![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Fic: Written in Reverse
Written in Reverse
Jon/Spencer | 6000 words | NC-17
Jon's been to grad school and has a PhD. He thinks, for the most part, that he's a fairly intelligent guy. And yet, for some reason, he can't seem to get his boyfriend to sleep with him.
Nothing says Christmas like sex therapist!Jon Walker! Twitter made me do it. Actually, this is a belated birthday present to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lyo, because she is awesome like Jon's face. ♥♥♥ Thanks to siryn99 for the last-minute beta. Title lyrics from Spoon.
///
It's like any other session. Jon listens intently to the patient's problems, listens to all their accounts of issues and frustrations and everything else that goes along with them. It's nothing he hasn't heard before.
Only just as he's jotting down some notes, the patient says, "Doctor, I want to know what it's like to have crazy monkey sex. That's all I want, but I'm so afraid it'll never happen."
And just like that, Jon's thinking of Spencer naked.
He nearly drops his notes.
"Well, that's why you're here, right?" he asks, clearing his throat as he shifts in his chair. He smiles at the woman, who breathes a sigh of relief.
Jon has kind of forgotten everything she just said. Fuck.
///
He doesn't want to say it's a problem, because it isn't. Really. Jon is well aware of the fact that it's perfectly normal to fantasize about the person with whom you are sexually involved. Sex drives are natural.
Except he's not having sex. At all.
And that, maybe, is a problem.
"So, what would you say if I told you I've been having sex fantasies about Spencer?" Jon says, staring down his margarita.
Brendon stops in the middle of devouring his plate of cheese fries. "Um, isn't that par for the course? You're the sex therapist, you tell me."
"It's just, um." Jon fiddles with his straw. "It happens at the worst times."
"Wait, are you two still not fucking?"
Jon flails his hand out to shush him, even though no one in the bar is paying a bit of attention to them. "Jesus, Bren, you don't have to say it like that."
"Like what? You've been on like, five dates now? Don't you think that warrants some action?"
"There isn't a set ratio of dates to sex." Jon's said it to more than one patient in his life, and he'll damn well say it again.
Brendon rolls his eyes. Jon thinks he should've made better friends in college. "Whatever, he's hot. You're hot. Have there at least been hands involved?"
Jon drums his fingers on the table. "It's not that there hasn't--"
"Oh my god, what are you guys, thirteen-year-old girls? You've kissed though, right?"
Yes, they have. Jon maybe thinks about their first kiss a little more than he should. Also the time two nights ago when he'd kissed Spencer on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant and Spencer had made this soft little gasping noise that made Jon go instantly hard.
Okay, so there might be more than one problem.
"Of course we've kissed," Jon says, then takes a huge drink of his margarita. It's mostly tequila, and he coughs slightly. "And there's been lots of touching." Touching that only involved hand-holding and maybe brief fingertips brushing over chests, but still. Still.
Brendon sighs and shakes his head. He leans across the table and pats the back of Jon's hand. "You are one of my best friends and I love you. But you're also a moron," he says. "My prognosis is that you and Captain Hottie need to fuck like bunnies, or you'll keep having inappropriate blue ball moments in front of your patients."
Jon finishes the rest of his margarita, promptly signaling for another. "You know, I really am a professional," he mumbles.
Brendon laughs and shoves what's left of his cheese fries in Jon's direction.
///
Jon has been a licensed sex therapist for two years now. He's been to grad school and has a PhD. He thinks, for the most part, that he's a fairly intelligent guy.
And yet, for some reason, he can't seem to get his boyfriend to sleep with him.
Well, he assumes they're boyfriends. They've been on a half dozen dates, text each other constantly, and have kissed a lot. In Jon's educated opinion, they're boyfriends. Or at least something close to it.
Sometimes Jon thinks Ryan set him up with his best friend just to torture him. That's what Jon gets for letting his writer friends set him up with their writer friends.
"He's a food critic," Ryan had said blandly, like he was totally ignoring the fact that Jon had seen Spencer at Ryan's Christmas party and had all but tripped into the nearest wall. "Honestly, 'writer' is giving him too much credit. Go ahead and tell him I said that, too, he's said way worse about me."
Jon had meant to mention Ryan's joke on their first date, but he'd been too goddamned twitterpated to even remember his name. Their first kiss had been on the front steps of Spencer's apartment building; Jon had waved awkwardly, said, "Well, I had fun," and Spencer had simply smirked and fisted his hand in the front of Jon's coat, pulling him in for a slow, barely open-mouthed kiss.
"Me, too," he'd whispered against Jon's mouth, and had Jon been a girl, he would have whimpered.
The next date had been the same--awesome conversation, Spencer being hot, and Jon desperately wanting to kiss him, which finally happened in Jon's car at a stop light. Two dates after that, Jon's palms were literally itching to get on Spencer's skin.
But nothing ever progresses past kissing. Jon's beginning to wonder if he's fucked up somehow, PhD or no.
"What's the craziest, most batshit thing you've heard a patient say so far?" Spencer asks him that night. They're sitting on Jon's living room floor around his coffee table playing Scrabble.
"Doctor/patient privilege, dude," Jon replies. "But I'll just say women and their orgasms are serious business."
Spencer snorts. "I should really start telling people my boyfriend is Dr. Drew."
Jon glances up from his letters. "Yeah?" He hates that he can feel his cheeks blush.
"Yeah. Maybe you should have a radio show, too, let crazy people call you up and gross the fuck out the masses." There's something in Spencer's smile, though, that tells him he knows what caught Jon's attention.
They're boyfriends. It's official.
Official means sex, Jon automatically thinks, then immediately winces.
"You all right?" Spencer asks softly. He bites the corner of his lip, and his hair is all soft and falling in his eyes, and all Jon really wants to know is how all that soft, shiny hair would look sweaty and spread out over his pillow...
"I'm fine. And I just kicked your ass." He lays out his letters to spell gigantic, and Spencer laughs.
"Tell me, sex doc, what are you trying to say?" He leans across the coffee table and kisses Jon on the mouth, soft and slow. "Little bit Freudian, don't you think?"
"You've got a dirty mind," Jon murmurs as he licks past Spencer's lips. Spencer makes that sound again, that tiny little catch of breath, and god, Jon wants him.
But then Spencer pulls back and wiggles his eyebrows. "Rematch, double or nothing," he says, clearing the board of letter pieces.
Jon sits back on his heels, willing his sudden, insistent erection to go down. He swallows hard and replies, "You're totally on."
///
Jon is used to talking about masturbation in a purely clinical sense. He's dealt with erectile dysfunction, foreplay anxiety, even women who were terrified to so much as look at their privates. It's not something he thinks about in a sexual way, at least not when it comes to his work.
But suddenly, everything becomes centered around how many times a day he's beating off.
"She wanted to watch me," the guy sitting in the chair across from Jon says. "I've never had a woman ask to watch. I felt like she was asking me to rip out my heart and spill it all out for her, y'know? No one has ever seen me...touch myself. Not like that. It's weird. Is that weird?"
Jon is staring down at his notepad and trying very hard not to picture Spencer kneeling at the foot of his bed with his eyes all dark and patient, whispering, "Show me, Jon. Show me what you like." And Jon spreads himself out for him, legs bent as he slowly palms his cock and takes a long, hard pull on the shaft, gasping when Spencer bites his lip and groans--
"Dr. Walker?"
"No, that's not weird at all. Masturbation is a very private act, and sharing it can be very...stressful." Jon rearranges his clipboard on his lap. His heart is pounding, all the way down to his fingertips.
