fic: whiskers on kittens
This one is for the lovely shleemeri, on the occasion of her birth and stuff. A bit of silly fluff featuring boys and baby animals! \o/
Whiskers On Kittens
1,148 words. Jon/Spencer. PG. Totally made up!
"Dude," Brendon says, hushed, after Jon slams two cabinet doors and the kitchen window in quick succession. "What's wrong with him?"
Spencer snorts and shoots Jon's rigid back an annoyed look that he can't see. "I told him we were not getting another damn cat."
The pasta pot lands in the sink with a clang. Brendon pulls a face. Spencer leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. The thing about Jon is that people seriously underestimate just how big a bitch he can be. Spencer knows better, and he's hidden his toothbrush and cleared all his valuable breakables out of the living room shelves.
Ryan shoots him a quizzical look. "What's wrong with cats?"
"They're evil," Spencer says firmly. "They hiss, and scratch, and kick you off your own damn couch. And they're evil." Even as he says it, he gives Dylan, stretched out under the table, a small nudge with his toes by way of apology.
Ryan rolls his eyes. "Still not over the hairball in your sneakers?"
"You should really let that go," Brendon says helpfully. "That was, like, a month ago."
"Three weeks," Spencer says. "And I have no intention of letting it go." Seriously. They can start their Monday morning by stepping into that kind of nastiness. He had to throw a perfectly good pair of socks away.
In the kitchen, the fridge rattles shut with more noise than Spencer previously thought was possible.
***
The good part about Jon's temper tantrums is that they never last longer than a day. (Except for the time Spencer didn't remember to not open the door to the dark room while Jon was developing his brother's wedding pictures. That one lasted three days, involved actual yelling, and Spencer doesn't like to think about it because he always starts feeling retroactively guilty, and then he gets the urge to let Jon get away with dumb shit. Like buying them another cat.) By Friday, Jon is in a stellar mood again.
"Hi," he mutters against Spencer's lips, hand sneaking down Spencer's back to tangle in his belt loops. "Hi, sorry for being an asshole about the cat thing."
Spencer kisses him instead of answering, but squished between Jon and the hallway closet is really not a comfortable place to be, and he starts shoving at Jon's shoulders lightly. "'s okay. I'll forgive you if you move."
Jon pulls back, but instead of letting Spencer go he grips him more tightly, bends at the knees, and lifts Spencer off the ground. Apparently he has forgotten that Spencer, you know, grew, because he doesn't make it more than a couple of feet before staggering back into the wall with a groan.
Spencer leans into him with his full weight, propping an elbow up on Jon's shoulder. "Smooth," he says, patting Jon's arm. "That was sweeping romance at its best, right there."
"Remember when I could still carry you?" Jon says mournfully, rubbing the back of his head. "Those were the good times."
Spencer laughs and presses his nose into the fine hairs at Jon's temple. "You could never carry me. You were always three feet tall."
Jon jabs two fingers right into the sensitive spot between his ribs, and Spencer yelps and jumps back, batting at his hand. "Dick," he tells Jon, who's looking altogether too smug for having just run them into the wall. "You're a midget dick."
"Oh, come on now," Jon coos, leering and making grabby hands that Spencer does his best to evade, "you know that's not true, baby," and Spencer groans and slaps him up the side of his face with one empty jacket sleeve.
***
"So," Ryan says, "tell me again why we're looking at cats now?"
Spencer gives him the evilest look he can muster while Ryan is standing in front of a box full of bunnies. Brendon, right next to Ryan and even closer to the fluffy white one, says innocently, "No, seriously, remind us."
Spencer hates his entire fucking band.
"Wardrobe malfunction," he snaps, and waves to get the attention of a shop attendant nearby. It's not strictly untrue. Turns out that his jacket had hard buttons in places where Spencer didn't remember there being any.
Jon gives a discreet cough and scratches his nose, in a way that somehow manages to highlight his black eye more clearly than even a blinking neon arrow could. "Well, not quite," he says pleasantly. "We're buying a cat because you beat me. I am a victim of domestic violence, Spencer."
