fic: felt almost like a home of sorts or something
felt almost like a home of sorts or something
R, jon/spencer. 6,815 words.
story based on and title taken from the temptation of adam by josh ritter. thanks to lessthangreat for holding my hand and being generally awesome.
Jon has been in the silo for forty-three days when he meets Spencer.
“Too bad this isn’t a cold war, otherwise we could keep each other warm,” Jon cracks after formal introductions are made. Spencer just raises an unimpressed eyebrow and jerks his thumb over his shoulder, suggesting none too subtly, “Maybe you should show me where the controls for the missile are kept?”
“I-yeah. Yeah, follow me.” Jon ducks his head, scratching at the back of his neck even as he feels it heating up with a blush. He leads Spencer down a short hallway, at the end of which is a big metal door that Jon always found to be pretty ominous looking. Beside the door is a keypad with a slot on the right side of the numbers; Jon motions to it. “You just have to-yeah, that,” he finishes lamely as Spencer swipes his access card and punches in the code.
“They taught me most of this stuff in the prep course,” Spencer says almost apologetically, shooting Jon a sideways glance as the door slides open with a hiss that always made Jon think of those movies his grandfather let him watch as a child, with the talking green puppet and lightsabers and Jedi masters (mostly he just remembers the sparkle in his grandfather’s eyes as he explained them to Jon, gesturing broadly and using the word “classic” a lot).
“Of course,” Jon says, following Spencer inside the control room, adding under his breath, “should’ve figured that.”
He’s still muttering to himself when Spencer stops short, causing Jon to collide with his backside. “Shit,” Jon says, righting himself. “Sorry, man.”
But Spencer isn’t paying him any attention. He’s looking around the room-at the screen covering the majority of the adjacent wall and the vast panel at the base of it, which is filled with hundreds of color-coordinated buttons, all framing one massive red button in the center-with poorly disguised awe.
“Wow,” Spencer breathes, then turns to look at Jon with an open, friendly smile. For the briefest of moments, Jon is taken aback, but he quickly recovers and returns the smile full force. That seems to snap Spencer out of it. He clears his throat and once again schools his face into the impassive, slightly bitchy mask he’s been wearing since he arrived. “I had some pretty extensive training before I got here, but would you mind if I took a look around-um, by myself? You know, got a feel for everything?”
Jon doesn’t point out that he knows all about what Spencer had to do to get here because he had to go through it himself, but he does remember how overwhelming it felt to first step into this room after months of learning the ins and outs of every button (one in particular) and piece of equipment, so he nods silently and exits.
-
According to the glowing digital numbers of clock in the common area, it’s a good hour and a half before Spencer emerges. By then Jon has taken to fiddling with the old acoustic guitar he had brought with him, humming a snatch of a melody he’s been trying to figure out since before he even stepped foot in the silo. He looks up when Spencer enters the room. The apples of his cheeks are slightly flushed and he looks a little dazed, and Jon unconsciously tightens his grip on the neck of the guitar.
“Everything in order?” he asks, only half joking. Spencer looks for a minute like he’s thinking of saying something but instead just nods. Jon sets aside his guitar. “Good. I’ll show you where the bunks and kitchen are.”
-
Days pass, and Jon manages to learn a few basic facts about Spencer Smith-like that he turned twenty-five exactly a week before he arrived, his middle name is James, and he has the bluest eyes Jon has ever seen. Other than some perfunctory small talk, though, Spencer mostly ignores Jon, choosing to quietly go about his duties instead. He eats a good hour before Jon, and by the time Jon enters the small kitchen-slash-dining area, Spencer’s clean dishes are already stacked neatly in the drainer and Spencer himself is curled into the corner of the common room couch, book propped open on his knees. Jon gets the feeling that Spencer isn’t purposefully attempting to be rude, just that maybe he’s in over his head.
Then one day Jon enters the control room to find Spencer hunched over with his elbows on the panel and concentrating so hard on whatever’s in his hands that he doesn’t appear to hear the hiss of the door opening or Jon’s approaching footsteps. Jon peers over Spencer’s shoulder and sees that he’s holding a photo that is worn around the edges and looks crinkled-probably from being folded and unfolded so many times, Jon thinks.
The photo shows a younger, beardless Spencer laughing, his eyes focused on something or someone out of frame, and another young man-this one painfully skinny, with a floral printed headband knotted in his dark, curly hair-resting his head on Spencer’s shoulder, a wide smile threatening to split his face in two. Jon feels a sharp tug in his chest, consciously realizing for the first time that he isn’t the only one who left people behind. It’s this thought that prompts him to clear his throat and ask,
“Who’s that?”
Spencer jumps and spins around in his chair, instinctively clutching the picture to his chest.
“Oh,” he says, sounding breathless. “Jon.”
“Who else would it be?” Jon asks with an easy smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, it’s fine.” Spencer scrubs a hand over his face. He looks exhausted. “I guess I was kind of distracted.”
“I noticed.” Jon gestures toward the crinkled object in Spencer’s hands. “That’s a nice picture, with the framing and the lighting. I mean, I used to take pictures, so I couldn’t help but notice. It was more of a hobby than anything, but um-” Jon realizes he’s babbling and cuts himself short. “Anyway. He a friend of yours?”
There’s a quiet moment where Spencer looks back at the photo and Jon can’t help but notice the flash of loneliness behind his eyes before his glances back up with a soft smile. “Yeah,” he says.
Jon can feel the weight of their isolation pressing heavy on his chest, and suddenly he feels much older than he is. He wonders what Spencer was like Above.
-
Sometimes Jon lies awake at night thinking about the deteriorating state of the world Above and how with every passing day he becomes increasingly sure that he will get the call to push that button and end everything. He thinks about his family and friends and whether or not they will be already dead by that point or if it’ll be him and that stupid button that takes care of it.
Jon wakes with a start. He sits up, pushing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes and kicking the covers away from where they’ve tangled around his feet. This nightmare had been particularly vivid and try as he might, Jon just can’t get the image of Tom reaching for him, his body broken beneath a pile of burning rubble, out of his head. With a heavy sigh, Jon swings his legs over the edge of the bed and pads quietly into the common area.
He’s in the middle of refilling the coffee maker when a soft voice says, “Jon?”
“Shit!” Jon jumps, and beans go flying everywhere. He spins around, raising the measuring cup threateningly, but it’s just Spencer--of course it’s just Spencer-sitting in the overstuffed recliner and looking surprised and more than a little amused. “Jesus fuck, Spencer, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry,” Spencer says, but he doesn’t really sound it. In fact, Jon’s pretty sure he’s being mocked. “I guess we’re even now.”
It’s the lightest he’s ever seen Spencer outside of that brief moment the first day they met, and Jon lets out a relieved chuckle, feeling something loosen inside him just a little bit.
“I guess so,” he says, finally lowering the measuring cup and taking a seat on the couch across from Spencer. The silence stretches out for a few moments longer, but it isn’t as tense as the ones Jon’s grown used to. Spencer is blinking politely at him from beneath sleep-tousled hair, his expression relaxed and soft, and Jon desperately wants to know everything about him. He decides to start slow, though. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No,” Spencer says. He sighs deeply and stares at his hands, folded almost primly in his lap. When he speaks again, it’s to them. “I just-some nights it’s hard to shut my brain off, you know? Things here can get kind of-”
He trails off with a vague hand gesture and Jon nods.
“I understand that,” Jon says, maybe a bit too earnestly because Spencer finally looks back up at him, eyes hopeful. And, god, Jon thinks, he’s too young for this-they both are. The need to reassure the other man clenches Jon’s gut painfully. “Being isolated like this, with the fate of the world literally resting on our shoulders, it’s-it’s unfair.” Jon focuses on the wall just left of Spencer’s head and swallows hard. He can feel the burn of Spencer’s gaze on him. “And every day I feel like I’m losing bits and pieces of myself, and I know once this is all over that I’ll never feel whole again.”
“How do you keep going?” Spencer asks into the heavy silence that follows.
Jon flashes him a smile-surprised to find that it’s mostly genuine-and says, “Well, for one, the company isn’t half bad.” He shrugs. “Not to mention easy on the eyes.”
Spencer blushes and ducks his head, lower lip caught between his teeth. Jon is smitten.
-
Spencer helps Jon clean up the scattered beans and makes a fresh pot of coffee, and over the next few hours, the two of them sit facing each other on the couch, legs crossed like they’re in elementary school, and talk about everything Jon has wished he could talk about since he arrived in this place.