"So what do I do?"
Jon scribbles down some nonsense sentences. "Take it slow. Let her know you need time to adjust to being on display. If she cares about you, she'll understand." But what he really wants to say is, Just be thankful you're getting laid.
///
Jon honestly hasn't jerked off this much since he was sixteen. It's a little obscene.
He jerks off in the shower first thing in the morning to memories of Spencer kissing him goodnight. He comes home for lunch and jerks off again to thoughts of Spencer touching his wrist at dinner. He jerks off in the evening to fantasizes of nothing but Spencer's mouth.
The night before he'd been at Spencer's apartment, where they'd watched Die Hard and ate popcorn and drank some beer. It would've been like any other night, except Spencer kept close to Jon's side, thigh to thigh, and as the movie went on, Spencer would lean in and whisper things against Jon's ear, like, "If I were Bruce Willis, I'd fucking hate Christmas Eve."
Jon would laugh and do everything within his power not to shiver and push Spencer down against the couch cushions. Later, they'd kissed goodnight at the door, and Spencer had trailed his fingertips over the edge of Jon's collar, barely touching his skin as scraped his teeth lightly over Jon's lip. Jon felt himself go almost painfully hard, clenching his hand a little too tightly in Spencer's shirt.
Say it, he thought. Ask me to stay the night, ask me to get naked here in the foyer, ask me to suck you until I go blind, I don't even fucking care...
"I'll see you tomorrow," Spencer whispered, pulling back just enough to nuzzle at Jon's cheek.
Jon maybe wanted to cry. Instead, he immediately went home and beat off so fast, he came over his hand halfway from the living room to the bedroom.
He's so horny he's going to crawl out of his skin.
"Is there something about Spencer I should know?" Jon finally asks Ryan one night during one of their weekly bar hangs. He's been very good at not bringing up Spencer very much, because God only knows how Jon would feel if Ryan were dating Brendon and kept moaning about the lack of sex.
"Like what, if he has a cross-dressing fetish? The answer's no, unless you've discovered something I've missed. In which case, I ask to remain completely, blissfully ignorant." Ryan doesn't look up from the email he's typing out on his iPhone.
Jon sighs and spins his beer bottle on the table. "Like if he's got an aversion to sex," he mumbles.
Ryan finally looks up, one eyebrow raised. "We're talking about Spencer, right? Just so I'm clear."
"You heard me."
"Yeah, I did, and safe to say, the Spencer Smith I know is about the last dude on the planet to have any kind of aversion to anything sexual."
"But...he didn't have, like, a bad experience, maybe? Or a childhood trauma, or--"
"You should know just as well as I do that he's a perfectly horny individual."
Except with me. It's ridiculous how much Jon just wants to vent all of his anxieties to Ryan, about how he's afraid there's something wrong with him, that maybe Spencer just doesn't want him sexually, that maybe he doesn't know how to tell Jon they should just be friends. He wants to treat Ryan the way his patients treat him.
"We haven't slept together," Jon blurts out.
It takes Ryan a full minute to react. He slowly sets his phone down and squints at Jon as he takes a sip of his beer. "At all?" he finally asks.
"As in nothing below the waist." Jon wonders when his life became a teenage melodrama.
Ryan sits back and rubs at his chin thoughtfully. It's something Jon's seen his grandpa do several times when he's pondering a chess move. "He has been a little edgy lately..."
Jon's eyes widen. "Like how?"
"I hadn't really thought much about it, but he's been jumpy a lot, like the smallest thing makes him twitch. This, though, this makes sense." Ryan nods as if he's made a scientific conclusion.
"What makes sense? If he doesn't--if I'm not--if he wants out of this, Ry, I need to know. I'm a grown-up, I can handle it."
Ryan suddenly bursts out laughing. "Seriously? You think that's the problem? You really don't know him at all, do you?"
"Meaning what, exactly?" He's spent five years in grad school, he should know how to handle relationships better than this.
"Meaning that you're a goddamn sex expert. That's a little intimidating to most people."
Jon blinks. "I'm not a sex expert, I'm a fucking therapist. I fix people's sex problems, I don't tell them how to have amazing sex."
"Sure you do. You tell them by fixing the problem. And Spencer's always been a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to shit like this. If he doesn't think he'll do well, he backs off."
It takes a moment for Ryan's meaning to sink in. "But...but how could he possibly think--?"
"Because it's Spencer, and he excels at over-thinking situations. It helps to beat him over the head sometimes and tell him he's a dumbass." Ryan smirks. "Now, can we please stop talking about my best friend getting laid? I'm totally not drunk enough for this conversation."
///
Spencer gets an offer to review a new wine bar opening up downtown, and he invites Jon as his plus one. Jon has never actually seen Spencer in his element before, but it's kind of ridiculously sexy watching Spencer take notes on his Blackberry as he tastes bits of each main entree and samples a half dozen wines.
"So what do you think?" Jon asks. He knows his smile is dopey and a little enamored. He doesn't care.
"Nothing Earth-shattering, but I like the pork tenderloin a lot, and the lobster bisque is kind of amazing." Spencer waves for the waiter and orders them a full bottle of the house white. "And now you get to see the real perks of my job."
"You totally do this for the free booze."
Spencer taps his nose. "Bingo." He grins at Jon, and his smile is just--dazzling is the only word Jon can come up with, even though it's cliched and soppy. It's almost as if his rampant libido has killed the majority of his braincells.
Which might explain why Jon takes a deep breath, leans across the table, and whispers, "If you're really just trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me later, I won't complain."
Spencer's eyes go dark and unfocused for a second. It's quick, but Jon catches it. He thinks, prays, that Ryan's right.
"I..." Spencer licks his lips, laughing as he fidgets with his wine glass. Jon didn't think Spencer knew how to fidget. He finally looks back up at Jon and says, just as quietly, "Is that what you really want?"
It's all Jon can do not to fling himself across the table and devour Spencer on the spot. He mimics the way Spencer licked his lower lip and replies, "Actually, I'd, um. Rather take advantage of you." He keeps his eyes on Spencer, waiting for the moment when he backs off and changes the subject.
But a bright pink flush spreads over Spencer's cheeks and down his neck. His lips part as if he's going to say something, but then he raises a hand to signal the waiter for the check.
Jon goes hard in about two seconds flat.
Everything feels sharper when they finally leave the restaurant; Jon feels like his skin is vibrating with electricity, and he's aware of every move Spencer makes, how they avoid each other's eyes, yet stay close enough to where their hands barely brush.
They get to Spencer's car, and suddenly Spencer laughs again, high and breathless as he shoves his hair out of his eyes. "I guess we're, uh, heading to your place? Or mine?"
Jon doesn't want to be making decisions right now, but he is vaguely amused at how this somehow feels like a first date rather than their fifteenth.
He walks around to Spencer's side of the car. The parking lot behind the restaurant is fairly empty, not a person in sight. Jon doesn't let himself second-guess anything as he backs Spencer up against the driver's door and places both hands on the hood, bracketing Spencer's shoulders with his arms. They're nearly chest to chest, their noses almost touching. He can feel Spencer's breath accelerate as he leans in closer and lets their hips press together.
"If you don't want this, tell me now," Jon whispers, letting his gaze drop to Spencer's slick-shiny mouth. "Because once I start, I don't think I can stop." His heart his pounding in his throat, he has to taste Spencer right now or he'll go crazy. He's never wanted someone with such desperation before, and the scholar part of his brain thinks for a moment that it would be fascinating to write about the effects of prolonged celibacy on sexual desire, but that part is quickly overruled by the much, much larger part that just wants Spencer naked. Immediately.
