Fic: Paper Chase (2/2)

[foxxcub]

part one

~

He texted Jon over two dozen times before Saturday. It wasn't his fault—Jon started asking him about whether or not Dumbledore could take Gandalf in a fight, and Spencer couldn't exactly let Jon go on thinking Harry Potter was superior to fucking Tolkien. He spent most of his Thursday afternoon in the library listing Gandalf's superiority while half-reading his study guide notes on the Eastern Front.

It really wasn't Spencer's fault.

~

According to Tom, he and Jon had a tradition every year for the last day of Clicks for Kids.

"Jon throws a party, and I bake cookies," he said as the first batch of families came through the door of the studio. "Well, my girlfriend bakes cookies. I really just buy the booze."

"Uh, should I bring something?" Spencer asked. It wasn't even a question in his mind as to whether or not he was invited.

"Nope, just yourself and maybe your roommates if they're up for it," Jon replied, attempting to keep a little girl from mauling Ryan J as she launched herself into his lap.

Spencer didn't question that, either. He knew Ryan and Brendon were practically dying to spend time with the infamous Jon Walker—not that Spencer had been talking about him all that much. Not really. So what if Jon called him last night to talk about the cinematic genius of Yellow Submarine? Ryan had an iPod, he could've tuned them out.

He still sent both Brendon and Ryan a text saying party @ jon's 2nite ur coming.

Brendon immediately sent back sweet!!!, and eventually Ryan replied, Who is this Jon person? I thought you were in love with someone named Walker.

Spencer blushed furiously and maybe regretted his invitation.

~

Jon's apartment looked like Christmas had thrown up in it.

"When the hell did you get that?" Spencer gaped at the giant fresh pine taking up half the living room. It was covered top to bottom in blinking multi-colored lights and about a billion red and silver ornaments.

"I skipped class on Thursday and went to a Christmas tree farm with Tom. We do it every year. Oh hey, almost forgot." He fumbled around behind the tree until the huge star on top suddenly lit up and started sparkling like some kind of holiday disco ball.

Jon beamed. "Pretty awesome, right? And it was only like ten bucks. Fuck, I love the internet."

Spencer was still trying to figure out how he and Tom even got the damn thing through the door. "You're kind of ridiculous about this holiday. Just for the record."

"Not ridiculous, zealous, Spence. There's a difference." He nudged Spencer in the side with his knuckle, just a simple touch, but Spencer suddenly felt too warm and oversensitive.

"Spencer, you want eggnog, or just rum and hold the nog?" Ryan J yelled from Jon's kitchen.

"Ryan makes amazing eggnog, by the way," Jon said. "I'd take him up on the offer. Or I could make you an awesome Mojito."

Spencer smirked. "That's not exactly festive. And besides, that's more Brendon's taste. That, and Fuzzy Navels."

"I like this guy already. Go play bartender with Ryan for a sec, I'm gonna go change."

"Change?"

"Oh, believe me," Tom drawled as he pushed passed them with a pint of eggnog in hand. "We can't have this party without Jon's sweaters."

Jon shrugged sheepishly. "It's, uh, kind of an obsession."

His "obsession," Spencer discovered five minutes later, revolved around hideously ugly Christmas sweaters, the kind with giant snowflakes and reindeer and gaudy Christmas trees. The kind Spencer's grandma bought for herself every year. Jon's chosen sweater had no less than a dozen tiny reindeer lined up across the front, with a snowflake pattern surrounding them. It was bright, bright holiday green, and the sleeves were too long for him.

"This one? Is my favorite," Jon said with all the earnest joy of a six-year-old. "My mom found it for me in Germany three years ago."

There had to be something wrong with Spencer's brain, because no one should want to kiss a guy wearing an old German lady's Christmas sweater. "I don't even know how to comment on this," he said, trying not to smile to hard when Jon feigned a look of hurt.

"You don't appreciate true Christmas spirit, Spencer Smith." His voice was soft, almost intimate-sounding, and he was leaning in close to Spencer like they were sharing secrets. And Spencer couldn't bring himself to lean back.

He didn't know whether or not to be grateful that Tom suddenly yelled, "Yo, Spence! Your roommates are here!"

And the next thing Spencer knew, Brendon had wriggled his way under Spencer's arm and was grinning at Jon. "Dude, Booth! Nice to finally meet you!"

Jon gave Spencer a confused look, to which Spencer quickly turned Brendon toward the kitchen and replied, "There's eggnog, and possibly Mojitos later. Go nuts."

~

Spencer wasn't a huge fan of eggnog, but Ryan J's recipe was more rum than anything, and three cups later, Spencer was definitely feeling plenty of Christmas cheer. His completely empty stomach helped a lot, too.

"Does anyone actually know the words to 'Sleigh Ride'?" he asked, frowning at Jon's stereo. He had an urge to do Christmas karaoke, but the song didn't have any words.

He heard Jon chuckling softly behind him. "I think they're a myth, actually."

"Damn it." Spencer huffed. "Your stereo is not very accommodating to my karaoke needs."

"I'll have to keep that in mind for next year." Jon had moved on from eggnog to his special holiday beer that was only available from some microbrewery in Chicago. The bottle's label had candy canes and holly leaves on it, and every time Jon took a sip his bottom lip got shinier and shinier.

Another round of groaning and cheering came from the kitchen, where Ryan had somehow coaxed everyone into a game of Texas Hold 'Em poker with a bag of Christmas M&Ms; candy and playing cards were scattered all over Jon's dining table. Strangely enough, the more Ryan drank, the better he played, much to Tom and everyone else's dismay.