He tells Spencer about Chicago and Dylan, about Tom and his photography. Spencer listens patiently as Jon talks about his family and holds his breath when Jon finally gets to the subject of Cassie. Jon tells Spencer how one day they were so in love that it seemed nothing could stop them and the next he was watching her die in front of him, holding her to his chest in the middle of the street while men in military garb rushed frantically around them, shouting orders that Jon couldn’t hear. They had taken her away from him, held him back as he tried to run after her. Almost immediately after she was buried, Jon agreed to this project, something that he’d been avoiding for months because of her. Because of how much he loved her.
He tells this entire story with his head ducked, and when he finishes, he’s breathing heavily and his fingers are gripping his mug so tightly that the knuckles are white. It isn’t until Spencer circles his wrist with a cool, dry palm that Jon looks up.
“Jon,” Spencer says, voice tight. Jon waves his free hand in a dismissive gesture, blinking rapidly against the stinging behind his eyes, and says, “This is supposed to be share time, Spencer Smith. It’s your turn.”
Spencer chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip and stares into his half-empty coffee mug, and Jon feels a flicker of something alive behind the Cassie-shaped hole in his heart. Then he remembers the incident from a few days earlier and frowns.
“What about that guy in the picture? Tell me about him.”
The warm, intimate smile that touches Spencer’s mouth is answer enough for Jon, but he tamps down his disappointment and forces himself to listen to Spencer anyway.
“Ryan,” he says, eyes flicking back up to Jon. “His name is Ryan. He-nothing horrible happened to him, not like-” He hesitates for a moment and Jon knows the rest. Not like what happened to your Cassie. “But I miss him. Every day, I miss him.”
There’s a new sort of tightening in Jon’s chest. He watches as Spencer takes a sip of his coffee and maybe he’s just a masochist, but he has to know. “And how long have you two been together?”
Spencer chokes on his coffee.
“What?” he sputters, wiping at his chin. His eyes are comically wide and if Jon wasn’t so confused, he’d probably be laughing at the stricken look on Spencer’s face. “He’s not-best friends, Jon. We’ve been best friends since we were kids.”
“Oh,” Jon says, stuck halfway between embarrassed and relieved. “I just assumed, sorry. The picture…” Spencer laughs, but it’s a warm sound, devoid of any mocking. Jon watches carefully the way it changes his entire face and feels another insistent tug of want. He smiles back, a little sheepishly. “I hope I didn’t offend you.”
“God, no.” Spencer runs a hand through his hair, further mussing it. “You wouldn’t be the first to make that mistake. He just-Ryan’s like my brother.” That’s when he tells Jon about Ryan’s past, about his dad and Spencer’s family taking him in-and then he tells him about Brendon. “We met him in high school and became sort of inseparable, especially when Ryan and Brendon started dating. Which, you know, is kind of incestuous when you think about it.”
He crinkles his nose at that and, oh god, Jon doesn’t stand a chance.
In the next half hour, Jon also learns that there are four other Spencer James Smiths (“you’d think by the time I came along they could’ve thought of something more creative.”), that Spencer lost his virginity when he was eighteen (“her name was Haley.”) and that the first time he kissed a boy was a year later (“Brent. He’s… I don’t like to talk about that.”).
It isn’t until the high-pitched beeping of his watch alarm interrupts Jon’s anecdote about Tom locking himself out of his apartment in the middle of February while wearing flip-flops that Jon looks down at his wrist and realizes with surprise that they’ve been talking all night.
-
Spencer starts eating his dinner later. Jon pretends not to be too delighted.
-
“Hey,” Spencer says one night a couple of weeks later, not looking up from his crossword as Jon enters the common area and flops on the couch beside him. His brow is crinkled in concentration and Jon fights the urge to reach over and smooth it out with his thumb. “What’s a five letter word for ‘apocalypse’?”
“W-W-I-I-I.”
Spencer laughs, short and surprised, and Jon can’t take not doing anything anymore, he just can’t. He reaches over and pulls Spencer’s feet, which are hovering so close that his toes are brushing Jon’s thigh, into his lap. When Spencer looks over, though, Jon is staring at the ceiling, head resting against the back of the couch and thumb casually sweeping over Spencer’s ankle beneath his pajama bottoms. He doesn’t say anything, and Jon counts it as a victory.
They sit like that for an indeterminate amount of time, comfortably silent. Occasionally, Jon lets his fingers dip down to brush against the arch of Spencer’s foot, and Spencer will twitch, a smirk tugging at his lips, but never jerk away. Finally, Spencer marks his page with a pen and sets the book aside, wiggling his feet to get Jon’s attention. He smiles when Jon rolls his head to the side and raises a questioning eyebrow.
“Hey,” he says again.
“Hi,” Jon answers.
“I think you should play something.”
“What, like tic-tac-toe, or-”
“No.” Spencer rolls his eyes, but the smile stays in place. He motions to the wall parallel to them where Jon’s guitar is propped in the corner. “I think you should play me something on your guitar. I’ve seen you fiddling with it a few times, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard you play anything.”
“I’m not very good,” Jon warns, even as he lifts Spencer’s feet away and stands. “I’m better at bass, but I could only bring a limited amount of personal items with me, and my grandfather gave me this guitar, so.”
“No brainer,” Spencer agrees with a solemn nod, pulling his legs to him and making room for Jon and the instrument. Jon strums a few random chords then adjusts the knobs before glancing over at Spencer and asking, “Any requests?”
“What about that one you were playing the first day I got here? I liked that one.”
“That’s-it isn’t exactly finished.”
Spencer’s eyebrows fly up. “You wrote that?” Jon nods and ducks his head sheepishly, suddenly feeling more than a little exposed. Spencer’s hand comes into view, resting just beside Jon’s on the neck of the guitar, and when Jon looks up, Spencer is leaning forward, their faces only inches apart. “Hey, it’s cool if you don’t want to. I just thought… I mean, it sounded really good, is all.”
The close proximity is making Jon light-headed, even more so when he takes a deep, steadying breath and gets a whiff of Spencer’s shampoo instead. He leans back so quickly that Spencer’s hand falls away from the guitar and Spencer himself looks surprised for a split second. Jon struggles to control his breathing.
“No,” he says once he feels like he can speak again without his voice shaking. “I don’t mind playing it. You have to promise not to laugh, though.”
“I would never,” Spencer says so seriously that it doesn’t even cross Jon’s mind not to believe him.
-
That night Jon dreams not of war and chaos, but about Spencer’s eyes looking up at him through dark lashes, and Spencer’s lips kissing a soft path down Jon’s body, and Spencer’s skin, smooth and bare underneath Jon’s hands.
Jon wakes up hard and is unsurprised to discover that he slept through the entire night. He sighs, rolling onto his back and slipping a hand down the front of his boxers. He doesn’t have to be in the control room for another half hour anyway.
-
Nothing changes. It doesn’t move beyond casual flirtation, and for weeks Jon endures enough thinly veiled innuendos, hips bumping together while they do dishes, and heated glances when one thinks the other isn’t looking that he’s sure the persistent itch of want under his skin is going to drive him mad. He sits at the end of their day with Spencer resting his head in Jon’s lap, Jon threading his fingers through Spencer’s soft hair, and listens while Spencer talks about whatever’s on his mind (Jon finds it hard to believe at times like these that they once went whole days without talking at all).
Then one night Jon accidentally discovers that Spencer is ticklish.
“Don’t.” Spencer jerks away and sits up, rubbing at his side where Jon had dared to let his fingers trail down moments before. Jon feels a flash of hurt, and it must show on his face because Spencer looks vaguely embarrassed as he mumbles, “I’m, um. Kind of ticklish.”
And, oh, Jon thinks. There’s no way he can pass up an opportunity like this. Spencer must realize this, too-Jon tries not to dwell on how well Spencer can read him now-and he starts edging away, narrowing his eyes and saying Jon’s name warningly.
“What?” Jon asks. He puts on his best innocent face and holds out his arms. “Spence, what? I just want a hug.”
“I don’t-Jon, no!” Spencer exclaims as Jon lunges. A brief struggle ensues that ends with Jon on top, pinning Spencer’s thighs between his. He ignores Spencer’s escalating pleas and digs his fingers into the sensitive spot beneath Spencer’s ribs. Spencer squirms in a desperate attempt to escape. “Jon!” he gasps breathlessly, his face red from laughter. “Jon, stop, I can’t-I can’t breathe!”
Jon relents, but only slightly, his fingers tracing light patterns against Spencer’s side, and asks, “Are you willing to admit you were wrong to mock my footwear?” Jon wiggles his fingers more, and Spencer shakes his head furiously and gives Jon’s chest a few fruitless pushes. “Admit that flip-flops are the superior shoe and maybe I will shoe you mercy!”