And Spencer maybe, possibly, is shaking a little. "God," he breathes, eyes at half mast. "I won't make you stop. I don't think that's humanly possible." He reaches up and twists Jon's tie around his hand, tugging him closer. "I've, um. Been slightly terrified to get in bed with you, if you want to know the truth."
Jon groans, and it's part exasperation, part arousal. "Why, because I'm Dr. Drew?"
"Well...yeah." Spencer laughs sheepishly. "What if I sucked horribly and then you dissected every aspect of my shitty sex skills? I couldn't stand the thought of fucking up like that and basically ruining our relationship from the start."
"So you'd rather just keep us both sexually frustrated?" Jon can't help smirking affectionately at him as he nips at Spencer's lower lip. Ryan was so right, thank god.
Spencer makes a small whimpering sound. Jon wants to make him do it again. "I guess I was just waiting for you to make a move," he whispers.
Fuck, they're both so lame. Jon almost laughs hysterically, but it's probably not the right time for that, especially since he's hard and he can feel Spencer getting hard and they're still standing outside in the parking lot.
"I think," Jon says slowly, rolling his hips carefully against Spencer and nearly coming on the spot when Spencer shivers. "You need to drive us to my apartment and let me show you just how much I want to make a move."
Spencer shudders, gasps, "Oh, shit," and suddenly they're kissing, hard and fast and dirty, so much dirtier than they've ever kissed before. Their teeth clack together, and Jon can already feel his lips start to bruise, but it's seriously the hottest kiss he's ever had in his life. And the best part is that he knows it's going somewhere, that it won't just end with him hard and desperate.
But first they have to stop grinding against each other and get home. "Car," Jon gasps, trying to untangle himself from Spencer's grasp.
Spencer nods jerkily and pulls back, panting and flushed. He looks wrecked, and Jon hasn't even gotten him naked yet.
"You can drive, right?" Jon asks.
"Just don't touch me for the next ten minutes," Spencer replies in a voice a couple notches deeper than his usual tone as he swipes his thumb over Jon's mouth.
Jon's apartment might as well be in Siberia.
///
It's strange how Jon can barely breath as they stand outside Jon's front door while Jon fumbles for his keys. He's never been one to be nervous when it comes to sex; if anything, he should be ecstatic that he's about to finally get laid. His erection certainly hasn't calmed down, but his fingers won't stop shaking long enough for him to unlock the goddamn door.
"Thought you'd be smoother than this," Spencer whispers. His hands are in his coat pockets, but he's close enough that Jon can feel his heat.
"Me, too." Jon gives a frustrated laugh, until finally the door opens. He stumbles forward a bit, thinking frantically, Do I have lube? Are my condoms expired? Should I offer to do it on the couch?
"Hey." Spencer touches his arm, and Jon snaps out of his momentary panic attack. Spencer's smiling at him, shy and tentative, and it hits him that even though the tension between them is almost palpable, Spencer is just as anxious as he is. "We don't have to--I mean, we can just--" He ducks his head and winces, and it's stupidly endearing to see Spencer struggle for words.
"I don't want you to feel obligated to do anything tonight," he finally says, his hand slowly sliding down Jon's arm.
Jon thinks of their kiss in the parking lot earlier, how easily Spencer had gasped and shivered under his hands. The thought of how responsive Spencer would be all naked and spread out in his bed makes Jon bite his lip, hard.
He cups a hand around the back of Spencer's neck and pulls him close, pressing their foreheads together. He tangles his other hand in the front of Spencer's coat. "Can I tell you a secret?"
Spencer's hand slides around Jon's, lacing their fingers together. "Sure," he breathes.
"I can barely get through sessions with my patients without thinking about you. And not in a hearts-and-flowers kind of way, but in a dirty, x-rated, naked kind of way. It's like my brain is a constant fucking porno these days and you're Jenna Jameson."
Spencer laughs, but it's thin and breathless. "Wow, that's, um. The weirdest thing anyone's ever said to me." He presses a little closer, though, and Jon is about two seconds away from seriously ripping their clothes off like a sex-starved maniac.
"Sorry, I just thought you should know why I'm probably not going to be very gentlemanly tonight. And to ask that you not judge me if I come in under five minutes." He barely recognizes his voice; it's low, scrapped raw, like he's sucked cock for an hour, and suddenly he's got an image of being on his knees while Spencer fucks his mouth. Jon grits his teeth and moans softly, his eyes squeezed shut.
Spencer, though, is panting like he's finishing a marathon. "That's, um, fine. Totally fine. I think I can handle that." He butts the tip of his nose up against Jon's, and seriously, why are they not kissing?
"Okay," Jon gasps, "then consider this my official move." He tightens his hand in Spencer's hair, tipping his head back as he slants his lips over Spencer's. It's wet and open-mouthed and messy, nothing sweet at all in the way Jon's tongue slides against Spencer's or how Spencer groans deep in his throat, like a growl.
It's a flurry of hands shoving coats to the floor and pawing at shirts and jeans. Jon tries to steer them back to the bedroom, but once his shirt is gone, Spencer refuses to let Jon move away for even a second. His hands are everywhere, skimming over Jon's nipples and down his stomach, fingers splayed over his abdomen as his nails scratch lightly through the dusting of hair just above Jon's jeans.
"Fuck, you're perfect," Spencer groans, even though his eyes are closed. He pushes both hands back around Jon's waist and tightly palms Jon's ass, and it's a possessive move, a claiming move. Jon's always thought of being claimed in terms of power struggles during sex, not something unbearably erotic.
"Please," he hears himself say, high and needy. He's never been one to beg, and he's not even sure what he's asking for. Spencer's skin is hot and smooth under his hands, and he's pink all the way down his chest. Jon presses their bodies as close together as he can, licking a stripe down Spencer's neck as he shoves his leg in between Spencer's and starts to rut against him in a rough, uneven rhythm. Spencer makes the growling sound again, hands digging into Jon's ass as he holds on and grinds back against Jon.
Seriously, it's as if they're teenagers desperately trying to get off before they caught behind the bleachers.
"We can--gotta get--bed down the hall," Jon gasps in between kisses, nearly tripping over his jeans tangled around his knees as he tries to back up down the hall without breaking their rhythm.
But Spencer shakes his head frantically. "Too far," he says against Jon's mouth. "Just--just--god, Jon." He moans, shoving his hips up harder, faster, and at this rate, Jon really will be finished. The head of his cock has pushed through the slit of his boxers, rubbing wetly up against Spencer, and it's too much, he's got to last to get inside Spencer, he has to.
"C'mon, I can't fuck you out here," he tries to say with a laugh, but it comes out almost like moan. "All the lube and stuff, it's--"
"Right here." Spencer manages to kick his shoes and socks off and stumble out of his jeans in less than two seconds, grabbing a condom and a packet of lube out of the back pocket.
Jon really does laugh this time. "Holy shit, please tell me you haven't had those on you the whole time we've been dating."
Spencer bites his lip around a smile. "No. Ryan told me to take them with me tonight, said I might get lucky. I figured I was being overly optimistic."
"Jesus, I am buying that guy a drink tomorrow, fuck." It's not how Jon pictured it in his head by any means, but it's fine. It's perfect.
Especially when Spencer rips the condom packet open with his teeth and pushes Jon's boxers down his hips. "I've always wanted to do this," he whispers, and the next thing Jon knows, Spencer puts the condom in his mouth and drops to his knees. He spreads his hands wide on Jon's thighs as he slowly rolls the condom onto to Jon's leaking cock with nothing but his lips and tongue.
