomprehensible groan. It’s blinding.
“It’s alright- wouldn’t mind a hot drink though. If you’re offering.” He replies cheekily and so Jon rushes to his kitchen to serve his guest. He sets the DVD down on the counter and opens the cupboard above the sink, in search of two mugs. He settles on one that his mom swears belongs to her- a sweet, white mug with a small ginger cat sleeping next to the handle- and a mug that he can’t quite remember buying, but has two pears printed on it and a green tint when the light hits it in a certain way. Out the corner of his eye, he sees a hand press against the movie case and slide it away from his view. He watches cautiously; gripping the cupboard knob open and wondering why Spencer’s standing next to him, so close his breath is hitting Jon’s shoulder, but not saying anything. Eventually, Jon tips his head backwards and looks at his friend. He shuts the cupboard and smiles vaguely.
“What’s up?” He asks- more quakes, actually.
Spencer looks down at his hand and watches his fingers twitch, almost as if he can’t control it. His chest rises and is suspended in a deep breath.
“Want a hand?” He asks in return, then exhales the breath. Jon hums, nodding.
“Okay, I was just going to pour us some coffee. Could you get the milk?”
The milk bottle chimes against the fridge door as it’s retrieved and Spencer is sure it’s warmer in there, than in the rest of Jon’s house, but he doesn’t complain, just hands the bottle to Jon and watches him pour a small amount into each mug- a little more in Spencer’s cup because he prefers slightly weaker coffee. Jon turns into the kitchen and licks his lips, watching every crease in Spencer’s perfect face. He swallows hard and grips the counter behind him and, when Spencer’s eyes lock onto his, butterflies dance around in the pit of his stomach. Actually, it’s more like a caterpillar inside him, using his organs as a cocoon and trying desperately to burst out of it; wriggling and pushing and bashing and twisting. He can’t tear his eyes away from Spencer’s and Spencer can’t take his from Jon, but his mouth gives everything away. It turns upwards into a sly smile and shakes a little when he licks his own lips. Finally, Jon snaps out of it.
“Shall we?” He asks, gesturing to the living room with a hand that is practically dripping with sweat. Spencer nods and lifts the DVD, before stepping into the hall and making for the living room. Suddenly, Jon realizes he’s been holding his breath and blows it out slowly- gracelessly- before lifting the two coffee mugs and following his friend. And turning the kitchen light off as he leaves, of course.
*
“Alright, what the fuck took you so long to answer?” Ryan demands, swaying. Jon apologies, but Ryan really isn’t listening. “You know who sucks? Brendon. He’s at work, know what that means? I can’t see him for a few hours. The prick.”
Jon tilts his head on the side and wonders if Spencer’s still sleeping, or if Ryan’s intoxicated attempt to batter down the door at eleven thirty at night has woke him up. Now that he thinks about it, he’s surprised Spencer fell asleep so early. He almost wants to laugh, because of just how lazy his friend has become recently. Instead, he folds his arms across his chest and asks what’s so terrible about Brendon being at work.
“Because I needed to see him. I needed to see him.” Ryan replies, unfolding a hand in front of his breast plate and karate chopping it with the other, to emphasize just how important it was for him to see Brendon. Because of this though, Jon catches sight of Ryan’s knuckles and panics.
“Ryan, you’re knuckles are bleeding. Is that your blood?” He stutters and Ryan shrugs casually.
“Some of it, yeah.” He states plainly. Jon stammers forward.
“Wh- what? Who were you fighting with?” He asks, cupping Ryan’s face in an almost parental way and examining it. Ryan struggles his chin out of Jon’s clutches and tells him he was fighting with his father. “Why would he hit you?” Jon requests and Ryan shrugs again.
“I dunno, bad habit? That isn’t the point. Brendon is the one who’s pissed me off and-” All of a sudden, Spencer’s standing in the doorway of Jon’s bedroom, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “What the fuck?” Ryan snaps and stares at Spencer’s bare legs. “Didn’t even think to invite me, no?”
“Spencer said you couldn’t make it.” Jon explains, turning and looking at Ryan’s, now fuming, expression. Ryan shakes his head, confused and angry and drunk and more than anything else, feeling left out.
“Nah!” He shouts, marching towards Spencer. “Why would you say that?” He asks; scarily quiet, but equally as violent. He presses his hand against Jon’s bedroom doorframe and scans Spencer’s face for signs of reason. Spencer stutters, twitching his fingers again and apparently, Jon isn’t the only one who has noticed his habit, because Ryan taps Spencer’s hands sharply with the back of one of his, to stop him from fidgeting. He doesn’t take his eyes from Spencer’s face though, just stares blankly, with his mouth hanging a little open.
