fic: Hey moon, please forget to fall down. (Part 1)
Hey moon, please forget to fall down. (1/2)
delete_entry
Jon/Spencer, Brendon/Ryan, Tom/Greta
NC-17
6023 words
"Why on Earth did you let them convince you to do this, Spencer?" she asked in patient tone with wisdom beyond her years. The other girls just glared venomously at Spencer, all in various stages of undressed, pressing towels to bare skin.
"We're friends," Spencer echoed with a shrug, still not knowing exactly what those words meant. "That's what friends do."
notes: So, apparently Livejournal won't let me post this entire thing, so it's in two completed parts. This is for all you werewolf fans, because, let's face it, Spencer all covered in scars is rather appealing. Thank you to my wonderful, beautiful, talented betas,
ivebeenburgled and
mcluvin for telling me this didn't suck and taming this beast within an impressively short amount of time. Any remaining mistakes are purely my doing. Comments and critcism are always appreciated!
This is not the beginning.
Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well.
1.
"Dad?" Spencer asked softly, padding to his father in a way that only a five-year-old boy could- all shy, downcast eyes and slight smiles.
Thomas Smith looked up from the newspaper, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile as he looked down to his son. He folded the paper patiently, shooing the cat off the arm of his favorite chair in order to place it down.
"Yes sir?" Thomas asked, patting his knee in a invitation to the small boy. Spencer took to opportunity greedily, hopping up onto his father's knee, bursting into giddy giggles as his father bounced him slightly.
"I found this for you," Spencer replied, giving a softer giggle before bringing his hands up, revealing a butterfly within the slight cup. Thomas gave a faint smile, reaching out to gently tap a fingertip on his son's wrist.
"You know, it'd be better if we let it go," he said, looking to Spencer as the little boy frowned, pouting his lips.
"You don't like it?" Spencer asked, lip trembling slightly and Thomas couldn't help but laugh. He wrapped his arms around Spencer in a full hug, minding the butterfly carefully as he rocked the boy.
"No, no, I do," he answered, playfully nuzzling at a lock of Spencer's hair with a smile, "And that why we need to let it go. It won't be happy in here with us. It needs to grow up. Just like how you'll grow up and I'll have to let you go one day."
"You'll have to let me go?" Spencer asked, cocking his head in confusion.
Thomas let out another laugh. "Eventually. Besides, I'm sure the butterfly wants to go see its mom."
"And it's dad?" Spencer asked, looking up to his father.
"And it's dad," Thomas agreed, pressing a quick kiss to Spencer's forehead before scooping the boy off. They set the butterfly free and spent the entire day playing outside, joined by Sarah Smith eventually.
2.
"Tom," Spencer hissed softly, narrowing his eyes at the blonde head in front of him, "Tom, what are you doing?"
"Come on, Spencer. We're friends! This is what friends do together," Tom said with a lopsided grin that could only mean trouble. Spencer had known the boy for a total of two days and already he felt as though his life was going to end up in jail.
"Yeah, Spencer," Jon replied, shooting him a look over Ryan's head. "This is fun. We're having fun. Stop worrying so damn much."
The door clicked shut behind him, and Spencer could have sworn that that alone sealed his fate. And it was fun, really it was, until a pair of jean clad legs disrupted their view, one foot swinging back and landing a solid kick to Tom's face.
"WE'VE BEEN DISCOVERED!" Ryan began yelling, all four boys scrambling to get away from the variety of kicks being rained upon them by one Miss Greta Salpeter.
"ABORT MISSION! ABORT MISSION!" Jon continued, running for the door of the girl’s locker room and sprinting away. Ryan followed and Spencer gave the blanket he’d been carrying to Tom so Greta would never know what a pervert he was.
Greta didn't seem surprised to see him.
"Why on Earth did you let them convince you to do this, Spencer?" she asked in patient tone with wisdom beyond her years. The other girls just glared venomously at Spencer, all in various stages of undressed, pressing towels to bare skin.
"We're friends," Spencer echoed with a shrug, still not knowing exactly what those words meant. "That's what friends do."
1.
Thomas Smith stared hard at the small hand between his, the only thing visible beneath the sterile hospital sheet. He slides his thumb along the palm, noting just how short the trip is, his fingers gentle around the wrist. He can hear Sarah talking to the doctors, her voice trembling as she stumbles over any word that even vaguely resembles werewolf. He's fairly sure he's heard not going to wake up at least ten times.