"You are not real, Ross!" Ryan J moaned. "You're like, fucking, James Bond in that one movie with the guy with the scar."

"That's every Bond movie ever, you freak," Tom's friend Sean replied good-naturedly. "We just need to up the ante—Walker, you got any Reece's cups?"

Jon rolled his eyes, then yelled back, "How 'bout York peppermint patties?"

"That'll work. This game just got too rich for Ross's blood."

Spencer heard Ryan snort. "Hardly. It's not like it's Godiva."

"Can we just do teams? I get dibs on Ryan," Brendon said around a mouthful of M&Ms.

"No, no teams, that's fucking cheating," Tom said. "And Jesus Christ, where'd all the mint Bailey's go? Fuck, Sean, that was my Christmas present to Walker..."

Jon smiled sheepishly at Spencer. "Sorry, my parties are usually more exciting than this."

"Let me guess, Ryan ruined your planned Scrabble tournament?"

His eyes flared. "How'd you know?"

Spencer dissolved into giggles—giggles, shit, he really was drunk—and leaned into Jon, his hand splayed over Jon's chest. "The real question is, how did I not know you were this big of a dork in high school?" he whispered.

Jon's eyes got a little hazy and unfocused for a second. "I don't know," he whispered back, and Spencer felt fingertips brush along his waist. "I wasn't exactly Captain Cool or anything."

"Yeah, you were. God, you were the coolest guy I'd ever met, you were perfect." He knew it was just the eggnog talking, but Spencer couldn't help it; it was suddenly much easier to admit everything to Jon, everything he felt like they'd been avoiding since Spencer started writing about Clicks for Kids.

Jon laughed awkwardly. "I really wasn't, Spence. I think I wanted people to think that, but I was basically the guy I am now—which, yeah, is a giant dork who loves his pets and DVRs lame CBS dramas." There was a faint blush over the bridge of his nose.

Slowly, all the humor drained out of Spencer as he flashed back to that second day of freshman year, of Jon mocking him in the halls, of Jon calling him pretty at Homecoming—had it all been just to save face?

He swallowed and said, softly, "Do you have any idea how hard you made high school for me?"

Jon's eyes widened. "What? I thought you barely remembered me."

"I remember you, all right." Spencer gave a rueful smile as his stomach tightened. "You're the creator of Bambi Smith."

He wasn't too drunk to watch the gradual recognition dawn in Jon's eyes. "I...oh, shit," he finally whispered, taking a step back. "You—Spence, I didn't mean—"

"It's just." Spencer dropped the hand that was touching Jon too much. "I have to say this, because—because it's been kind of in the back of my mind for like three weeks now, and if I don't say it now, it'll just drive me crazy."

Instead of replying, Jon grabbed Spencer's wrist and tugged him into his bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind them. "Okay, have at it," he said, leaning back against the door.

"You made my life suck," Spencer blurted out with a second thought, and wow, did that sound way more melodramatic and mean out loud than it did in his head all these years. There wasn't any satisfaction in making Jon wince like that. But he kept going. "I thought you were the biggest dick on the planet, and if I never hear the name Bambi again for the rest of my life, it'll be too soon. I hated you, like—like more than anyone else in my life."

Jon's shoulders hunched in a little. "And now?" he asked.

Spencer shoved a hand through his hair and dropped down onto the end of Jon's bed with a huff. "I didn't want to do that story on your charity. I thought I'd rather gouge my fucking eyes out than have to see you again. But I...fuck, you're just so..." He cupped both hands over his face and laughed a bit hysterically. He really wished he was sober.

"Spence, I—"

"You're just so you, and you always have been. I realize that now. I didn't actually hate you, I...I wanted you, as lame and fucking pathetic as that sounds. But there wasn't any reason for you to want me; I was just some pudgy freshman who sucked at soccer. I was nobody." His heart was starting to race, his words getting faster and faster. Spencer knew he was going to regret all this in the morning, yet it was oddly freeing to get it all out.

Jon, however, looked liked Spencer had punched him in the stomach. "Can I say something?"

Spencer exhaled loudly. "Yeah."

"First of all, as dumb as this is going to sound, I...always thought you were kind of adorable in high school."

"Right." Spencer snorted.

"I'm serious. I remember you would blush really easily, and that was, I don't know, really cute." He shrugged, looking down at his feet. "The nickname was kind of my way of flirting, I guess."

Spencer nearly choked. "Flirting? You call naming me after a fucking baby deer in a Disney cartoon flirting? Do you know how long people called me that? It's etched in the cover of my goddamn senior yearbook."

Jon looked up at him through his bangs and smiled weakly. "I told you I've always been a giant dork."

He had to be supremely drunk. Or maybe Jon was supremely drunk. "I don't believe you," Spencer breathed, feeling slightly dizzy.

Jon bit his lip, setting his beer on his dresser as he knelt down on the floor in front of Spencer, putting both hands on Spencer's knees. "When I saw you that first day in the studio, I remembered you—except the Bambi part. All I could think about was how fucking hot you were, and had you always been this hot?"

"Um." Spencer shifted a little against the comforter. "I'm not hot?"

"Uh, you pretty much are. I think it was the beard that threw me off a bit." He reached up and skimmed his fingers over Spencer's cheek, and Spencer was so discombobulated with everything that he couldn't help but lean into Jon's touch.

"Spencer, I'm really sorry if I made high school suck for you," Jon whispered, letting his fingertips trace the edge of Spencer's jaw. "I never meant to hurt you at all, I swear."