“You do know that this is your fault right?” He patronizes, showing his torn apart knuckles. “If you’d bothered to invite me I wouldn’t have gotten into a fight with him tonight.”
“Who?” Spencer asks, wide-eyed, despite his tiredness.
“George.” Ryan says dryly.
Spencer summons the courage to frown deeply, grit his teeth together and reply. “Does Brendon know about this?” Ryan tells him Brendon’s known for a long time and Spencer flips. He waves his arms in front of his face, pushes Ryan backwards and fists pieces of his own hair.
“Are you fucking kidding me Ryan? You tell him this kind of thing and not me? How long have you known me compared to him?”
Ryan pushes Spencer back- almost instinctively. He tries some words, any words; reasons, explanations, promises, anything, but he’s at a loss because he didn’t expect Spencer to be so angry. He stares at Spencer’s tensing body and forces his fists to unclench by his side. He won’t- no, can’t- hurt Spencer.
“What do I have to do to get you to talk to me, huh? Being best friends with you, for fifteen years might I add, sure as hell isn’t enough? What’s he doing that I haven’t done, really?” Spencer practically screams, shoving Ryan back a little with every dramatic pause for breath. Every cell in his body wants to hurt Ryan; every jealous, forgotten, angry cell in his shaking body. Ryan’s temper is bad at best, but he can tolerate Spencer’s occasional outburst of violence every now and again. Or so he’s certain. Until Spencer screams something Ryan can’t even hear through the surprise of his confident structure, and adds the word “faggot” for good measure.
“Ugh, I fucking hate that word!” Ryan barks, before he’s smacking both hands into Spencer’s chest and knocking him backwards. Spencer’s back crashes against Jon’s door and he falls straight into the room, landing on his back and squirming upwards to a cowardly sitting position.
“I’m sorry.” He mutters, shaking his head in his hand.
“And I hate you.” Ryan spits. Then leaves.
*
“Hey, hey, you’re alright.” Jon hushes, pressing his thumb perhaps a little too hard into the back of Spencer’s neck as he holds him in a hug. Spencer had refused to get up from sitting in the doorway, just started crying and hugging his knees, until Jon slide into the space between his body and the wooden door and pulled his torso into him.
“No, no, you don’t get it.” Spencer whimpers, tugging at Jon’s jumper to tighten the hug. “He’s never said he hates me before. Never.”
Jon frowns, then kisses the top of Spencer’s hair and begins to stroke it. Spencer’s slightly relieved for the removal of the pressure from his neck, but the stroking isn’t really the best of ideas, because every so often, there’s a little resistance and it’s more of a pull than a stroke. He doesn’t dislike it though; he hums softly when it happens and his eyes flicker a touch. All of a sudden, somehow, his face is being lifted up at the chin and pointed in the direction of his comforting friend.
“You okay now?” Jon asks, sympathy seeping out of every skin molecule.
Spencer wants to say yes, wants to nod or smile or something, but he doesn’t. His eyes flash a beautiful blue, before they’re closed tight and he’s leaning upwards in Jon’s face and kissing his lips as convincingly as he can. The force of the kiss tips Jon, but he doesn’t protest; he rolls onto his back and brings Spencer down with him, pushing Spencer’s mouth open a crack- just enough for his tongue to dart inside and lick around- and wrapping his arm around Spencer’s waist. His other hand yanks Spencer’s hair again, accidentally again, but this time Spencer doesn’t hold back the moan that had been creeping up his throat each time Jon had done it before. Something twists in the pit of Jon’s stomach and he pulls once more; smiling when Spencer makes another pleasured little sound into his mouth. Spencer presses himself closer into Jon’s body and somehow manages to part his legs. He grinds into him and moans again, but for some reason- much to Jon’s disappointment- only once, before pulling away into a kneeling position and looking around the room with a What-The-Hell-Was-That kind of look on his face.
“Oh my God. Fuck. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Spencer gasps, rising to his feet and cupping his mouth with both hands.
“Don’t say that. Don’t tell me you didn’t mean that.” Jon soothes, standing too and catching Spencer’s head in a hand. He pulls it closer, smiling and the second Spencer’s hands move away from his face, he’s kissing him again. Sure and passionate and definite. Bliss.
*
Brendon’s rubbing some crazy cream that Ryan’s never even heard of before on Ryan’s knuckles. Apparently it’ll sooth the burning feeling, but all Ryan can deter from it is that it’s a cream made to amplify the pain. He hisses and jerks his hand away from Brendon’s.