Jon grits his teeth, panting, "Fuck, oh fuck," as he does everything within his power not to come immediately. He can't watch it all, but he feels it when he hits the back of Spencer's throat and Spencer gags slightly.
"Sorry, sorry," he gasps, but Spencer whispers back, "You're bigger than I thought."
"Is-is that bad?" Jon doesn't think he's all that above average, but if Spencer's not used to certain sizes--
"No. I...I'm glad. I like to feel, um. Full." He looks up at Jon, hair tousled in his eyes, and there's a hint of embarrassment in his eyes, as if he's just admitted something out loud for the first time.
The air leaves Jon's lungs in a loud whoosh. "God, c'mere," he groans, pulling Spencer up so he can lick deep into his mouth and make him gasp.
He's not sure how it happens, but somehow they end up on the floor with their clothes scattered everywhere. Jon slams up against the back of the couch with Spencer sprawled over him as they get the lube packet open with too much mess. Jon pours it all out into his hand, but then Spencer swipes two fingers through the slickness and goes back on his haunches, knees bracketing Jon's thighs. He reaches behind himself, and Jon doesn't have to see everything to know Spencer doesn't ease into it with just one finger--he goes right for two.
"Fuck," Spencer breathes, eyes fluttering closed. His cock is flushed and curving up toward his stomach, the tip shiny with precome. Jon wants to taste him, but he's fixated on Spencer's face, how open and blissed-out he looks. He's utterly gorgeous; Jon's heart stops for a moment, thinking about how Spencer is letting him watch, letting him see him at his most vulnerable.
Almost as an afterthought, Jon wraps his slick hand around his own dick and strokes a few times, never taking his eyes off Spencer. "Just tell me when you're ready, I'll--we can do it however you want," Jon says as evenly as he can.
Spencer opens his eyes, which are nearly completely dark. "Can I--I mean--" His words dissolve on a moan as he keeps fucking himself with his fingers. "We can stay like this," he gasps.
In the past, Jon has been wary of being ridden, especially after he read an entire paper on the negative connotations of being "forced" into the bottom position by the submissive partner. But now, he can't think of a damn reason why Spencer riding him isn't the best fucking idea in the world.
"Yeah," Jon says, which does nothing to convey his overwhelming sense of yes. He holds his breath as Spencer slowly pulls his hand back and goes up slightly on his knees. He leans forward, splaying his hands over the edge of the couch so he's looming over Jon. It would be a little intimidating, except the look in Spencer's eyes is completely open and trusting.
He's wanted this all along, Jon thinks, heart pounding fiercely. He could've been having sex on his living room floor weeks ago--but then, maybe he wouldn't have had Spencer biting his lip and whispering, "I'm ready when you are," in a shaky voice that sounds as if he's barely holding on.
Jon swallows hard and curls his hands around Spencer's thighs. He urges him forward, his thumbs pressing tightly into Spencer's skin, and Jon finds himself hoping there will be marks in the morning.
"Fuck, just--" He's usually more coherent than this, but he can't form complete sentences when Spencer's slick hand wraps around his cock and starts to guide the tip inside. There's no pause, no preamble, no take it slow, it's been a while--just Spencer sinking down onto Jon's cock, inch by inch, while Jon grits his teeth and moans.
"God, oh god." Jon's pretty sure he says it, but it could be Spencer, who is so fucking tight. He has a momentary, ferocious urge to flip Spencer onto his back and shove into him until he blacks out, but this is what Spencer wants. It can wait for round two. Or ten.
Then Spencer does some insane hip roll that somehow lets Jon sink even deeper inside him. He gasps Jon's name, shoulders shaking as he grips the couch, and Jon can feel himself fraying already. He surges up and kisses Spencer, his hand blindly fumbling between them to find Spencer's cock. The instant his palm slides over the wet head, Spencer jerks sharply and cries out into Jon's mouth. His hips push immediately up into Jon's hand, and Jon is stupidly happy that Spencer's just as close as he is.
So close, in fact, that Spencer pulls out of the kiss long enough to pant, "C'mon, Jon, don't make me wait for you." His voice cracks on Jon's name.
It's probably been five minutes. But Jon, for the most part, has been holding on for weeks.
Jon decides he doesn't want to wait for round two.
He lets go of Spencer's cock, gripping his hips forcefully as he sucks Spencer's bottom lip between his teeth and uses all his strength to shove Spencer flat onto his back on the carpet and not pull out. Spencer gasps loudly, but his eyes don't open, and his legs automatically wrap around Jon's waist as he tangles his hands in Jon's sweat-damp hair.
Jon has never been brutal during sex. Jon has never fucked someone into his carpet. Jon has never sucked a bruise into someone's neck and thought, Mine.
Until tonight.
His throat is raw when it's over and he's sinking down onto Spencer. Spencer's skin is shiny with sweat, his hair matted over his forehead.
"I think you killed me," Spencer mumbles with a sleepy smirk. "Does this mean I get to sue you for malpractice?" He sounds like he's smoked a pack and then maybe gave Jon head for two hours.
Jon hums softly, mouthing at the dark ring forming at the base of Spencer's throat. "You're not my patient, so you're kinda fucked."
"I'll say."
"Touche'." Jon laughs and rolls onto his back to slowly strip off the condom. He manages to get a look at the aftermath of the living room, at his tie strung over the lamp and Spencer's jeans laying inside out in front of his TV.
My apartment even looks thoroughly fucked, he thinks with a dopey grin. They're naked in the middle of the floor, Jon's got a used condom in his hand, and he doesn't know where his boxers are.
Yeah, it was definitely worth the wait.
"Hey, how 'bout you stop congratulating yourself and show a dead guy to the shower," Spencer says, lazily kissing Jon's shoulder.
Jon gets to his feet--knees only shaking slightly--and holds his hand out to Spencer. "Only if I get to show you the proper way to watch an action flick without teasing a guy to the brink of insanity."
Spencer shakes his head. "I was being polite!"
"You were being a dumbass. Ryan said so."
He points to the condom still dangling from Jon's left hand. "Uh-uh, you dump that thing before we bring up Ryan. And yes, I'm well aware that Ryan thinks I fail at life sometimes."
Jon leans in to nip lightly at Spencer's jaw. "So do I," he whispers.
It's another five whole minutes of kissing before Jon tosses the condom away in the kitchen. It should be gross, but he has a hard time caring when he can hear Spencer humming what sounds like "Norwegian Wood" as the water starts in the shower.
///
The next morning, Jon is woken by the sound of his phone buzzing on his bedside table. He blinks at the clock, which informs him it's barely seven-thirty. Jon hopes to god it's not a patient calling him with an anxiety attack over uncircumcised penises again.
He's got a warm, naked Spencer draped over him who smells like Jon's bodywash. Jon is definitely not in the mood for frantic penis talks.
Fortunately, it's a text from Brendon. good morning! come buy me pancakes.
Jon smiles, absently combing his fingers through Spencer's hair as he texts back, Sorry, trapped under something heavy named Spencer. Rain check.
Spencer makes a little snuffling noise against Jon's shoulder and frowns in his sleep, almost as if he's subsconsciously objecting to being called heavy.
Brendon sends back, captain hottie owes me breakfast. high five, doc. :)
He feels Spencer stretch along his side and sigh, his hand curled loosely over Jon's stomach beneath the blankets. It's not bad for a first morning together.
Jon turns his phone off and sinks back down into the bed, sliding easily back into sleep to the sounds of Spencer's even breaths against his skin.