It was too much to process, and Spencer's brain was swimming in alcohol. He didn't want to think about what all this meant in the scheme of things, so he slid both hands around Jon's neck and pulled him closer, bending down just enough to whisper against Jon's mouth, "You could at least kiss me right now."

Jon huffed out a laugh, his hand sliding back into Spencer's hair. "I was getting to that," he breathed, pushing up on his knees into Spencer's space as he pressed their mouths together slowly, lips barely parted. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and saw little bursts of stars, even though the kiss had barely started.

Yeah, he definitely didn't hate Jon.

What he did hate was the tiny gasp he let slip out when Jon licked carefully over his bottom lip, but Jon seemed to take that as an invitation; his tongue pushed further into Spencer's mouth, sliding over his teeth, and Spencer gasped again, his hand tangling in the front of Jon's t-shirt. Jon tasted like beer and chocolate and peppermint—like Christmas. He was drunk enough to let himself appreciate the simile.

They kissed for what felt like hours, until Spencer found himself tugging Jon up onto bed with him. They tumbled over each other, laughing quietly in the dark as Spencer felt Jon straddle his hips and push Spencer's wrists gently back against the pillows.

"For the record, I didn't plan this for tonight," Jon said breathlessly. Spencer could hear the grin in his voice. "I figured I'd at least take you out on a proper date."

"You're way too fucking late getting me to think you're a gentleman," Spencer drawled, letting his hips roll up. He couldn't remember getting hard, but he was, and so was Jon, who bit a groan into Spencer's neck as he thrust back. Spencer knew he'd most likely have a mark in the morning, but he didn't care, this felt amazing, and it was Jon.

There was a rush of cold air against his stomach, and then Jon's lips were trailing up his sternum as he shoved Spencer's shirt up. "Sometime I'm gonna get you naked in the daylight," he whispered. "Want to see your skin all flushed."

Spencer had to suck his lip hard to keep from moaning loud enough for everyone in the kitchen to hear. He pawed around blindly until his hand found Jon's hair, pulling him up roughly to kiss him all over again, sloppy and wet. At some point he swore he hear Jon gasp his name, but it was hard to hear over the blood rushing in his ears. Their hips started grinding a rhythm again, and they groaned into each other's mouths, swallowing the sound, and Spencer really, really didn't know why he ever thought this was a bad idea—

From the other side of the door, Marley barked.

Jon broke out of the kiss, panting. "Fuck, he's gotta go out. I haven't walked him in hours."

As if he could hear Jon, Marley barked again, and Tom yelled, "Walker! Your dog needs to take a shit!"

"Sorry." Jon dropped his forehead against Spencer's, then kissed his temple. "I have to take him out, or he'll pee on the couch."

Spencer was on edge and kind of desperately needing to come, but he understood completely. "No, yeah, totally, go." He dropped both arms on the comforter and took several deep, calming breaths as Jon scrambled off the bed. In the light from the window, Spencer could see how Jon's hair was all mussed and the neck of his t-shirt was stretched out.

"I'll be back, okay?" he whispered as he opened the bedroom door.

Spencer laughed, rolling onto his side and pressing his face into Jon's pillow. "Stop whispering, you nerd."

When Jon closed the door behind him, Spencer heard Brendon ask, "Is Spence in there with—oh hey, yeah, I guess he is! Nice sex hair, Booth!"

Someday Spencer was going to have to explain that to Jon. But for now, Spencer was content to bury his face in Jon's scent and let his eyes close. The room was maybe starting to spin a little.

~

The first thing Spencer registered when he woke the next morning was sunlight. Really fucking bright sunlight, right in his face. Which was weird, since Spencer's bed was on the opposite side of the room from the window.

The second thing he registered was the monster headache that hit him like a ton of bricks right behind the eyes.

"Jesus fuck," he mumbled, burying his face deeper into his pillow—that most definitely did not smell like his own pillow.

Spencer's eyes flew open. This wasn't his room, and it wasn't his bed. He slowly propped himself up on his elbows and found that he was fully clothed and tucked under a blue plaid comforter.

And next to him in the bed, also curled up underneath the blanket and snoring softly, was Jon.

"Oh fuck," Spencer breathed, and his heart began hammering frantically in his chest. Jon appeared to be fully clothed as well, but—but Spencer was in bed with him. The night before was hazy, and it got even hazier the more Spencer tried to remember what happened after the third or fourth cup of eggnog. He remembered being pretty well trashed and wanting to do karaoke, and watching Ryan beat the rest of the group at poker, and maybe something about telling Jon he'd crushed horribly on him in high school—

Fuck. Spencer's stomach clenched, and it was much more than just his uber hangover. God, he'd really told him everything, hadn't he? And then—and then Jon had kissed him.

Jon had fucking kissed him, shit. And Spencer knew he'd melted into it like a goddamn girl, even if he couldn't recall all the details. He knew he'd all but thrown himself at Jon, which was no doubt hilarious; he didn't remember Jon's response to Spencer's drunken confessions, but he did remember kissing Jon all sloppy and desperate, like he could drink him in if he tried hard enough. Everything went fuzzy after that, but at least Spencer still had pants on; if sex had happened, he'd be naked, right? Shitshitshit.

At this rate, Jon would have enough material on Spencer to embarrass him into the next century. Bambi's a total lush, not to mention totally easy in bed. You don't even have to really try!

He couldn't stay here. Just looking at curve of Jon's shoulders under the blanket and his scruffy early morning beard made Spencer want to either spoon up against his back or throw up. And he couldn't exactly do the former.