“Never!” Spencer cries just as he gives a particularly violent twist that sends both men tumbling off the couch. They land on the ground in a tangle of limbs and Spencer takes advantage of his position on top to flick Jon hard on the nose. “Asshole.”
But he’s smiling. Jon smiles, too, then even wider when Spencer drops his head onto Jon’s chest, breathing heavily. They lie like that until their heart rates return to normal, and then lie there a little longer. Jon rests one hand on Spencer’s lower back and tangles the other in Spencer’s hair, taking a moment to savor how every second spent with Spencer leaves him feeling more and more human again. Thinking this, Jon tugs on Spencer’s hair, prompting him to lift his head.
“Hey,” he says when Spencer does. But their noses are almost touching and Spencer’s eyes are just a bright blue blur and Jon can’t remember for the life of him what he wanted to say.
“Jon.” Spencer’s voice is breathy and rough and unlike Jon has ever heard it before. The moment stretches on with neither of them making a move, and then Spencer is blinking dazedly and pulling away. He mutters something about going to bed and rushes from the room, leaving Jon lying on the floor, cold and confused.
-
The next day is predictably awkward. Spencer doesn’t speak to Jon more than absolutely necessary, and when Jon makes a joke in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood, Spencer only allows him a tight smile. When Jon comes into the kitchen for dinner, Spencer’s dishes are already in the drainer. Spencer is nowhere to be found.
The next few days follow a similar pattern, and Jon decides on the fourth one that he’s had enough. He rummages through the trunk at the base of his cot until he finds the rolled up paper bag jammed into the far back corner. He clutches it to his chest, remembering what he’d said to himself when he’d hid it there. Just in case.
He’s in the middle of taking a deep breath, hand poised to knock, when the door to Spencer’s bunk swings open. Spencer says Jon’s name, surprised.
“Peace offering,” Jon says, holding up the crinkled bag and watching Spencer’s eyes light up. “I hate when we’re awkward, and I’m not sure what I did wrong, but I think this will make it better.”
Spencer exhales loudly and looks like he wants to say something important, but instead he goes with, “Jon Walker. I didn’t know you cared.”
Liar, Jon thinks.
-
“The reason Ryan and Brendon work so well together is they, um. They-” Spencer trails off, distracted by the invisible patterns his fingers are tracing in the air. He’s lying on the floor of the common area with his head next to Jon’s, their bodies stretched out in opposite directions. Jon turns so that the tip of his nose brushes against Spencer’s cheekbone and prompts, “They…”
Spencer blinks. “What?”
“You were about to tell me why Ryan and Brendon work together.”
“Oh, yeah.” A slow smile spreads over Spencer’s face and Jon wonders why he never thought to get him high before. “Right.” He lets his arm flop to his side and sighs. “It’s because they have such contradicting personalities. They can’t help but balance each other out, you know? Sometimes Ryan can retreat into himself and seriously stay that way for weeks. He’s sort of impossible like that, and he’ll forget to do simple things like eat and sleep if you let him. And Brendon.” Spencer’s smile shifts into something different, something softer. “Brendon is all contained energy and affection in this compact little body. He brings out the best in Ryan. And I’ve yet to meet anybody who is able to calm Brendon like Ryan can.”
“That’s awesome,” Jon says and is surprised at how much he means it, how connected he feels to these people he’s never met.
“Yeah, it is.” Spencer pauses for a beat. “Hey, Jon?”
“Hmm?” Jon nuzzles Spencer’s cheek and Spencer leans into it with a content noise. It’s almost inaudible when he says, “Tell me about Cassie?”
Jon freezes.
“Jon.” Spencer flips onto his stomach and props himself up on his elbows. Jon stares at the ceiling even as he feels Spencer’s gaze practically begging him to look over. “Jon, please. I’m sorry, I just-I can’t stop thinking about it, and. Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”
“Why do you want to know?” Jon asks quietly, still not looking at Spencer.
“I don’t know,” Spencer says, and he sounds so young and lost that Jon’s heart breaks a little. “You don’t have to-”
Jon cuts him off with, “We met in college at some mutual friend’s party. And she was just-she was so beautiful that I was almost too intimidated to talk to her. By the time I got up the nerve, I was so smashed. I made a complete ass of myself.” Jon laughs and it only hurts a little. “But I guess I did something right.”
“I’m so sorry,” Spencer says again, but it means something different this time.
“There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about her,” Jon continues without acknowledging Spencer because if he doesn’t get this out now, he never will. “She was everything.” And finally--finally--he glances over at Spencer. “Or at least I thought so.”
He watches Spencer’s throat working as he swallows hard.
“Do you think you’ll ever feel that way again?” Spencer asks, and Jon doesn’t hesitate at all when he says, “Yes.”
-
They wake up in a pile on the floor. One of Spencer’s legs is wound knee to ankle around Jon’s, his hand fisted tightly in Jon’s shirt, and Jon has an arm locked around Spencer’s back, fingertips wedged just under the hem of his pajama pants. There’s a crick in Jon’s neck and he really has to pee, but he allows himself a few more moments anyway.
-
“So here’s a fun fact,” Spencer says as he enters the dining area, heading straight for the coffee and looking far more amused than anyone whose hair is sticking up in a dozen different directions should have the right to. Jon raises an eyebrow. “It turns out that Jon Walker,” here he pauses for dramatic effect and takes an emphatic sip of coffee, “is a snorer.”
Jon’s eyes narrow. “You lie.”
“Sadly, no.” Spencer slides into the seat next to Jon. “This is very true. The truest of trues, even. I felt like I was sleeping with a buzzsaw.”
Jon ignores the flutter in his chest at the words ‘sleeping with’ (because, hello, he’s not a woman) and says, “You are cruel man, Spencer Smith. Your lies and falsehoods cut me deep.”
“I am a truthful man,” Spencer corrects. “And the truth, Jon, the truth will always set you free.”
“Huh,” Jon says. “I guess you’re right.”
Then he leans over and kisses Spencer.
It’s chaste and close-mouthed, just a dry press of lips against lips, but Jon still feels like his heart is going to beat a dent into his ribcage. He pulls away, just barely, and darts his tongue out to flick at Spencer’s bottom lip. The shaky inhale he gets in response is enough permission for Jon, and he presses in again, hands coming up to frame Spencer’s face. Jon can feel Spencer’s pulse fluttering wildly beneath his fingertips as he tilts Spencer’s head back and barely manages to hold back a pleased moan when Spencer opens his mouth against his and Spencer’s tongue is suddenly sliding into Jon’s mouth (Spencer tastes like stale pot and sleep, and Jon thinks he’s perfect). One of Spencer’s hands slips around the back of Jon’s neck and the other slides under the sleeve of Jon’s shirt, squeezing tightly at his bicep.
“Spence,” Jon says against his mouth and again as he kisses a path across Spencer’s cheek and down to his neck, stopping to suck and bite at the patch of skin just below Spencer’s ear, the same patch of skin that has been driving Jon crazy for months now.
“Jon,” Spencer answers, pushing at Jon’s chest to get him to lean back, which he does with a bemused look. Spencer’s eyes are still hazy with lust, but Jon can see what’s about to happen and winces preemptively. “Fuck, Jon, we can’t-”
“No,” Jon says quickly. “No, we really can.”
“I-” Spencer shakes his head, pushes away from the table, and walks out on Jon for the second time that week.
-
There aren’t many places to hide in the bunker, but Spencer manages anyhow. Eventually, Jon gives up looking.
-
Jon writes Spencer a song. He titles it “Spencer, You’re a Fine Girl” and tapes it to the door of Spencer’s bunk. Even though he doesn’t hear any movement for the rest of the day, when Jon goes to turn in for the night, he notices that the song is gone from Spencer’s door and there’s a note taped to his own.
Patience is a virtue, it reads. Then underneath, in smaller script: I’m sorry.
-
There’s a muffled thump and a curse, and it doesn’t even occur to Jon to be frightened until there’s a shadowy figure hovering over him, pressing a hand over his mouth.
“Don’t talk,” Spencer says. “Just let me get this out, okay?” Jon nods, still not entirely certain this isn’t a dream, and Spencer moves his hand away before taking a seat on the cot. Even through the layers of cloth, Jon can feel the warmth of Spencer’s hip against his thigh. “You caught me off guard the other morning. I think I’ve been trying to avoid this… thing-whatever it is-for a while now. I just-I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of your grief or anything. I wouldn’t do that, especially not to you.”