Jon/Spencer | 6000 words | NC-17
Jon's been to grad school and has a PhD. He thinks, for the most part, that he's a fairly intelligent guy. And yet, for some reason, he can't seem to get his boyfriend to sleep with him.
Nothing says Christmas like sex therapist!Jon Walker! Twitter made me do it. Actually, this is a belated birthday present to
lyo, because she is awesome like Jon's face. ♥♥♥ Thanks to siryn99 for the last-minute beta. Title lyrics from Spoon.///
It's like any other session. Jon listens intently to the patient's problems, listens to all their accounts of issues and frustrations and everything else that goes along with them. It's nothing he hasn't heard before.
Only just as he's jotting down some notes, the patient says, "Doctor, I want to know what it's like to have crazy monkey sex. That's all I want, but I'm so afraid it'll never happen."
And just like that, Jon's thinking of Spencer naked.
He nearly drops his notes.
"Well, that's why you're here, right?" he asks, clearing his throat as he shifts in his chair. He smiles at the woman, who breathes a sigh of relief.
Jon has kind of forgotten everything she just said. Fuck.
///
He doesn't want to say it's a problem, because it isn't. Really. Jon is well aware of the fact that it's perfectly normal to fantasize about the person with whom you are sexually involved. Sex drives are natural.
Except he's not having sex. At all.
And that, maybe, is a problem.
"So, what would you say if I told you I've been having sex fantasies about Spencer?" Jon says, staring down his margarita.
Brendon stops in the middle of devouring his plate of cheese fries. "Um, isn't that par for the course? You're the sex therapist, you tell me."
"It's just, um." Jon fiddles with his straw. "It happens at the worst times."
"Wait, are you two still not fucking?"
Jon flails his hand out to shush him, even though no one in the bar is paying a bit of attention to them. "Jesus, Bren, you don't have to say it like that."
"Like what? You've been on like, five dates now? Don't you think that warrants some action?"
"There isn't a set ratio of dates to sex." Jon's said it to more than one patient in his life, and he'll damn well say it again.
Brendon rolls his eyes. Jon thinks he should've made better friends in college. "Whatever, he's hot. You're hot. Have there at least been hands involved?"
Jon drums his fingers on the table. "It's not that there hasn't--"
"Oh my god, what are you guys, thirteen-year-old girls? You've kissed though, right?"
Yes, they have. Jon maybe thinks about their first kiss a little more than he should. Also the time two nights ago when he'd kissed Spencer on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant and Spencer had made this soft little gasping noise that made Jon go instantly hard.
Okay, so there might be more than one problem.
"Of course we've kissed," Jon says, then takes a huge drink of his margarita. It's mostly tequila, and he coughs slightly. "And there's been lots of touching." Touching that only involved hand-holding and maybe brief fingertips brushing over chests, but still. Still.
Brendon sighs and shakes his head. He leans across the table and pats the back of Jon's hand. "You are one of my best friends and I love you. But you're also a moron," he says. "My prognosis is that you and Captain Hottie need to fuck like bunnies, or you'll keep having inappropriate blue ball moments in front of your patients."
Jon finishes the rest of his margarita, promptly signaling for another. "You know, I really am a professional," he mumbles.
Brendon laughs and shoves what's left of his cheese fries in Jon's direction.
///
Jon has been a licensed sex therapist for two years now. He's been to grad school and has a PhD. He thinks, for the most part, that he's a fairly intelligent guy.
And yet, for some reason, he can't seem to get his boyfriend to sleep with him.
Well, he assumes they're boyfriends. They've been on a half dozen dates, text each other constantly, and have kissed a lot. In Jon's educated opinion, they're boyfriends. Or at least something close to it.
Sometimes Jon thinks Ryan set him up with his best friend just to torture him. That's what Jon gets for letting his writer friends set him up with their writer friends.
"He's a food critic," Ryan had said blandly, like he was totally ignoring the fact that Jon had seen Spencer at Ryan's Christmas party and had all but tripped into the nearest wall. "Honestly, 'writer' is giving him too much credit. Go ahead and tell him I said that, too, he's said way worse about me."
Jon had meant to mention Ryan's joke on their first date, but he'd been too goddamned twitterpated to even remember his name. Their first kiss had been on the front steps of Spencer's apartment building; Jon had waved awkwardly, said, "Well, I had fun," and Spencer had simply smirked and fisted his hand in the front of Jon's coat, pulling him in for a slow, barely open-mouthed kiss.
"Me, too," he'd whispered against Jon's mouth, and had Jon been a girl, he would have whimpered.
The next date had been the same--awesome conversation, Spencer being hot, and Jon desperately wanting to kiss him, which finally happened in Jon's car at a stop light. Two dates after that, Jon's palms were literally itching to get on Spencer's skin.
But nothing ever progresses past kissing. Jon's beginning to wonder if he's fucked up somehow, PhD or no.
"What's the craziest, most batshit thing you've heard a patient say so far?" Spencer asks him that night. They're sitting on Jon's living room floor around his coffee table playing Scrabble.
"Doctor/patient privilege, dude," Jon replies. "But I'll just say women and their orgasms are serious business."
Spencer snorts. "I should really start telling people my boyfriend is Dr. Drew."
Jon glances up from his letters. "Yeah?" He hates that he can feel his cheeks blush.
"Yeah. Maybe you should have a radio show, too, let crazy people call you up and gross the fuck out the masses." There's something in Spencer's smile, though, that tells him he knows what caught Jon's attention.
They're boyfriends. It's official.
Official means sex, Jon automatically thinks, then immediately winces.
"You all right?" Spencer asks softly. He bites the corner of his lip, and his hair is all soft and falling in his eyes, and all Jon really wants to know is how all that soft, shiny hair would look sweaty and spread out over his pillow...
"I'm fine. And I just kicked your ass." He lays out his letters to spell gigantic, and Spencer laughs.
"Tell me, sex doc, what are you trying to say?" He leans across the coffee table and kisses Jon on the mouth, soft and slow. "Little bit Freudian, don't you think?"
"You've got a dirty mind," Jon murmurs as he licks past Spencer's lips. Spencer makes that sound again, that tiny little catch of breath, and god, Jon wants him.
But then Spencer pulls back and wiggles his eyebrows. "Rematch, double or nothing," he says, clearing the board of letter pieces.
Jon sits back on his heels, willing his sudden, insistent erection to go down. He swallows hard and replies, "You're totally on."
///
Jon is used to talking about masturbation in a purely clinical sense. He's dealt with erectile dysfunction, foreplay anxiety, even women who were terrified to so much as look at their privates. It's not something he thinks about in a sexual way, at least not when it comes to his work.
But suddenly, everything becomes centered around how many times a day he's beating off.
"She wanted to watch me," the guy sitting in the chair across from Jon says. "I've never had a woman ask to watch. I felt like she was asking me to rip out my heart and spill it all out for her, y'know? No one has ever seen me...touch myself. Not like that. It's weird. Is that weird?"
Jon is staring down at his notepad and trying very hard not to picture Spencer kneeling at the foot of his bed with his eyes all dark and patient, whispering, "Show me, Jon. Show me what you like." And Jon spreads himself out for him, legs bent as he slowly palms his cock and takes a long, hard pull on the shaft, gasping when Spencer bites his lip and groans--
"Dr. Walker?"
"No, that's not weird at all. Masturbation is a very private act, and sharing it can be very...stressful." Jon rearranges his clipboard on his lap. His heart is pounding, all the way down to his fingertips.
"So what do I do?"