Spencer crawled out of bed as quietly as possible, fumbling around for his shoes, which had somehow during the night been untied and placed neatly by the door. Spencer shoved them on and opened the bedroom door, only to be greeted by two very expectant-looking cats and a curious Marley.

"Sorry, guys, I don't know where the food is," Spencer whispered.

Marley cocked his head at Spencer, ears perked. Spencer swallowed tightly as he reached down to scratch under his muzzle; he probably wouldn't be coming back here, so this would be the last time Spencer would see him.

He half expected to see at least a couple of people passed out in Jon's living room, but the place was empty for the most part. The Christmas tree lights were still on, the gaudy, blinking disco star casting a shimmery gold over the couch and the armchair. Even with beer bottles and empty cups littering every spare surface, the apartment felt warm and cozy.

Spencer shrugged into his coat, trying to ignore the way Marley followed him around as he searched for his scarf and gloves. At one point, Marley butted his head up against Spencer's thigh, his tail wagging happily.

Why did he have to have a dog? Spencer thought, letting his fingertips trail along Marley's coat on his way to the door.

There maybe, possibly, was a small whimper as the front door clicked shut behind him.

~

It was barely past seven o'clock in the morning, and the walk back to Spencer's dorm was cold, almost completely silent. His breath made small, staccato puffs in the air, and he counted them in time with his steps. It kept his mind busy and not thinking about Jon still asleep back in his apartment.

When he finally let himself into the building, he eventually found his room quiet and dark except for the glow of the fish screensaver on Ryan's laptop.

Spencer started to kick his sneakers off and fall into bed, but then he noticed two bodies curled into each other on Ryan's bed. He squinted, and sure enough, Brendon was wrapped up in Ryan's down comforter, and for whatever reason, Ryan was fully clothed and spooned around him on the outside of the blanket. Brendon still had his glasses on.

"You guys must've had a satisfying night," Patrick whispered, smiling at Spencer from the doorway of the bathroom. He had his MacBook under one arm. "Those two came home at three am singing Mariah Carey Christmas songs. I'm pretty sure Brendon even got Ryan doing harmony. The last I heard from them was Ryan trying to bribe Brendon out of his bed, but obviously we know how that ended."

Spencer grinned weakly as he rubbed at his temples. "Yeah, 'm sure Ryan really put up a fight."

Patrick frowned slightly. "You okay? Or do you need to puke a couple times before bed?"

"No, I'm good. Just...tired." He cupped his hands over his face, thinking, Shit, I am so fucked.

"Bren said something about you finally hitting it off with Walker." He bit his lip, pointing awkwardly in the vicinity of Spencer's neck. "You, uh, have—there's, ah—"

Spencer's hand flew up to his throat, and he felt it instantly, the slight bruising just above his collarbone. He flushed and ducked his head, turning his back to Patrick as he took off his coat. "It's nothing," he whispered. "We were drunk, that's all."

Patrick shifted his laptop to his other arm. "That bad, huh?"

"No, I mean—it was good, just—it shouldn't have happened, and I—he doesn't really like me, anyway—"

"I meant you've got it bad for him. And dude, the guy spent an entire night taking your picture. That spells 'like' to me."

Spencer thought of all the photos Jon gave him from that night, the careful way each shot was framed, and time he'd taken to develop each one...

"It's complicated," Spencer sighed. He just wanted to go back to sleep and forget last night ever happened. Well, for the most part. He could keep bits of the kissing for late night, super secret fantasies.

Patrick shrugged, but his smile was sympathetic. "Suit yourself. I've got a final to study for." He gave Spencer a tiny salute and quietly closed the bathroom room.

Spencer put his phone on vibrate and stripped off his shirt—which still smelled like Jon's bed. He threw it at his desk chair with enough force to knock a stack of notes onto the floor, and then buried himself under his comforter, not wanting to see daylight again for at least a billion years.

~

Finals week arrived, and on Monday Spencer did a mediocre job on his Russian History exam. But he didn't really care about that.

What he really cared about was the final installment of his Clicks for Kids story coming out. Pete had told him the soundbites were going to get a color spread, and Spencer's piece would be the top story in the campus life section. It was a pretty big deal, considering it was Spencer's first real story for The Daily Tribune.

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to pick up one of the many copies stacked around campus. There was a finality to it that Spencer just didn't want to acknowledge yet.

That evening, he sat in Starbucks and basically watched Ryan type his Advanced Comp paper. He had a Biology test to study for, but all he could concentrate on was the booth in the corner, where he and Jon had spent an entire afternoon talking.

He really was fucked.

His phone chose that moment to ring, and Spencer figured it was Brendon wanting to grab pizza. But the display read J. Walker.

After the third ring, Ryan glanced up from his laptop. "You gonna answer that or what?" Then his eyes widened when he saw the slight panic on Spencer's face. "It's Jon, isn't it."

Spencer didn't answer Ryan. He hit the talk button on his phone and answered Jon.

"Hi," Jon said, and his voice sounded weirdly formal. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, no, I'm, um. Studying. With Ryan. Who's also studying." He winced, and Ryan rolled his eyes.

"Oh, Okay. I just wanted to...say that I read all the stories you wrote on Clicks. They're really good, you should be proud of them."

"Thanks. And I am. Proud, I mean. Pete says they're some of the best he's read."

"Good. I'm...glad I could help."

Stop being so goddamn polite and fucking yell at me, Spencer thought, slumping at little in his chair. "You should thank Tom and Ryan J for me, too. You guys all had a part in it." I'm sorry, okay, I don't know what I'm doing here, I don't know what I'm doing with you.