Jon isn’t sure whether to smack Spencer or hug him until he can’t breathe. He settles on pushing himself into a sitting position and asking, “Can I talk now?” Spencer shrugs and looks at his feet. Before he can stop himself, Jon reaches over and hooks a finger under Spencer’s chin, tilting his face so that their gazes meet. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I kissed you. Yes, what happened to Cassie was horrible and something that will be with me for the rest of my life, but I can’t keep living in the past. She would want me to be happy, and god, you, Spencer. You make me happy.”
The white of Spencer’s smile manages to cut right through the darkness. Jon always suspected it would.
-
“Are you sure?” Spencer asks, and Jon rolls his eyes. Spencer is lying naked and sweaty beneath an equally naked and sweaty Jon, and three of Jon’s fingers are currently in his ass. Jon says, “Stop asking that.”
“Sorry, I just-fuck,” Spencer hisses, squeezing his eyes shut, and Jon curls his fingers up again with a smirk. A high-pitched whine emits from somewhere deep in Spencer’s throat and he spreads his legs a little wider, panting, “Just fuck me already.”
“What’s the magic word?” Jon asks, partly to be an asshole but mostly because he wants to prolong this experience as much as possible. He’s thinking Spencer might not feel the same way at the moment, if the way he’s glaring his any indication.
“Fuck you.” The effect is ruined, though, when Jon twists his fingers sharply and Spencer’s voice breaks on the second word. “Okay, fine. Please, Jon.”
“‘Please, Jon’ what?”
A droplet of sweat works its way down the side of Spencer’s nose and into the corner of his mouth. Spencer licks it away slowly, says, “Please fuck me.”
That’s all it takes to set Jon into motion. He pulls away and reaches for the discarded lube bottle, slicking himself up quickly and sloppily before leaning back over Spencer and settling the other man’s legs high on his waist. He lines himself up with Spencer’s opening and says, “Spence, look at me.”
Their eyes stay open and locked the entire time, and when Spencer comes, Jon thinks he’s never seen anything so beautiful.
-
It’s three weeks later when Jon is watching Spencer go about his weekly duties of cleaning the silo that Jon thinks he might be in love. He lies awake that night, trying out the words by pressing them silently into the bare skin of Spencer’s shoulder while Spencer sleeps, his body curved into Jon’s like a comma.
Another week passes before Jon first feels the overwhelming urge to say it out loud. He’s sitting on a stool next to the kitchen counter, strumming at his guitar and stopping occasionally to make a couple notes on the sheet in front of him, when Spencer hooks his chin over Jon’s shoulder.
“Hey,” he says, kissing underneath Jon’s ear and pressing his smile into Jon’s neck. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”
Jon snorts and crosses out an entire line of the melody. “It’s been an hour.”
“Too long,” Spencer repeats and “yeah,” Jon agrees.
Jon sets aside his guitar and spins around on the stool, pulling Spencer by the hips until he’s between Jon’s legs. “Come here,” he says, lifting his head to meet Spencer halfway for a kiss that Jon feels all the way in his toes.
“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes into Spencer’s mouth and Spencer answers by kissing him even harder, tongue tracing the ridges on the roof of Jon’s mouth, teeth nipping at Jon’s lower lip. “So fucking perfect.”
When they part, Spencer’s cheeks are tinged with pink and his hair is rumpled from Jon’s hands, and Jon feels the words in his throat. He could say it right now, he realizes, he wants to say it right now. More than anything, he wants Spencer to know.
But the words don’t come. He gets as far as “Spencer, I-” before he chickens out. Instead, he reaches for the pen he left sitting on the countertop. Spencer watches with curious eyes as Jon turns his hand palm-up in his own and draws the outline of a heart in it.
In the end, it happens when Jon least expects it. They’re sitting at the kitchen table one random morning, drinking coffee in the kind of companionable silence that only seems to occur in the earlier hours, and Jon looks over at Spencer, his chest constricting when he sees Spencer smiling fondly at him, his eyes bright. He hooks an ankle around Spencer’s and,
“I love you,” Spencer says.
Jon sets down his mug with a thump. Enough speechless seconds pass that Spencer starts to fidget nervously and Jon realizes, oh shit. He loves me.
He leans over, presses a kiss to Spencer’s jaw, his mouth, and when he pulls back, Spencer’s answering smile could light up a small country.
“Spencer,” Jon breathes and reaches out to him.
-
They get the call eleven months to the day after Jon met Spencer.
Spencer finds Jon hiding in the nook between the common room couch and the wall, where he had chosen to flee to the moment Spencer had picked up the phone. Spencer crouches in front of him, steadying himself with his hands on Jon’s knees.
“It’s over,” he says. Jon sucks in a sharp breathe as images of his brothers and Tom flash across his mind’s eye. “We won.”
“What?” Jon says after a pause. His brain can’t keep up. He’s still picturing Spencer’s Ryan and Brendon, people he only knows from the photographs Spencer keeps tucked safely away under his mattress, clutching each other as the world burns around them, when Spencer speaks again.
“They’re giving things a week to settle down, and then they’re coming to get us.” He grabs Jon’s face and sways forward until their foreheads are touching. “Fuck, Jon, we’re going home.”
-
Jon starts having nightmares again. Instead of the broken bodies of his loved ones, though, they feature Spencer-or, more specifically, his absence in Jon’s life. In one, Jon watches, helpless, as Spencer floats away on a small boat, waving to Jon and flanked on either side by Ryan and Brendon. He’s smiling, wide and happy, and his mouth doesn’t move, but Jon hears his voice all around him. It says, “I don’t need you anymore.”
Jon wakes gasping, and Spencer is there, pulling Jon to his chest, eyebrows wrinkled in concern. He presses a kiss to the crown of Jon’s head and murmurs words of reassurance. Jon rests his lips against Spencer’s pulse point, feeling the steady lub-a-dub of his heartbeat beneath them.
“I love you,” he whispers.
Spencer laughs, quiet and fond. “Go back to sleep, Jon,” he says.
-
They have four days left in the silo when the thought first occurs to Jon. He’s hanging out in the control room even though it’s not his shift. Originally, he’d come there under the pretense of asking Spencer what he’d like for dinner, but they both knew the real reason he was there. Jon suspects Spencer doesn’t mind, though, and that he’s not fond of being apart from Jon for too long these days, either.
The only noise in the room is the clacking of computer keys as Spencer enters data with his back turned to Jon. It’s then that Jon stops spinning his chair in idle circles and looks intently at the big red button, as if seeing it for the first time. All it would take would be a simple push, and he and Spencer could be together forever. Jon’s fingers twitch unconsciously and he turns away, disgusted with himself.
That night Jon doesn’t sleep. He holds Spencer tight against him and stares up into the darkness, trying to remember what the night sky looks like, and if the war has changed it. He wonders what else will be different and whether or not he’ll be able to deal with it without Spencer by his side.
Because Jon knows-beyond any shadow of a doubt, he knows-that he could have fallen just as hard for Spencer if they had met Above. He thinks vaguely that he should feel guilty for being so sure of this because he had loved Cassie with every molecule in his body. He pictures her face and is sad to discover that some of the details are blurry, but he can still hear her voice, clear as day, and knows she would call him a dumbass for fretting over this. The thought makes him smile.
When he finally drifts off to sleep, he dreams of Spencer and Cassie walking hand-in-hand down a dirt path that is framed by trees blooming with big red buttons.
-
On their last night, Jon and Spencer ransack the rations and eat the remainder of them, then have sex on the kitchen floor.
“I feel sorry for the poor bastard who’s job it’ll be to clean up all these come stains,” Spencer says, standing.
Jon laughs, a short, sharp sound that echoes off the walls, and accepts the towel Spencer is holding out to him as he stands as well. He half-heartedly wipes off and throws the towel aside, grabbing Spencer’s wrist and pulling him closer for a lingering kiss. Spencer bumps their noses together gently; Jon smiles against his mouth.
“Where are you going to go? After this?” Spencer asks, not pulling away. His eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is in a taut, anxious line. It’s the first time that either of them has acknowledged their future together after they leave. Jon kisses in between Spencer’s eyes, smoothing away the worried crinkle with his lips, and the answer is so glaringly simple that Jon can’t believe he ever thought there was any other choice.
So he stands there, naked and post-coital in the middle of a military missile silo, and says to Spencer James Smith the Fifth, “With you.”
-
When they step outside for the first time, Jon has to blink against the brightness. He feels something bump against the back of his hand and allows Spencer to tangle their fingers together.