Jon scribbles down some nonsense sentences. "Take it slow. Let her know you need time to adjust to being on display. If she cares about you, she'll understand." But what he really wants to say is, Just be thankful you're getting laid.
///
Jon honestly hasn't jerked off this much since he was sixteen. It's a little obscene.
He jerks off in the shower first thing in the morning to memories of Spencer kissing him goodnight. He comes home for lunch and jerks off again to thoughts of Spencer touching his wrist at dinner. He jerks off in the evening to fantasizes of nothing but Spencer's mouth.
The night before he'd been at Spencer's apartment, where they'd watched Die Hard and ate popcorn and drank some beer. It would've been like any other night, except Spencer kept close to Jon's side, thigh to thigh, and as the movie went on, Spencer would lean in and whisper things against Jon's ear, like, "If I were Bruce Willis, I'd fucking hate Christmas Eve."
Jon would laugh and do everything within his power not to shiver and push Spencer down against the couch cushions. Later, they'd kissed goodnight at the door, and Spencer had trailed his fingertips over the edge of Jon's collar, barely touching his skin as scraped his teeth lightly over Jon's lip. Jon felt himself go almost painfully hard, clenching his hand a little too tightly in Spencer's shirt.
Say it, he thought. Ask me to stay the night, ask me to get naked here in the foyer, ask me to suck you until I go blind, I don't even fucking care...
"I'll see you tomorrow," Spencer whispered, pulling back just enough to nuzzle at Jon's cheek.
Jon maybe wanted to cry. Instead, he immediately went home and beat off so fast, he came over his hand halfway from the living room to the bedroom.
He's so horny he's going to crawl out of his skin.
"Is there something about Spencer I should know?" Jon finally asks Ryan one night during one of their weekly bar hangs. He's been very good at not bringing up Spencer very much, because God only knows how Jon would feel if Ryan were dating Brendon and kept moaning about the lack of sex.
"Like what, if he has a cross-dressing fetish? The answer's no, unless you've discovered something I've missed. In which case, I ask to remain completely, blissfully ignorant." Ryan doesn't look up from the email he's typing out on his iPhone.
Jon sighs and spins his beer bottle on the table. "Like if he's got an aversion to sex," he mumbles.
Ryan finally looks up, one eyebrow raised. "We're talking about Spencer, right? Just so I'm clear."
"You heard me."
"Yeah, I did, and safe to say, the Spencer Smith I know is about the last dude on the planet to have any kind of aversion to anything sexual."
"But...he didn't have, like, a bad experience, maybe? Or a childhood trauma, or--"
"You should know just as well as I do that he's a perfectly horny individual."
Except with me. It's ridiculous how much Jon just wants to vent all of his anxieties to Ryan, about how he's afraid there's something wrong with him, that maybe Spencer just doesn't want him sexually, that maybe he doesn't know how to tell Jon they should just be friends. He wants to treat Ryan the way his patients treat him.
"We haven't slept together," Jon blurts out.
It takes Ryan a full minute to react. He slowly sets his phone down and squints at Jon as he takes a sip of his beer. "At all?" he finally asks.
"As in nothing below the waist." Jon wonders when his life became a teenage melodrama.
Ryan sits back and rubs at his chin thoughtfully. It's something Jon's seen his grandpa do several times when he's pondering a chess move. "He has been a little edgy lately..."
Jon's eyes widen. "Like how?"
"I hadn't really thought much about it, but he's been jumpy a lot, like the smallest thing makes him twitch. This, though, this makes sense." Ryan nods as if he's made a scientific conclusion.
"What makes sense? If he doesn't--if I'm not--if he wants out of this, Ry, I need to know. I'm a grown-up, I can handle it."
Ryan suddenly bursts out laughing. "Seriously? You think that's the problem? You really don't know him at all, do you?"
"Meaning what, exactly?" He's spent five years in grad school, he should know how to handle relationships better than this.
"Meaning that you're a goddamn sex expert. That's a little intimidating to most people."
Jon blinks. "I'm not a sex expert, I'm a fucking therapist. I fix people's sex problems, I don't tell them how to have amazing sex."
"Sure you do. You tell them by fixing the problem. And Spencer's always been a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to shit like this. If he doesn't think he'll do well, he backs off."
It takes a moment for Ryan's meaning to sink in. "But...but how could he possibly think--?"
"Because it's Spencer, and he excels at over-thinking situations. It helps to beat him over the head sometimes and tell him he's a dumbass." Ryan smirks. "Now, can we please stop talking about my best friend getting laid? I'm totally not drunk enough for this conversation."
///
Spencer gets an offer to review a new wine bar opening up downtown, and he invites Jon as his plus one. Jon has never actually seen Spencer in his element before, but it's kind of ridiculously sexy watching Spencer take notes on his Blackberry as he tastes bits of each main entree and samples a half dozen wines.
"So what do you think?" Jon asks. He knows his smile is dopey and a little enamored. He doesn't care.
"Nothing Earth-shattering, but I like the pork tenderloin a lot, and the lobster bisque is kind of amazing." Spencer waves for the waiter and orders them a full bottle of the house white. "And now you get to see the real perks of my job."
"You totally do this for the free booze."
Spencer taps his nose. "Bingo." He grins at Jon, and his smile is just--dazzling is the only word Jon can come up with, even though it's cliched and soppy. It's almost as if his rampant libido has killed the majority of his braincells.
Which might explain why Jon takes a deep breath, leans across the table, and whispers, "If you're really just trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me later, I won't complain."
Spencer's eyes go dark and unfocused for a second. It's quick, but Jon catches it. He thinks, prays, that Ryan's right.
"I..." Spencer licks his lips, laughing as he fidgets with his wine glass. Jon didn't think Spencer knew how to fidget. He finally looks back up at Jon and says, just as quietly, "Is that what you really want?"
It's all Jon can do not to fling himself across the table and devour Spencer on the spot. He mimics the way Spencer licked his lower lip and replies, "Actually, I'd, um. Rather take advantage of you." He keeps his eyes on Spencer, waiting for the moment when he backs off and changes the subject.
But a bright pink flush spreads over Spencer's cheeks and down his neck. His lips part as if he's going to say something, but then he raises a hand to signal the waiter for the check.
Jon goes hard in about two seconds flat.
Everything feels sharper when they finally leave the restaurant; Jon feels like his skin is vibrating with electricity, and he's aware of every move Spencer makes, how they avoid each other's eyes, yet stay close enough to where their hands barely brush.
They get to Spencer's car, and suddenly Spencer laughs again, high and breathless as he shoves his hair out of his eyes. "I guess we're, uh, heading to your place? Or mine?"
Jon doesn't want to be making decisions right now, but he is vaguely amused at how this somehow feels like a first date rather than their fifteenth.
He walks around to Spencer's side of the car. The parking lot behind the restaurant is fairly empty, not a person in sight. Jon doesn't let himself second-guess anything as he backs Spencer up against the driver's door and places both hands on the hood, bracketing Spencer's shoulders with his arms. They're nearly chest to chest, their noses almost touching. He can feel Spencer's breath accelerate as he leans in closer and lets their hips press together.
"If you don't want this, tell me now," Jon whispers, letting his gaze drop to Spencer's slick-shiny mouth. "Because once I start, I don't think I can stop." His heart his pounding in his throat, he has to taste Spencer right now or he'll go crazy. He's never wanted someone with such desperation before, and the scholar part of his brain thinks for a moment that it would be fascinating to write about the effects of prolonged celibacy on sexual desire, but that part is quickly overruled by the much, much larger part that just wants Spencer naked. Immediately.