“Oh shush you.” Brendon giggles, dragging Ryan’s hand away from his chest and smiling because when Ryan frowns like a toddler, it’s sort of adorable. He shakes his head as he massages Ryan’s knuckles, kisses them better and continues kissing in a line up to his elbow. He then moves Ryan’s arm to around his waist and hugs him. Sighing, Ryan lies back on his bed and stares at the ceiling. Brendon snuggles into him and begins drawing circles on Ryan’s tee shirt; small circles at first, but they grow in size and eventually become hearts.
“I’m sorry I had to work so late baby.” Brendon mutters.
“Shush you.” Ryan replies sleepily, smiling smugly and tracing lines across Brendon’s shoulder. It makes Brendon smile, because he knows that Ryan isn’t angry at him, but he still feels bad that he couldn’t have been around sooner.
“Do you think I should call him?” Ryan whispers, eyes still tightly shut under a slab of caramel masquerading as a fringe. Brendon nods and Ryan grunts as he sits. “He’s probably asleep- it’s gone midnight.”
“Call. Him.” Brendon instructs lovingly, so Ryan does, but he protests for a few more minutes before he dials.
When Spencer answers, his voice is hurried and raspy. “Hello?”
“Spence, it’s me. I’m sorry, I don’t hate you.” Ryan replies, watching Brendon as he changes for bed. (If you can call it changing- in actual fact, he simply takes off his jeans and shirt and replaces that with a black band tee that Ryan owns but never wears. It’s Brendon’s favorite item of Ryan’s clothing, so he commandeers it whenever he has the chance.) Ryan smiles at his boyfriend as he climbs onto the pillow of the bed, behind Ryan’s back and begins to massage his shoulders.
“Yup. Cool. Water under a bridge.” Spencer gasps into the receiving end of Ryan’s cell. He seems breathless and something produces a muffled giggling sound near him, before Spencer’s shushes it.
“You- you alright man?” Ryan asks skeptically.
“Mmm, good. Talk to you tomorrow.” Is the reply, followed by a short groan that really just had to dribble from Spencer’s mouth at exactly that moment, didn’t it? “Seeya.” Spencer quickly says, before hanging up the phone.
*
The second Spencer’s hung up his cell, Jon’s attacking his lips again, sucking and biting and licking and pressing against him so hard that the mattress is dipping. Spencer groans again, as Jon’s hand roams over his waistband and his legs swing over his knees. His lips pop off of Spencer’s and his tongue drags down his chest as his hands move Spencer’s underwear down his thighs.
It isn’t anything of what Jon imagined it would be like, he thought he’d choke instantly, but he manages to start a steady rhythm with his lips and his tongue grows a mind of its own; moving in an exploratory way. As Spencer’s whining happily to himself, Jon thinks he’s figuring this out. Plus which, the encouraging noises and shakes Spencer’s making are building his confidence. When Spencer balls up the bed sheets in his sweating hands, Jon hollows his cheeks and he sucks harder.
“Fuck.” Spencer pants, suddenly taking a hold of Jon’s head and pulling it upwards. “Don’t I’ll- that’s not really fair for you.”
Jon nods, but he was secretly starting to enjoy it and honestly, he kind of wanted to get Spencer off that way. He smiles though, because Spencer’s face is bright red; flushed and his hair is sticking to his forehead and he looks so incredibly sexy that Jon could just fuck his brains out right here and now. He slides up Spencer’s body, until their faces are inline again.
“I’ve thought about this so many times.” Spencer sighs wetly and Jon smiles a genuine, caring, appreciative smile, as he kisses into Spencer and wriggles out of his underwear. He’s grateful for the nightstand beside him and the lamp whose switch is accessible from his bed. He reaches for it and switches it on.
“You don’t mind, do you?” He croaks, as Spencer’s gnawing on his collar bone and mumbling happy groans into his skin. “I just- I’d rather be able to see this.” He sort of chuckles after saying these words. Nervously of course, because everything about this is nerve-wracking.
And then, all of a sudden, nothing is soft or gentle anymore. It’s raw, rough, wet, hard, loud. Zealous. It’s sweating and tugging, writhing and biting and grinding. It’s moisture filling the room and sticking to the fogging windows. It’s nails disappearing into skin. It’s sounds becoming inaudible through the humidity and giant gasps for air between kisses. It’s the word “fuck” being overused so much that it barely sounds like a word anymore; it just sounds like another incomprehensible groan. It’s blinding.
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