He beams at the shop attendant, who apparently stepped into earshot just for that last part. Spencer meets her look of consternation with a defiant glare. "Looking at cats," he says.
"Oh, we have the cats over there," the attendant says, gesturing toward the back of the store, "just come along," and Spencer doesn't miss that she totally cuts him off and places a hand on Jon's shoulder when they start moving. He clenches his jaw at no one in particular. Over his shoulder, just before they get too far away, he can hear Brendon say, "Oh, look, hamsters," and Ryan's concerned, "Brendon, no."
Jon at least has the decency to look a little bit guilty when he slows down to let Spencer fall into step next to him. "Look, we really don't have to," he whispers.
Spencer sniffs, but he doesn't try to pull away when Jon gives his hand a quick squeeze. "Whatever, let's just look at the damn things," he says; he can't keep a tiny edge of a smile from escaping when Jon actually bounces like a dork in the middle of the chewy toys aisle.
There are... a lot of cats. Big cats, small cats, fat cats, skinny cats, white cats, red cats, brown cats, and one kitten that bears such a disturbing resemblance to Spencer's dentist that he does an actual double-take. There's a lot of meowing and tail-flicking, and with all of that going on it takes Spencer a moment to react when Jon quietly says, "Hey, look here."
Spencer turns and comes face to face with a small grey kitten, slight enough to fit into on of Jon's hands. He's still staring when Jon says, "Here, take him," and even as he makes an incoherent noise of protest, Spencer's hands come up to awkwardly cradle the kitten against his chest.
He's warm, and light, and his soft body moves in Spencer's grip with the force of his purring. He kneads Spencer's shoulder with sharp little kitten claws, and sneezes when Spencer rubs one finger behind his ears.
"You know, I was thinking Clover," Jon says, leaning into Spencer's personal space to lightly tug on the kitten's tail. He sneezes again, and Jon smiles, running the backs of his fingers down Clover's back.
Spencer stares down at them. "Yeah," he finally says. "Yeah, I like that."
Whiskers On Kittens
1,148 words. Jon/Spencer. PG. Totally made up!
"Dude," Brendon says, hushed, after Jon slams two cabinet doors and the kitchen window in quick succession. "What's wrong with him?"
Spencer snorts and shoots Jon's rigid back an annoyed look that he can't see. "I told him we were not getting another damn cat."
The pasta pot lands in the sink with a clang. Brendon pulls a face. Spencer leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. The thing about Jon is that people seriously underestimate just how big a bitch he can be. Spencer knows better, and he's hidden his toothbrush and cleared all his valuable breakables out of the living room shelves.
Ryan shoots him a quizzical look. "What's wrong with cats?"
"They're evil," Spencer says firmly. "They hiss, and scratch, and kick you off your own damn couch. And they're evil." Even as he says it, he gives Dylan, stretched out under the table, a small nudge with his toes by way of apology.
Ryan rolls his eyes. "Still not over the hairball in your sneakers?"
"You should really let that go," Brendon says helpfully. "That was, like, a month ago."
"Three weeks," Spencer says. "And I have no intention of letting it go." Seriously. They can start their Monday morning by stepping into that kind of nastiness. He had to throw a perfectly good pair of socks away.
In the kitchen, the fridge rattles shut with more noise than Spencer previously thought was possible.
***
The good part about Jon's temper tantrums is that they never last longer than a day. (Except for the time Spencer didn't remember to not open the door to the dark room while Jon was developing his brother's wedding pictures. That one lasted three days, involved actual yelling, and Spencer doesn't like to think about it because he always starts feeling retroactively guilty, and then he gets the urge to let Jon get away with dumb shit. Like buying them another cat.) By Friday, Jon is in a stellar mood again.
"Hi," he mutters against Spencer's lips, hand sneaking down Spencer's back to tangle in his belt loops. "Hi, sorry for being an asshole about the cat thing."