And Spencer maybe, possibly, is shaking a little. "God," he breathes, eyes at half mast. "I won't make you stop. I don't think that's humanly possible." He reaches up and twists Jon's tie around his hand, tugging him closer. "I've, um. Been slightly terrified to get in bed with you, if you want to know the truth."
Jon groans, and it's part exasperation, part arousal. "Why, because I'm Dr. Drew?"
"Well...yeah." Spencer laughs sheepishly. "What if I sucked horribly and then you dissected every aspect of my shitty sex skills? I couldn't stand the thought of fucking up like that and basically ruining our relationship from the start."
"So you'd rather just keep us both sexually frustrated?" Jon can't help smirking affectionately at him as he nips at Spencer's lower lip. Ryan was so right, thank god.
Spencer makes a small whimpering sound. Jon wants to make him do it again. "I guess I was just waiting for you to make a move," he whispers.
Fuck, they're both so lame. Jon almost laughs hysterically, but it's probably not the right time for that, especially since he's hard and he can feel Spencer getting hard and they're still standing outside in the parking lot.
"I think," Jon says slowly, rolling his hips carefully against Spencer and nearly coming on the spot when Spencer shivers. "You need to drive us to my apartment and let me show you just how much I want to make a move."
Spencer shudders, gasps, "Oh, shit," and suddenly they're kissing, hard and fast and dirty, so much dirtier than they've ever kissed before. Their teeth clack together, and Jon can already feel his lips start to bruise, but it's seriously the hottest kiss he's ever had in his life. And the best part is that he knows it's going somewhere, that it won't just end with him hard and desperate.
But first they have to stop grinding against each other and get home. "Car," Jon gasps, trying to untangle himself from Spencer's grasp.
Spencer nods jerkily and pulls back, panting and flushed. He looks wrecked, and Jon hasn't even gotten him naked yet.
"You can drive, right?" Jon asks.
"Just don't touch me for the next ten minutes," Spencer replies in a voice a couple notches deeper than his usual tone as he swipes his thumb over Jon's mouth.
Jon's apartment might as well be in Siberia.
///
It's strange how Jon can barely breath as they stand outside Jon's front door while Jon fumbles for his keys. He's never been one to be nervous when it comes to sex; if anything, he should be ecstatic that he's about to finally get laid. His erection certainly hasn't calmed down, but his fingers won't stop shaking long enough for him to unlock the goddamn door.
"Thought you'd be smoother than this," Spencer whispers. His hands are in his coat pockets, but he's close enough that Jon can feel his heat.
"Me, too." Jon gives a frustrated laugh, until finally the door opens. He stumbles forward a bit, thinking frantically, Do I have lube? Are my condoms expired? Should I offer to do it on the couch?
"Hey." Spencer touches his arm, and Jon snaps out of his momentary panic attack. Spencer's smiling at him, shy and tentative, and it hits him that even though the tension between them is almost palpable, Spencer is just as anxious as he is. "We don't have to--I mean, we can just--" He ducks his head and winces, and it's stupidly endearing to see Spencer struggle for words.
"I don't want you to feel obligated to do anything tonight," he finally says, his hand slowly sliding down Jon's arm.
Jon thinks of their kiss in the parking lot earlier, how easily Spencer had gasped and shivered under his hands. The thought of how responsive Spencer would be all naked and spread out in his bed makes Jon bite his lip, hard.
He cups a hand around the back of Spencer's neck and pulls him close, pressing their foreheads together. He tangles his other hand in the front of Spencer's coat. "Can I tell you a secret?"
Spencer's hand slides around Jon's, lacing their fingers together. "Sure," he breathes.
"I can barely get through sessions with my patients without thinking about you. And not in a hearts-and-flowers kind of way, but in a dirty, x-rated, naked kind of way. It's like my brain is a constant fucking porno these days and you're Jenna Jameson."
Spencer laughs, but it's thin and breathless. "Wow, that's, um. The weirdest thing anyone's ever said to me." He presses a little closer, though, and Jon is about two seconds away from seriously ripping their clothes off like a sex-starved maniac.
"Sorry, I just thought you should know why I'm probably not going to be very gentlemanly tonight. And to ask that you not judge me if I come in under five minutes." He barely recognizes his voice; it's low, scrapped raw, like he's sucked cock for an hour, and suddenly he's got an image of being on his knees while Spencer fucks his mouth. Jon grits his teeth and moans softly, his eyes squeezed shut.
Spencer, though, is panting like he's finishing a marathon. "That's, um, fine. Totally fine. I think I can handle that." He butts the tip of his nose up against Jon's, and seriously, why are they not kissing?
"Okay," Jon gasps, "then consider this my official move." He tightens his hand in Spencer's hair, tipping his head back as he slants his lips over Spencer's. It's wet and open-mouthed and messy, nothing sweet at all in the way Jon's tongue slides against Spencer's or how Spencer groans deep in his throat, like a growl.
It's a flurry of hands shoving coats to the floor and pawing at shirts and jeans. Jon tries to steer them back to the bedroom, but once his shirt is gone, Spencer refuses to let Jon move away for even a second. His hands are everywhere, skimming over Jon's nipples and down his stomach, fingers splayed over his abdomen as his nails scratch lightly through the dusting of hair just above Jon's jeans.
"Fuck, you're perfect," Spencer groans, even though his eyes are closed. He pushes both hands back around Jon's waist and tightly palms Jon's ass, and it's a possessive move, a claiming move. Jon's always thought of being claimed in terms of power struggles during sex, not something unbearably erotic.
"Please," he hears himself say, high and needy. He's never been one to beg, and he's not even sure what he's asking for. Spencer's skin is hot and smooth under his hands, and he's pink all the way down his chest. Jon presses their bodies as close together as he can, licking a stripe down Spencer's neck as he shoves his leg in between Spencer's and starts to rut against him in a rough, uneven rhythm. Spencer makes the growling sound again, hands digging into Jon's ass as he holds on and grinds back against Jon.
Seriously, it's as if they're teenagers desperately trying to get off before they caught behind the bleachers.
"We can--gotta get--bed down the hall," Jon gasps in between kisses, nearly tripping over his jeans tangled around his knees as he tries to back up down the hall without breaking their rhythm.
But Spencer shakes his head frantically. "Too far," he says against Jon's mouth. "Just--just--god, Jon." He moans, shoving his hips up harder, faster, and at this rate, Jon really will be finished. The head of his cock has pushed through the slit of his boxers, rubbing wetly up against Spencer, and it's too much, he's got to last to get inside Spencer, he has to.
"C'mon, I can't fuck you out here," he tries to say with a laugh, but it comes out almost like moan. "All the lube and stuff, it's--"
"Right here." Spencer manages to kick his shoes and socks off and stumble out of his jeans in less than two seconds, grabbing a condom and a packet of lube out of the back pocket.
Jon really does laugh this time. "Holy shit, please tell me you haven't had those on you the whole time we've been dating."
Spencer bites his lip around a smile. "No. Ryan told me to take them with me tonight, said I might get lucky. I figured I was being overly optimistic."
"Jesus, I am buying that guy a drink tomorrow, fuck." It's not how Jon pictured it in his head by any means, but it's fine. It's perfect.
Especially when Spencer rips the condom packet open with his teeth and pushes Jon's boxers down his hips. "I've always wanted to do this," he whispers, and the next thing Jon knows, Spencer puts the condom in his mouth and drops to his knees. He spreads his hands wide on Jon's thighs as he slowly rolls the condom onto to Jon's leaking cock with nothing but his lips and tongue.