"Yeah." There was a pause, and Jon huffed abruptly. "There's actually another reason why I called. I—I need someone to go deliver the photos with me on Friday."

Spencer's heart beat a little faster. "But...doesn't Tom do that with you?"

"We have a tradition, yeah, but he came down with the flu yesterday. And Ryan's got a gig with his other band that night, and I'm—I'm kind of—"

"Desperate." He sighed. Ryan was watching his every move like a hawk, and Spencer gave him the finger. "So you want me to go instead?"

"I just need help carrying all the boxes. Most of the families live within a few blocks of each other, so it shouldn't take more than a couple of hours. And I realize it's finals week and you're probably packing to go home on Friday and all, but..." Another pause. Jon took a deep breath. "Please, Spence?"

It was that tiny, tiny little hint of tentative hope in the way Jon said his name that made Spencer go warm inside. He wanted to resist it more anything, but it was a lost cause; he couldn't stop picturing the way Jon would grin hopefully at his phone if Spencer said yes.

"All right," Spencer finally replied softly. "I'll do it."

Ryan smirked at him and drew a lazy heart in the air with his index finger.

~

Spencer stood outside the rundown photo shop in the cold, bits of snow clinging to his lashes each time he blinked. He'd yet to go inside; he didn't know what to say to Jon that didn't end in sorry I haven't call you in a week, and oh yeah, sorry for possibly having drunken sex with you.

As if reading his thoughts, his phone got a text from Jon. Come around to the alley.

The snow was beginning to fall a bit harder, covering the sidewalks in a delicate white. For a moment, Spencer remembered Jon's senior project and how he'd been photographing the seasons. Today was a perfect day for winter.

Spencer rounded the corner of the building, and there was Jon with his camera in hand, lens aimed at the sky. Beside him were two shopping carts filled with wrapped, bow-covered boxes.

And he was wearing Ryan J's Santa hat.

A part of him wanted to simply watch Jon filming the snow, the soft click of his camera echoing in the quiet morning air. But it was freezing outside, and all the presents were going to be soggy at this rate.

Spencer cleared his throat.

Jon lowered his camera. "Oh. Hey." His smile was careful, almost shy. "Sorry, I was—"

"Getting your winter shots. I know."

"Yeah. It's a really beautiful morning."

Only Jon would think a gray, dreary, snowy Friday morning was beautiful. Spencer tugged at the sleeves of his coat, wishing they were standing a little closer together. "So...all those are the Santa pictures?" he asked, pointing to the boxes.

Jon nodded. "Tom's the wrapper, not me. I'm a firm believer in gift bags."

"They look nice."

"Good. Makes it more special, I think, than just handing them an envelope." He shifted the camera to his other shoulder and adjusted the Santa hat. "You take one cart, I'll take the other. The first house is about a block south of here."

~

They didn't speak as they wheeled the boxes of photos down the quiet, snow-covered sidewalk. Spencer kept glancing at Jon out of the corner of his eye every few minutes, but Jon kept his head down, the fluffy end of the Santa hat bouncing against his neck. He wasn't even humming carols to himself.

Spencer couldn't stand the silence. "You might as well get it over with," he said softly.

Jon didn't ask him to clarify. He just sighed and kept looking forward, eyes a little sad and resigned. "Look, I get why you've hated me all these years, and I don't blame you at all. But I meant what I said—I never meant to hurt you, and I'm sorry. I know that probably doesn't mean a whole lot to you, but it's true."

He remembered Jon saying all that last Saturday night. Spencer remembered a lot of things a week later, but it didn't change one important fact.

"We were drunk," Spencer said. "I said a lot of things I shouldn't have, and I probably, definitely, shouldn't have kissed you, and—"

"Spence, I kissed you." Jon came to a stop, finally meeting Spencer's eyes. "I wasn't drunk, either. I was barely even buzzed. I wanted to kiss you, especially after you told me about how I made high school suck for you and yet you still had a crush on me."

Spencer wanted to sink into the asphalt. "God, please don't bring that up. It's not like you don't have enough ammunition on me as it is."

Jon took a step closer. "Ammunition?" he asked, just above a whisper. "I'm not out to humiliate you, Spence, I—if anything, I really just kind of, maybe. I don't know. Wanted to be your boyfriend. But then you took off on me the next morning, and I never heard from you after that, so I figured you...still hadn't gotten over it."

It was slightly hard to breath for a second. All Spencer could concentrate on was I really just wanted to be your boyfriend.

"I didn't mean to have sex with you," he blurted out.

Jon blinked, then burst out laughing. "Obviously, since we didn't actually have any sex whatsoever."

"But...I woke up in your bed—"

"You passed out after I got back with Marley, and it took enough energy as it was to get you under the covers, let alone wake you up to make out some more." Jon blushed, right along the tops of his cheeks. "I could've sent you home with Ryan and Brendon, but I kinda, y'know, wanted to keep you around a little longer."

There hadn't been any sex involved. Jon hadn't been drunk. Spencer might still have his dignity. "I guess I should've mentioned the part about me being kind of a lightweight," he grimaced.

"Naw, I have really hot, drunk freshman in my room all the time, trust me." Jon scrinched his nose up, wincing as he brushed snowflakes off his beard. He jerked his head toward the carts. "C'mon, let's get these delivered before all of Tom's wrapping goes to shit."

Spencer followed after him, just wanted to be your boyfriend still on a constant loop in his brain.

~

As ridiculously cheesy as it sounded, Jon really loved playing Santa.