He can hear a soft groan, the fingers between his twitching slightly, and he feels tears in his eyes. He wasn't supposed to wake up but he did. He wasn't supposed to be different but he is. He wasn't supposed to be bitten by a werewolf but he was. He was supposed to stay Spencer John Smith, the happy child of Thomas and Sarah Smith, and grow up to be successful and equally as happy as he was during childhood. Maybe he was going to have a few children of his own that Thomas could bounce on his knee as he had with Spencer.
Thomas had never believed in werewolves-they were just mythical creatures. And yet, here they were. In a hospital that specialized in caring for bite victims that they’d been led to as soon as one of the people had heard of the attack. It wasn’t far from their home, maybe a half an hour or less, but Thomas had managed to be thoroughly saturated within his son’s blood in that short amount of time.
Those things didn't matter so much as he heard that soft cry of "Daddy" the sheets trembling slightly as the little boy beneath began to sob.
Thomas stood up so abruptly that the chair flew backwards, drawing attention to nearly everyone in the damn room. Thomas pulled the sheet back as carefully as he could, eyes ignoring the multitude of bandages (red bandages, his mind noted) that covered a majority of his son and just wrapped his arms around him.
"Is it time to let me go, Daddy?" he heard his son choke out, which made him hold Spencer that much tighter.
"Not yet, love, not yet."
2.
"Ryan?" Spencer asked one night, his pen poised, unmoving, over his English essay.
"Yeah, Spencer?" Ryan paused in his drawing to look up at Spencer. (It was a tree that was slowly morphing into a flock of crows. Ryan had dreams of being an artist one day, touring the world, people marveling at the beauty he had created. Spencer knew that even if he were the most amazing artist in the world, people still wouldn't recognize it.) Ryan shifted from lying on his stomach to sitting cross-legged on his bed.
"Do you ever feel like it’s Tom and Jon's world and you're just living in it?" Spencer found that he couldn't make eye contact, too ashamed of his feelings if Ryan didn't reciprocate them.
"Yeah, yeah I do," Ryan replied softly, looking down to his own bed spread.
"Is friendship supposed to feel like that?"
"No, Spencer, it isn't."
1.
Everyone in town knew of the little boy that was bit by the werewolf, except for Spencer. All he knew was whenever he walked into town, holding his dad or mom's hand, people would stare and point, whispering things under their breath. All he knew is every month something happened and it hurt and he woke up in his bed with his dad there, holding his hand. That, and he got silvery things whenever it happened.
("Ladies dig scars," his dad said one night. Spencer didn't know what it meant, but his mother laughed and then cried so he laughed and then cried, too.)
By the time Spencer received his acceptance letter to Wentz-Stump Boarding School, he knew everything. His transformations, what he was expected to do, how he was going to go about transforming at WSBS. He was older; more mature then most the children his age.
(He assumed, anyway. All the children in the small town were afraid of him. He wasn't exactly sure how eleven-year-old children should act, but all the books he read on the topic say he was far more mature.)
They had traveled nearly two hours to get to the nearest train station. As Spencer stood there, staring at the train that would take him to his new home, he smiled only when he felt his father's hand on his shoulder.
"We just met a very lovely couple. The Conrads. They have a son your age," Thomas stated, looking down to the shaggy head of his son.
"Mmm, why am I not surprised?" Spencer asked, tilting his head up to smile at his father, "Time to let me go, Da?"
Thomas shook his head, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his son's forehead. "Not even close, son."
He watched as Spencer boarded the train with one last smile and wave to his parents. Thomas wrapped an arm around Sarah's shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, and they both waved happily after the train that held their son.
2.
"Where'd you get this scar?" Jon asked one night after dinner, catching Spencer’s arm and bringing it close to his face, peering intently at the lengthy, silver stripe starting at Spencer’s palm and ending at the crook of his elbow.
"Sledding in my backyard with my dad. I ended up getting jarred from the sled and slid down the hill on my stomach. A rock sliced me straight from wrist to elbow." Spencer replied without so much as blinking, continuing the smooth rolls of his wrists as he practiced his calligraphy with his free hand. Lying came easily to him now.
"Sounds like fun," Jon stated, flopping onto his bed, peering at Spencer with calculating eyes for a second. "The sledding part, not the cut. Maybe we should go sledding over the winter holidays together. Just me and you."
