tonight, i feel like more
tonight, i feel like more
Jon/Spencer (~3900 words, nc-17)

'Spencer keeps his phone tucked safely under his pillow. He’s a light sleeper so he wakes up when Jon texts him at 4 a.m. on Wednesday. His eyelids are thick with sleep, the screen too bright as he reads, i think i just had a sex dream about you. '



beta'ed by immortal_lights. because she's awesome like that.




First time Spencer dreams about Jon is on the 17th of July. He remembers the date because he has a message from Jon that says i had a dream about you and Ryan roasting a giant two-headed duck in a bonfire. you think i need to go see a doctor? saved in his inbox for some reason. That night, he dreams about the two of them running from a horde of zombies, each one armed with a ladle and a banana. Jon actually kills, like, five and Spencer eats both of their bananas sitting on a curb, watching the battle. He calls Ryan in the morning only to hear a lecture on Freud. He hangs up and doesn’t speak to Ryan for five hours.


He doesn’t think about it much, though, until about a week later when he wakes up to another message from Jon. It’s marked ‘5 a.m.’ and says i keep on dreaming about you. i guess my brain is trying to tell me something. It’s not serious and Spencer knows it. He can almost see the lopsided half-smile that makes Jon Jon. He calls Jon to tell him, “You can declare your undying love for me now, Jonathan,” before Jon has the time to properly answer the phone.

“I was hoping you’d call. If you were to say you’re not interested, I would at least save some money,” Jon says and there’s some rustling on the other end of the line, a hiss and then some creaking. “Dylan says hi.” Spencer imagines Jon pulling cat claws out of his leg. Patiently, because everything he does, he does that way.

They talk for half an hour and then Spencer has to hang up because he has a dentist appointment and he’s kind of late already.




It feels a bit ridiculous hanging out with your bandmates after fours months spent cramped up with them in a tin on wheels. There’s no avoiding that, though, when you live two blocks away from one of them and the other one is fucking everywhere anyway. The thing is, Spencer is actually happy to see them when they show up on his doorstep, Brendon with his ridiculous red-rimmed glasses and Ryan, with his clothes reaching even further into 19th century.

They watch a movie eating some warmed-up half-dead pizza that Spencer has dug out of the fridge and it’s like they’re on the road again. The only thing that’s missing, is Jon. Spencer kind of misses him, but he’s not going to admit it aloud. It’s not like they would mock him or anything, it’s just that he’s not the type of person to voice his feelings. He hates it sometimes, but well. Ryan’s not that kind of guy either, so of course it’s Brendon who says, “I miss Jon.”

They end up having a conference call with Jon. They reach him in a supermarket, somewhere between the groceries and beer. They help him pick coffee (Seriously, guys, what the fuck is that?) and then there’s some fuss and Jon murmurs furtively, “I think someone’s recognized me. Fuck, I still haven’t gotten used to that,” and then he probably dives between some shelves because the next things he says is, “Wow. That’s a lot of… diapers.”

They laugh at him and Brendon’s foot digs into Spencer’s thigh as he wriggles around. It feels like home.

Later that night, Spencer dreams about having a baby with Jon. He’s not exactly sure who the mother here is, but they have a giant garden with red swings and all, and the kid crawls around in pink flip flops.



“Dude,” Jon says two days later as Spencer picks up the phone, “do you have any bite marks on your neck?”

Spencer blinks at the screen and then puts the phone back to his ear, “Huh?”

“I had a dream that the cobra, you know, The Cobra kidnapped you to teach you how to shoe-shop. Are you okay?”

“Um. Yeah, I guess,” Spencer takes a look at his neck as he walks past the mirror to the kitchen. Just in case, okay. Then he laughs so hard he almost cries.


After that they sort of develop a habit of updating each other about their dreams. Most of the days Spencer wakes up to find a text from Jon. Jon tends to get up at strange hours and, even if Spencer finds it a little disturbing, it’s always fun to wake up to a text that says, i ran from a dorito-shaped monster, slipped and slid down a slope made of cauliflower. it was pretty good despite the lack of salt.