Each time a kid came to the door and he handed them their box of photos, Jon's expression was one of genuine contentment and happiness, especially when the kids would throw their arms around his legs in a fierce hug.

The parents were more subtle in their gratitude, of course, but Spencer caught more than a few tears shed when the boxes were opened.

"Today, you really are Santa," one mom said quietly, smiling at the pictures in her hands.

Jon's smile was soft. "It's my pleasure, seriously," he replied, and Spencer knew it was the truth. This was why Jon put in all the time and effort into the charity; maybe it was cliched, but he was literally spreading Christmas cheer. And that had to feel good.

Twenty-some apartments later, they came to a rather nice-looking condo that sat on a street corner facing a much more upscale neighborhood. A real pine wreath hung on the door.

"I know what you're thinking," Jon said, pushing open the wrought iron gate at the end of the walk. "And yeah, they don't look needy, right? But the mom is a friend of my sister-in-law's, and her husband's company went bankrupt earlier this year."

"And they still live here?" Spencer asked. Rent in this part of town was hardly cheap.

"Probably not for much longer," Jon replied softly as he rang the bell. "But you didn't hear me say that."

When the door opened, Spencer instantly recognized the little girl standing there as the one who had requested pink socks for Christmas.

And the weird part was that she didn't immediately beam at Jon like all the other kids—she beamed at Spencer.

"You asked me questions!" she said. "Did my name go in the newspaper?"

Spencer laughed. "Yeah, it did. You're famous." He held his hand up to give the girl a high five, very aware of Jon watching him closely.

"Mommy, I'm in a newspaper!"

"Good grief, Sam, don't yell, I'm right here." Her mom came around the corner into the foyer, looking slightly harried. But her eyes widened happily when she saw Jon and Spencer.

"Oh, the pictures," she breathed, covering her mouth with one hand. "I'd completely forgotten about them!"

Sam huffed impatiently. "Mom, I'm famous, he asked me questions and then put 'em in a newspaper!" She pointed at Spencer, who flushed and gave Sam's mom an awkward wave.

"Hi. I, uh, did a story on the charity for my school's paper—"

"Yes, I remember you! You were interviewing all the kids the day we took the pictures. I take it you used some of Sam's quotes?"

Spencer nodded, feeling a little shy for some reason. It might have had something to do with Jon still watching him and not saying a word. "Yeah, quite a few, actually. I...could send you a copy of the issue, if you want?"

She smiled at him, laying her hands on Sam's head. "That would be perfect, thank you. I can add it to Sam's scrapbook."

Jon took that moment to hand her a wrapped box. "You can add these to it, too. Merry Christmas." Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer could still see Jon glance back at him, grinning with one corner of his mouth.

"Hey, you're under the mistletoe!" Sam failed her hand over her head, indicating what appeared to be a red-painted pine cone hanging over the doorway by a silver ribbon. She looked expectantly at Jon, adding, "Now you gotta kiss someone."

"Oh." Spencer never, ever thought he'd see Jon blush that quickly. It was almost comical. "I, um—"

Her mother sighed in exasperation. "Don't worry, it's not actually mistletoe, she just thinks it's mistletoe because Mom couldn't find any of the real stuff." She gave Sam a stern look. "Honey, we don't make strangers kiss on our doorstep, okay? It's not polite."

Sam rolled her eyes. "But they're boyfriends! They probably kiss all the time."

Now Spencer was just as red as Jon, not to mention desperately trying not to meet his eyes or laugh hysterically. His heart was pounding with equal parts embarrassment and anticipation—not that Jon would really kiss him or anything, not here—

"Well," Jon said softly. "I guess we can't break the rules of mistletoe." And the next thing Spencer knew, Jon leaned in and cupped the back of his neck, swiping his lips over Spencer's in a quick, chaste kiss. He didn't move his hand as quickly, though; his fingertips lingered at Spencer's shoulder, then slid down over his scarf and the front of his coat.

Spencer felt his eyes flutter closed and the instant urge to pull Jon closer. The snow was falling a little harder now, and he could smell the fresh pine in the air.

They were almost a living Christmas cliche'. Spencer grinned in spite of himself.

"See?" Sam said, looking pointedly up at her mother. "Boyfriends. Duh."

~

By the time the carts were empty and every package had been delivered, everything around them was covered in a good inch of white. The weather showed no signs of letting anytime soon, and Spencer knew he should be a little concerned about his drive home, only...he wasn't in a huge rush to get home just yet. His car was all packed and sitting in the parking lot back at the dorm; Ryan was no doubt already at Spencer's house, where he'd spent Christmas for the past couple years, letting Spencer's mom dote on him to an obnoxious degree. Brendon had caught a plane home to Vegas the night before.

"When are you headed home?" Spencer asked when they made it back to Jon's apartment, their cheeks bright red from the cold and their hair damp with snow.

"Tomorrow morning. My brother's coming over to help load up the animals and take them to my parents' house for the break." Jon stacked the carts and rolled them over against the bike rack near the building's front door. "I'll deal with these tomorrow, too."

Spencer huddled deeper into his coat. He could feel the awkwardness growing between them again, could tell by the way Jon shuffled his feet in the snow that neither one of them really knew what to do next. Should Spencer just tell him Merry Christmas and let them figure shit out in January? Should Jon invite him inside and order a pizza? Should they make out in the snow and hope no one walks by?