R, jon/spencer. 6,815 words.
story based on and title taken from the temptation of adam by josh ritter. thanks to lessthangreat for holding my hand and being generally awesome.
Jon has been in the silo for forty-three days when he meets Spencer.
“Too bad this isn’t a cold war, otherwise we could keep each other warm,” Jon cracks after formal introductions are made. Spencer just raises an unimpressed eyebrow and jerks his thumb over his shoulder, suggesting none too subtly, “Maybe you should show me where the controls for the missile are kept?”
“I-yeah. Yeah, follow me.” Jon ducks his head, scratching at the back of his neck even as he feels it heating up with a blush. He leads Spencer down a short hallway, at the end of which is a big metal door that Jon always found to be pretty ominous looking. Beside the door is a keypad with a slot on the right side of the numbers; Jon motions to it. “You just have to-yeah, that,” he finishes lamely as Spencer swipes his access card and punches in the code.
“They taught me most of this stuff in the prep course,” Spencer says almost apologetically, shooting Jon a sideways glance as the door slides open with a hiss that always made Jon think of those movies his grandfather let him watch as a child, with the talking green puppet and lightsabers and Jedi masters (mostly he just remembers the sparkle in his grandfather’s eyes as he explained them to Jon, gesturing broadly and using the word “classic” a lot).
“Of course,” Jon says, following Spencer inside the control room, adding under his breath, “should’ve figured that.”
He’s still muttering to himself when Spencer stops short, causing Jon to collide with his backside. “Shit,” Jon says, righting himself. “Sorry, man.”
But Spencer isn’t paying him any attention. He’s looking around the room-at the screen covering the majority of the adjacent wall and the vast panel at the base of it, which is filled with hundreds of color-coordinated buttons, all framing one massive red button in the center-with poorly disguised awe.
“Wow,” Spencer breathes, then turns to look at Jon with an open, friendly smile. For the briefest of moments, Jon is taken aback, but he quickly recovers and returns the smile full force. That seems to snap Spencer out of it. He clears his throat and once again schools his face into the impassive, slightly bitchy mask he’s been wearing since he arrived. “I had some pretty extensive training before I got here, but would you mind if I took a look around-um, by myself? You know, got a feel for everything?”
Jon doesn’t point out that he knows all about what Spencer had to do to get here because he had to go through it himself, but he does remember how overwhelming it felt to first step into this room after months of learning the ins and outs of every button (one in particular) and piece of equipment, so he nods silently and exits.
-
According to the glowing digital numbers of clock in the common area, it’s a good hour and a half before Spencer emerges. By then Jon has taken to fiddling with the old acoustic guitar he had brought with him, humming a snatch of a melody he’s been trying to figure out since before he even stepped foot in the silo. He looks up when Spencer enters the room. The apples of his cheeks are slightly flushed and he looks a little dazed, and Jon unconsciously tightens his grip on the neck of the guitar.
“Everything in order?” he asks, only half joking. Spencer looks for a minute like he’s thinking of saying something but instead just nods. Jon sets aside his guitar. “Good. I’ll show you where the bunks and kitchen are.”
-
Days pass, and Jon manages to learn a few basic facts about Spencer Smith-like that he turned twenty-five exactly a week before he arrived, his middle name is James, and he has the bluest eyes Jon has ever seen. Other than some perfunctory small talk, though, Spencer mostly ignores Jon, choosing to quietly go about his duties instead. He eats a good hour before Jon, and by the time Jon enters the small kitchen-slash-dining area, Spencer’s clean dishes are already stacked neatly in the drainer and Spencer himself is curled into the corner of the common room couch, book propped open on his knees. Jon gets the feeling that Spencer isn’t purposefully attempting to be rude, just that maybe he’s in over his head.
Then one day Jon enters the control room to find Spencer hunched over with his elbows on the panel and concentrating so hard on whatever’s in his hands that he doesn’t appear to hear the hiss of the door opening or Jon’s approaching footsteps. Jon peers over Spencer’s shoulder and sees that he’s holding a photo that is worn around the edges and looks crinkled-probably from being folded and unfolded so many times, Jon thinks.
The photo shows a younger, beardless Spencer laughing, his eyes focused on something or someone out of frame, and another young man-this one painfully skinny, with a floral printed headband knotted in his dark, curly hair-resting his head on Spencer’s shoulder, a wide smile threatening to split his face in two. Jon feels a sharp tug in his chest, consciously realizing for the first time that he isn’t the only one who left people behind. It’s this thought that prompts him to clear his throat and ask,
“Who’s that?”
Spencer jumps and spins around in his chair, instinctively clutching the picture to his chest.
“Oh,” he says, sounding breathless. “Jon.”
“Who else would it be?” Jon asks with an easy smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, it’s fine.” Spencer scrubs a hand over his face. He looks exhausted. “I guess I was kind of distracted.”
“I noticed.” Jon gestures toward the crinkled object in Spencer’s hands. “That’s a nice picture, with the framing and the lighting. I mean, I used to take pictures, so I couldn’t help but notice. It was more of a hobby than anything, but um-” Jon realizes he’s babbling and cuts himself short. “Anyway. He a friend of yours?”
There’s a quiet moment where Spencer looks back at the photo and Jon can’t help but notice the flash of loneliness behind his eyes before his glances back up with a soft smile. “Yeah,” he says.
Jon can feel the weight of their isolation pressing heavy on his chest, and suddenly he feels much older than he is. He wonders what Spencer was like Above.
-
Sometimes Jon lies awake at night thinking about the deteriorating state of the world Above and how with every passing day he becomes increasingly sure that he will get the call to push that button and end everything. He thinks about his family and friends and whether or not they will be already dead by that point or if it’ll be him and that stupid button that takes care of it.
Jon wakes with a start. He sits up, pushing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes and kicking the covers away from where they’ve tangled around his feet. This nightmare had been particularly vivid and try as he might, Jon just can’t get the image of Tom reaching for him, his body broken beneath a pile of burning rubble, out of his head. With a heavy sigh, Jon swings his legs over the edge of the bed and pads quietly into the common area.
He’s in the middle of refilling the coffee maker when a soft voice says, “Jon?”
“Shit!” Jon jumps, and beans go flying everywhere. He spins around, raising the measuring cup threateningly, but it’s just Spencer--of course it’s just Spencer-sitting in the overstuffed recliner and looking surprised and more than a little amused. “Jesus fuck, Spencer, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry,” Spencer says, but he doesn’t really sound it. In fact, Jon’s pretty sure he’s being mocked. “I guess we’re even now.”
It’s the lightest he’s ever seen Spencer outside of that brief moment the first day they met, and Jon lets out a relieved chuckle, feeling something loosen inside him just a little bit.
“I guess so,” he says, finally lowering the measuring cup and taking a seat on the couch across from Spencer. The silence stretches out for a few moments longer, but it isn’t as tense as the ones Jon’s grown used to. Spencer is blinking politely at him from beneath sleep-tousled hair, his expression relaxed and soft, and Jon desperately wants to know everything about him. He decides to start slow, though. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No,” Spencer says. He sighs deeply and stares at his hands, folded almost primly in his lap. When he speaks again, it’s to them. “I just-some nights it’s hard to shut my brain off, you know? Things here can get kind of-”
He trails off with a vague hand gesture and Jon nods.
“I understand that,” Jon says, maybe a bit too earnestly because Spencer finally looks back up at him, eyes hopeful. And, god, Jon thinks, he’s too young for this-they both are. The need to reassure the other man clenches Jon’s gut painfully. “Being isolated like this, with the fate of the world literally resting on our shoulders, it’s-it’s unfair.” Jon focuses on the wall just left of Spencer’s head and swallows hard. He can feel the burn of Spencer’s gaze on him. “And every day I feel like I’m losing bits and pieces of myself, and I know once this is all over that I’ll never feel whole again.”
“How do you keep going?” Spencer asks into the heavy silence that follows.
Jon flashes him a smile-surprised to find that it’s mostly genuine-and says, “Well, for one, the company isn’t half bad.” He shrugs. “Not to mention easy on the eyes.”
Spencer blushes and ducks his head, lower lip caught between his teeth. Jon is smitten.
-
Spencer helps Jon clean up the scattered beans and makes a fresh pot of coffee, and over the next few hours, the two of them sit facing each other on the couch, legs crossed like they’re in elementary school, and talk about everything Jon has wished he could talk about since he arrived in this place.