*


Spencer keeps his phone tucked safely under his pillow. He’s a light sleeper so he wakes up when Jon texts him at 4 a.m. on Wednesday. His eyelids are thick with sleep, the screen too bright as he reads, i think i just had a sex dream about you.



So what, he tries to reason with himself in the morning, he had a sex dream about Ryan back in high school and that didn’t mean a thing, and it sure as hell didn’t mean he wanted to fuck Ryan. Because, Christ, no. So he tries to play it cool. How was it? he texts Jon at 9:37 a.m.

i dunno, Jon texts him back, i woke up hard. where does this put me?

Spencer needs to go through twenty minutes worth of thinking about Margaret Thatcher naked before it feels like he can breath again.


They’ve been texting each other in an on-off way, leaving something hanging and then going back to it at a convenient time. Sometimes, it takes Jon two days to reply back - and the other way around. It seems completely natural, not out-dated or anything. And for that Spencer is fucking grateful now, because how the hell is he supposed to reply to something like that? It takes him almost two days to recover and even then he can’t stop thinking about it.

It’s way past 3 a.m. when he finally decides to touch the phone. The room is dark, curtains pulled close, the faint blue-ish flicker of the VCR the only light. The sheets are warm, too warm, and Spencer can’t sleep. He toys with the phone, flicking it open and closing it again, over and over until the plastic surface becomes warm, too. It’s smooth as he runs his thumb over the back and finally flicks it open one last time. You asleep? he sends to Jon, half-hoping that he won’t get any reply. But it’s his luck, of course, and the screen flickers bright, nope.

He takes a deep breath and dials Jon’s number.

“Yeah?” Jon’s voice is slightly hoarse like he maybe he had been asleep just minutes earlier. There’s something else to it, too. It’s kind of breathy, fast, too fast.

Jesus Christ, Spencer thinks.

“Spence?”

“Don’t stop,” Spencer says, throat tight, fingers sliding over the smooth surface of the phone. He has no idea what made him say that, but his heart is beating fast and he can hear the rush of blood in his ears as he waits.

There’s a moment of hesitation through the static like maybe Jon wants to say something, ask what the hell is Spencer talking about. But he doesn’t. He just exhales loudly, a whiz against Spencer’s ear, and there’s rustling of sheets and a loud breath.

Spencer lays in the dark, one hand over the phone, the other clutching the edge of the cover. He listens to Jon’s breath, the way it’s even, a forced, steady breath, and gets faster and faster, more shallow. How it catches and comes out a bit shakily. He hears the rustling of the sheets as Jon shifts. There’s no way he could actually hear that, so he’s probably just imaging the sound of fabric brushing against the skin of Jon’s hand as it moves, a steady up and down motion that gets more rushed, more frantic every single second. Spencer feels his own breath speeding up and makes a half-hearted attempt to control it, but then Jon gasps quietly -- and he doesn’t care anymore. He lets his own hand wander over his stomach, slipping under the t-shirt that he sleeps in, sliding over flushed skin. But when it wanders over to the waistband of his boxers, there’s a flash of clarity in his hazed brain and no. He’s not going to fucking jerk off over Jon Walker jerking off possibly over a sex dream about him. He leaves his fingers hooked over the waistband, fingertips skimming over hot skin. Then, Jon’s breath hitches considerably, he gasps, and then fucking moans. It’s barely audible, just a low vibration deep down in his throat but all Spencer’s muscles tense at this and he can barely breathe. And then, it’s over. He holds the phone against his cheek and listens to the way Jon’s breath evens out. He loses track of the time he spends like that, lying in the dark, listening to the languid inhale-exhale. It’s pretty distinct and strangely intimate. Finally, he can’t take it any longer and hangs up.