"I know you're probably all set to go home," Jon finally said tentatively. "But Tom's mom made me a lasagna that feeds an army and I've been eating on it all week. There's enough left for two people if...if you'd want—"

"Yeah, okay," Spencer replied, almost sighing in relief. "I could definitely eat." He glanced at the window into Jon's living room, and there was Marley with his paws up on the windowsill, eagerly wagging his tail.

They left their soggy, snow-covered boots in the hall by Jon's doorway, and the second Jon opened the door Marley tackled them—actually, he tackled Spencer, barking sharply as if he was reprimanding Spencer for being gone.

Dylan and Clover were curled up asleep in the armchair, utterly indifferent. Spencer didn't mind.

"Jesus, I feel like I'm soaked," Jon said, throwing his coat and Santa hat over the couch. He wiggled out of his sweater, leaving him in just his plain white t-shirt and jeans, his hair in complete disarray.

Instantly, Spencer felt a hot, sudden clench of want in his stomach. It threw him off guard for moment, because it wasn't that Jon looked hot standing there all rumpled and red-faced from the cold, but...Jon kind of looked unbearably hot. And Spencer kind of hadn't gotten over the earlier mistletoe incident.

Jon scrubbed a hand through his hair. He looked a little exhausted, but happy and content. "I'll go heat up the food and see if I've got any pop left—"

He didn't finish his sentence. Spencer walked right up into his space and put both hands on Jon's cheeks, hauling him into a hard, fast kiss. He overbalanced and staggered back a bit, pulling Jon with him, and they ended up slamming into the wall by the Christmas tree. Spencer's brain went into overdrive was he realized Jon was flush against him, thigh to chest, and even with his coat still on Spencer could feel how solid he was. He wanted to run his hands all over him, right now.

"Sorry, sorry," he gasped, dragging his teeth over Jon's lower lip and loving the way Jon shivered. "You kissed me earlier, and I kind of can't stop thinking about it, so." He slid his hands up Jon's back, over his shoulder blades.

"Totally didn't expect that," Jon breathed. His breath hitched as Spencer scratched his nails lightly down his spine. "Kinda didn't expect this, either, but I'm sure as fuck not complaining." He nipped at Spencer's jaw, hands shoving his coat to the floor. Spencer never thought this shit out—he should really think about getting naked before he jumped someone. He should also consider getting them to a bed or something instead of a wall, but he wasn't about to stop. So what if Marley was watching? At least the tree mostly hid them from the cats.

But thinking about making out against walls made him somehow think of his one and only time with a guy in high school, of extremely awkward blowjobs in the locker room after hours. It made him wonder how many times Jon had had someone in this exact same position.

"Does, ah, Marley see you get a lot of action like this?" Spencer asked against his better judgment, biting back a groan as Jon licked over his neck.

Jon looked up, his eyes dark. "If you're trying to ask how many guys I've been with, the answer's not many. I'm kind of old-fashioned."

Spencer laughed, high and a little too breathless. "Are you saying you're in love with me?"

He shrugged, nosing his way up Spencer's throat and cheek before kissing the corner of his mouth, his hands splayed low on Spencer's stomach. "I could be. I mostly meant I like trusting people before I get naked with them, but if you're dying for me to fall in love with you..."

"God, just shut the fuck up." Spencer couldn't stop grinning like freak.

"I can do that, too." There was just enough height difference between them that Jon had to tip his head up a fraction of an inch to smile up at Spencer, biting the edge of his lip like he was actually nervous.

It wouldn't be so bad, being in love with you, Spencer found himself thinking, just as Jon began slowly sinking to his knees.

Oh. Oh.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, and if he wasn't totally hard before, he was definitely there now. It had been ages since he'd had someone's hands on his thighs like that, tugging his jeans down.

"This okay?" Jon whispered. His mouth was hovering over Spencer's bellybutton, lips brushing the edge of his boxers. "I'm not trying to rush you or anything, I just—I really want to—"

"Y-yeah, god, you can do whatever you want," Spencer babbled, because holy fuck, Jon wanted to blow him. Jon Walker, whom Spencer had once thought he hated more than anyone ever, was basically telling him he wanted to suck his cock, and they weren't even naked.

Jon laughed softly, which caused warm air to puff out over Spencer's crotch. He expected some snarky comment, but what he got instead was Jon carefully parting the slit of Spencer's navy boxers to take his cock out. It gave an embarrassing little twitch when Jon licked his lips.

He held his breath as Jon looked up at him through his bangs and whispered, "Can you—I want to see you do it. See what you like."

Never in a billion years until that moment would Spencer have thought he'd be asked to jerk off with Jon's mouth not two inches away. And never in a billion years would Spencer would have thought he'd want to do it like burning.

His hand shook slightly as he reached down and palmed himself, gasping softly at both the sensation and the way Jon's eyes flared. Spencer stroked once, but then stopped and winced.

"I have to—I mean, I need—" He swallowed and quickly brought his hand up to lick his palm. Jon watched his every movement, pupils totally shot. "I like it wet," Spencer whispered before wrapping his fingers back around his cock.

"God," Jon breathed, and he licked his lips again.

This wasn't going to last if he kept that up. Actually, it wasn't going to last, period. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think about something not sexy, namely anything that wasn't Jon on his knees with his lips all shiny and parted. It didn't work very well, and it really didn't work the moment hot, hot heat sank over the head of his dick and he felt the slickness of Jon's mouth hitting his fist.

Cold showers. His grandma naked. Baseball stats. But his body was pretty much eager and ready to come, regardless of Spencer wanting to hold on.

He pawed at Jon's hair, refusing to open his eyes—seeing Jon's mouth full would only make things worse. "Gotta—gotta stop, shit," Spencer panted, and it took every ounce of strength he had not to thrust his hips up.