He tells Spencer about Chicago and Dylan, about Tom and his photography. Spencer listens patiently as Jon talks about his family and holds his breath when Jon finally gets to the subject of Cassie. Jon tells Spencer how one day they were so in love that it seemed nothing could stop them and the next he was watching her die in front of him, holding her to his chest in the middle of the street while men in military garb rushed frantically around them, shouting orders that Jon couldn’t hear. They had taken her away from him, held him back as he tried to run after her. Almost immediately after she was buried, Jon agreed to this project, something that he’d been avoiding for months because of her. Because of how much he loved her.
He tells this entire story with his head ducked, and when he finishes, he’s breathing heavily and his fingers are gripping his mug so tightly that the knuckles are white. It isn’t until Spencer circles his wrist with a cool, dry palm that Jon looks up.
“Jon,” Spencer says, voice tight. Jon waves his free hand in a dismissive gesture, blinking rapidly against the stinging behind his eyes, and says, “This is supposed to be share time, Spencer Smith. It’s your turn.”
Spencer chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip and stares into his half-empty coffee mug, and Jon feels a flicker of something alive behind the Cassie-shaped hole in his heart. Then he remembers the incident from a few days earlier and frowns.
“What about that guy in the picture? Tell me about him.”
The warm, intimate smile that touches Spencer’s mouth is answer enough for Jon, but he tamps down his disappointment and forces himself to listen to Spencer anyway.
“Ryan,” he says, eyes flicking back up to Jon. “His name is Ryan. He-nothing horrible happened to him, not like-” He hesitates for a moment and Jon knows the rest. Not like what happened to your Cassie. “But I miss him. Every day, I miss him.”
There’s a new sort of tightening in Jon’s chest. He watches as Spencer takes a sip of his coffee and maybe he’s just a masochist, but he has to know. “And how long have you two been together?”
Spencer chokes on his coffee.
“What?” he sputters, wiping at his chin. His eyes are comically wide and if Jon wasn’t so confused, he’d probably be laughing at the stricken look on Spencer’s face. “He’s not-best friends, Jon. We’ve been best friends since we were kids.”
“Oh,” Jon says, stuck halfway between embarrassed and relieved. “I just assumed, sorry. The picture…” Spencer laughs, but it’s a warm sound, devoid of any mocking. Jon watches carefully the way it changes his entire face and feels another insistent tug of want. He smiles back, a little sheepishly. “I hope I didn’t offend you.”
“God, no.” Spencer runs a hand through his hair, further mussing it. “You wouldn’t be the first to make that mistake. He just-Ryan’s like my brother.” That’s when he tells Jon about Ryan’s past, about his dad and Spencer’s family taking him in-and then he tells him about Brendon. “We met him in high school and became sort of inseparable, especially when Ryan and Brendon started dating. Which, you know, is kind of incestuous when you think about it.”
He crinkles his nose at that and, oh god, Jon doesn’t stand a chance.
In the next half hour, Jon also learns that there are four other Spencer James Smiths (“you’d think by the time I came along they could’ve thought of something more creative.”), that Spencer lost his virginity when he was eighteen (“her name was Haley.”) and that the first time he kissed a boy was a year later (“Brent. He’s… I don’t like to talk about that.”).
It isn’t until the high-pitched beeping of his watch alarm interrupts Jon’s anecdote about Tom locking himself out of his apartment in the middle of February while wearing flip-flops that Jon looks down at his wrist and realizes with surprise that they’ve been talking all night.
-
Spencer starts eating his dinner later. Jon pretends not to be too delighted.
-
“Hey,” Spencer says one night a couple of weeks later, not looking up from his crossword as Jon enters the common area and flops on the couch beside him. His brow is crinkled in concentration and Jon fights the urge to reach over and smooth it out with his thumb. “What’s a five letter word for ‘apocalypse’?”
“W-W-I-I-I.”
Spencer laughs, short and surprised, and Jon can’t take not doing anything anymore, he just can’t. He reaches over and pulls Spencer’s feet, which are hovering so close that his toes are brushing Jon’s thigh, into his lap. When Spencer looks over, though, Jon is staring at the ceiling, head resting against the back of the couch and thumb casually sweeping over Spencer’s ankle beneath his pajama bottoms. He doesn’t say anything, and Jon counts it as a victory.
They sit like that for an indeterminate amount of time, comfortably silent. Occasionally, Jon lets his fingers dip down to brush against the arch of Spencer’s foot, and Spencer will twitch, a smirk tugging at his lips, but never jerk away. Finally, Spencer marks his page with a pen and sets the book aside, wiggling his feet to get Jon’s attention. He smiles when Jon rolls his head to the side and raises a questioning eyebrow.
“Hey,” he says again.
“Hi,” Jon answers.
“I think you should play something.”
“What, like tic-tac-toe, or-”
“No.” Spencer rolls his eyes, but the smile stays in place. He motions to the wall parallel to them where Jon’s guitar is propped in the corner. “I think you should play me something on your guitar. I’ve seen you fiddling with it a few times, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard you play anything.”
“I’m not very good,” Jon warns, even as he lifts Spencer’s feet away and stands. “I’m better at bass, but I could only bring a limited amount of personal items with me, and my grandfather gave me this guitar, so.”
“No brainer,” Spencer agrees with a solemn nod, pulling his legs to him and making room for Jon and the instrument. Jon strums a few random chords then adjusts the knobs before glancing over at Spencer and asking, “Any requests?”
“What about that one you were playing the first day I got here? I liked that one.”
“That’s-it isn’t exactly finished.”
Spencer’s eyebrows fly up. “You wrote that?” Jon nods and ducks his head sheepishly, suddenly feeling more than a little exposed. Spencer’s hand comes into view, resting just beside Jon’s on the neck of the guitar, and when Jon looks up, Spencer is leaning forward, their faces only inches apart. “Hey, it’s cool if you don’t want to. I just thought… I mean, it sounded really good, is all.”
The close proximity is making Jon light-headed, even more so when he takes a deep, steadying breath and gets a whiff of Spencer’s shampoo instead. He leans back so quickly that Spencer’s hand falls away from the guitar and Spencer himself looks surprised for a split second. Jon struggles to control his breathing.
“No,” he says once he feels like he can speak again without his voice shaking. “I don’t mind playing it. You have to promise not to laugh, though.”
“I would never,” Spencer says so seriously that it doesn’t even cross Jon’s mind not to believe him.
-
That night Jon dreams not of war and chaos, but about Spencer’s eyes looking up at him through dark lashes, and Spencer’s lips kissing a soft path down Jon’s body, and Spencer’s skin, smooth and bare underneath Jon’s hands.
Jon wakes up hard and is unsurprised to discover that he slept through the entire night. He sighs, rolling onto his back and slipping a hand down the front of his boxers. He doesn’t have to be in the control room for another half hour anyway.
-
Nothing changes. It doesn’t move beyond casual flirtation, and for weeks Jon endures enough thinly veiled innuendos, hips bumping together while they do dishes, and heated glances when one thinks the other isn’t looking that he’s sure the persistent itch of want under his skin is going to drive him mad. He sits at the end of their day with Spencer resting his head in Jon’s lap, Jon threading his fingers through Spencer’s soft hair, and listens while Spencer talks about whatever’s on his mind (Jon finds it hard to believe at times like these that they once went whole days without talking at all).
Then one night Jon accidentally discovers that Spencer is ticklish.
“Don’t.” Spencer jerks away and sits up, rubbing at his side where Jon had dared to let his fingers trail down moments before. Jon feels a flash of hurt, and it must show on his face because Spencer looks vaguely embarrassed as he mumbles, “I’m, um. Kind of ticklish.”
And, oh, Jon thinks. There’s no way he can pass up an opportunity like this. Spencer must realize this, too-Jon tries not to dwell on how well Spencer can read him now-and he starts edging away, narrowing his eyes and saying Jon’s name warningly.
“What?” Jon asks. He puts on his best innocent face and holds out his arms. “Spence, what? I just want a hug.”
“I don’t-Jon, no!” Spencer exclaims as Jon lunges. A brief struggle ensues that ends with Jon on top, pinning Spencer’s thighs between his. He ignores Spencer’s escalating pleas and digs his fingers into the sensitive spot beneath Spencer’s ribs. Spencer squirms in a desperate attempt to escape. “Jon!” he gasps breathlessly, his face red from laughter. “Jon, stop, I can’t-I can’t breathe!”
Jon relents, but only slightly, his fingers tracing light patterns against Spencer’s side, and asks, “Are you willing to admit you were wrong to mock my footwear?” Jon wiggles his fingers more, and Spencer shakes his head furiously and gives Jon’s chest a few fruitless pushes. “Admit that flip-flops are the superior shoe and maybe I will shoe you mercy!”