Spencer looked up, a bit surprised, but smiled and nodded nonetheless. He didn't care whether or not they'll actually do it but Spencer wondered vaguely if the warmth pooling in his stomach was friendship.
3.
Jon did, in fact, come over during the winter holidays, visiting for only a day, leaving fresh in the morning. ("Per mom's order," Jon stated with a small frown, "I would stay longer if I could.") It was awkward at first, however as soon as they were dolled up for the winter both boys were running out to the massive hill that lead into the backyard. Once at the top, Spencer eyed the forest cautiously, edging away from is as much as possible. He jumped straight up in the air when Jon rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Easy," Jon stated in a voice that Spencer relaxed to, looking to the forest still with a small frown. "Nothing'll hurt you in there. Even so, I'll protect you."
Spencer laughed at the irony of those words and Jon laughed purely because Spencer was. They spent the entire day sledding, Thomas and Sarah coming to join them right after lunch. At night, both boys fell asleep in front of the fire, a cat curled on Spencer’s chest and Jon's head pillowed on his stomach.
When Sarah found them in the morning, she could only smile and pick up the empty, sticky mugs of hot cocoa, watching as Spencer’s fingers twitched in Jon's hair.
2.
It was fall of their second year when Spencer got into the first fight of his life.
Spencer had been walking along the halls with Greta, conversing about the Global Perspectives test when he accidentally bumped into an older boy, Eric Suzo. ("You should probably look up when you walk, Spencer," Tom warned him one time. He never listened.) He had said a very polite, "Excuse me," but apparently that wasn't quite enough for the boy. Egged on by his classmates, Eric wound up and punched Spencer straight in the nose.
The poor boy didn't even have a chance to revel in the victory of attacking an innocent child before Jon and Tom were on him, Ryan hovering behind to go after any of Eric’s friends that seemed to get any ideas of helping him. The fight was loud and brutal, and in the end, all four boys ended up bloodied and beaten in Mr. Wentzoffice.
(Someone had thrown a shoe at Ryan's head, taking him down, and then the boys were really screwed. The only intimidation factor Ryan had was height, and when he was flat on his ass, Ryan did not appear to be very tall. Spencer rejoined the fight after Greta had helped him up, the blonde just continually screaming about how stupid they all were.)
"Now, gentlemen," Mr. Wentz stated gently, neither boys looking up, just staring at four different focal points in the room. Spencer would have paid far more attention to the young man’s appearance if he weren’t so scared. "Why exactly did all of you feel the need to join this fight?"
"That's what friends do, sir," Ryan stated, the other three boys looking to him with peculiar expressions.
"Yes, sir," Jon agreed with a nod.
"Best friends, sir!" Tom added with a smile and enthusiastic nod. The other three boys looked to Spencer, who smiled shyly and looked to Mr. Wentz for the first time.
"My best friends, sir," Spencer stated, catching the twinkle in the man’s knowing eyes.
They only received a week of detention. All of them. Together.
1. and 2.
"So how was school this year, kiddo?" Thomas asked, scooping his son up into a big hug at the bustling train station.
"Great dad!" It was his mother's turn now for a big hug, Sarah pressing a soft kiss to her son's hair, mumbling something along the lines of who is this man and what has he done with my boy.
"I've got friends," Spencer continued, looking over to a dishelved mess of blonde and bright eyes. Tom gave him the brightest smile he had ever seen, Jon offering Spencer a wave beside him.
"Best friends."
1. but mostly 3.
The night Ryan, Tom, and Jon found out that he was a werewolf, Spencer wrote his mother and father a rather lengthy letter explaining how his young life was over and that he had nothing to live for anymore. He included that, yes, he received the chocolate and the cookies mother sent him ("And Ryan enjoyed them, as well," he said out loud, smiling before writing it.) but mostly, his life was ending. He attempted to convey in that nearly seven page (front and back) letter about how he had had friends for the first time in his life and even the wolf had to mess that up for him, really.
When Jon found him in the third bathroom stall, he had finally run out of actual paper and proceeded to continue to write on toilet paper. Jon stood there for a long time, just watched the delicate motion of Spencer’s wrist bend and straighten with every word he wrote.
Eventually, when his legs got too tired to stand and he noticed that Spencer had run out of toilet paper (and proceeded to attempt to use the back), he crouched down and rested a hand heavily on Spencer’s own. Only when he applied pressure did Spencer stop, giving a soft whimper as Jon plopped down heavily before him and tugged Spencer into an awkward hug.