Jon grits his teeth, panting, "Fuck, oh fuck," as he does everything within his power not to come immediately. He can't watch it all, but he feels it when he hits the back of Spencer's throat and Spencer gags slightly.
"Sorry, sorry," he gasps, but Spencer whispers back, "You're bigger than I thought."
"Is-is that bad?" Jon doesn't think he's all that above average, but if Spencer's not used to certain sizes--
"No. I...I'm glad. I like to feel, um. Full." He looks up at Jon, hair tousled in his eyes, and there's a hint of embarrassment in his eyes, as if he's just admitted something out loud for the first time.
The air leaves Jon's lungs in a loud whoosh. "God, c'mere," he groans, pulling Spencer up so he can lick deep into his mouth and make him gasp.
He's not sure how it happens, but somehow they end up on the floor with their clothes scattered everywhere. Jon slams up against the back of the couch with Spencer sprawled over him as they get the lube packet open with too much mess. Jon pours it all out into his hand, but then Spencer swipes two fingers through the slickness and goes back on his haunches, knees bracketing Jon's thighs. He reaches behind himself, and Jon doesn't have to see everything to know Spencer doesn't ease into it with just one finger--he goes right for two.
"Fuck," Spencer breathes, eyes fluttering closed. His cock is flushed and curving up toward his stomach, the tip shiny with precome. Jon wants to taste him, but he's fixated on Spencer's face, how open and blissed-out he looks. He's utterly gorgeous; Jon's heart stops for a moment, thinking about how Spencer is letting him watch, letting him see him at his most vulnerable.
Almost as an afterthought, Jon wraps his slick hand around his own dick and strokes a few times, never taking his eyes off Spencer. "Just tell me when you're ready, I'll--we can do it however you want," Jon says as evenly as he can.
Spencer opens his eyes, which are nearly completely dark. "Can I--I mean--" His words dissolve on a moan as he keeps fucking himself with his fingers. "We can stay like this," he gasps.
In the past, Jon has been wary of being ridden, especially after he read an entire paper on the negative connotations of being "forced" into the bottom position by the submissive partner. But now, he can't think of a damn reason why Spencer riding him isn't the best fucking idea in the world.
"Yeah," Jon says, which does nothing to convey his overwhelming sense of yes. He holds his breath as Spencer slowly pulls his hand back and goes up slightly on his knees. He leans forward, splaying his hands over the edge of the couch so he's looming over Jon. It would be a little intimidating, except the look in Spencer's eyes is completely open and trusting.
He's wanted this all along, Jon thinks, heart pounding fiercely. He could've been having sex on his living room floor weeks ago--but then, maybe he wouldn't have had Spencer biting his lip and whispering, "I'm ready when you are," in a shaky voice that sounds as if he's barely holding on.
Jon swallows hard and curls his hands around Spencer's thighs. He urges him forward, his thumbs pressing tightly into Spencer's skin, and Jon finds himself hoping there will be marks in the morning.
"Fuck, just--" He's usually more coherent than this, but he can't form complete sentences when Spencer's slick hand wraps around his cock and starts to guide the tip inside. There's no pause, no preamble, no take it slow, it's been a while--just Spencer sinking down onto Jon's cock, inch by inch, while Jon grits his teeth and moans.
"God, oh god." Jon's pretty sure he says it, but it could be Spencer, who is so fucking tight. He has a momentary, ferocious urge to flip Spencer onto his back and shove into him until he blacks out, but this is what Spencer wants. It can wait for round two. Or ten.
Then Spencer does some insane hip roll that somehow lets Jon sink even deeper inside him. He gasps Jon's name, shoulders shaking as he grips the couch, and Jon can feel himself fraying already. He surges up and kisses Spencer, his hand blindly fumbling between them to find Spencer's cock. The instant his palm slides over the wet head, Spencer jerks sharply and cries out into Jon's mouth. His hips push immediately up into Jon's hand, and Jon is stupidly happy that Spencer's just as close as he is.
So close, in fact, that Spencer pulls out of the kiss long enough to pant, "C'mon, Jon, don't make me wait for you." His voice cracks on Jon's name.
It's probably been five minutes. But Jon, for the most part, has been holding on for weeks.
Jon decides he doesn't want to wait for round two.
He lets go of Spencer's cock, gripping his hips forcefully as he sucks Spencer's bottom lip between his teeth and uses all his strength to shove Spencer flat onto his back on the carpet and not pull out. Spencer gasps loudly, but his eyes don't open, and his legs automatically wrap around Jon's waist as he tangles his hands in Jon's sweat-damp hair.
Jon has never been brutal during sex. Jon has never fucked someone into his carpet. Jon has never sucked a bruise into someone's neck and thought, Mine.
Until tonight.
His throat is raw when it's over and he's sinking down onto Spencer. Spencer's skin is shiny with sweat, his hair matted over his forehead.
"I think you killed me," Spencer mumbles with a sleepy smirk. "Does this mean I get to sue you for malpractice?" He sounds like he's smoked a pack and then maybe gave Jon head for two hours.
Jon hums softly, mouthing at the dark ring forming at the base of Spencer's throat. "You're not my patient, so you're kinda fucked."
"I'll say."
"Touche'." Jon laughs and rolls onto his back to slowly strip off the condom. He manages to get a look at the aftermath of the living room, at his tie strung over the lamp and Spencer's jeans laying inside out in front of his TV.
My apartment even looks thoroughly fucked, he thinks with a dopey grin. They're naked in the middle of the floor, Jon's got a used condom in his hand, and he doesn't know where his boxers are.
Yeah, it was definitely worth the wait.
"Hey, how 'bout you stop congratulating yourself and show a dead guy to the shower," Spencer says, lazily kissing Jon's shoulder.
Jon gets to his feet--knees only shaking slightly--and holds his hand out to Spencer. "Only if I get to show you the proper way to watch an action flick without teasing a guy to the brink of insanity."
Spencer shakes his head. "I was being polite!"
"You were being a dumbass. Ryan said so."
He points to the condom still dangling from Jon's left hand. "Uh-uh, you dump that thing before we bring up Ryan. And yes, I'm well aware that Ryan thinks I fail at life sometimes."
Jon leans in to nip lightly at Spencer's jaw. "So do I," he whispers.
It's another five whole minutes of kissing before Jon tosses the condom away in the kitchen. It should be gross, but he has a hard time caring when he can hear Spencer humming what sounds like "Norwegian Wood" as the water starts in the shower.
///
The next morning, Jon is woken by the sound of his phone buzzing on his bedside table. He blinks at the clock, which informs him it's barely seven-thirty. Jon hopes to god it's not a patient calling him with an anxiety attack over uncircumcised penises again.
He's got a warm, naked Spencer draped over him who smells like Jon's bodywash. Jon is definitely not in the mood for frantic penis talks.
Fortunately, it's a text from Brendon. good morning! come buy me pancakes.
Jon smiles, absently combing his fingers through Spencer's hair as he texts back, Sorry, trapped under something heavy named Spencer. Rain check.
Spencer makes a little snuffling noise against Jon's shoulder and frowns in his sleep, almost as if he's subsconsciously objecting to being called heavy.
Brendon sends back, captain hottie owes me breakfast. high five, doc. :)
He feels Spencer stretch along his side and sigh, his hand curled loosely over Jon's stomach beneath the blankets. It's not bad for a first morning together.
Jon turns his phone off and sinks back down into the bed, sliding easily back into sleep to the sounds of Spencer's even breaths against his skin.
no subject
no subject