“Never!” Spencer cries just as he gives a particularly violent twist that sends both men tumbling off the couch. They land on the ground in a tangle of limbs and Spencer takes advantage of his position on top to flick Jon hard on the nose. “Asshole.”
But he’s smiling. Jon smiles, too, then even wider when Spencer drops his head onto Jon’s chest, breathing heavily. They lie like that until their heart rates return to normal, and then lie there a little longer. Jon rests one hand on Spencer’s lower back and tangles the other in Spencer’s hair, taking a moment to savor how every second spent with Spencer leaves him feeling more and more human again. Thinking this, Jon tugs on Spencer’s hair, prompting him to lift his head.
“Hey,” he says when Spencer does. But their noses are almost touching and Spencer’s eyes are just a bright blue blur and Jon can’t remember for the life of him what he wanted to say.
“Jon.” Spencer’s voice is breathy and rough and unlike Jon has ever heard it before. The moment stretches on with neither of them making a move, and then Spencer is blinking dazedly and pulling away. He mutters something about going to bed and rushes from the room, leaving Jon lying on the floor, cold and confused.
-
The next day is predictably awkward. Spencer doesn’t speak to Jon more than absolutely necessary, and when Jon makes a joke in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood, Spencer only allows him a tight smile. When Jon comes into the kitchen for dinner, Spencer’s dishes are already in the drainer. Spencer is nowhere to be found.
The next few days follow a similar pattern, and Jon decides on the fourth one that he’s had enough. He rummages through the trunk at the base of his cot until he finds the rolled up paper bag jammed into the far back corner. He clutches it to his chest, remembering what he’d said to himself when he’d hid it there. Just in case.
He’s in the middle of taking a deep breath, hand poised to knock, when the door to Spencer’s bunk swings open. Spencer says Jon’s name, surprised.
“Peace offering,” Jon says, holding up the crinkled bag and watching Spencer’s eyes light up. “I hate when we’re awkward, and I’m not sure what I did wrong, but I think this will make it better.”
Spencer exhales loudly and looks like he wants to say something important, but instead he goes with, “Jon Walker. I didn’t know you cared.”
Liar, Jon thinks.
-
“The reason Ryan and Brendon work so well together is they, um. They-” Spencer trails off, distracted by the invisible patterns his fingers are tracing in the air. He’s lying on the floor of the common area with his head next to Jon’s, their bodies stretched out in opposite directions. Jon turns so that the tip of his nose brushes against Spencer’s cheekbone and prompts, “They…”
Spencer blinks. “What?”
“You were about to tell me why Ryan and Brendon work together.”
“Oh, yeah.” A slow smile spreads over Spencer’s face and Jon wonders why he never thought to get him high before. “Right.” He lets his arm flop to his side and sighs. “It’s because they have such contradicting personalities. They can’t help but balance each other out, you know? Sometimes Ryan can retreat into himself and seriously stay that way for weeks. He’s sort of impossible like that, and he’ll forget to do simple things like eat and sleep if you let him. And Brendon.” Spencer’s smile shifts into something different, something softer. “Brendon is all contained energy and affection in this compact little body. He brings out the best in Ryan. And I’ve yet to meet anybody who is able to calm Brendon like Ryan can.”
“That’s awesome,” Jon says and is surprised at how much he means it, how connected he feels to these people he’s never met.
“Yeah, it is.” Spencer pauses for a beat. “Hey, Jon?”
“Hmm?” Jon nuzzles Spencer’s cheek and Spencer leans into it with a content noise. It’s almost inaudible when he says, “Tell me about Cassie?”
Jon freezes.
“Jon.” Spencer flips onto his stomach and props himself up on his elbows. Jon stares at the ceiling even as he feels Spencer’s gaze practically begging him to look over. “Jon, please. I’m sorry, I just-I can’t stop thinking about it, and. Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”
“Why do you want to know?” Jon asks quietly, still not looking at Spencer.
“I don’t know,” Spencer says, and he sounds so young and lost that Jon’s heart breaks a little. “You don’t have to-”
Jon cuts him off with, “We met in college at some mutual friend’s party. And she was just-she was so beautiful that I was almost too intimidated to talk to her. By the time I got up the nerve, I was so smashed. I made a complete ass of myself.” Jon laughs and it only hurts a little. “But I guess I did something right.”
“I’m so sorry,” Spencer says again, but it means something different this time.
“There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about her,” Jon continues without acknowledging Spencer because if he doesn’t get this out now, he never will. “She was everything.” And finally--finally--he glances over at Spencer. “Or at least I thought so.”
He watches Spencer’s throat working as he swallows hard.
“Do you think you’ll ever feel that way again?” Spencer asks, and Jon doesn’t hesitate at all when he says, “Yes.”
-
They wake up in a pile on the floor. One of Spencer’s legs is wound knee to ankle around Jon’s, his hand fisted tightly in Jon’s shirt, and Jon has an arm locked around Spencer’s back, fingertips wedged just under the hem of his pajama pants. There’s a crick in Jon’s neck and he really has to pee, but he allows himself a few more moments anyway.
-
“So here’s a fun fact,” Spencer says as he enters the dining area, heading straight for the coffee and looking far more amused than anyone whose hair is sticking up in a dozen different directions should have the right to. Jon raises an eyebrow. “It turns out that Jon Walker,” here he pauses for dramatic effect and takes an emphatic sip of coffee, “is a snorer.”
Jon’s eyes narrow. “You lie.”
“Sadly, no.” Spencer slides into the seat next to Jon. “This is very true. The truest of trues, even. I felt like I was sleeping with a buzzsaw.”
Jon ignores the flutter in his chest at the words ‘sleeping with’ (because, hello, he’s not a woman) and says, “You are cruel man, Spencer Smith. Your lies and falsehoods cut me deep.”
“I am a truthful man,” Spencer corrects. “And the truth, Jon, the truth will always set you free.”
“Huh,” Jon says. “I guess you’re right.”
Then he leans over and kisses Spencer.
It’s chaste and close-mouthed, just a dry press of lips against lips, but Jon still feels like his heart is going to beat a dent into his ribcage. He pulls away, just barely, and darts his tongue out to flick at Spencer’s bottom lip. The shaky inhale he gets in response is enough permission for Jon, and he presses in again, hands coming up to frame Spencer’s face. Jon can feel Spencer’s pulse fluttering wildly beneath his fingertips as he tilts Spencer’s head back and barely manages to hold back a pleased moan when Spencer opens his mouth against his and Spencer’s tongue is suddenly sliding into Jon’s mouth (Spencer tastes like stale pot and sleep, and Jon thinks he’s perfect). One of Spencer’s hands slips around the back of Jon’s neck and the other slides under the sleeve of Jon’s shirt, squeezing tightly at his bicep.
“Spence,” Jon says against his mouth and again as he kisses a path across Spencer’s cheek and down to his neck, stopping to suck and bite at the patch of skin just below Spencer’s ear, the same patch of skin that has been driving Jon crazy for months now.
“Jon,” Spencer answers, pushing at Jon’s chest to get him to lean back, which he does with a bemused look. Spencer’s eyes are still hazy with lust, but Jon can see what’s about to happen and winces preemptively. “Fuck, Jon, we can’t-”
“No,” Jon says quickly. “No, we really can.”
“I-” Spencer shakes his head, pushes away from the table, and walks out on Jon for the second time that week.
-
There aren’t many places to hide in the bunker, but Spencer manages anyhow. Eventually, Jon gives up looking.
-
Jon writes Spencer a song. He titles it “Spencer, You’re a Fine Girl” and tapes it to the door of Spencer’s bunk. Even though he doesn’t hear any movement for the rest of the day, when Jon goes to turn in for the night, he notices that the song is gone from Spencer’s door and there’s a note taped to his own.
Patience is a virtue, it reads. Then underneath, in smaller script: I’m sorry.
-
There’s a muffled thump and a curse, and it doesn’t even occur to Jon to be frightened until there’s a shadowy figure hovering over him, pressing a hand over his mouth.
“Don’t talk,” Spencer says. “Just let me get this out, okay?” Jon nods, still not entirely certain this isn’t a dream, and Spencer moves his hand away before taking a seat on the cot. Even through the layers of cloth, Jon can feel the warmth of Spencer’s hip against his thigh. “You caught me off guard the other morning. I think I’ve been trying to avoid this… thing-whatever it is-for a while now. I just-I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of your grief or anything. I wouldn’t do that, especially not to you.”