Spencer fought, hands against Jon's chest, attempting to push the larger boy away, but Jon held on tight. He held on so tight that Spencer had bruises in the shape of Jon's hands on his back. (Spencer supposed they matched quite well with the ones his own hands had left on Jon's chest.) Spencer didn't feel the need to speak, or cry, or even breathe really, and eventually got too tired and frustrated to fight anymore and just rested his head on Jon's shoulder.
Jon read Spencer’s letter, (twice, including the toilet paper chronicle) behind Spencer’s back, chin hooked over Spencer’s shoulder, while he held his best friend. And after all of that, the only thing Jon could say in a gruff voice was, "I enjoyed your mother's chocolates and cookies as well. Brilliant woman, she is."
2.
When Spencer woke up the next morning, the room was alive with activity. He parted his privacy curtains, looking at the three boys in pajamas all doing various things. Tom and Jon were throwing away anything that could even be considered silver while Ryan dictated a book about werewolves to them. The two boys nodded along, obviously very deep in thought and concentration, attempting to soak up every word that left Ryan’s lips.
Spencer finally spoke up when he saw Tom with a power drill and several locks in hand, a basket filled with medical supplies Ryan was tending to, and the first aide book Jon was slipping into his backpack.
“What’s going on?”
All three sets of eyes settled on Spencer, giving bright smiles. “Well,” Tom began, “I’m werewolf proofing the room, Ryan’s getting together medical supplies as well as some food and water that you like, and Jon’s learning medicine.” The other two boys nodded along to Tom’s words, and Spencer’s jaw just dropped.
“What? Why?” Spencer asked, genuinely confused.
“Because we’re best friends. And we want to help you with this,” Ryan stated as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer wanted to pass out or cry or maybe just hug them all. Instead, he stood up, moving to help Ryan load up the basket that would keep them all alive in the days after the full moon.
1.
Spencer wrote his mother and father a letter in response to the novel-length one.
Crisis adverted. I have the best friends ever.
2.
When Tom and Greta finally got together sixth year, it was a surprise to no one but Jon. Although, yes, they were all best friends, Jon counted on his friends for different things. Tom was general male things (sports, belching contests, asking if things smelt bad, things of that caliber) and now that he was "gone", Jon felt the need to distribute Tom's duties evenly throughout Ryan and Spencer.
Spencer was just happy Ryan got asking if things smelt bad.
"Spence?" Jon asked, and it took Spencer no less then a second to respond.
"Yes, Jon?" Spencer set aside his book after finishing up the last few lines and folding the corner. Jon waited patiently at the foot of his bed (Spencer secretly thought Jon was part dog) until Spencer invited him onto the bed. Jon accepted happily, resting his head on Spencer’s stomach and making himself comfortable before starting.
"I have a girl problem," Jon continued, pausing for a second as Spencer’s fingers began to weave through his lengthy locks.
"Mmhm, you always seem to be having a girl problem. If you ask me, they have the problem for liking you," Spencer mumbled fondly.
"Are you going to help or not?" Jon attempted to sound offended, really he did, but then Spencer was scratching at the delicate spot behind his ear and he thought better of it. "Anyway, her name is Lila."
"Senior? Someone's feeling ambitious."
"Yes, yes," Jon waved off the different age with a flick of his hand. "Well, anyway, I think she's quite beautiful and seems to have an adventurous spirit. What do you suppose I do for our first date?"
"Besides actually ask her out?" Spencer laughed as Jon head butted him in the stomach, "Fine fine. Take her to the lake at midnight. Do that thing where you jump off the rocks. That way you get that sense of bad boy adventure as well as seeing her in her underwear."
Jon bolted up straight, looking to Spencer with all the wonderment that sixteen-year-old boy could still hold. "Spence! You're a genius!" he exclaimed, standing up quickly and began stripping.
"Jon! No need to repay me in sexual favors!" Spencer laughed as Jon's pants were thrown at his head, catching them and giving a dreamy sigh after sniffing at them.
"Don't be daft, man! I'm going to go shower and then ask Lila out!" Jon yelled, already running for the bathroom as soon as he was naked. "Thank you, Spence!"
Spencer dropped Jon's pants to the ground with a faint smile, giving a quiet sigh and murmuring, "You're welcome, Jon."
2. (but really 3.)
Spencer vaguely wondered why this happened. Now. During their last year.