Spencer kisses him instead of answering, but squished between Jon and the hallway closet is really not a comfortable place to be, and he starts shoving at Jon's shoulders lightly. "'s okay. I'll forgive you if you move."
Jon pulls back, but instead of letting Spencer go he grips him more tightly, bends at the knees, and lifts Spencer off the ground. Apparently he has forgotten that Spencer, you know, grew, because he doesn't make it more than a couple of feet before staggering back into the wall with a groan.
Spencer leans into him with his full weight, propping an elbow up on Jon's shoulder. "Smooth," he says, patting Jon's arm. "That was sweeping romance at its best, right there."
"Remember when I could still carry you?" Jon says mournfully, rubbing the back of his head. "Those were the good times."
Spencer laughs and presses his nose into the fine hairs at Jon's temple. "You could never carry me. You were always three feet tall."
Jon jabs two fingers right into the sensitive spot between his ribs, and Spencer yelps and jumps back, batting at his hand. "Dick," he tells Jon, who's looking altogether too smug for having just run them into the wall. "You're a midget dick."
"Oh, come on now," Jon coos, leering and making grabby hands that Spencer does his best to evade, "you know that's not true, baby," and Spencer groans and slaps him up the side of his face with one empty jacket sleeve.
***
"So," Ryan says, "tell me again why we're looking at cats now?"
Spencer gives him the evilest look he can muster while Ryan is standing in front of a box full of bunnies. Brendon, right next to Ryan and even closer to the fluffy white one, says innocently, "No, seriously, remind us."
Spencer hates his entire fucking band.
"Wardrobe malfunction," he snaps, and waves to get the attention of a shop attendant nearby. It's not strictly untrue. Turns out that his jacket had hard buttons in places where Spencer didn't remember there being any.
Jon gives a discreet cough and scratches his nose, in a way that somehow manages to highlight his black eye more clearly than even a blinking neon arrow could. "Well, not quite," he says pleasantly. "We're buying a cat because you beat me. I am a victim of domestic violence, Spencer."
He beams at the shop attendant, who apparently stepped into earshot just for that last part. Spencer meets her look of consternation with a defiant glare. "Looking at cats," he says.
"Oh, we have the cats over there," the attendant says, gesturing toward the back of the store, "just come along," and Spencer doesn't miss that she totally cuts him off and places a hand on Jon's shoulder when they start moving. He clenches his jaw at no one in particular. Over his shoulder, just before they get too far away, he can hear Brendon say, "Oh, look, hamsters," and Ryan's concerned, "Brendon, no."
Jon at least has the decency to look a little bit guilty when he slows down to let Spencer fall into step next to him. "Look, we really don't have to," he whispers.
Spencer sniffs, but he doesn't try to pull away when Jon gives his hand a quick squeeze. "Whatever, let's just look at the damn things," he says; he can't keep a tiny edge of a smile from escaping when Jon actually bounces like a dork in the middle of the chewy toys aisle.
There are... a lot of cats. Big cats, small cats, fat cats, skinny cats, white cats, red cats, brown cats, and one kitten that bears such a disturbing resemblance to Spencer's dentist that he does an actual double-take. There's a lot of meowing and tail-flicking, and with all of that going on it takes Spencer a moment to react when Jon quietly says, "Hey, look here."
Spencer turns and comes face to face with a small grey kitten, slight enough to fit into on of Jon's hands. He's still staring when Jon says, "Here, take him," and even as he makes an incoherent noise of protest, Spencer's hands come up to awkwardly cradle the kitten against his chest.
He's warm, and light, and his soft body moves in Spencer's grip with the force of his purring. He kneads Spencer's shoulder with sharp little kitten claws, and sneezes when Spencer rubs one finger behind his ears.
"You know, I was thinking Clover," Jon says, leaning into Spencer's personal space to lightly tug on the kitten's tail. He sneezes again, and Jon smiles, running the backs of his fingers down Clover's back.
Spencer stares down at them. "Yeah," he finally says. "Yeah, I like that."