He goes to take a shower, dead-set on taking a cold one, and ends up jerking off frantically with one arm braced against the tiles, head filled with images of Jon’s skin.


*


(Spencer had actually dreamt about Jon before. It was shortly before Jon joined the band and they were all hanging out at The Academy bus. There was a lot of alcohol and William had drunk plenty of it. Urged by Tom, he tried to perform a lap dance for Jon. It wasn’t particularly sexy with his long, spider-like limbs and the way he swayed and kept on losing his balance. Spencer was kind of drunk himself, too, but he remembers clearly the way Jon’s broad hands rested over William’s hips to steady him. Spencer got really fucking fixated over this and kept on staring until Jon looked and him, eyes wide and dark and drunk, and winked.

That night, Spencer dreamt about Jon going down on him, lips hot and wet and swollen, hands over his hips to steady him when he pushed against Jon’s mouth, hands in his hair, pulling.

First thing in the morning, he locked himself in the tiny bus bathroom and jerked off until he’s almost collapsed on the floor, knees buckling under him. Brendon mocked him all day and when they passed each other after the sound check Jon winked at him, again, like he fucking knew.)


*


The next time it happens, it’s Jon that calls Spencer.

It’s about two hours of time difference between Vegas and Chicago so it’s, like, the middle of the night for Jon.

They don’t talk about anything significant, it’s just a flow of words in the warm static over two time zones.

“I’ve been there for, like, an hour or so and…” Jon says but Spencer is not really paying attention to the words. It’s the low vibration of Jon’s voice that he’s focused on, that seems to spill over his skin, washing over it back and forth with the nuances of the tone. He mmm’s and yeah’s but he’s closed his eyes and all he can think about is the way Jon’s breath sped up the other night, the way he moaned softly right into his ear, how –-

He’s not controlling it as he lets his hand wander over his body, rucking up the t-shirt, and then down, past the waistband of his pajama pants. Jon’s voice is washing all over him, a low hum right against his ear and he loses it.

“Spence?” Jon asks, questioningly.

“Yeah?” Spencer breaths out, completely hazed. There’s a pause on the other end of the line but Spencer’s brain doesn’t really register it.

“Okay,” Jon sort-of whispers and something shifts in his voice and oh God, yes.

There’s something hot and heavy pooling in his stomach as he listens to Jon’s breath. Long, deep, focused. He murmurs something that Spencer can’t hear, but he doesn‘t really care. He allows his fingers to wrap around his dick and Jon laughs sort of breathily at the gasp that escapes Spencer’s lips. It only makes Spencer rasp, “Fuck,” and move his hand with the rhythm of Jon’s breath.

Then, it’s only shallow breathing and rushed whispers. Jon breathes out, “Spence, hey,” short before he comes and that almost brings Spencer over the edge, makes him lift his hips up. Two more strokes and he is coming, too, hand pressing the phone to his cheek, knuckles white.


He blinks a couple of times, eyelids heavy, before his muscles start to relax. And then, Jon’s phone beeps warningly once, twice, and the connection breaks.

After what seems like an eternity in the dark that, for some reason, tastes of liquorice, there’s a message from Jon that says, my battery died and i’m tied up on the cord now. no cuddling.

Spencer laughs at the ceiling.



They do it twice more. Once, when Spencer wakes up from a really vivid dream about Jon fucking him against the cabinet in the bus – it’s 4 a.m. in Vegas but he doesn’t hesitate to wake Jon up, not at all. Which might be pushing it, whatever it is they have, but he doesn’t care. Jon doesn’t seem to mind, though. His voice is raspy and thick with sleep and Spencer makes Jon talk to him non-stop while he jerks off. The second time is when Jon calls him in the middle of the day, obviously with the sole purpose of getting him off with things he murmurs into the receiver. To say he succeeds is a little bit of an understatement.



But then, they’re scheduled to play three shows in Vegas, San Bernardino and Phoenix. Spencer is kind of scared. Kind of really fucking terrified. They haven’t talked about this, about this strange phone sex thing they have going, and he’s kind of scared to meet Jon face to face.