He rolled his head slightly, just to get the kink out of his neck, looking through the slight crack of his curtains to the sleeping form that is Jonathan Walker.
A mutual jerk between friends, he had said when he crawled into Spencer’s bed. Just two kids fooling around. Tom and me used to do it all the time.
I'm not Tom, Spencer felt the need to point out.
However, by that point, Jon had delved within his pajama pants, and by the motions and the soft sigh that seemed to rumble from Jon's very core, it was a bit too late. Spencer gave a shrug, and went about his own business.
It should have been strange... but it wasn't. There was no conversation, no eye contact. Just two boys jerking off in the limited privacy of one bed. Spencer couldn't help but notice how much more erotic is was, listening to someone else breath. As far as Jon knew, Spencer could have been anyone. Margaret Browning, Lisa Daverpol, Jackie Vival, Lila Homage (who lasted a week).
Spencer, however, was not so lucky.
Jon was everywhere. His scent was a heavy onslaught on his senses, clouding his mind and causing his head to ache. This arousal, Spencer had smelt it before on many people, but now, now it rolled in waves over him and smelt so damn good. He could hear the slick sound of Jon's palm against his own erection, listening to the soft whisper of his thumb along the slit in his head. And when Jon came, dear lord he could feel that too, just as if it was his own orgasm.
Of course, Spencer followed, silently as opposed to Jon's whimpers. He had always been a very quiet, very cautious masturbator while Jon decided that they were all boys who did it, therefore should not hide it. He watched as Jon wiped his hand along his inner thigh, frowning a bit and then giving a soft chuckle.
"Messy," he stated, standing up to slide out of Spencer’s bed, removing his pants swiftly. "Night, Spencer," he called out quietly, sinking down into the covers of his respective bed.
"Night, Jon," Spencer managed roughly four minutes late. That led him here, ten minutes later, taking to simply watching Jon through his curtains. What pooled in his belly wasn't quite friendship and wasn't quite lust.
It was just happiness.
2.
Graduation itself wasn't really all the great. The finished up their exams, had their graduation ceremony... and then they were just free to go. Must stuck around for a bit, bidding farewell to a place they'd called home for eight years or more. To some it seemed it would take eight years to just get all their things home. However, for most, they stuck around for the company, conversation, and more importantly the booze.
That's why they were currently sitting in the dormitory they all had their first year together, taking leisure gulps of whiskey, continually retelling tales of their youth.
"Remember the time we snuck into the kitchens and stole three chocolate cakes for Spencer’s birthday?" Ryan asked with a hiccup, all four of them raising their bottle to that memory before downing a generous gulp.
"Remember the time we snuck into the girl's locker room and Salpeter nearly kicked the shit out of Tom?" Jon laughed a bit too loud, and Spencer snickered next to him, leaning against the larger boy (man) for support.
"Remember the time you all dedicated at least a year learning to take care of me properly after transformations?" Spencer sobered a moment, looking to each boy (man) individually. "That was the first time I knew you three fags were my best friends."
Each boy (man) stared at each other with foreign eyes, as if learning each other for the first time, before raising their respective bottles and pouring out the rest of the alcohol with a "Here, here".
2. and 3.
Greta and Tom's wedding was perhaps the event of the year. They had just graduated, and like most people, they arranged a marriage straight out of WSBS. Their wedding was spectacular. They were married by the sea, the ocean lapping at the shore in a low tide as they said their vows and were bonded.
Spencer stood beside Jon the entire time, the man looking as gorgeous as ever, he was sure. It was the small things Spencer had began to notice lately. The way Greta always took to holding Tom's hand, lacing their fingers together as they walked. How Ryan's smile always brightened when someone's question was directed to him. How Jon always smelled of a mixture of soap, cigarettes, and just warmth. How he himself always perked up whenever one of his friends were around or whenever Jon placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"They're a beautiful couple," Jon muttered fondly, sliding his suit jacket around Spencer’s thin shoulders. Spencer leant back into the taller male, just enjoying the quiet moment of companionship.
"They always have been," Spencer mumbled, his fingers playing with the buttons of the jacket. The sun was setting beautifully and every time it caught Greta's hair it looked like a halo of pure warmth. Spencer gave a quiet sigh, shifting his legs a bit restlessly.
There they stood together, just him and Jon, on a rock that overlooked the ocean and entire wedding party. Pictures were being snapped, music was being played loudly, and people were dancing badly. (They both noted that Ryan seemed to be the life of the party.)
