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untitled ficlet of angst!
So, earlier this evening ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shleemeri emailed me this clip from a very angsty British film that I know nothing about, other than it has A BOYKISSING SCENE THAT BREAKS ME. She wanted someone to take that scene and apply it to bandom.
This is what I came up with.
It comes down to this: a sleepless night in a hotel room in Baltimore, a night spent not sharing a bed and not touching each other with careful, hot glances of fingertips on skin as they pretend to watch a movie, or talking about the show. Not tonight, not after Spencer got a teary, slightly frantic phone call from Haley the day before, asking if the rumors that he's fucking someone else are true. They're not, of course, but they can only mean one thing - he and Jon aren't being careful, and the innocent touches and too-long stares are translating into something else entirely, something neither one of them are prepared to discuss right now, if ever. And they both know that if Haley suspects, it's only a matter of time before Jon's got a voicemail from Cassie.
So they sleep in their own beds and don't so much as look at each other; eventually Spencer mumbles to the floor, "It's not like - I mean, we're not - "
"Yeah, I know." It's all Jon can think to say. A part of him feels like apologizing, even though they've done nothing wrong.
"So we're good? We should just." Spencer shoves his hair back and sighs.
Jon sighs, too. "Yeah," he says again, and it makes his throat hurt.
They wake up the next morning to Zack's usual pounding on their door. Jon dresses in slow motion, and Spencer packs his stuff in short, careful movements. Neither one of them say much, and Jon wonders if maybe tonight he'll be rooming with Brendon instead.
They're the last ones to leave, and they ride the elevator down together, surrounded by thick silence. Jon stares straight ahead at the sliding doors, watches the numbers tick down from forty-five to one. He can see his reflection in the burnished metal, muted and blurred around the edges. He can see Spencer, too, and he's in profile, because he can't seem to stop staring at Jon; he can feel the heat of Spencer's eyes burning into his temple.
Just stop, Jon wants to say, but he can't. He's not strong enough, and he doubts Spencer is, either.
Which explains why, after what feels like a goddamn eternity counted down by elevator dings, Jon huffs out a loud breath and turns abruptly to face Spencer, crowding him into the corner, eye to eye. They don't touch at all, and Jon still has to tip his chin up that extra inch, because Spencer just won't stop fucking growing. Jon remembers when they could stand nose to nose without him having to go on tiptoe; he swallows hard.
Spencer doesn't say a word, only stares Jon down, eyes dark and full of things that will most likely never be put into words - the way it should be. The air makes Jon physically ache; he thinks if this is to be the end of the beginning, he at least wants something to remember it by.
So he leans in and presses his mouth to Spencer's upper lip. He doesn't close his eyes until the very last second.
Spencer's eyes flutter shut, and he sucks in a soft, sharp breath as his mouth opens a fraction under Jon's. There's no tongue, no desperate clinging; only pressure and noses sliding past one another, a whisper of 'what if'.
The elevator doors open with a quiet ding, and Jon pulls back, ducks his head. He grabs his luggage and turns his back to Spencer, his hands shaking in time to the pounding of his heart as he walks back to the bus alone.
shleemeri emailed me this clip from a very angsty British film that I know nothing about, other than it has A BOYKISSING SCENE THAT BREAKS ME. She wanted someone to take that scene and apply it to bandom.This is what I came up with.
It comes down to this: a sleepless night in a hotel room in Baltimore, a night spent not sharing a bed and not touching each other with careful, hot glances of fingertips on skin as they pretend to watch a movie, or talking about the show. Not tonight, not after Spencer got a teary, slightly frantic phone call from Haley the day before, asking if the rumors that he's fucking someone else are true. They're not, of course, but they can only mean one thing - he and Jon aren't being careful, and the innocent touches and too-long stares are translating into something else entirely, something neither one of them are prepared to discuss right now, if ever. And they both know that if Haley suspects, it's only a matter of time before Jon's got a voicemail from Cassie.
So they sleep in their own beds and don't so much as look at each other; eventually Spencer mumbles to the floor, "It's not like - I mean, we're not - "
"Yeah, I know." It's all Jon can think to say. A part of him feels like apologizing, even though they've done nothing wrong.
"So we're good? We should just." Spencer shoves his hair back and sighs.
Jon sighs, too. "Yeah," he says again, and it makes his throat hurt.
They wake up the next morning to Zack's usual pounding on their door. Jon dresses in slow motion, and Spencer packs his stuff in short, careful movements. Neither one of them say much, and Jon wonders if maybe tonight he'll be rooming with Brendon instead.
They're the last ones to leave, and they ride the elevator down together, surrounded by thick silence. Jon stares straight ahead at the sliding doors, watches the numbers tick down from forty-five to one. He can see his reflection in the burnished metal, muted and blurred around the edges. He can see Spencer, too, and he's in profile, because he can't seem to stop staring at Jon; he can feel the heat of Spencer's eyes burning into his temple.
Just stop, Jon wants to say, but he can't. He's not strong enough, and he doubts Spencer is, either.
Which explains why, after what feels like a goddamn eternity counted down by elevator dings, Jon huffs out a loud breath and turns abruptly to face Spencer, crowding him into the corner, eye to eye. They don't touch at all, and Jon still has to tip his chin up that extra inch, because Spencer just won't stop fucking growing. Jon remembers when they could stand nose to nose without him having to go on tiptoe; he swallows hard.
Spencer doesn't say a word, only stares Jon down, eyes dark and full of things that will most likely never be put into words - the way it should be. The air makes Jon physically ache; he thinks if this is to be the end of the beginning, he at least wants something to remember it by.
So he leans in and presses his mouth to Spencer's upper lip. He doesn't close his eyes until the very last second.
Spencer's eyes flutter shut, and he sucks in a soft, sharp breath as his mouth opens a fraction under Jon's. There's no tongue, no desperate clinging; only pressure and noses sliding past one another, a whisper of 'what if'.
The elevator doors open with a quiet ding, and Jon pulls back, ducks his head. He grabs his luggage and turns his back to Spencer, his hands shaking in time to the pounding of his heart as he walks back to the bus alone.
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