He and Brendon pick Jon from the airport. Jon hugs them both (Brendon first because he throws himself at Jon as soon as he sees him) and it seems perfectly normal. That is, until Jon starts to speak. Because the sound of his voice makes a shiver run down Spencer’s spine and his cheeks flush. It’s really fucking embarrassing. It helps, a little, when Jon starts telling them about the rancid peanuts they were serving on the plane and about that strange guy that kept on looking over his shoulder, like, all the fucking time. It helps to distract Spencer from thinking about jerking off with Jon’s voice in his ear. Kind of.


Jon stays at Spencer’s place because he always does. There’s a spare room with a bed and a closet and some random stuff Spencer stores there when he doesn’t know what to do with them. But they’re all packed neatly into boxes and the room’s pretty cozy. Jon likes it there and Spencer likes Jon so it’s not a problem to keep it like that.

Jon feels pretty much at home at Spencer’s apartment, so the first thing he does is head to the shower. It takes him about twenty minutes and all this time Spencer thinks about joining him there, imagines the hot streaks of water pounding against Jon’s back, splashing over their lips. Because, fuck, he wants to kiss Jon so bad.

He jumps, startled when Jon suddenly appears in the doorway, leaning against the wall with his shoulder. The towel that he has wrapped around his waist is hanging really fucking low and Spencer finds it kind of hard to tear his eyes off the knot over Jon’s left hipbone.

“Brendon told me to remind you about shoes. I have no idea what he was talking about, I’m just passing this on.”

“I. Yeah, it’s okay. I know. Thanks,” Spencer manages to lift his eyes only to see Jon looking over his arm. He follows his gaze mentally and oh. He’s looking at the bed. The one that Spencer had jerked off to Jon’s voice on. Jon’s eyes flicker and he bites his lip just when a small smile tugs and the corner of his mouth. “I’m going to crash now,” Jon says, “The flight was hell.”

“Okay. I’ll wake you up in the morning if you want.”

“That’d be great. Okay. Goodnight,” he says softly and leaves Spencer in the middle of the room. Spencer’s not sure what to make of it.



It’s about 2 a.m. when his phone buzzes.

He’s been laying there in the dark, trying really hard not to think about the fact that Jon is right there, in the next fucking room and all it would take was a little walk down the hall. He’s been failing pretty epically.

He flicks the phone open, squinting in the faint light. can’t sleep, it says, Jon’s name above. Spencer heart suddenly starts to beat so fast he thinks he might have a heart attack right this fucking second. He stares at the screen, thinking. Finally, he gets up and walks over to the room Jon’s occupying. His hand is shaking a little when he lifts it to knock.

“Come on in,” Jon’s voice is slightly muffled but steady and calm, as usual. Spencer takes one deep breath and pushes the door open. The curtains are not drawn and the room is flooded with the faint glow of the moon. Spencer recalls Jon telling him once about how he couldn‘t wake up when it was dark.

It’s all or nothing, he thinks as he leaves the door open and walks over to the bed. Jon is lying on his side, hand tucked under the pillow but he shifts to lay on his back when Spencer comes closer. And it’s just like that. He leans down, knee dipping the mattress, hands on both sides of Jon’s head, and then, he’s kissing him. It feels kind of surreal with the silver glow spilling over Jon’s skin and the way his mouth is warm and tastes of Spencer’s toothpaste. He feels the muscles of his neck and upper back tense as he hovers over Jon. They part and Jon licks his lips, eyes never leaving Spencer’s. Spencer leans down again. It’s careful like they’re both afraid to break it, lose it. Jon’s fingers tangle in Spencer’s hair and he can’t help but rub against him a little. There’s still a layer of fabric, the blanket, between them and they get rid of it in a tangle of limbs, no grace, no grace at all. When it finally lands on the floor and skin touches skin, Jon sighs into his mouth. Spencer feels it, a vibration under his fingertips where they rest on the sides of Jon’s neck. “Spencer,” Jon whispers.