"You ever wonder if you're going to get your own happy ending?" Jon asked, his voice close to Spencer’s ear as he dipped his head to rest it on the shorter male's shoulder.
Spencer shook his head slightly, "No. There's no happy endings for werewolves, Jonathan."
Jon gave a quiet snort, slipping his arms tightly around Spencer’s waist, murmuring quietly, "There is in my fairy tale."
Spencer found that he couldn't breathe, which was okay. He didn't really need to, anyway.
1.
He'd always lived in the country his entire life, so he figured his adult life should be no different. His first house, the house he had bought on his own, from money earned by his own hands, was a rather large farmhouse in the country. When he had purchased it, it had been large, old, and decrepit. Now it was only two out of the three, thanks to three Smiths.
"It's looks wonderful, Spencer," Sarah said with a smile, looking to the house. It was perfect for Spencer. Dark and roomy, giving him a library, several beds and baths, as well as a werewolf proof basement, the house isolated enough from civilization to be safe. Simple, dark wood decorated the outside and Sarah had created a stone walkway, as well as planted the bushes in front and created the entire garden in the back. There was plenty of land, as well as a peaceful lake out back, surrounded by the occasional summerhouse.
Spencer wrapped an arm around his mother's shoulder, bringing her closer to him, dipping his head to press a quick kiss to her head. "Thanks so much, guys."
Thomas brought a hand to his son's shoulder, giving a weary smile as he had to crane his head just slightly up. Such a big boy now.
"Ready to let me go yet, Dad?" Spencer asked over dinner in his new house, leaning back in his seat and taking a slow sip of wine.
"Not even close, kiddo," Thomas answered, raising his glass before bringing it to his lips.
2.
It was a Saturday night when Spencer received a knock on the door. He carefully set down his hot cocoa and newspaper, standing up from an armchair he'd received (stolen) from his parents’ house, and walked to the door.
He knew it was Jon before he even opened the door. He could smell his musk, and the smokes, and that piece of shit car he insisted on keeping. He would have to remind himself to yell at Jon later, for driving in a thunderstorm. Especially to come see him.
He opened the door, looking to Jon who was mid-attempt to light a cigarette. Once successful, he looked to Spencer, giving a cheeky smile before stepping in.
"So," Jon began, shrugging off his dark sweatshirt and placing it on the coat rack, revealing just a simple tank top underneath. Spencer made another mental note to yell about that. "I was thinking--"
"Stop right there," Spencer said, holding up a hand as Jon stopped, toeing off his boots and shooing them beside the door.
"What? Why?" Jon asked, shedding his damp shirt and tossing it aside. There was no place for wet clothes in Spencer’s living room, so it formed a pile by the closet. Spencer sat down heavily.
"Bad things happen when you do that ‘thinking’ thing."
Jon (pantless now) gave a quick snort of laughter, shaking his head slightly. "Regardless, I don't think you should live alone."
Spencer motioned vaguely to the kitchen, watching as Jon pushed through the door. It hadn't stopped swinging by the time Jon was back through, a towel around his shoulder and a pair of clean, dry boxers (that were actually Jon’s) hanging low on his hips.
"What brought you to this marvelous conclusion?" Spencer asked, bringing the hot cocoa to his lips, noting the Jon had helped himself to a cup as well, settling on the worn out couch lazily.
"I was evicted from my apartment," Jon said with a grin and Spencer couldn't help but laugh at just how typical it was.
"Sleeping with his daughter?"
"Son."
“Name?”
“Brendon.”
“Is Ryan still there?”
“I think Ryan’s having his go at him right now, actually.”
Spencer choked a bit on his cocoa, placing a hand over his mouth to hide his laughter. Jon merely grinned, giving a chuckle himself, before draining his mug.
"Well, I can't exactly say I'm surprise," when Jon quirked a brow in his direction, Spencer shook his head slightly, "That you were fucking his child. The son part takes some getting used to."
"Hate me 'cause I'm part fag, Spence?" Jon asked, nestling down into the couch, grabbing the blanket neatly placed over the back of the couch and attempting to throw it over his body.
"Anything but," Spencer replied, watching the fire hum with heavy eyelids.
"Which bedroom is mine?"
"The one across the hall from me. You know where everything is."
"Wonderful. All my things are in my jacket."