Jon made a soft huffing noise, which sounded disturbingly like a laugh. He didn't let up.

"Jon, c'mon, I can't—"

Fingers suddenly batted Spencer's hand out of the way, and then it was Jon's fist pumping him in time with his mouth.

Shit, this was really happening. And Spencer had to see it. He'd probably die, but it would so be worth it.

Spencer forced his eyes open and looked down the length of his body to find Jon's knees spread and his left hand curled around the base of Spencer's cock, his cheeks hollowing out slightly with each pull of his mouth. His face was soft, his cheeks flushed, his jaw loose like he could suck Spencer for hours. But the part that got Spencer more than anything was the way Jon's right hand was rubbing frantically over the front of his jeans.

He was getting off on getting Spencer off. It had to be the hottest fucking thing Spencer had ever seen.

With a strangled whimper, Spencer dropped his chin to his chest and came. He didn't watch Jon swallow, but Jon didn't pull off until well after Spencer was wrung out and boneless.

"Holy shit," Spencer gasped. He knew he should pull his jeans back up, but that seemed like a lot of work. He managed to open his eyes and grinned crookedly when Jon wobbled a bit as he got to his feet. The front of his jeans looked a little damp. And sticky.

"Holy shit," he said again with a breathless laugh. "Did you seriously—?"

"It's been a while, shut up," Jon mumbled, letting his weight melt into Spencer. He pressed his face into the curve of Spencer's neck, and even though Spencer was still kind of half naked and Jon just came in his jeans, it felt good to be snuggled. The wall wasn't the most comfortable thing ever, but he didn't care.

"You, um. Wanna go get in bed for a while?" Jon whispered. "Or we can eat. I'm honestly not picky right now."

Spencer slowly dragged his fingers through Jon's hair. "Bed. Food can wait."

"Thank god."

He ended up kicking his jeans, shoes, and socks off in the living room and following Jon into his room in just his shirt and shorts. Jon shed his ruined jeans, and Spencer felt a little stupid watching him change into a clean pair of boxers, even if, yeah, getting to see Jon's ass in plain view wasn't a bad thing at all. Marley sat in the doorway, ears cocked curiously.

"Have we scarred him?" Spencer asked.

"Dude, he's watched porn with me and Tom, and he's seen Ryan J naked. Nothing could scar him at this point."

Marley wuffed quietly, making them both laugh. Jon backed him out of the room as he closed the door, whispering, "Naptime, buddy."

Jon's feet were freezing against Spencer's once they buried themselves under the blankets, and Spencer knew he probably smelled like sweat. But none of it seemed to matter as Jon spooned up against his back, his beard scratching softly against Spencer's shoulders.

"'m glad you gave me a second chance, Spence," he heard Jon say in the dark, fingers tracing the dip at Spencer's waist.

Spencer smiled into Jon's pillow. "Can I call you Thumper every once in a while?"

He felt Jon's lips brush the back of his neck. "How 'bout Flower instead?"

"Deal."

~

They slept for two hours, and then ate lasagna while watching old Fresh Prince reruns. There was a little more making out on the couch, but eventually Jon had to force Spencer to leave.

"Your parents are waiting on you, dude. Besides, you'll be back here in a few weeks," he said, kissing Spencer's chin before he rolled off the couch and tossed Spencer his coat and scarf.

Spencer felt stupidly sentimental as Jon nudged him out the door. Four weeks felt like a long time.

As if reading Spencer's thoughts, Jon leaned in and whispered against Spencer's lips, "Stop worrying, I'm not going anywhere."

He may have grabbed onto Jon a little too tightly as he'd kissed him back one more time.

It was well past dark by the time Spencer got to his parents' house. Of course, Ryan was there, grinning smugly at Spencer's mussed hair.

"Thought you were snowbound," he smirked. "Thank god you had Jon to save you."

Had Spencer's parents not been standing right there, Spencer would've given him the finger.

"Ryan says you've been working with this Jon guy on a story for your paper," his mom said. "And that you two went to high school together. Do I know him? Was he someone special?"

Ryan coughed loudly, and Spencer tried his best not to blush like an idiot. But he looked Ryan straight in the eyes as he replied, "Yeah, Mom. I think he was, actually."

"Booth and Brennan forever," Ryan whispered, and gave Spencer a best friend fist bump.

~

On Christmas Eve, Spencer got a text from Jon.

Merry Christmas, Bambi. Love, Flower

It was the lamest, dorkiest, corniest text Spencer could possibly imagine.

It was perfectly Jon.

~

He tells himself he's too old to be missing someone just because it's almost Christmas. Ryan never liked the holidays, anyway, but he always brought Spencer candy canes during the last week of school. Spencer remembers hiding them away for snacks in his backpack, until all his books smelled like peppermint.

It's just been a crappy day: Spencer failed his algebra test, and he's wearing his favorite suede shoes on the day it decides to snow five hundred feet. It kind of just makes sense for him to be missing Ryan like crazy right now.

He leans his forehead against his locker door, thinking of Vegas and eighty degree Christmas Eves and all his old friends back home.

A hand taps his shoulder. "Smile, Bambi, it's almost Christmas!" a familiar voice whispers in his ear.

Spencer jerks his head up, only to catch Jon Walker smiling at him over his shoulder on his way down the hall. He glares a little, cheeks automatically flushing bright pink, but Jon just winks back.

Like Christmas can just fix everything. Yeah, right. Spencer's not a five-year-old.

Walker's such a jerk.