Jon isn’t sure whether to smack Spencer or hug him until he can’t breathe. He settles on pushing himself into a sitting position and asking, “Can I talk now?” Spencer shrugs and looks at his feet. Before he can stop himself, Jon reaches over and hooks a finger under Spencer’s chin, tilting his face so that their gazes meet. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I kissed you. Yes, what happened to Cassie was horrible and something that will be with me for the rest of my life, but I can’t keep living in the past. She would want me to be happy, and god, you, Spencer. You make me happy.”
The white of Spencer’s smile manages to cut right through the darkness. Jon always suspected it would.
-
“Are you sure?” Spencer asks, and Jon rolls his eyes. Spencer is lying naked and sweaty beneath an equally naked and sweaty Jon, and three of Jon’s fingers are currently in his ass. Jon says, “Stop asking that.”
“Sorry, I just-fuck,” Spencer hisses, squeezing his eyes shut, and Jon curls his fingers up again with a smirk. A high-pitched whine emits from somewhere deep in Spencer’s throat and he spreads his legs a little wider, panting, “Just fuck me already.”
“What’s the magic word?” Jon asks, partly to be an asshole but mostly because he wants to prolong this experience as much as possible. He’s thinking Spencer might not feel the same way at the moment, if the way he’s glaring his any indication.
“Fuck you.” The effect is ruined, though, when Jon twists his fingers sharply and Spencer’s voice breaks on the second word. “Okay, fine. Please, Jon.”
“‘Please, Jon’ what?”
A droplet of sweat works its way down the side of Spencer’s nose and into the corner of his mouth. Spencer licks it away slowly, says, “Please fuck me.”
That’s all it takes to set Jon into motion. He pulls away and reaches for the discarded lube bottle, slicking himself up quickly and sloppily before leaning back over Spencer and settling the other man’s legs high on his waist. He lines himself up with Spencer’s opening and says, “Spence, look at me.”
Their eyes stay open and locked the entire time, and when Spencer comes, Jon thinks he’s never seen anything so beautiful.
-
It’s three weeks later when Jon is watching Spencer go about his weekly duties of cleaning the silo that Jon thinks he might be in love. He lies awake that night, trying out the words by pressing them silently into the bare skin of Spencer’s shoulder while Spencer sleeps, his body curved into Jon’s like a comma.
Another week passes before Jon first feels the overwhelming urge to say it out loud. He’s sitting on a stool next to the kitchen counter, strumming at his guitar and stopping occasionally to make a couple notes on the sheet in front of him, when Spencer hooks his chin over Jon’s shoulder.
“Hey,” he says, kissing underneath Jon’s ear and pressing his smile into Jon’s neck. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”
Jon snorts and crosses out an entire line of the melody. “It’s been an hour.”
“Too long,” Spencer repeats and “yeah,” Jon agrees.
Jon sets aside his guitar and spins around on the stool, pulling Spencer by the hips until he’s between Jon’s legs. “Come here,” he says, lifting his head to meet Spencer halfway for a kiss that Jon feels all the way in his toes.
“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes into Spencer’s mouth and Spencer answers by kissing him even harder, tongue tracing the ridges on the roof of Jon’s mouth, teeth nipping at Jon’s lower lip. “So fucking perfect.”
When they part, Spencer’s cheeks are tinged with pink and his hair is rumpled from Jon’s hands, and Jon feels the words in his throat. He could say it right now, he realizes, he wants to say it right now. More than anything, he wants Spencer to know.
But the words don’t come. He gets as far as “Spencer, I-” before he chickens out. Instead, he reaches for the pen he left sitting on the countertop. Spencer watches with curious eyes as Jon turns his hand palm-up in his own and draws the outline of a heart in it.
In the end, it happens when Jon least expects it. They’re sitting at the kitchen table one random morning, drinking coffee in the kind of companionable silence that only seems to occur in the earlier hours, and Jon looks over at Spencer, his chest constricting when he sees Spencer smiling fondly at him, his eyes bright. He hooks an ankle around Spencer’s and,
“I love you,” Spencer says.
Jon sets down his mug with a thump. Enough speechless seconds pass that Spencer starts to fidget nervously and Jon realizes, oh shit. He loves me.
He leans over, presses a kiss to Spencer’s jaw, his mouth, and when he pulls back, Spencer’s answering smile could light up a small country.
“Spencer,” Jon breathes and reaches out to him.
-
They get the call eleven months to the day after Jon met Spencer.
Spencer finds Jon hiding in the nook between the common room couch and the wall, where he had chosen to flee to the moment Spencer had picked up the phone. Spencer crouches in front of him, steadying himself with his hands on Jon’s knees.
“It’s over,” he says. Jon sucks in a sharp breathe as images of his brothers and Tom flash across his mind’s eye. “We won.”
“What?” Jon says after a pause. His brain can’t keep up. He’s still picturing Spencer’s Ryan and Brendon, people he only knows from the photographs Spencer keeps tucked safely away under his mattress, clutching each other as the world burns around them, when Spencer speaks again.
“They’re giving things a week to settle down, and then they’re coming to get us.” He grabs Jon’s face and sways forward until their foreheads are touching. “Fuck, Jon, we’re going home.”
-
Jon starts having nightmares again. Instead of the broken bodies of his loved ones, though, they feature Spencer-or, more specifically, his absence in Jon’s life. In one, Jon watches, helpless, as Spencer floats away on a small boat, waving to Jon and flanked on either side by Ryan and Brendon. He’s smiling, wide and happy, and his mouth doesn’t move, but Jon hears his voice all around him. It says, “I don’t need you anymore.”
Jon wakes gasping, and Spencer is there, pulling Jon to his chest, eyebrows wrinkled in concern. He presses a kiss to the crown of Jon’s head and murmurs words of reassurance. Jon rests his lips against Spencer’s pulse point, feeling the steady lub-a-dub of his heartbeat beneath them.
“I love you,” he whispers.
Spencer laughs, quiet and fond. “Go back to sleep, Jon,” he says.
-
They have four days left in the silo when the thought first occurs to Jon. He’s hanging out in the control room even though it’s not his shift. Originally, he’d come there under the pretense of asking Spencer what he’d like for dinner, but they both knew the real reason he was there. Jon suspects Spencer doesn’t mind, though, and that he’s not fond of being apart from Jon for too long these days, either.
The only noise in the room is the clacking of computer keys as Spencer enters data with his back turned to Jon. It’s then that Jon stops spinning his chair in idle circles and looks intently at the big red button, as if seeing it for the first time. All it would take would be a simple push, and he and Spencer could be together forever. Jon’s fingers twitch unconsciously and he turns away, disgusted with himself.
That night Jon doesn’t sleep. He holds Spencer tight against him and stares up into the darkness, trying to remember what the night sky looks like, and if the war has changed it. He wonders what else will be different and whether or not he’ll be able to deal with it without Spencer by his side.
Because Jon knows-beyond any shadow of a doubt, he knows-that he could have fallen just as hard for Spencer if they had met Above. He thinks vaguely that he should feel guilty for being so sure of this because he had loved Cassie with every molecule in his body. He pictures her face and is sad to discover that some of the details are blurry, but he can still hear her voice, clear as day, and knows she would call him a dumbass for fretting over this. The thought makes him smile.
When he finally drifts off to sleep, he dreams of Spencer and Cassie walking hand-in-hand down a dirt path that is framed by trees blooming with big red buttons.
-
On their last night, Jon and Spencer ransack the rations and eat the remainder of them, then have sex on the kitchen floor.
“I feel sorry for the poor bastard who’s job it’ll be to clean up all these come stains,” Spencer says, standing.
Jon laughs, a short, sharp sound that echoes off the walls, and accepts the towel Spencer is holding out to him as he stands as well. He half-heartedly wipes off and throws the towel aside, grabbing Spencer’s wrist and pulling him closer for a lingering kiss. Spencer bumps their noses together gently; Jon smiles against his mouth.
“Where are you going to go? After this?” Spencer asks, not pulling away. His eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is in a taut, anxious line. It’s the first time that either of them has acknowledged their future together after they leave. Jon kisses in between Spencer’s eyes, smoothing away the worried crinkle with his lips, and the answer is so glaringly simple that Jon can’t believe he ever thought there was any other choice.
So he stands there, naked and post-coital in the middle of a military missile silo, and says to Spencer James Smith the Fifth, “With you.”
-
When they step outside for the first time, Jon has to blink against the brightness. He feels something bump against the back of his hand and allows Spencer to tangle their fingers together.