2. With a slight dash of 3.
Spencer remembered the first time he saw Mason. Of course, Jon, Ryan, and himself had been at the hospital ever since Tom's panicked calls reached them. ("Oh my god I think Greta's broken! She's leaking water everywhere!") That was exactly twenty-seven hours ago and none of them have slept a wink.
When Tom walked through the door Jon perked up decently from where he was resting, slouched heavily within an armchair. Spencer was sitting beside him, barely lifting his weary head, and Ryan didn't even bother opening his eyes, his head resting on Spencer’s lap comfortably and Spencer toyed faintly with his hair.
"I'm never touching her again," Tom groaned heavily, sinking down into a chair beside Jon. Jon gave his friend a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, all four males sharply looking to the door as Greta's scream rang through the hospital.
"HE IS NEVER TOUCHING ME AGAIN!"
Spencer snorted in laughter, shaking his head and leaning over faintly, resting his head against the soft cloth covering Jon's bicep. Jon smirked, looking to a rather pale Tom.
"Looks like you won't even be tempted to, bro," he replied, patting Tom heavily on the back.
"Glad to see you still have your humor at two in the morning, Jon," Tom muttered darkly, standing up and making his way through the doors once more.
Five hours later, Mason Lee Conrad was born.
"Oh man, oh man, I'm going to drop it, I know it," Ryan chanted, holding the fragile baby within his arms. Brendon (who had showed up roughly an hour ago for Ryan to sleep on) just rested his hands on Ryan’s shoulder to calm the man down. Somehow, it wasn’t strange to be sharing such an intimate moment with a man that had slept with two fifths of the room. Brendon seemed genuinely friendly, and Jon smiled at him in a warm sense that both calmed Spencer and shot jealously to his core.
The room was moderately dark, illuminated only by a small candle Spencer had brought and lit. Its sweet scent filled the room, and Greta inhaled it deeply. "Ryan, if you drop him, I'm going to kick you in the nuts. I did not just spend seventeen hours squeezing it out of me for you to break him," Greta responded wearily, sagging against Tom. He gave a faint grin, sitting beside her in bed, his back to the headboard, wrapping an arm around his damp wife.
"It's not so hard," Ryan murmured after a moment, carefully rocking the mound of blankets and red flesh, the only thing visible being a mop of dark hair and a round, peacefully sleeping face. Brendon gave a small smile to the baby, reaching his hand out to gently rub his fingertip along Mason’s nose.
"Lemme hold him," Jon said, holding out his arms from his position on the couch for Ryan to bring him the baby. Spencer took that as his cue to remove himself from Jon but Jon simply heaved Spencer up into his lap. Ryan offered the baby to Jon, and Jon took him, carefully, holding him between Spencer and himself.
Spencer gave a soft smile, his fingertips sliding along the blanket. "He's gorgeous, isn't he?" Spencer mumbled, pressing his forehead to Jon's as they looked down to their nephew. Jon's godson.
"No, actually he's really ugly. But I suppose he's just trying to make his mother feel good." Jon laughed as Greta pitched a shoe at his head, missing terribly before settling back against Tom. Spencer smiled, Jon resting the baby in Spencer’s lap, so they both could hold him.
"Mason Lee Conrad, hopefully you will not turn up like your godfather," Spencer said fondly, looking up to see Jon watching him with unreadable eyes and a smile that made his stomach dip.
"Let's hope you turn out like your uncle Spencer. I know I always did."
Definitely 3.
Jon's hands were everywhere, all at once, and Spencer really couldn’t breathe. He doesn't have time to worry so much about the why this is happening, however he assumes it has something to do with the fact they almost died tonight. ("That might have hurt quite a bit," Jon said, moving back onto his side of the road with a nervous chuckle. Sleep driving was never good.) Spencer was tightly wound--from the adrenaline, from the full moon been so close, from Jon being so close.
"A mutual jerk between friends?" he asked and his breath sounded harsh to even his ears. Jon hadn't kissed him, which suited him just fine really.
"Just two kids fooling around," Jon added with a grin before shoving Spencer roughly onto the couch.
The words we're not kids anymore were on the tip of his tongue but he found that he couldn't say them. Because in reality, they were. They were only twenty (in Spencer’s case, still nineteen).
So he lay there on the couch, hips arching up, breath hard and choppy as Jon thrust against him. Since they are just kids, they managed to come twice, and it was sloppy, sticky and messy. Everything Spencer dislikes.
He found he doesn't mind it so much. Especially when the end result was sleeping tucked against Jon.
Part 2 >>