“Yeah,” Spencer whispers back and it’s not a question.

He pulls his t-shirt over his head and Jon rolls them over and gets rid of his own. The weight of his body and the heat of his skin make Spencer arch up in the touch, hands wandering all over Jon’s back, stopping to rest right under his shoulder blades as Jon sucks at the spot between his collar bones. Simultaneously, he tugs at his boxers and Spencer lifts his hips obediently. And then, it’s like the first dream he’s had about Jon, only it’s better, Jon’s lips are softer, hotter. Spencer can’t help it and bucks his hips, hands clutching at the headboard. Jon’s hands fit his hips perfectly, warm and steady. He bites his lip, hard, when he comes, and Jon jerks him off through the last pulses. It leaves him sticky and he probably should find it gross but when he opens his eyes and Jon is smearing the come over his stomach with his thumb, he doesn’t. Not with the way Jon’s eyes are tracing the movement of his hand, dark and focused.

“It’s better like that,” Jon murmurs before he leans again to kiss him. Spencer couldn’t agree more when Jon’s skin is filling the inner side of his palms, soft and hot and flesh.

It takes Spencer a while to fit into Jon’s curves and the way he feels and tastes. But it’s familiar, in a way, the soft push-pull of Jon’s fingers, the way they carve lines along Spencer’s neck. He puts his hand on Jon’s stomach, sprawling it wide and it’s amazing, the way Jon’s muscles tense and relax, tense and relax, over and over. And then it’s just tensetensetense and even when Jon warns him, he doesn’t pull back.

“Oh, God,” it’s hoarse, it’s low and Spencer can fucking feel it under his skin.

He clicks his tongue a little to have a better taste. It makes him feel dirty, makes him want more.

And he gets it.



Spencer wakes up wrapped up in covers and Jon. There’s a spot of warmth where Jon’s hand is tucked under his arm and over his collar bone and he can feel where Jon’s lips are pressed against his shoulder. He doesn’t want to break the contact, doesn’t want to lose the warmth of Jon’s body so he just closes his eyes and dozes off again.

And then, they’re late and both their phones are ringing, Brendon’s and Ryan’s joined forces. They scramble out of bed, take a shower together to save the time (not very smart) and laugh upon tripping over their own pants. It all feels domestic in a way that it really shouldn’t, but then Jon kisses him before they leave the apartment and Spencer thinks, fuck this.



They’re at a truck stop near Phoenix when there’s finally time to just sit and let the accumulated tension lift off. They buy some stuff and Spencer heads outside because the place stinks of stale oil and he needs some air. Brendon and Ryan stay inside bickering over something and probably giving the poor waitress a heart attack. Jon follows him shortly after, settling at the curb next to him, knees drawn to his chest and elbows propped on them. He smiles at Spencer, carefully unwrapping a chocolate bar. He offers him a bite and Spencer takes it. The chocolate is half-melted already but it tastes good, sugar spilling over his tongue.

Spencer extends his legs and watches his own feet, chewing thoughtfully. They still haven’t talked about it and it kind of bothers him, leaves him hanging. But then, he thinks as Jon smiles at him over the bar, maybe they don’t have to.

It doesn’t look like it’s going to happen anyway as they sit in a companionable silence, watching the cars as they pass by, letting the faint breeze gust over their skin. There’s thin layer of warmth floating over the asphalt and the smell of oil fills Spencer’s nostrils. It’s calm. It’s good like that.

He twitches when Jon finally speaks up.

“About the last phone call,” he says, crumpling the wrapper and lifting his ass off the curb to stuff it into his pocket.

“Yeah?” Spencer asks, shifting a little to look at Jon. Jon’s eyes flicker, but other than that he’s perfectly serious when he says, “I think I’m pregnant.”

And yeah, they don’t have to talk about it.